Chapter I: The Beginning Chapter II: The Heart of the Sword Chapter III: Depleted Compassion Chapter IV: The Hitokiri
Destin Zenoda was born into the province of Fukein as the son of a skilled carpenter, Silas Zenoda. During these peaceful times Destin often attended to watch his father at work in his defined art of woodwork, where he idolized him as a man of hardship and devotion to the concept of structure and solidity. Fukein was often isolated from the main roads of civilization by it's initial location and was often misunderstood by foreign travelers as deceitful by the mere positioning of it's village; Fukein had been built many centuries prior to Destin Zenoda's birth, and had been strategically centered in an enveloping mountain ridge that had but a few scant passages.
Life was peaceful for little Destin, and often did he do no more than observe the villagers with an occasional mischief lingering in his mind, yet often did he show little interest in the other playing children his age, instead the child of unusual persona would gather himself out at night and stare into the starlit sky and ponder what was beyond their safe haven. It was not until the age of four that he began traveling with his father, and several other hunters of Fukein that he began to see a more stretched environment of the canyon and was delighted at every chance he got to saunter into the wild with his father, Silas.
Unfortunate events came to erupt only a short period of time after his fifth period where his mother, Lila passed away from a genetic disease. Destin often blamed himself for her death even though he was not very close to her, this was the beginning of Destin's psychological input on life; "One cannot choose who lives or dies, however we can impact the environment around us. She will be missed, and always loved.", words uttered by Silas Zenoda at her burial.
Days escalated in the passing of his beloved mother, which eventually turned to weeks, and there after into months until an unfortunate event struck at Fukein's vital integrity. War had emitted in the passage, an army of unknown intent was marching in direct coordinates of their humble and non-militaristic village. All the men were informed, the foremost hunters gathered with their spears, swords, and even bows to council the unknown assault in the head manor. Destin was eager to listen yet was forced out of the hallway by a servant maid along with the other children. The discussion riled in wild assortment of how they would be able to hold such a significant force, or if their best bet were to use a secret passage through the mountains, overall the quarreling and indifference of opinions increased by the minute.
Night had turned to dusk and the men were armored up, some on horseback and some planning to camoflauge themselves in the woods for a pre-emptive attack. Destin had been taught by his father to a very low degree in basic swordsmanship, yet of course was denied to even attempt to draw out a sword due to his very tender age. There was no happy ending however, the men of Fukein charged with strategic input and courageous hope, yet were slaughtered by the outweighing quantity of Imperialist soldiers; an army wielding the crest of a red lion.
Once the village had been breached the women and children were inevitably split into groups all now homeless prisoners of warfare, most already on their way to execution. Destin felt a hatred rise up from him as he was bound by the hands and dragged behind a horse, forced to see the slaughtered men of his home laying in various shamed positions across the canyon as they were lined in a tight formation down the valley slopes.
Suddenly however several men appeared from the woods, the exact number was distorted due to their incredible speed, Destin saw but mere glimpses of them; the Imperial soldiers quickly gathered to a defensive position around the newly captured slaves, "Quick, take cover!" a lieutenant shouted before a wakazashi implanted itself immaculately through his sternum. It was an assault, by who no one knew, yet soldiers were dropping by the second.
Panicked by the obvious turn of the tables an officer withdrew his dirk and commenced in slitting the throats of his captured prisoners wildly yelling out, "Hail the Emperor!", gender, age, or even appearance held no barter to this crazed man and he had rammed through half a dozen before he paused to stare at a young boy, Destin. "Time to die, filth!" he bellowed out as he jabbed his knife forward, Destin however stumbled backward and as the moment of truth where his eyes literally reflected the metal of his death a sword plunged through his neck and he was jerked to the side by a man attired in black.
Instantaneous in reaction Destin screamed and fumbled backward as a spray of blood drenched the front of his attire. Finally the screams dimmed down, and but a few remaining people of the town were cut loose of their ropes and each sprang as if their lives depended on it. Destin however had nothing left, for he knew his father had been nothing more than casualty of war. With certainty and posture a man approached Destin, staring at him dead in glance. "You are lucky to have survived this, young one." the man said with minor leisure of comfort attuned into his voice. Destin's iris' complied with a glance into the seemingly young man, "I am already dead.". Shocked several of the mystery warriors were by his profound intellect and strickened personality.
A reply uttered from the man who was an apparent leader by the judgement that many followed him in command without hesitation, "What is your name, child?" he said before turning around entirely to waltz off in slow stride, wielding what appeared to be a darkened case of a katana. "I'm Destin .." the young boy said showing little distortion in his voice, which a large muscular man who seemed like a giant to the other present members size chuckled with an evil glare. "Well then, Destin. I am Junyo. If you wish for revenge, then I shall grant you the path." Junyo said while walking off, the other assailants not hesitating to leave the boy in following assertion of the mysterious swordsman, Destin followed without question.
Destin approached the wooden log that had been firmly thrusted into the terrain, his sword tightly gripped by his sleeveless gloves. "Remember, do not allow the sword to control you in it's swing, feel it's movement; that will be the key to a successful strike." the swordsman master said, promptly seated in the nearby distance in a content posture as he monitored his apprentice. Destin nodded while sliding his support hand onto the lower portion of the hilt, suddenly he lashed out with an amazing pace, slashing horizontally for the piece of thickened wood ... It had been cleanly severed and spun into the air before making a thud; a thud that was created by the sound of it hitting more wood, there was a giant pile of similar logs that had been dispatched of similar methods.
Sleepless nights were difficult to rid of, often he sat outside and made desperate attempts to shroud his emotions from his past; six years had gone by since the death of his parents. During the time between past to present Destin had been selected proudly as the student and only disciple under Junyo, the leader of the resistance group, The Zhitan Order. The time of his training varied between his actual performance, Junyo's interest could shorten like a fuse and eventually he would immerse his presence elsewhere; though on average the approximate time would coordinate to roughly four hours a day. A difficult task indeed when put through continuous simulations and techniques day after day.
The war had been declared years ago he had learned and to realistical proportion which furtherly irritated him was that the Fukein battle was an incident not meant to occur had the scouts of the Imperial army not detected his previous home. However little time was given in discussions of politics, Destin rose from his bed at no later than five o'clock; the fog was still thick in the woodsy region and continuous training never ceased for the young swordsman. Junyo appeared walking down a path toward the lake, "Follow me." he uttered with little compassion. The apprentice followed the master obediently down through the woods, and eventually another series of training exercises took action.
"Hmf..!" Destin etched with a perfect cut into the aerially bound log, it was split into two parts. Junyo threw another one and the process repeated itself until he finally stopped flaunting Destin with a serious expression that was never indicated in that specific arrangement. "You are to become one of the Zhitan Order members, the resistance has work that you will accept to their fullest consent. Our training in the Hiten no Gaara style of swordsmanship will continue at our future gatherings. You will depart tomorrow." Junyo finished. Destin turned to nod at Junyo without the slightest of dispute shown on his expression, "Yes, master." was his only response. Junyo somewhat turned to stare into the parted forest yet returned the acknowledgement before exchanging paused distillment into a slow walk.
Destin paused before climbing out of the carriage averting vicinity onto various statues that stretched up to the entrance of the enormous estate courtyard. Followed by a superiorly heighted man the two made their way up the tanned walkway and into the estate, there sat a slew of gathered men that were in deep discussion of the new arrival. Needless to say as Destin Zenoda approached through the door a man rose from his chair, "They have convicted us and joined the enemy!" he bellowed out in agony, slamming his fist upon the coffee table. "Silence, you fool." a man hissed back as he rose from his furnished seating and bowed in the distance of the room as Destin simultaneously approached. "This is Destin Zenoda, sent to us by the Zhitan Order." The room went quiet ..
Destin slept in the residing building next to the estate, more commonly known as the tool shed. It didn't bother him since politicians for all he cared were responsible for the war to begin with, aside of that his ability to take life had yet to be psychologically tested and it's plausible that the tacticians didn't feel the necessity to take a chance.
Arriving in the town as planned, the two men departed from Destin Zenoda and left his final journey of walk in solo. The swordsman trudged inclined at a crouched degree through the bushes of a nearby building. Suddenly he lashed out, catching vicinity on one of the soldiers standing guard. The soldier turned and raised his hand to signal for affiliating henchmen of the target's lore.
It was too late, Destin's sword had snapped out and met it's destination without a falter in accuracy. The soldier hit the ground dead at instance. Quick he sprung forth through the walkway and pivoted up the stairs that would eventually lead him into the depths of the manor. Showing remarkable consistency as he sprang through the wooden planked floors, he was surprisingly halted by a sword that snapped out around the turn of a corridor. Destin met the blade with his own as it retracted, and the two exchanged various parries while swinging for an obvious victory. "You're mine, kid!" the assailant flaunted in a yell, however his breath had not been taken in before Destin's sword had lashed to the back of his neck and literally disabled his ability to walk.
Leaving the heavily bleeding man in awe and tears, he sauntered into an empty room where a man sat praying before an ornament. Destin's eyes came to narrow distinctively toward the target. "Do your job. Our Empire will not fail." the old man spoke with positivity. Referred to as failure Destin interpreted it and immediately shook his head before breaking positioning into a slow walk toward his target, simultaneously drawing his sword.
Metal cut through the flesh in a miniscule of a second, disattaching the limb of the targeted victim. "Ahhh...", not even a muffled scream escaped his dying breath before stumbling face first onto the tiled street. It was broad daylight, and out the alley walked Destin Zenoda, eyes twitching with an elusive intent that was only read in expression in the heat of combat; which most certainly meant before death. There was no middle way of negotiation when it came to the assignments of his targets; mercy was futile and death was supreme and granted, even during broad daylight.
Adorned in a dark attire Destin blended into the crowd that rampaged about the main avenue, all seeking their own individual purposes. "Get 'yer ice cones, come get 'yer ice cones!" a man shouted standing at the side of a cart which was shaded by a large parasol gripped by the merchant, which swayed back and forth in his shouts of pricing. Destin enjoyed wandering cities, he dreamed that one day freedom of an empires clutch would finally be free.
