SNAFU: Hunters

There had been a time when the anger burned through Izō, growing until he thought it must surely consume him. Many times he had considered simply charging Nobunaga soldiers, killing and killing until they cut him down – wasn't it a samurai's duty to follow his Lord into death? But time had banked the flames and now Izō's fury came cold and canny. Nobunaga and would pay for what he'd done. Izō vowed that when he met Lord Hatano in the Pure Land, it would be with news that the great betrayers would never see their ambition realized.

The ground began to level off and Izō paused, hands on knees, to catch his breath.

A glint to the left caused him to throw himself aside just in time to avoid the sweep of an ashigaru's spear that would have sent him tumbling. There were two of them – more clever or experienced than the rest, they must have run ahead while Izō dodged their commander's bow fire.

"Surrender, and you won't be harmed," the lead spearman said between gasps. Both men were red-faced and puffing from the headlong sprint. Izō would've been able to wear them down if he had the time, but every moment brought the rest of their squad closer. He needed to act quickly.

"You got me." Izō raised his arms, letting his blade dangle loose in one hand.

The ashigaru relaxed a fraction but kept their spears pointed at him. That moment's hesitation gave Izō the chance he needed, and he lunged, letting his sleeves dangle so the spears pierced the fabric. As the points slipped past he twisted his sleeves to bring the spear hafts close enough to grab. The first spearman tried to wrench his weapon from Izō's grasp, but instead of resisting Izō let the force of the pull drag him forward, tangling the man's weapon with his fellow's. The ashigaru's surprised shout became a grunt as Izō drove his elbow into the man's face. Slipping his arms from his robes Izō grabbed the straps of the ashigaru's armor and wrenched him off balance. One of the man's flailing arms caught Izō a stinging blow to the face, but he only grit his teeth, sweeping the man's legs. With a pained grunt the ashigaru crashed down amidst the foliage to tumble bonelessly down the hill.

There was no time for thought. The other ashigaru had freed his spear from Izō's shirt, and it came flashing in, quick as the beak of a hungry stork.

Izō leapt back, almost tripping over the uneven ground.

The ashigaru glanced after his fallen comrade then glared at Izō through narrowed eyes, his hate sharp enough to etch glass. "Bastard."

It was a look Izō knew well – he'd worn it for years. He smirked, hoping to stoke the man's anger.

Get a bird mad enough, it might not even see the stone.

The other Akechi soldiers were close enough Izō could hear their labored breathing, deep and hoarse. He feinted at the ashigaru then leapt back; the man's spear pierced the air where Izō's head had been a moment before. Again, his foot caught on something hidden amidst the underbrush, this time he sprawled backward, the impact jarring the blade from his hand.

Izō felt about on the ground as the ashigaru lunged with a triumphant cry. His fingers closed around something smooth and round like a river rock, but strangely light. The spear darted down and Izō squirmed to the side, bringing up the rock in hopes of deflecting the blade. With a hollow thud the strike tore Izō's meager defense from his hands, and he scrambled back, stomach tensed against the expected bite of steel, but the blow never came. The ashigaru stared at the end of his spear, which transfixed not a stone but a human skull.

Casting about, Izō realized what he'd thought to be roots and fallen branches were actually bones. Broadleaf shrubs grew through shattered ribcages, weeds and spreading ferns concealing piles of disjointed legs and arms. Finger bones and loose vertebrae skittered like loose gravel as Izō pushed to his feet.

With a disgusted grimace, the ashigaru shook the skull from the end of his spear. The brush behind the man trembled and several Akechi samurai stepped into the clearing, followed by a score of spearmen. All of them looked out of breath, but none were the source of the deep, hungry panting that filled the clearing.

Izō was unable to keep from smiling. It seemed the legends about Mount Kuchisake weren't exaggerated.

Sometimes, if you found the right birds you didn't even need a stone.

The thin-faced samurai stepped forward, puffing as he brushed leaves and twigs from his silver-chased armor. "Akai Izō, please, we must speak–"

The samurai stared quizzically at the thick, glistening tentacle that had stealthily descended from the canopy above to coil about his waist. He had time for a tight, chagrined frown then was dragged up into the shadowed forest canopy, struggling like a carp at the end of fisherman's line.