Scott McGough: Guardian, Saviors of Kamigawa

One-Eye was trying to signal two of the more monstrous reckoners that they were out of position. Preoccupied with keeping the poisonous acuba and nightmarish, grasping gaki in check until the attack began, the assassin hardly noticed Toshi.

“You’re a kanji mage, right? You’ve got paper and ink. If he comes too close, make one of those characters that freezes people solid and throw it in his face.”

“That’s no good. All-purpose stuff like that won’t work on something as powerful as-”

The burly assassin’s hand twitched toward his eye patch, but he stopped halfway and made a fist instead. “Get down there and bait the ogre.” One-Eye crossed his arms. “Why else do you think I brought you?”

So Toshi marched up to the hut’s door and stood, just out of view for anyone inside. As One-Eye quickly made the rounds and prepared everyone for the all-out attack, Toshi did take out a thin roll of parchment and a small ink bottle with a built-in brush. These were the basic tools of kanji magic, used in the art of infusing symbols with magic and willpower. Toshi had been beyond ink-and-paper casting for months, but he kept his true abilities hidden while he worked for Uramon. If the boss knew all that he could do, she’d just make him do it on command with no benefit to him.

Toshi pretended to fumble with the scroll, but instead of the paralysis kanji that One-Eye had suggested, Toshi carefully eased his sword an inch out of its scabbard and ran his index finger along the blade. Dripping crimson, he quickly traced quite a different symbol across his own face. When it was complete, the mark crackled like water on a hot pan and let out a puff of red smoke.

Feeling slightly more confident, Toshi then used the ink to draw One-Eye’s paralysis kanji on the roll of parchment and tore it off. He didn’t expect it would work-didn’t even expect to get a chance to use it-but it couldn’t actually hurt. One-Eye was competent and he had some of Uramon’s toughest muscle ready to go. The ambush might succeed, and if it did, Toshi wanted to be able to say he’d done his part.

His own blood drying on his face, Toshi stood and listened to his heart pound as he waited for the signal and the wild melee that would surely follow.

“There,” Hidetsugu said. The sun had almost set behind Oboro’s highest tower. The ogre pointed down, into the corner of the field of sapphire paving stones.

Toshi looked. “I don’t see …” His voice trailed off as a small, whirling cloud of black smoke formed on the edge of the lengthening shadows. The tiny cyclone expanded, then dispersed into a drab cloud dotted with orange sparks. Even from a distance Toshi could see monstrous, humanoid forms shambling inside the cloud.

The first oni stepped out onto the quadrangle, hissing like a furious cat. It was roughly the same size and shape as a man, but its frame was larger, broader, and heavier. Its hide was thick and leathery, angry red in color, and its muscles bulged grotesquely whenever it moved.

Its face was a skull-like mask of naked bones, blistered calluses, and jutting teeth. Two savage, red eyes gleamed in the dim light, with a third blinking its vertical lids higher up in the center of its forehead. Two long, jagged horns swept up from its forehead and curved back over its crown, and bony spikes erupted from its knees and elbows. Something dark and oily dripped from its sharp claws, searing through the matted fur that covered its waist, hips, and legs. As it emerged completely into the light its barbed tail swished menacingly through the air.

Most disturbingly, the oni wore skillfully carved rings on some of its fingers and sported ceremonial bindings that ran up both forearms. It also wore a handcrafted necklace that was strung alternately with unidentifiable red orbs and human finger bones, which Toshi recognized all too well.

The oni emerged from the cloud of smoke into the last bright rays of sun. There was something awful and alien about the way it moved, and as more humanoid demons formed and shambled into the quadrangle, Toshi realized what it was.

Their bodies looked human, but their outlines stretched and bulged like a thick, boiling liquid. Their arms stretched farther than their bones should have allowed, and their legs expanded and collapsed like a partially blocked hose. Though they moved quickly and smoothly across the quad, it was as if each bone, each finger, forearm, vertebrae, and thigh were not attached to its neighbors. Instead, each steel-hard bone floated free inside a sinewy cushion of muscle, bound tight by the oni’s tough crimson hide.

Toshi’s guess was vindicated when the first oni sprang onto the nearest wall. He had seen soratami float on magical clouds, mighty birds that soared under the power of their own wings, and spirits who sailed on the wind itself. Some, like Hidetsugu’s yamabushi, made prodigious, magically assisted leaps to take the high ground whenever they chose.

Watching the first oni scale up the walls of Oboro like a suction-toed lizard, Toshi knew that it was not magic or air that kept the monster moving upward; it was sheer muscle power. The oni dug fingers and toes deeply into the stone wall, repositioning each individual bone to exert however much pressure was required. The oni would spring, dig into the wall, gather its strength, and then spring again. It all happened so quickly that it seemed like one continuous, fluid motion instead of a brutal tug-of-war between the oni’s muscles and the forces of gravity. In fact, if he didn’t concentrate so hard, the oni slithering up the quadrangle walls almost resembled misshapen drops of red rain flowing up the wall, back to the sky.

“While the All-Consuming feasts on the academy,” Hidetsugu sneered, “these lesser oni prey upon Oboro. And in many ways,” the ogre paused to nod down at Toshi, “you made this possible. Watch now, and enjoy the view.”

Toshi was about to speak when the first soratami rose up over the quadrangle. They were tall, lean, willowy creatures with silver-white skin and indistinct features. Their faces were all uniformly thin, pinched, and stoic, their long ears wrapped or pinned tight around their heads. There were almost a dozen in all, each bearing katanas, each borne up by a small white cloud that completely enveloped their feet. Among all the tribes of Kamigawa, the soratami were feared and respected as warriors and scholars, and some even considered them semi-divine beings. Before he had been thrown into conflict with them, Toshi himself had been awed by their reputation from afar and by their presence up close. He didn’t like the soratami, but he knew to take them seriously.

Counting up the numbers as the oni and soratami converged on each other, Toshi noted, “Your demons are outnumbered two-to-one, Hidetsugu. Against the moonfolk, I wouldn’t choose those odds.”

“That’s because you’re a soft little human who still bleats and moans to the kami for protection,” the ogre replied without taking his eyes off the impending battle. “Ogres and oni are made of sterner stuff. Be silent and watch.”

Toshi swallowed his next thoughts and watched. From the sky, the largest and fiercest soratami warrior descended like a bird of prey. From below, the first oni clamored up the wall, its sharp-toothed jaw distended and dripping caustic foam.

The soratami drew his sword. The oni widened its jaws. Above them both, Toshi winced, anticipating the terrible meeting of these two savage forces.

One-Eye gave the signal. All around the entrance to Shinka, monsters prepared to pounce, mages prepared to cast, and hatchet-men drew their weapons. It was time to reckon with Hidetsugu.

One-Eye gestured impatiently at Toshi, who nodded. The ochimusha turned to face the entrance to the ogre’s hut, the paralysis kanji clutched in his hand. The other character on his face still tingled, but it had not yet dried.