Forty years had passed.

Forty years since all was lost. Forty years without a trace of age upon him.

An unreturnable past. An unforgiving future. An unremorseful present. And no way to reverse the evil that had been wrought.

No way to return to the past.

No blade to strike down the evil.

No hope to set things right.

Nothing. Forty years of nothing.

It was the same nothing that had him riding through the barren mountains, too low for snow to collect and too high to allow the comfort of travel. Neither mattered to him.

The motor roared as he continued on the path through the mountains, beaten and drenched from years of wear and travel. The wheels of his vehicle found little resistance in moving forward. He found little reason to pay attention.

The peaks of mountains slowly crawled past him, a testament to their size, despite their height. The shadows of the younger mountain tops were cast again their taller brethren, signaling the coming end to the day.

It was still hours off, still too far away for him to care. He only breathed a slow sigh in the chilled mountain air, continuing forward. The only thing he could do.

Clouds crawled above him, closer than they ever would be from a valley's pit, but further than he may ever reach. The sun was too far gone in the sky to allow them to bloat the mountains with their shade.

He could not look away from the path, or else crash. He could listen to anything else, or not hear an ambush. He could not think of anything. There was nothing to think of.

Nothing, as much as there was nothing that could be done. Nothing to save anyone.

Help us.

His hands gripped the brakes of his vehicle, harshly.

The wheels skidded across the stone road, tearing up pebbles only to throw them into the valley below. Quickly, the bike came to a stop. Hastily, he jumped from the seat.

His boots hit the hard rock of the mountain road, armor clanking as he did so. The tall helmet on his head swayed, but it remained taught atop his head.

The wind blew across the mountains, breaking against him like waves on a rock. He did not move, he did not speak. He only focused forward.

Like the metal he wore, he remained stiff and planted upon the mountain road, staring at the vast mountain range and its shallow valley. Dust crawled through the air, like the clouds high above, swept by the whistling winds.

But there was nothing more. Nothing to reveal his tainted soul.

Where are you?

He turned, twisting to follow the voice.

His breath became harsh, his fists clenched. There was nothing. He saw nothing. Just mountains that were too short to break the clouds, valleys too shallow to cause fright from falling. He was alone, as he had always been.

He shut his eyes, thinking of the same nothing he had until now. The same nothing he was left with. There was no one, because there was nothing.

We need you!

He opened his eyes and looked at the mountains. He saw the shadows of the young peaks cast over the taller heads, a silhouette made by the sun.

And each one holding a head of his clan.

"No," he spoke simply, staring with wide eyes at the impossible sight.

The father who had taught of him honor and the sword. His mother who had taught him of love and compassion. His sensei who had taught him the martial arts. His master who had taught him the bow. His onderwyser who had taught him the staff.

Masters lost to the past. Leaders he had abandoned. Failures he failed to face.

Sins of his neglect.

They were all heads caught by the shadows of the mountain, staring at him from tall peaks, leering at him with angry eyes. Eyes of betrayal, of pain, of hate.

Eyes focused on him.

You aren't here.

We need you.

Come back!

Why didn't you come!

We are suffering in your neglect!

Save us!

"I have not abandoned you!" He yelled to the mountains, throwing his arms as he yelled to the heads of his family. "Aku has taken everything! I am searching for a way back!"

You are running!

Coward!

You only seek solitude!

"No! I do not!" His feet shuffled on the stone, boots sliding over gravel.

The heads were looming, demanding, soul-gazing. They saw his betrayal, his failure, his inadequacies, his neglect, his indifference. Every mountain peak now gazed at him. Everyone stared down at him. Demanding from him.

There was no escape from the mountains that surrounded him, from the shadows casted upon them, upon him. Their words were cutting, their demands true. And their conclusion absolute.

He twisted again, turning to face the path he had rode from, the sure exit from the madness of the mountains, from the demand of the peak top shadows. He could return from whence he came, leave the cursed mountains behind.

But he saw not a clear path. He saw not a shadow.

He saw an Omen in wait.

An Omen draped in smoke of green and with eyes demanding retribution.

"NO!" He shouted only thus before jumping once more onto his bike.

The engine roared to life before he was secured in its seat. The wheels skidded and beat against the dirt before his feet reached the pedals. Dust from the mountain road was thrown to the air as he roared down the path, running from shadows that crawled from the mountains at his side, at his back, all around him.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" He yelled into the wind.

He screamed to silence the cruel words of truth, to beat away the harsh reminders of his failure.

He was no samurai. He was no savior.

He was no hero.

He could only run from the truth that lurked behind him, from an Omen that followed the stench of his apathy and betrayal. Running, it was all he could do.

And he ran on a bike that roared like a beast of legend. He ran into the wind and through the shallow mountain range.

But it was never far enough.

Only as the sun began to push itself over the edges of the horizon, as the stars began to peak across the sky, only then did the shadows leave him alone. Alone with nothing but his screams.

And the road continued on through the shallow mountains, rising to the highest peak of the range. His vehicle climbed dutifully, even as he offered it no rest. It scaled the increasingly uneven rock of the mountain road, swaying only when he failed to offer it direction.

And nearest the peak of the mountain, the tallest of the shallow range, did he stop the bike once more. Again, he dismounted. Again, he set his feet on solid stone. But now, no voices called out to him.

Only the stars in the sky stared at him, no shadows around to chase his soul, no eyes to stare into his failures.

He slowly unclenched his hands, realizing only now the force he gripped them min. Slow breaths worked through way through his lungs, easing the fear and trepidation that had gripped him. He was stifled only by his armor, a prison of his choosing.

His armor was dusty from the hasty retreat, stained the color of the mountain dust, no longer the dull gray of its usual sheen.

Now he had blotches of brown upon his otherwise kept steel, blotted about his armor as mistakes were upon his past. A past he could not correct, could not chase, and could not return to.

More of the nothing he would never gain again.

Never again.

"…again…"

Jack opened his eyes. His fists clenched and chest seized. Immediately, his eyes searched the range of mountains, looking for the monuments to his sins. But he saw nothing.

He saw the shallow peaks compared to the mountain his stood on. He saw a forest of red leaves coated and forgotten under a night's sky. He saw a bridge of natural make. He saw stars of uncountable number.

"… unacceptable… perfect…"

But he still heard the voice.

A voice filled with demand, with anger, with reminders of failure. The same voice that would mark the mars upon his soul, that would shine light upon the cowardice that were his actions.

But no faces rose to join the voice. No reminders of his past far from forgotten. It was a voice, and only a voice.

"… lesson… one not to be…"

But the voice spoke on. One of a harsh tutor amid their craft. The mountains hid the voice, but the winds carried the words.

His tempered his breathing, controlling his breath to match the wisps off the wind. Breath in when the air swept close. Let out when he rushed by.

"… You would do well to heed Aku's Blessings."

His concentration broke.

Eyes opened with the swiftness of the wind he listened to, muscles stiffening to match the armor he wore, fists clenched to match the strength the mountain he stood on.

He knew not the speaker, he knew not the reason, but he knew the name. The name of the great evil that had wrought his darkness, the shogun of sorrow that had offered no mercy.

The being that chocked the past, present, and future.

His blessings were being offered.

His failures were being shared.

"They are bountiful… plentiful… endless…"

Time could not be wasted.

He moved to his bike, undoing the latches that hid his tools. His bow staff, compressed and belittled, was place on his belt. The pistol, crude and powerful, was set in its holster. Grenades, loud and merciless, were thrown over his shoulder.

It was all he had. The little in the nothingness that was his life.

He was ready.

The mountains are steep and unforgiving, nature's way to claim the lives of fools who dared to march on its monuments. A miss-step meant a fall that none could survive. A loose rock could mean an avalanche that would mountains in rubble.

The fleeing light did nothing to aid him. The same nothing that remained in all.

Dark rocks hid themselves in shadows, damp spots on the mountain hidden as dry footholds. No foliage grew to hinder his path, but neither did any grow to make his descent safer. Only rock and stone followed him down. Only that, and nothing more.

He traversed the unsteady terrain, off the beaten path of the mountain's well-worn road. He would not find the worshippers of Aku at the mountain's peak. They would be dwelling at base of the peaks.

Or buried within caverns of their own creation.

"Faster. Faster Ahi, or else the coals will burn."

His boots slid across the stone of the mountain's uneven surface, dust and gravel pushed aside. Only training kept his footing sure. Only experience he now loathed to possess.

The mountains loomed over him the further he crawled down. Subtle peaks before now lorded over him, demanding tribute to their height as he slunk into the shadows. He offered none, least now of all.

The coarse material of his gloves gripped only sure rocks, free of dust and loose stone. He released his hold only when his footing was equally as certain, making his descent into darkness the same as before.

Quick and efficient.

"Weak Ami, Aku laughs at your ignorance."

The light of the stars quickly fell to nothing the further he crawled down the mountain. They turned the light brown of the mountains peaks to a stained dark, to a shadow's wisp.

It was a change he was familiar with. He was familiar with. It was one he had experienced more than any other before him.

No monster or creature of Aku's domain dared to exist in the light, not for long. They made use of dark fire, they worshipped unholy light. Only the darkness was their savior, and so they would do all they could to hide from the light.

He knew this, because he was familiar with it.

It was a testament to his mournful soul.

"Beware negligence, Avi. Your foes will not offer peace for your mistakes."

And these dark beings continued to chant his evils.

The voice was as sure as the rocks he climbed, no longer broken on the whispers of the wind. It was audible and it was close.

His body swung from a high rock, twisting in midair to land surely on a small plateau of stone. He rose quickly from the position, eyes shut and head tilted.

The wind was light in bowels of the mountain, but it was not gone. And though the voice was clearer, it was fainter. The difference between a far way mountain and a nearby river.

But nothing was free from the world of nature, not evil nor good. Both existed in the same plane, though the lord which to the other was obvious. He only needed to listen, and he would hear.

"Aphi, you are losing focus. Do you wish to lose your life with it?"

There.

His head turned towards the voice, towards a dark innocuous wall of the mountain. It was the direction of the voice, but not the source.

His boots clicked against the stone of the mountain base as he walked towards it, eyes useless in the narrow light. Instead, he placed his gloves upon the wall, feeling along the coarse edges.

Dust fell as his hand slid over the material, moving away years of nature's work in his search. The path of his palms was slow across the surface, patient, searching for what could be hiding in the dark corners of the mountain range.

"Your stance is wrong Aki. Correct it or surrender."

Evil lurked in the darkness. It was its cloak, its dagger, its vehicle, its tool. He knew well the malleability of such a thing. He knew it was well as he feared it.

Click

His hand stopped. His eyes vainly opened.

His left palm was pressed on a switch, an indent that was far from natural in the otherwise unmarred stone. It was made by the creation of something ill natural, something the stone would not create alone.

It was his way in. It was his method of entry. Dark eyes narrowed in the looming shadows of the mountain's mass.

"Dodge! Foolish Adi! Do you want to disgrace your lord!"

His right hand reached for the pistol in its holster, the crude tool with effective means. He could fire it in the dark, he could hit the foul creatures. They would be no more.

He had to be quick though. Monsters of the dark knew how to hide in it well. When the door opened, they would run or attack, both before he could see them.

He would have to listen. He would have to react. Or else they would be the one to claim him.

"A mistake is failure. Be perfect Ashi."

Clack

With a press of the button, the wall to the mountain slid open.

It was fast, efficient, the same as all the machines he had fought before, the same as all the machines he had destroyed before. The same that he was used to fighting.

He stepped inside slowly, each foot fall sure and measured. His ears were his eyes, his eyes were his guide. He listened where he could not see, and watched for what could not be heard.

The interior was the darkness he knew it to be, incomplete but no less corrupting.

Harsh red light glowed upon the edges of the walls, flickering like waves. It showed the jagged edges of the mountain's inner walls, like the gnashing teeth of creatures on deep. What the red light did not touch was kept in darkness.

It was a light born from cooled embers and flickering flames, grasping at the last few twigs that were held in their piles. Like fish gasping for breath, the red light rose and fell from the embers, not flames.

He entered the darkness, keeping his body still the few times the red light swam over his body. It silhouetted his armor. It hid his features, covered his being. But it far from concealed him.

He was no mountain. And he was not still as stone.

"Stop."

The command was simple, and meant not for him. He continued to move through the shadows, holding as the light danced over him.

The walls twisted ahead, as the difference in light showed. He still had seen no creatures of darkness nor machines of ill intent. Only jagged walls, chocked embers, and his own shadow watching his trek.

He made sure not to make a sound as he approached the walls edge, to where the light was brighter, clearer, and more malevolent.

"You have improved, marginally. Not nearly enough to be prepared."

Jack slowly turned his head, peeking into the area beyond.

He saw a cavern far more open that the tunnel he had approached from. Walls stretched high as the mountain surface he climbed, pits ran deep as the valley he had yet to explore. Their depths and height toward about it.

Every surface was jagged and cut, a sign of nature's quick dismissal of the place, not even caring to leave water behind. It was forged by fire, earth, and wind, left now only to the creatures of dark to live within.

Pillars were mounted about the chasm, each higher and more malicious than the last. No footholds to climb, only spikes to impale. The chasms in the cavern had less mercy to offer, spikes beneath appearing to beg for unfortunate souls.

And all was doused in the light of red. Dark flames that stood on thin pillars about the room. Each swayed with the life the embers before could not muster, all revealing the dark shapes that stood about the room.

They were figures he loathed to look at.

Colored of darkness, formed of malice, they stood with robes of shadow about their figures, dull horns of evil praise about their heads. In a half-circle they stood, watching something he could not see, staring at something he cared not for.

His eyes narrowed as he watched them, memorizing their appearance. It was a shape easy to burn into his memory.

For on the far wall, lurking over all else, was the statue he loathed the most.

Aku, the Shogun of Sorrow.

"Aku's strength is given only to the strong, to those who are perfect."

He focused on the voice, watching one of the dark creatures rise as it spoke.

It had the same horns as the others, the same dark dress that fell into the shadows, and the same blank face. The same face of nothingness. A staff was carried in her hand, thin and long like the figure that held it.

It was a Priestess by design. A worshiper of the worst of kind, for the worst kind.

"Do you wish to neglect your master?"

It spoke towards the ground, in the circle the other figures huddled before, beneath the gaze of the demon's statue. They were not looking towards him. No eyes were on him in the shadows.

He moved quickly from the wall, moving with quick yet practiced steps towards the pillar closest to him, the column of stone and thorns. He reached it quickly, armor not making a sound.

"Do you desire to witness the consequence of carelessness?"

The flames flickered again. He ran in their inattention. The stone did not betray him. He reached the next pillar without a sound, closer to the robed figures of darkness, to the creatures of shadow.

And the closer he drew to them, the larger Aku's gaze became.

He had to focus. His gun was quickly holstered, back on his waist, secure in movement.

As he had descended the mountain, he swiftly began to climb. The pillar of stone was between him and the dark monsters, the shadows draped over the side he had chosen.

The horns of the column were long and sharp, but his experience was honed and steep. His rough gloves grasped the dry thorns and pulled him up, boots pushing against the stone as he passed. No sound came from him.

Sound only came from the cracking flames and the creature's voice.

"If you wish to honor your master, to prove your worth, then you must dedicate yourself."

His hand tightly grasped the top of the column, smooth stone that was opposite the jagged rocks had climbed up. He did not pull his body up. He pushed with his feet. He prevented the metal of his armor from revealing him.

And atop the pillar, he could see the creatures below. They had not seen him.

Masks of white with dots for eyes, all the same, all equal. None looking at him, all looking down.

Down at blots of darkness on the floor, huddled shapes that were likely their kin. It mattered not what they were. They were just more creatures of darkness, more tools of destruction.

Dark and evil. Nuts and bolts. All the same.

"For only he sees all, but care to notice only those who climb above the weak."

He could feel the small warmth of the torches heat his armor, one close to him now. It silhouetted a part of his armor, showing the truth of who he was. The other hid him in shadows, letting only the true color of his soul be shown.

The dark beings beneath were bathed in the light of the torches, but still as hidden as the darkness they clothed themselves in. The cracked floor of the cavern was jagged beneath them.

The dark muddled figures on the floor made whimpering sounds. He did not pay attention.

"For only through dedication can you hope to slay our master's true enemy."

He slowly drew his gun, aware that only a glance would reveal him now.

A twist of a single head, a glance from one eye, and they would see him crouched on the pillar above them. Not even the shadows could hide him.

Not a sound came from him. Only crackling flames filled the cavern's walls as the creatures continued to stand about one another, under the gaze of their master.

The walls did not have time to whisper warnings, caught between the harsh shadows and dull light of the torches. It left him unapproachable, undeterred atop the monsters of darkness.

He slowly aimed his pistol at the leader, holding the staff as she spoke to blots of shadow on the floor.

"Now stand."

His thumb flicked the safety of the pistol, loosening the gears within. It would fire now. And when it did, it would end the existence of one of the dark creatures.

Then he would hunt them, as he had before. He only needed to wait.

He needed to wait for them to be vulnerable.

CRACK

"Stand!"

The Priestess's voice yelled the command as the spear shattered the ground beneath. There was strength to be had there.

But the figures in the half-circle were moving now, separating from one another. One shape became three, then five, then seven. Seven figures that looked only slightly different from the monsters in the oval.

They were smaller, thinner, weaker, and coated in shadows, not draped in them. But there was another feature about them he could not ignore, one that still the finger draped along his gun's trigger.

They had faces, not masks.

They were the faces of children.

"Good," the leader spoke again. "Now, once more. Are you weak?"

They were children?

He stared with wide eyes, gun forgotten in his hand. The light of the fire gave shape to each of their faces, to all their misery.

Lips were pulled in frowns of pain, eyes were clenched with hurt and dismay, limbs were stiff with exhaustion and fear.

And slowly, like the breaths he forced himself to take, blood dripped from their open wounds.

Slowly, hauntingly, he watched blood drip from their petite forms to the cracked stone of the cavern. The flames illuminated their path, bore witness to their fall, and glorified the dead stone it landed on.

Blood. Human.

Not oil, not water, not any of odd liquid that stained the metal of the machines. Red, viscous blood.

They were human.

"Are. You. Weak?"

They were human children.

They were young girls, little ones, cloaked in darkness and beaten with fresh wounds. Tears mixed with sweat, glistening as they fell from their faces, staining the dry cavern they were huddled within.

The fire offered no kindness or secrecy to their pain. It hid none of their torment. But it did hide him. It hid him as he watched the children suffer, cry, and endure the screams of the leader of the monsters.

"Answer. Are you weak?"

But the monsters were human, too.

The monsters, the Priestess… women… were they family? Were they mothers? Sisters? Loved ones? Loved at all?

What were these creatures of shadow and darkness? Were they human at all?

Their masks hadn't changed, the shadows hadn't moved, but they were no longer creatures of darkness. The room had not grown, the walls had not been raised, but he felt as if he were dropping.

The fires crackled with greater intensity, pockets of air erupting in the coals of the flames. It existed only to show the apathy of the masks the taller ones wore, the disdain their dark robes had. It was born to show clearer the pain of the children, the suffering of their lives.

Suffering occurring within his gaze, within his reach.

And he was doing nothing.

Nothing, the same as he always did.

"Are you weak!?"

Are you afraid!?

The gun waved in his hand, clanking against the armor of his glove. His eyes stared from the children, to the figures of darkness, to the little ones, to the women garbed in shadows.

They were human. They were not monsters. They were not machines.

He had never killed a human before. He had never taken a life born free of Aku before.

SMACK

"ARE YOU WEAK?!"

ARE YOU SCARED?!

He watched as the leader landed a blow against one of the children, against one of the little ones. She let out a gasp of pain, leaving the ground long enough to tumble through the air.

The child hit the cracked ground without mercy, dust billowing after her. She did not rise. She did not cry.

The others did not follow.

"You disgrace Aku."

You betrayed us.

The leader walked towards the fallen child, the little one who let out not even a whimper of pain following the assault.

Her footsteps echoed as if it were the hammer upon an anvil, forging the cruelest of weapons. Her staff clicked next to her, the water that tempered the metal.

The child twisted upon the cracked red floor, body outlined by the torches around them, showing only what the shadows did not want.

It showed the pain upon her face, the fear in her eyes, and the misery of her life.

"You can't grace our master."

You can't save anyone

The Priestess stood over the child.

The child looked past her.

The child gazed at him, and he gazed back.

The crackling of the flames was muted as their eyes stared at one another. The shadow and light blended in the deep cavern. All of it became one, and all of it fell away.

It left only him and her, only he with a soul of black, staring at a child, kept from light.

She was the fern that was forgotten beneath the mighty oaks. She was the pebble forgotten against the mountain. She was the steel used for war, not for peace.

He could see it clearly in her gaze, hear it through the silence of her voice. She was nothing that these monsters… women wanted her to be.

There was no joy for her to celebrate, not even hope for her to imagine. She had been raised in the shadows, kept in the shadows, and coiled by the shadows.

She, and the sisters near her. They were all innocents. They were all tortured. And they were all asking for a thing they could not imagine.

They were asking for help.

"You don't honor Aku."

You can't save her.

He was still doing nothing.

He was still committed to inaction. He had nothing, but he was something. Something that would not stand for what he was witnessing, and even a broken code demanded recompense from.

They were children. They were innocent. And they were meant to be guarded from the terrors of the darkness. He knew this.

For he was a samurai.

"And you cannot defeat-"

BANG!

The blast from his gun flew true, striking towards the woman of darkness, the one who held a child like a tool. It was poised to strike her turned head, to end her torture of an existence.

TWANG!

But like a spun dial, the Priestess twisted on her heel, slapping away the charge from his gun with the edge of her lance. It flew through the dark cavern, slamming into a far wall, and imploding on impact.

Dust and rubble fell away, covering the area of the cavern afflicted. But he did not look towards it. None of the woman garbed in black with masks of white did either. None of the children did either.

He only gazed at them, and them at him.

"Samurai Jack!"

The leader yelled, pointing her staff towards him, voice high and shrill. Her hand turned to a claw, talons reared back as if ready to strike. There was no doubt she would do just that.

The others in the room soon joined, bodies in dark cloaks hunching towards the ground, arms reaching out to grab at weapons around them, tools hidden from the torches' light. They were preparing to kill him. They were getting ready to end him.

He did the same unto them.

His pistol was put away, too dangerous a weapon with the children in the room. Jack's grenades were the same. Only a small miss-fortune would lead to the death of an innocent, to another stain on his soul.

Jack had only one tool that would do well in the dark cavern walls, between the high pillars and cracked totems.

His lance, to match the Priestess's own.

The flames of the torches crackled with energy, the truest sign that a battle had begun.

He jumped from the pillar above the women, unsheathing his staff as he did so. It extended as he flew, hair rushing past his armor and helm. At the apex of his jump, the base was out. As he began to fall, the spears at the tip were extended.

His feet hit the ground first, lowering himself into a crouch just as swiftly. A blade flew over his head, ringing in the cavern as it did so.

He jerked his arms towards the blade's owner, earning the dull resistance of impact. The sound of a collapsing body met his ears.

But Jack wasted no time. Never again. He thrust his lance forward, aiming but missing at another white masked woman. She had a katana to swing at him. But she did not.

Instead, another woman to the side swung at him, a pair of sais in her hand. The first bounced off his armor, too weak and shallow to break his armor. The second locked on his Sode, holding Jack in place. But hardly that.

He swung his opposite arm, fist meeting the mask of the woman and quickly sending her away, but he followed. He spun with the sai still trapped in his armor, ensnaring the woman, and keeping her from escape.

He could strike her twice more, both times with his unarmed hand. It was more than enough for the woman to release him, form crumbling as if she had returned to the shadows.

A kusarigama flew past his head, missing Jack's armor, and face. It was an intentional miss. He knew this as soon as his eyes spied the taunt chain.

He bent his body backwards, dodging the sickle that was quickly pulled back into the shadows, his head. Had he not done so, it would have taken his head. But dodging an attack was not enough. He needed to strike.

Bent backwards, he twisted his staff until the butt of it cracked against the dry rock of the cavern, putting his weight onto it. Jack's strength easily allowed him to push himself off the ground, the staff his only connection to the earth.

CRACK

A kanabo slammed into the floor where he just stood, shattering the stone into dust. His armor would not have survived a blow from the device. But the woman wielding it likely could not either.

He pulled back on his lance, taking it from the earth, but putting his body into a spin. It was quick and intentionally, moving all of his force to a single point. That being the edge of his lance.

In time with him landing, completing a full summersault, he drove his lance forward again, aiming at the woman holding the kanabo. Resistance was his reward.

It was heavy, deep, likely the chest of the woman he had struck. It had taken from her life, and given him time. But not enough to dodge another of the dark robed woman.

A lance wracked down Jack's back, sending him forward and loosening his Do. But it was shallow. It gave him time to jump forward, under a torch that lit up the cavern.

His body spun on the ground, the gravel and dust of the mountain's core letting him slide across its surface. Jack stopped only when his stance was sure, two feet planted upon the ground, lance in hand, and helm upon his head.

He was offered only a moment of reprieve, enough time for him to note that he was free of the shadows, and the women currently swimming in them. Only the light of the torch shone on him. It would not dare touch the humans who chose darkness.

"Kill him! Kill the Samurai!"

You killed us! You killed us, Son!

The Priestess's words echoed in his mind. But Jack focused on the shadows instead.

His lance swung forward, blocking the katana of one woman that reached from the dark. His positions the rear of the staff between his chest and arm, swinging the pole in a half circle. The shadows moved in kind, the woman hiding in it jumping above his strike.

It was not enough, not for him.

He pushed forward, reaching, and grabbing at the leg of the robed woman. She was light and easy to carry. That meant easy to swing.

Jack leaned back, pulling the woman forward and into the light of the fire. His lance became a counter balance to the woman. It was more than enough to build momentum, to turn the torturer into a tool.

Her body whipped around him, the robe she wore reducing her ability to fight back. The swinging kept her fellow worshippers from attacking. Neither would last long.

"Gha!" He yelled out as he threw the woman with a single arm, stopping his own spin with the butt of his lance.

He heard her sail through the air, bone and limbs cracking against a far wall or pillar. It was not a soft landing, and he had not thrown her with anything less than his full strength.

That was not to consider the spikes that lined the columns and walls.

THUNK

Jack's world was rocked as something heavy slammed against his head. He was not prepared for it.

His helm flew from its post, clattering across the dry rock. It slid from the light, into the shadows, and out of sight.

The shadows were against him. So, he would invite the light.

Jack's lance swung back, notching itself on the pole that held one of the fires. A twist of his wrist sent the device tipping over, spilling its embers and coals onto the rocky surface of the mountain's cavern.

Like a wave crashing into a beach, the fire exposed the women hiding in the shadows. It's flash of light showed them all to him. He memorized everyone.

A woman with a bow and arrow.

A woman with a katana.

A woman with a pair of sais.

A woman with a hole in her stomach.

A woman with a wound through her neck.

A woman hanging from a column of spikes.

And the Priestess standing with her staff ready.

Jack had taken three lives. And he would take four more.

They had taken his helm, Tare, and the Kusari of his right arm. They had left his face with wounds, blood dripping into the hair on his face. Sweat stuck the mane that fell from his head. His breathing was calm, his strength undaunted.

The embers of the fire quickly dimmed, no longer a collective to spread the light. And as the light dimmed, the same-faced women fell back into the shadows. When they were hidden, they would attack.

Jack readied his staff once more, gripping it tightly through his gloves.

The coals of the lantern hissed, smothering the remains of the flames. The portion of the cavern they stood in once more fell to darkness.

TWANG

Sparks flew and died in front of him, something hard and metallic colliding with his staff. It illuminated Jack's face, it showed the dark garbed woman. Than nothing.

He swung into the darkness, lowering his stance for balance. Jack's lance swam through the dry air, but collided with nothing. He pulled it back immediately.

TWANG

No sooner did he do so than did a sai collide with it. He saw the robed woman low the ground, running like a snake, in the light of the embers. She disappeared with the fire.

Jack ducked, balancing himself on his staff as he fell close to the ground. He heard something fly above his head, where his helm used to stand. Its path was arced, controlled. It was a mistake.

He twisted the lance, letting his weight fall to the bedrock. It allowed him to swing his staff in a full circle, reaching the woman that was doubtlessly behind him.

TWANG

It collided with her katana, showering the darkness with the quick fire of sparks once more. It showed her uneven posture, her surprise even through a mask of white. It showed Jack's strength.

He reached forward with his foot, finding a place behind the foot of the woman. He pulled, feeling her balance thrown in the darkness. The sound of her body hitting the ground was audible.

As audible as the whistling in the dark. An arrow from the third woman of shadows.

Jack flipped backwards, avoiding another tool that aimed to take his life. His armor clanked heavily as he landed, but he landed unharmed. The arrow did not find home in him.

A sai belonging to another of the woman did.

Jack's teeth grit as the tip of the steel found home in his arm, in the hole of armor left by the loss of his Kusari. It was a mistake on his part, but he could correct this.

He dropped his lance, letting gravity take hold of it. He reached for the weapon embedded in his arm, finding the write of the woman who wielded it.

With the speed the darkness allowed, that his armor forgave, he pulled the woman forward, slamming his head into her mask. No sparks flew, but the damage was evident.

The sound of cracked porcelain falling upon the rock floor filled the cavern, but not a sight of it being offered to the light. It was good, but not enough.

Enough was the whistling of another arrow.

Jack released the woman, twisting his body with his arm crooked towards his head. He quickly felt the arrow embed itself into his opposite Kusari, splintering the metal and tangling in his Kote. It did not hurt.

He quickly pulled the rod out, holding it above his head and thrusting it downward.

TWANG

It was ripped from his grip a katana colliding with its steel point. The sparks that flew showed him kneeling over a woman with a cracked mask, another swinging with a strong arc, and his next tool to strike.

His free arm grabbed the sai that was by his knee, illuminated by the now dead sparks. He grabbed it in the same motion with which he thrust forward, ramming it into the katana wielding woman.

Resistance was his reward, and another life upon his soul.

CRUNCH

Jack grit his teeth, pushing away from the blow that had hit him. It had his neck, crushing his Tare. The pieces of metal that made up the precious part of his armor fell to the bedrock, useless.

And he was still caught in shadow, hidden in shadow.

That had to change. But he needed an out, an escape. The shadows were possessive and greedy, unwilling to let go what they had. The women were a part of that monstrosity.

But his way came through another flying arrow. It was loud, obvious, even in the dark. It made it perfect.

His arm extended and hand twisted towards the flying steel, letting it sail into the pocket he had created. A quick grip of his gloves and the shaft was caught, stopping the point from striking true. But he had not time to hesitate.

Jack pivoted on his foot, twisted the arrow till it resembled a dagger in his hand. His momentum carried with the movement, hidden by the shadows. Leaning forward he swung his arm, throwing the dagger through the air.

It flew true, hitting a hanging pot, spilling its contents to the floor.

Coals, embers, and the fires they birthed fell to the rocky bed of the mountain's cavern. As it has before, the walls were lit with the red light of the fire.

It showed the red spikes of the tall columns, the steep height of the cavern walls, and the fresh liquid that poured about the once dry rocky floor.

Only three of the women remained.

The one bearing the katana ran at him, feet soundless as she charged. It mattered not at all, not while Jack could see her. Even as she struck out, her porcelain face was free of emotion.

It remained just the same when he caught the blade between his hands.

The sharpness of the blade cut into his gloves tearing, into the threads of the fabric. It was more than enough to have shaved off his skin had they not been there.

But they were there, and as such, Jack caught her blade.

His arms jerked quickly, putting his weight along the flat of the blade, twisting it harshly. The blade was pulled up and out of the woman's hands, her darkened garbed fingers unable to hold a grip on the hilt.

But Jack had no such problems, not with his armor.

The blade spun towards him, and he grabbed the hilt of it before even a half- circle had been spun. The woman backed away, silently still. But he would not.

Perhaps she had an expression of fear under her mask. Perhaps she was begging with wet eyes for him to cease his strike. But he would not.

She had come prepared to kill, and so she must be prepared to die.

The blade drove through the woman's torso, ripping out of her side. Jack shut his eyes as the strike finished, blinding himself to the life he had taken, to the blood he had spilled. He could hear both.

Just as he could hear the arrow being fired at him once more. But with just a small opening of his eyes, a glance from his once closed lids, he could see it coming.

He did not simply dodge it, and he did more than merely catch it. Jack did what most had called impossible.

He twisted the katana in his hand, placing it in a familiar hold he was haunted by. He lifted the steel, aligning it with the arrow that flew towards him. He kept his eyes shut.

Jack felt the arrow strike his blade. He felt it at the speed he observed the moon to fly with. It grated along the steel of the unfamiliar katana, its path bending only slightly. Its momentum was unchanged.

His hand twisted the blade, pushing the flat against the arrow as his body bent opposite of it. The arrow continued its path, already out of reach to him. But Jack was not done.

As the arrow continued to ride the steel of the katana, he gripped the guard with both hands. His body swung in tandem with the blade, guiding the path of the arrow now. An arrow thrown by a bow, but now directed by steel.

Jack felt the arrow lifting away from the katana, just in time as well. He flicked the arrow back at the dark robed woman, watching her expressionless mask remain as such as the arrow returned to her.

It flew into the hole of her mask. Blood flew out in turn. She fell to the red bed rock, staining it the same color.

Now only one remained.

Only the Priestess with a soul to match his own.

She stood across the fallen flames, burning coal and embers littering the rock between them. He stood with his armor torn, a foreign katana in his hand, held in a familiar way.

He stood across from her, the shadows silhouetting his appearance to her. She stood with her staff tightly clenched, posture hidden in the depths of her dark robe.

The fire crackled between them, the only sound in the mountain's cavern. No wind flicked at his exposed hair. No pebbles fell and clattered with the stone. It was only the fire that kept the noise away. Only the fire.

But it did not last.

The Priestess jumped first, fast, an example of what one could be with the shadows. Her spear was held back, ready to thrust towards Jack's head. But she had made a mistake.

She was a member of the darkness. But she was exposed to the light.

Her advantage was gone.

TWANG

Jack slapped the Priestess's staff away with a quick swing. He followed quickly with another of his own, aiming for her vulnerable neck. But he felt no resistance.

The woman had fallen into a crouch, dodging the blow with ease. She kicked out with her feet, attempting to drip him. But it did not work. His armor was too heavy, his stance too sure.

He swung again, twice now at her, but both missed again. Like the shadows she wore, she swam through the blows expertly, flipping back and landing with a crouch, staff at the ready.

Again, she charged, and again she failed.

TWANG TWANG

He swung once, twice, deflecting the sharp end of her rod, then the butt she attempted to swing at him. Sparks flew again, muted by the fire. And again, as both attempts to attack him failed, Jack followed through with his own.

He struck forward with his foot, attempting to kick the woman off balance. But she released her staff, allowing her to push off it and out of the way of his strike. She did not waste the momentum.

The Priestess spun quickly, on a heel Jack couldn't swing, once more aiming for his legs. This time, with only a single foot upon the rock and her force increased, it worked.

His orientation was rocked as he fell, ending quickly with him slamming back first onto the rock. His armor did not aid him now. It only added to the weight of the fall, and the exposure he now suffered from.

The Priestess, however, saw her chance. She quickly recovered her lance, jumping into the air with it raised above her head. Jack's eyes refocused quickly, looking up the cavern's high ceiling.

He could not see a top to the cavern. But he could see the Priestess falling towards him.

"Die samurai!" The woman roared as she descended on him. But he was not pinned and she too far away.

He rolled quickly, pulling his arms together and across the bed rock. He heard the stone shatter behind him, dust and pebbles flying just after. His armor would not have held against such a blow.

Jack stopped rolling when he found another weapon, his first weapon, in fact.

He stood quickly, armor ruined and hair mattered, but with his own lance in hand.

The Priestess was charging at him, he knew she would be. She still had not learned of her weakness.

She had spent too much time in the darkness. She did not know how to fight in the light.

TWANG TWANG TWANG TWANG TWANG

Their lances struck one another, quickly and forcefully. Jack gave no ground as the diaphysis of his lance blocked the swings and strikes of the Priestess's. Quick movements, minimal force, just enough to stop her from doing harm.

TWANG TWANG

He did the same unto her, striking with purpose with the butt and front of his lance, aiming for head, neck, and torso. But where his lance was not batted away, the Priestess had dodged with a twirl or low swing.

It felt unending.

His breath was becoming heavy, the heat of the room intense.

Fire without an exit and a battle hard and grueling did not make for a restful body. His teeth grit the longer he held his spear, the more he swung it in defense and attack. Sweat seeped into his fabric, through his hair.

And as the Priestess struck again.

"Gah!"

Blood now mingled into his beard.

It was a shallow wound, hardly worth a thought, but it showed she was not suffering the same as he. She was not tiring in the heat or length of the battle. She was like the darkness, she was like the shadows.

She grew stronger the weaker the light became.

It was not a fight Jack could afford to prolong any further.

He struck out with his lance, aiming high and to the right. The Priestess did as he expected, ducking low and aiming for another strike at his head. She wished to kill, not to injure. So, it was his head.

And so, it was her final mistake.

He tilted his head just enough to dodge the blow, enough for her to be unsteady on her feet while he sure footed and prepared. He dropped his lance once more. Reaching up and grabbing at the staff that had missed him.

The Priestess looked taken aback, even through a porcelain white mask. He did not care to wait for her.

Staff in hand, he struck out with his foot once more. This time, however, he did not kick her body away from him. He instead placed his heavy boot upon the fabric of her robe. It caught her, like a fish in a net.

BAM

He slammed his fist into the woman's chest, feeling the muscles beneath her give way to his own. She was strong, but he was far stronger.

The Priestess lurched with the blow, unprepared and unable to reduce the force of it. But he was not done.

Jack raised his foot from her robe, only to allow him the time to spin. With the techniques instilled to him decades ago, he spun about his heel with flexed legs. At the apex of his spin, he extended his footing outward.

The sole of his boot pounded into the side of the Priestess's head.

Her mask shattered with the blow.

Like a thrown doll, her body tumbled across the stone of the cavern, limbs tangling as she fell into a dark messy pile. She did not move.

But Jack was not done.

He twisted the Priestess's Staff, still held in his hands. He marched towards her fallen body, paying no heed to the collection of plaster white material in his way. He cared not for what she wore, only the deeds she had committed to.

Jack stood above the woman, still a mess on the floor, and not moving at all. Her face was hidden from him, facing away the smoldering fire and covered by the hood of her mask. His snuck his boot to the corner of her shoulder, rolling her over.

And then he could see her face.

Her skin was as white as the mask she wore, and just as flawless. Narrow bones ending at a sharp chin, red lips open and panting with pain. Dark hair, long and matted with sweat, was exposed through the loss of her face. A good majority of it was still hidden in the folds of her robe.

And slowly, clearly painfully, her eyes blinked up at him. Singular dots, small pupils, focused with an intent Jack was familiar with.

He immediately put his boot on her chest, keeping her from moving. Her hands immediately reached for it, grabbing at the ankle of his leg with all the force she could muster. It was hardly enough to lift a stone.

She was too tired to twist his foot. He was too heavy to sneak out of. She was unarmed and unable to fight back.

He had won.

The Priestess looked up at him, teeth grit in a snarl and eyes focused in rage. He had won, but she had not lost.

Then… he had almost won.

Jack raised the spear above his head, aiming it downward. The Priestess did not look away.

The fire was dying now, the coals chilled on the floor and turning the red light into a murky shadow. It silhouetted his form, hiding the pain of his face and damage to his armor. Only his eyes remained to be seen.

Only his eyes focused on her.

"Strike… Kill me if you must, Samurai!" The Priestess spoke to him, body caught beneath his boot. "But you will not last… you cannot run forever. No one can. Only one in all of history is the true master of Time!"

Jack narrowed his gaze at the poor woman, the human corrupted by the dark. His narrowed gaze fell further until his eyes were shut, leaving him with only ears to witness the woman's words.

He silent listed a prayer to his ancestors.

"You will never defeat Master AKU!"

He let her spear fall.

GLERCH

The sound of ripping muscle and bone echoed through the halls of the cavern, through the bloodied spikes of red and over the dimly lit corpses. It was wet and slick, unnerving to listen to. But… it was necessary, in the face of evil.

Jack's breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed, and mind, slowly, uncoiled.

It was done.

He removed his boot from her chest, standing surely on the stone again.

Jack did not look at her. He did not look at the corpse of the mad woman. He didn't need to.

Her blood was already stained on his soul.

He took in a deep breath of air, dry and stained with dust. The staff was released from his hand, letting it fall to the floor in a clutter. He didn't want to hold it.

The fires had all but died now, leaving only the tall torches and shadows in the cavern. The shadows that reclaimed the bodies of the women, hiding them once more from the world.

Seven humans that wore robes of darkness. Seven women that would never return to the light.

Murderer.

Jack heard the shadows whisper, the souls of the women calling the stains on his soul. He shut his eyes, ignoring them. They had no right to judge him.

They had no right, not after what they had done.

He turned his gaze back to the far cavern wall, to the carved stone that held the visage of the Shogun of Sorrow, the Shapeshifting Master of Darkness. To the being the only being that deserved to be loathed more than himself.

His boots clattered on the stone as he walked towards the statue, the light of the torches afraid to touch him. It did not stop him. He had to check on them. He had to check on the children.

The children, garbed as darkly as the women, but without masks of apathy. The children, once more huddled together beneath the statue of Aku. They were shivering together.

Jack slowed as he approached, afraid of frightening the children. They were small, fragile, and had just bore witness to the worst of humanity. He could not, would not, do more than he had done.

When he was finally before, just out of arm's reach, the light of the fire showed him to them, and they to him.

They looked at him, stared, even as they pushed themselves closer together, afraid to be apart. With the red light of the torches, thick shadows of the cavern, and fatigue from the battle, Jack had little ability to see where each of the young ones began and ended.

But he could see their faces, just as clear as their eyes.

Their skin was as white as the masks the women wore, but flawed with red marks and tears. They had narrow bones ending at sharp chins, red lips tightly shut with fright. Dark hair, combed in a variety of ways, were sitting atop of their heads.

Jack's eyes slowly widened the longer he stared at the young girls.

The children.

They were… her children.

Jack watched them, seven of them, huddle together with fear in their eyes. Tears ran down their faces as sobs wracked their chests. They did not run to him, they did not thank him.

Blood still dripped from the wounds inflicted on them, the unforgiveable acts he had witnessed wrought against them. But still they did not smile at him, they did not relax before him.

Children, little ones, beings born into the world by the will and act of another. Born with innocence, tortured for glee, now fearful of all that was.

And he had killed their family. He had killed their mother.

He had killed them.

They hate you.

The shadows spoke to him. Jack looked up, seeing the red eyes staring back at him, tortured souls considering him. Creatures of dark that saw the dark future.

With eyes of red. With hair of flames. With pillars of darkness.

You killed their mothers, samurai. You took their family.

No! He had not! They were no family to these little ones!

Jack's eyes focused on the children once more, still fearful and huddled together. Staring at him, clinging to one another. Staring… at him.

Fearful of him.

The shadows leered at him, their joy above the children's sorrow. Their anger upon his unworthy soul.

Why would they trust you? Why would they thank you?

Jack shut his eyes. He grit his teeth. He clenched his hands.

He had acted without thought. He had betrayed his ways once more.

Horrible, vile, wicked, all words to label the dark garbed women who brutalized their own children. But they were the family of these girls. They were their caretakers, their matrons, their mothers.

And he, without thought of consequence, had taken them from these little ones.

Just as the little ones of his village, dead and gone to time. Left now only to remind him of his inadequacy.

You could not save us! You can only damn them!

For he had failed yet again.

"Why?" Jack opened his eyes.

One of the girls, clinging to another for dear life, stared up at him. Her eyes were wet, tears fresh, and blood still running down the side of her face. Her lip trembled, but Jack knew if it was of pain or fear.

"Why did you hurt them?" The question of a child. The truth of Jack's life.

"Because they hurt you," he spoke in turn. A failure on his part. He had been hurt during his own training. These girls may be no different. "And that is wrong."

"You… saved us?" Another of the girls spoke. She had hands about herself, shivering. Jack knew not if it was from the cold of the cavern or the fear of his presence.

"I…" he began. The answer was obvious. The answer was clear, as apparent as the shadows that taunted him. "I do not know."

"Are you… are you going to hurt us?" A third girl, cradling her leg as she sat on the rough cavern floor. Blood seeped from a wound her hands hid. It was apparent like light in the darkness.

"No," Jack returned. It was an answer he knew. "I will not hurt you anymore."

He would leave them before he could do anymore. He would find an unfortunate soul who crossed his path and have them take the children to a safe village. There, they would be safe, safer than with him.

They would eat, they would sleep, they would grow, they would learn, and they would survive. They would not be burdened with his dark soul anymore. Then…

He felt something grip him.

Jack looked down, immediately seeing one of the children pushing on him. No… that wasn't the right word. Even a child knew how to push something away.

She had her arms wrapped about his armor, finger knitting into the openings made available in his battle. Her hold was strong, sure, and possessive.

She was hugging him. And she was crying against him.

He… did not understand.

The shadows did not mock him. His ancestors did not scorn him. All was silent, save for the sniffling of the little ones, and the crying of the one holding him.

Carefully, knowing he was handling something small and fragile, his placed his hand atop the girl's head. Her hair was curved and forked in two directions, giving him a spot to lay his palm.

She stiffened at his touch, but did not shirk away. Rather, he felt the opposite.

The little one leaned into his touch, craving contact. Her tears were clear and her voice audible. Jack gripped her head softly, but with more surely than before.

The sobs began in earnest.

Her wailing echoed off the cavern walls, ignorant to the battle that had been wrought. Jack's armor muffled only the barest of the cries, taking all the tears the girl shed. But hardly as tall as his knee, and with the signs of abuse on her face, she held him with the strength of lions.

Jack looked away only when he felt another of the little ones press against him, leaning in with the child he patted. She held onto her sister, onto him, holding them as she began to sob as well. He could not reach her, not with his arm about the first of the children.

Then another came up to him, quickly wrapping her tiny arms about his neck.

He leaned down towards her, afraid she would hurt herself reaching up to him. Her face was matted in his beard, tears mixing with his sweat. He could not see her, only feel her.

Then another gripped his free arm, pushing her face into his shoulder. Jack looked at her, the child already holding him for dear life, sobs and wails unmuted like her sisters. He curled his arm about her, picking her off the ground.

She was light, too light for a child.

They were all too light, too pained, too broken. They were all too much for the world.

Jack's voice was unsettled, mind unsure of what to do. He knew not an act to placate a little one like these children, the victims of acts Aku would have marveled upon.

"Shh…Shh little ones," he attempted to speak, eyes darting about the seven young girls that crowded him now. "It is… all right. You are safe." He was not sure himself, and his words did nothing for their tears.

The child in the crux of his arm gripped his shoulder, crying into him with abandon. The first girl to approach him and one of her sisters were leaning into his side, guarded by his opposite arm. They washed him with tears.

Another was grabbing at his neck, reaching up to hold onto something of his person. Two more were holding one another, leaning closely to their siblings as they did so. And the last was leaning onto his side, desperate for contact.

"Please be… be at peace," Jack tried again, but his own words were failing him now. Saving children was something he had done many times before, often the focus of many of his journeys.

But they had homes to return to, families that welcomes them, loved ones that worshiped their homecomings.

These girls had no one… and they clung to him.

"It's over now," Jack spoke to them, carefully now. "They will never hurt you again, little ones."

For there was no way for them to.

The children gave no heed or mind to his words. They only continued to grip him and mourn. Mourn for what, he could not be sure.

A mother that had cared more for a great evil than her daughters.

A family that to attack rather than defend.

A life that was never to be.

Or the future they may still have.

Yes… a future.

Jack pulled the few of the girls that held him tighter. The reciprocated in kind. Their tears cleaned the dust from his armor, the blood from his skin. And perhaps, if only a little, the darkness from his soul.

His ancestors had no ill words for the embrace. No blame was being relayed through his actions. The shadows were quiet in the presence of these little ones.

Perhaps… perhaps this was what he was meant to do.

Perhaps… if it was by the request of those who came before him, he was placed upon this mountain, within this cavern, at this moment in time, to find these children.

Perhaps… he was meant to do more than merely save them from harm.

Perhaps…

"I will protect you," Jack spoke quietly, but strongly. He spoke the words as he would the creed of the samurai before his father. "I will keep you safe."

He felt the children squirm, wet eyes gazing at him with is words. They did not move from him. They did not release or cry in terror. Their throats were likely as soar as the wounds on their face. Tears long since held being shed, finally.

"Promise?" One of them asked. Jack looked at her.

She was holding her sister as she leaned against Jack, her hair combed into a tall point. Jack did not look away from her for even a moment.

"I do." He spoke truly.

He would protect these young ones.

Jack would raise these children.

Author's Note:

Well howdy normal readers! Hope you like what I got so far! Few notes though.

A) This is mostly a test to myself to write self-contained stories, much like the original Samurai Jack series. Those had an over arcing plot, like this, but each episode was very contained. I'm hoping to do the same here.

B) Mostly also a challenge to keep my word count down. If I can write these chapters between 5k and 15k words, I'll call that good. 30k plus is… excessive in most regards.

Please tell me what you think, and thank you again!