Side-Story: Shuta 1

Side-Story: Shuta 1

Reinforced heels clicked against the marble floor as three men stormed down the halls of that sacred place. The sound resonated through the space, warning any who were thinking of stepping out to think twice. Two guards walked at either side of a man in a suit and tie. They both wore white robes fitted with hoods, sheer black masks lined with polished steel covered their heads. He himself wore no such mask, preferring a simple silver-and-black metal hanpo designed to look like the sneer of a demon. His long black hair hung down his back, a single white streak tied with silver bands hanging over his shoulder and across his chest. A chime rang in his ear and he touched his earpiece.

“On my way,” He growled, dark eyes narrowed.

That man was back yet again. He came more and more often these days. He came to the sacred doors and stood there, shouting his fury at the sacred temple and demanding an audience. Every time he was sent away. He was a troublesome person who didn’t know how to keep his nose out of business that did not concern him, that was above him. Shuta strode down the hall as the guards on either side of him readied their weapons while he clutched at the saya of his own tool of death. A weapon he had earned in the dungeon. His head tilted forward as they drew closer to the front door of the temple, his lips forming a thin line.

“Do not engage unless threatened,” He hissed and the two masked men nodded.

Shuta pushed the doors open and stepped out into the beautiful courtyard. White flowers bloomed in a green garden dotted with small ponds. The solitary stone pathway leading to the outer gates was empty save for a solitary figure that stood on the wrong side of the gates. Shuta clicked his tongue, Despoiler, how dare you.

He crossed the distance quickly, the neatly cut lawn nothing but a blur in his periphery as he stalked indignantly towards the man who dared stand there with impunity. He came to a stop only a few meters away, tilting his head up and looking the hulking man in the eyes. Tanned skin, tattoos showing beneath a suit that was just a little too tight. Graying hair on his head and an unforgiving stare, “Hero Sapporo,” Shuta said, keeping his tone as steady as he could even as rage boiled beneath his skin. The international hero offered him no greeting. He only scowled. “You are trespassing in a sacred place, leave now,” Shuta clipped out into the silence between them.

Sapporo tilted his head up and looked down at Shuta, “Kato Shuta. Your organization openly worships a wanted criminal and praises her actions,” He said stoically, “The only reason I am not leveling this building in search of your so-called leader right this instant is that officially you have not committed any acts of villainy and my own shortening patience.”

Shuta took a step forward and tilted his head, looking into the man’s face, “You have no right to enter this place, you have been banned from the premises and a formal request put forward to the Pandora Committee demanding that you cease this harassment,” He said, “Again, I ask you to leave. The people here want to be left alone and I will protect them from you.”

Sapporo raised an eyebrow, “A request that was denied, a ban that was countered,” The big man growled, “You are villains, I have no doubt, and I will defend this nation from the infection of Ishtar’s followers. We have suspicions that she has already made contact and it will be confirmed.”

“The savior has made no such contact,” Shuta insisted, “Now begone.”

“At look me, dear,” A gentle voice called out to him.

He looked up and into the center of the room. There, sitting on a dais, was an enormous circular cushion surrounded by nearly-transparent silk drapes. A silhouette hid behind it, that of a woman sitting and looking down at him. He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel the gentle smile. He returned it from beneath his mask before his expression fell a little, “He-”

“Unimportant,” She corrected him, “He gone is, well did you, you thank, little Shuta.”

His lip twitched and he had the sudden urge to rub his neck a little. He held his posture at one knee, though, his fist on the ground until she gestured for him to stand. He rose and when she gestured for him to approach he did without question. She reached through the drapes and delicate hand extended to touch his cheek, “Busy soon, be he will, not worry, ease at, ease at,” She whispered.

He let out a breath and nodded, relaxing his shoulders, “Yes, mother.”

“A vision soon comes,” She said, “Listen.”

He nodded again, “I am here.”

She pulled her hand away and rest her hands in her lap. For a moment there was stillness as her head lulled back behind the curtains. Then the smoke in the air began to gather, a cloudy mist that clung to his nose and made him feel a little dizzy. He shook it off and concentrated, not daring to miss a single word as a sound like a death rattle escaped his mother’s lips.

Kato Setsuna, the Oracle, the leader of Hope’s Disciples, spoke, her voice echoed in the room with a powerful resonance. Every word was spoken with a different tone, a different accent, a different voice, yet not a single syllable could be lost:

“The terrible pendragon grows mighty, the seas shall boil with the madness of a king, storms fall from above and the shadows dance. The enemy at last is revealed, reveling in the praise of the ignorant. The hammer of vengeance falls. The Savior’s mask is consumed, forever changed. Her eye shall open, her wrath will fill the sky. We will see her soon, in this place, behind the mask of an enemy.”