The Death and Rebirth of Kobayashi Akira

By Mara

Disclaimer: This story and everything in it is MINE, except Lestat who belongs to Anne Rice! And yes, this may not make a whole lot of sense, but oh well.  Please ask before borrowing.

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So I sat there, amongst the trees, no sounds except the birds chirping, the insects buzzing, and my own deep, calm breathing. Meditation does the body and mind good, and that day was a beautiful day to meditate. The warm sun caressed my bare chest and shoulders; my shirt lay out on the grass by my side near my kitana and wakazashi swords. I was at peace when something tugged at the edge of my mind. I ignored it, not wanting to leave my meditative state, but soon the attack came. Seven ninja, without a noise, leapt at me for the kill. I was samurai, their bitter enemy and also son of my village’s greatest warrior, short of our shogun. I was lucky and was able to grab my kitana and wound one ninja before the rest got to me. Their faces hidden behind black masks and wielding no weapons other then shuriken, I was no match as one samurai against seven ninja. The fight was quick, and they soon captured me and took my weapon. Then they decide to have some fun with me. Their leader, when asked by the ninja I had wounded if they should kill me right then, said, “No, lets make him suffer.” They spent the next half-hour or so mercilessly beating me, two of them holding my arms as I struggled on my knees before the other five. When I could no longer keep my head up and was spitting up blood and struggling to breathe through broken ribs…that is when they finally stopped. The wounded ninja stepped up to end the torture by merely snapping my neck, but the leader held up a hand, signaling him to step back. He said he had a better idea. The two holding me were ordered to let me go, and I slumped over face-first to the lush green grass. The leader kicked my over onto my back and ordered some of his men to hold me: two held my legs, two held my arms, and the wounded ninja held my head, forcing me to watch the torture. Vainly, I struggled, though I was weak and knew it was of no use. The leader unsheathed my wakazashi and straddled my legs. The remaining seventh ninja stood over me, my own kitana poised over my heart in case I should cause trouble. The leader lifted my short sword high above his head, and then paused to look me in the eyes. I knew those eyes! I knew those eyes, but I did not know from where. To this day I still cannot place where I know those eyes from. But he looked me dead in the eyes and saw all my fear, my hatred, and my confusion before bringing the wakazashi plunging down cleanly into my stomach. I cried out – all I could think at that moment was how shameful it was for a samurai like me to be in a situation like that. Then, the leader began moving the sword inside me. He moved it through my torso in a seppuku fashion, knowing how shameful and degrading that ordeal was for me. When he was done, and I was only barely screaming and on the verge of death, he wiped the bloody blade on my pants and stood up. The other ninjas let go of me and got up as well, some going to look through the stuff I had brought with me, the rest inaudibly talking to their leader. My eyes began to close, my body started going numb…then it started. I could feel my body start to tingle, a feeling that rose above the numbing pain, especially around my wounds and the worst around my heart. This feeling told me, without words, that I was going to be all right. I started throwing up some, mostly blood, which dribbled out of the corners of my mouth and down my cheeks, eliciting some stares from the ninjas around me. Then the pain just…stopped. My eyes snapped all the way open and I sucked in a deep, clear breath. I could feel a somewhat inhuman strength beginning to course through my body, though I knew my midsection was still dissected and my ribs still broken. I could feel the various scrapes and bruises and cracked bones slowly healing themselves, and I felt invincible. Immediately I shot to my feet, one hand holding in my diced up stomach and intestines so they did not spill out. And when I stood up, the ninjas seemingly not noticing my sudden and silent rise, I could smell it. The smell invaded my senses and overwhelmed my sanity and entire being: the smell of blood. I wanted it, I had to have it – I was going to take it from them all. The injured ninja, to my left, was within a few feet of me and I reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him close to me. I tore into his neck, first ripping away the black mask fabric, and then ripping away the warm, smooth flesh so that he was pouring blood. The fangs in my mouth began to grow, and I sank them into the dying ninja’s now open neck wound. Though he struggled violently, I easily held him with my one hand on his neck and I drank heavily from him until the heartbeat I heard pounding within my ears became almost too faint to hear. When I was done, and I had blood coating my face and chest, I let go and watched his dead and lifeless body fall to the grassy earth with a dull, muffled thud. The leader and other five ninjas looked at me with what I can only assume was utter horror, since they wore the typical ninja masks. I grabbed the sash that the dead ninja had been wearing and wrapped it around my still open torso as the ninjas took up fighting positions, still wary of my seemingly sudden and miraculous recovery, as I was still dripping blood from my mouth onto my chest. Baring my fangs at them, I hissed out my challenge: “Come get me!” I lunged at one of them and he flipped backwards to get away from me. Their leader motioned to them and they all scattered in opposite directions, running as fast as they could away from me.  I roared in anger and took off after the nearest one, catching him easily and ripping his head off. I chased after another, noticing the leader was nowhere to be seen; obviously, he had been the first to escape. This angered me more, and I excited a new burst of speed – preternatural speed. I caught my third ninja and ripped his throat out with my new fangs. By the time I was done with that ninja, the rest were nowhere in sight. I finished gorging myself on my ninja prey, then sat down against a tree and looked at my seppuku-ish wound. Most of it had closed up, enough to keep my insides inside. Leaning my head back against the tree trunk, I closed my eyes and sighed. I was a vampire now. When I was about 13 my mother told me what I would become; I had known what she was very early on in life, though. She told me she was a vampire, and that my real father, Kevin, was also a vampire, and that someday I would be, too. I also knew what this meant: that I was going to have to pretend like I was dead to my village, that I was no longer a samurai – perhaps a Ronin at best – and would never again be one from now on, and that I was now a blood-thirsty monster. Again I sighed, getting up, and began to gather up the bodies so I could get rid of the evidence. After disposing of the dead ninjas, I started laying out things that would make the people in my village believe the ninjas had actually captured me, since many knew I came to that place to meditate. I stuck shuriken in a few trees, tossed my bloody and shredded shirt to the side, left my swords unsheathed and strewn about the place, and a couple other minute things. When done and satisfied, I waited around up in a tree until the sun began to set and the impending darkness was looming. It was at the point where the sun just barely peaked above the horizon and the shadows were threatening to swallow up the world that a couple of young men from my village that I knew very well came looking for me. When they noticed my bloody shirt and the ninja shuriken, they began crying out my name in hopes that I was nearby, merely wounded. Their hope turned to despair when they could not find me, so they gathered up my swords and shirt and various other belongings and headed back home, heads lowered in sadness. I remained in the tree, way up by the top and embedded deep with in the leady canopy when last light fell upon the land. My skin began go burn and itch, everything touched by the light, and I writhed in agony for a while until the darkness was complete. A few hours later, as I sat up in the tree, my mother appeared, softly calling my name. I jumped down near her when she got to my tree, and she frown at my bloody, bedraggled appearance, then she smiled and embraced me in one of the most comforting hugs I had ever experienced. I asked her what I was going to do now. She told me I must go to my father, as much as she hated him, while she stayed to play the mourning mother until she could believably move on and leave the village. I only nodded, for I knew she was right, though I did not want to leave. On the way home, so I could gather some supplies, she told me the vampire basics – feed when hungry, never reveal yourself to mortals unless necessary, beware of first and last light – and told me how to find my birth father. I guess I had met him when I was young, about 6 or 7, but I did not remember. I departed that very night for Germany, where my father was currently residing, and after a long trek by boat, horse, and foot I found him. Surprised to see me, I related my story to Kevin and for the next couple of years I lived and learned from him. I met the Elders very early on, quickly gaining their interest and trust since I often worked by my father’s side for them. I learned all about the Ancients and the Dothacho and even learned the Ancient language. My mother eventually sent word to me that she had moved to Edo/Tokyo and was awaiting my return home. Though I enjoyed those few years with my father, I went back to Japan and lived with my mother. It was after about 100 years or so into my immortal life when the Elders beckoned me. Again I went to Germany to the Dotacho’s main gathering point and the Elders assigned me a job within the clan. One of their Elite Three had died, and I was to be her replacement. I was told the job details and told that I was a secret to everyone – friends, family, lovers – everyone but the Elders and I was to only answer to the Elders and the other two Elite. I was soon introduced to the other two Elites; Jai, a Chinese vampire who I had known since I was a young mortal child and who was a rouge ninja that had been protecting my village at times, and Tsung, a Japanese vampire who had been a mercenary pretty much his whole life and frankly scared me a little. I spent ten straight years with them, living in Europe and only visiting home and mother a couple of times. The three of us did terrible things to the vampires and humans the Elders assigned us to hunt down, but we did our jobs well and that is all that mattered. Eventually we were called on less and less, allowing us to lead our own lives and mother to enjoy my company once more. And up until a month or so ago, I was still in the Elite Three. Now, with Tsung dead by my hand, my mother murdered, and the King Lestat taking charge over the last surviving Elder Lady Feria, Jai and I have been relieved of our “Asian Assassins” positions, as we called ourselves, and have been offered less violent and more appealing positions within the Dotacho clan. And as I deal with the memories and the pain, I am happy with my immortal life and await the adventures that the rest of eternity and my new lover with surely bring.