[Seika Nakajima]

"He will take all the time he needs.” Seika said, her amber-gold gaze shifting away from Shindera as she sipped her tea; not a dismissal, but rather a change of focus. The man was now a part of the fold, one of hers (however tenuous that might be), and that meant he had earned a degree of trust that few knew. She was still watching him, still aware of his movements, but she could afford to keep him in her periphery rather than at the forefront of her mind now. The seeds had been sown, the tree sprouted. It was only a matter of time until he was so firmly in her clutches that he would have no means of escape. "His mission is of utmost importance… and secrecy. If there is anyone I trust to infiltrate Kumo, it is him.”

She took another sip of her tea then, allowing the information to sink in while Mori spoke, eager to get to his duties. That she had left him a small trail, a clue as to what Daigo was up to, was simply an added bonus- a gesture of her increased trust in him, though not one without strings attached. Learning the full truth of what she had planned for her cousin’s gifts was something that would require more than a simple bow of the head; he would have to be hers, utterly and completely, for that information to be let free. But it would serve her interests to lead him along. For now.

"Of course. You shall have a chance to begin soon, I think.” Seika said and, as if on time, a knock rang out from the door of the small room. She didn’t speak, just lowered her cup of tea to sit on the table, but whoever was behind it seemed to know she wished him to enter, for he did, his voice soft and subservient as he stepped in and knelt, falling to one knee and looking at the floor, never once meeting her amber-gold gaze… or so much as looking Mori’s way.

"The ceremony is ready, my Lady.” She turned her attention to Shindera then, standing to her feet as she gestured to the sailor, whose sunken eyes looked at the floor with utter and complete rapture, his breathing shaky and unsteady, as if he was a single word from break down in ecstatic praise… or violence.

"Excellent. Please, guide us to the site, my child. We have a new Yogensha to inaugurate.”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

"Of course,” Mori could sense the guardedness in Seiko’s voice, paired with playfulness and what he could only assume was the sadism and narcissism that swelled at her core. He was not a fool, he knew what she was. Shindera Mori had sworn his soul to a monster, but that monster would bring about the new world, to tear out the heart of corruption that plagued and ruled over the current one. He was a tool, one to be used as Seika saw fit, their friendship had given him enough insight to know that. But he was using her as well. He just needed to hold hope that he would continue to do so before she broke him. Life was a game to be played. He just had to ensure that he was a player, and not a piece on the board. "If he has your trust, then he has mine as well,” Mori offered a lazy smile, tea cup brought to his lips, "I did not mean any disrespect, infiltration of Kumogakure is no easy task. It is one of the great villages after all,” he scoffed, "great villages…” Any further conversation relating to his task as her spokesperson was ended with the arrival with one of her sailors. A man who announced a ceremony with all the deference as if he was before a living god. Of course, Mori mused, as far as he was concerned, he absolutely was. Mori downed the last of his tea with one gulp, he had not entirely expected the ceremony, but he could not claim to be surprised. Ceremony and theatre, such was the way of things with the Burning Death. "Of course, my lady,” He bowed, an overly exaggerated motion, more akin to a street performer than a loyal follower, "I am in your care, my good man.” A final act of defiance before he sold his soul entirely? Perhaps.

Seika Nakajima

[Seika Nakajima]

"As you will it, Shinnyoha.” The man said, standing to his feet as he finally, properly recognized Mori’s presence. There was a hint of jealousy to his gaze as she looked the taller, scholarly man over, but it was only a hint, and one soon replaced with the soft glow of subservience as he gestured for the pair of them to follow. That the man’s display of defiance went ignored was neither a coincidence nor a mistake; he was one of hers now. Small spurts of defiance were to be expected in one so freshly initiated, no matter how influential his position was to be.

Still, Seika made note of the incident, her amber-gold eyes lingering on the former Kumo-nin’s back as she followed him and her loyal sailor out of the room and down to the main deck. A large crowd had gathered in the center, forming a wide circle around what appeared to be some kind of metal effigy. It wasn’t until the trio got closer, however, that the truth was revealed; though crudely made, the structure in the center was in fact a pyre, and on it lay the old man from the fishing boat that had ferried Mori to the Iron Moon.

The men and women who stood around the pyre hushed at Seika’s approach, many kneeling in reverence, while others merely lowered their gaze, stepping aside to allow them through. None dared look her way though, not even their guide, who broke off to join the crowd once they had breached the center of circle, leaving her and Mori relatively alone with the old man, who was strapped to the scaffolding of the pyre by several lines of thick, metal wire that dug into his skin.

"My children!” Seika said, her voice rising above the din of the sea as she turned in a full circle, looking at the gathered crowd while she spoke, seemingly addressing everyone there and no one, all at once. "Today is an auspicious day. Today, we celebrate the coronation of our Hikari Yogensha- the Prophet who shall share with you the glorious truth of our cause.” She gestured to Mori then, the crowd's eyes all shifting to focus on the man, that same flash of jealousy and subservience flowing through their collective gazes.

"But first, he must prove his loyalty, to all here, just as each and every one of you has.” Her voice echoed across the water then, leaving a deathly silence to hang over the ship as she pivoted on one foot, pointing towards the old man with a cruel, knowing smile. Despite all she had said, all the schemes she had woven, it was here where she shone brightest, here where the true power of the NIsshoku was laid bare. "This one has declared his refusal to join our cause. He has rejected the light of your Shinnyoha- but his life will not be ended in vain.”

"Kill him, Shindera-san. Slit his throat, and when the last drop of his lifeblood is spilled, I shall burn his corpse into the ash that shall brand the mark of the Nisshoku onto your skin.” She paused then, allowing the man a moment to contemplate what it was he was being asked to do- the weight of it, the power behind the act, the truth of what this would mean. The old man was an innocent, someone who had simply been in the right place at the wrong time, one who had chosen to help a stranger who needed it. To kill him here, and now, on nothing but her orders… there was no greater sign of loyalty than that.

"Kill him, and take your place, my Yogensha.”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

There were many things one could say about Nakajima Seika, many of those things would likely see the speaker immolated for their insolence, or worse. Mori was not stupid enough to say any of those things. But even her worst critics had to admit something, the woman knew presentation. The pyre stood tall, the feverish faces of the surrounding crew- no- the surrounding worshippers looked at it as if it were an object of worship, an idol descended from the mountain to deliver them to salvation. As the trio approached, Mori suddenly felt very small. The cultists backed away from Seika as if she carried the spark of the divine within her very soul, their eyes downcast, shadows fading and running from her light. The arrogance that had settled into Mori’s step faltered somewhat. He swiftly returned to his relaxed gait, but there was no way one with eyes as keen as his new mistress would have missed it. Her foolish flock, perhaps, but not the shepherd. They settled and stood, yet, fear welled in his stomach as Seika began to speak, the sheer silence from the crowd utterly eerie. Only the lapping of the waves accompanied the rhythmic, near-melodic words of the Shinnyoha. Mori’s face was a mask, that of the cocky ruffian who had met Seika on the road all those years ago, but part of his mind rebelled. Was he truly about to declare his loyalty to a woman who preached autocracy? To a woman born to the same ruling caste he so despised? Was he not trading in one master for another? Was he not condemning an innocent man to death at the orders of a ruler? Seika finished speaking, her order was clear. Silence hung over the boat, and Mori’s dark eyes met hers of burning amber. Without a word or gesture, he reached for a kunai at his belt, letting the blade dance along the back of his hand as he considered the severity of his actions. The man was nothing to him, just another weak fool who had allowed himself to be caught. His soul meant nothing to Mori, he had killed before, he would kill again. But those kills had been at his own discretion. This. This was on her orders. He would be abandoning his freedom, he would be casting his soul into the fire, and he would be shining that light to capture and burn the souls of others. His eyes turned from Seika and to the man, he approached, his face set into a sympathetic smile. Climbing onto the pyre, he reached out to the man, caressing his cheek as if one would a lover. "Sorry, friend, I never intended for this to happen to you,” Mori spoke to him, voice soft, "I thank you again for your deliverance here.” Mori looked into the man’s eyes as he continued to speak, but the words were not meant for the man before him. Not for the man doomed to die, but for the man holding the blade. The man doomed to bring about change. "But what is the soul of one man in the fight for freedom? What is the soul of a thousand men?” The Bandit Scholar slashed across the man’s throat with his free hand, blood gushing and staining the hand that held his cheek. Mori watched as the man’s life faded from his eyes, and he knew then, his own life belonged to Seika. He may have sold himself to her, she may have pursued a world where she ruled, but in the new world… In the world he would create, if she was the strongest, then she truly deserved to rule, did she not? Their desires were one in the same. To free the world, he would sacrifice his own freedom. The light of liberation, the light of the Nisshoku, the Prophet of Light would shine.

Seika Nakajima

[Seika Nakajima]

Seika watched Mori as they approached the pyre, the arrogance in his gait faltering, if only for a moment, before the brilliance of her divine majesty. The other would not have caught it, but she had, and he knew it. It was enough for her to know that, beneath all his cocky swagger, there was still a man, capable of being swayed by the sights and sounds around him, just as all the others. Still, there was far more to this simple ritual than having him bow to her wishes; it was a death, yes, the killing of an innocent, but it was also the death of the man he had been. No longer a wanderer, no longer a bandit, no longer free to do as he pleased. To bow to her would mean shackling himself, however gently, to her will.

It was the very thing he had railed against, oh so long ago, when they had first met. And now… he would do it, to see his ambitions come to pass.

"They are but ash.” She said, her voice echoing across the waters as she answered Mori’s question, the lifeblood of his victim flowing free upon the steel, splattering onto the deck and pooling beneath them. The crowd joined her, their voices merging together in a soft, almost monotonous chant that rose with her arms, which burst into white flame, spiraling above the crowd before crashing down on the pyre a moment later. Mori would have just enough time to leap out of harm's way before her flames engulfed the man’s dying body, immolating him and the entire steel structure flames so hot and bright that those close enough to them had to shy back, the full power of her Nakajima bloodline on display.

"From ashes he came, and to ashes he shall return.” Her voice echoed over the chanting crowd, the torrent of spiraling white flame building around the pyre until, without warning, she pulled them back, the light and heat fading away to reveal what was left of the pyre. Steel had melted to slag, pooling on the ground around where the old man’s body had hung in small puddles along the outer edge. The further in one looked, however, the more they would see just how potent her flames truly were, for sitting in the center was not a lump of flesh and steel, but rather… ash. Metal and flesh mingled together, burnt so fiercely until nothing remained by flaky, black ash.

"And from those ashes, you shall rise. Come, Shindera Mori. Drink, and know the taste of your sacrifice. Bear its mark upon your body… and rise, to take your place at my side.”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

Death came to the man, but Mori’s thoughts remained concerned with his own soul, and not that of the man whom he had sent to the afterlife. For a moment, his musings threatened to consume him, but he brought himself back to his senses swiftly. His reactions remained poised for battle, even if he was around those who were ostensibly friends. He knew Seika was a demon given flesh, yet it was the crew of fanatics that she had formed around her that gave him pause. He could likely stain the deck of the ship with blood, but their numbers, their fanaticism, he could not cease their tide. Fire engulfed the corpse, and he leapt back from the pyre. Smoke and flame erupted from what had once been a man, the familiar stench of burning flesh and hair filling the air, mingling with the acrid reek of melting metal. Mori did not flinch again, instead he stared into the flame. For in spite of the horrifying white fire, he knew that it was not that which returned his stare, but the abyss. He had leapt into darkness in pursuit of the light. All that remained was to continue down this path. He had declared himself, he had thrown away his soul in pursuit of his dreams. If the world needed to burn, if men needed to die, then that too would be a price he would pay willingly, without hesitation. He turned his hawkish gaze to Seika and bowed his head. In that moment, one of the assembly moved forward, stepping through the melted slag and smoke without fear or worry of pain. Mori turned his head to watch, his expression carefully neutral. Water and ash were mixed, the remnants of the deceased turned to a poultice. With ritualistic fervour and religious reverence, the man stepped forth, the remnant heat burning and singing his flesh. He knelt before Mori, offering the poultice. Mori did not hesitate, not again. Instead he took the poultice and drank it deep and readily. It burned his throat as it went down, thick and hot, and the taste was acrid and awful. Yet, he drank all the same.

Seika Nakajima

[Seika Nakajima]

Seika watched Mori as he stared at the conflagration, his expression a mix of brutal pragmatism and bone deep determination that belied the subtle hints of doubt that lay beneath. Few people could have noticed the change to his otherwise perfect facade, and even fewer would have been able to know what it meant, but she had been grooming Mori for years. Guiding him through every conversation, however slightly, to this moment. This decision. He had made the metaphorical plunge, cutting off his own soul to seek after his dream, his vision of a better tomorrow- now, all that was needed was for him to set the choice in stone.

And so, the man drank, and in so doing, damned his own soul for the sake of power.

"And so, it is done.” Seika said, her voice echoing across the crowd, their voices falling to silence as she gestured towards the former Kumo-nin, her hand outstretched as if offering him to take it. And she was, after a fashion- the man who had brought Mori his drink motioned for him to kneel, his face calm and eyes severe, and it was not until he had done so that the Nakajima woman stepped forwards, her hand now within reach of her newest subordinate’s reach. "Rise, my child. Nisshoku welcomes you, our newest and brightest Yogensha.”

He would have to receive that tattoo soon, would need to imbue his flesh with the physical sign of his devotion- but for now, the ritual was over. A prophet of light, to show the way for the coming storm.

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

Mori knelt, a gesture which had a very clear meaning. He was prostrating himself before Nakajima Seika, declaring his fidelity to herself and to her cause. A final motion in the grand ceremony wherein he had sold his soul. But there was no further hesitation in the movement, no more doubt, he had declared himself to this path, and it was to this path that he would follow. As a matter of course, he cast his eyes downward. Tradition, ceremony, fidelity, it all required that he beget himself to the motions expected. Seika stepped forward, and Mori took her hand, raising alongside her. The Hikari no Yogensha, the Prophet of Light. The words tasted odd upon his tongue. He’d never quite held a title before, unless one counted ‘ANBU’ or ‘assassin.’ To devote himself to a greater cause, it would be an adjustment, but one he had every intention of throwing himself into fully. The world needed changing, and he would be the harbinger of that change. An army needed to be assembled to destroy the rot at the heart of the system itself? Then he would set about forging that army. Dispossessed, disillusioned, discontented, the world ached and begged for revolution. He would serve to give them a means to which to air their voices. Once again, he bowed his head toward Seika, before turning to the congregation. They were his now, and he was there’s, joined in the service to the woman. "Friends,” He spoke, his voice carrying the arrogant timbre of a man who knew that he could speak no wrong, "You do not know me, and I not you. But rest assured, our purpose is one and the same. Allow me to serve as the light by your goddess’s right hand, allow me to serve as the beacon that announces the coming dawn.” Death would come. Mori longed for it.

Seika Nakajima