SNAFU: Hunters

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Izō gripped the Yamato blade more tightly. It had been forged in the ancient days to battle demons, but broken and scarred as it was Izō only hoped enough of the old spells remained.

The temple was little more than a dark blot amidst the gloom, gates locked and barred; a few guards lounged in wan light cast by a pair of lanterns hanging from the eaves.

Mitsuhide nodded to a pair of his men, who drew knives, but paused when Izō held up a hand.

"We'll go over the wall, there." He thrust his chin at a section that abutted a nearby building.

The soldiers looked to Mitsuhide.

"No questions, General," Izō said.

After a moment's hesitation Mitsuhide nodded, and the men stowed their blades.

The wall was twice Izō's height, the tiled overhang looming as they padded up, ropes in hand.

"Give me a boost," Izō whispered to the nearest man, who knelt and made a stirrup of his hands.

"All right, up and over. Careful you don't chip a tooth on the wall," the ashigaru lisped as he took hold of Izō's foot. Glancing down in surprise, Izō saw the man had pulled down his mask to show a grin, ragged where several teeth had been knocked out by a hard elbow to the face.

Izō winced. "Sorry about that back on Kuchisake."

"I'm grateful, actually." The man's smile grew wider. "Saved me from getting swallowed by an oni, didn't it?"

"So it did."

With a soft grunt, Izō leapt for the overhang, scrabbling at the tile for a sickening second before getting a grip on the wall. He dangled there, breath held and ears pricked for the shout that would mean the guards had heard.

None came.

He levered himself up and over the edge, suddenly aware of how exposed he was. Trying to hunker down he tied the rope off and lowered it, expecting any moment to feel the cold bite of an arrow in his back.

The courtyard was of tiled stone in the Chinese style, empty but for a pair of servants carrying a large teapot and tray of sweetened azuki buns.

Izō dropped to the ground, trying to time his landing so it coincided with the servants opening the door to the central temple. Light spilled from beyond the door, absent the sound of laughter or song that would indicate Lord Nobunaga was entertaining guests. He murmured a prayer of thanks to Lord Hatano and any other of his ancestors who were watching over him, then crept into the courtyard.

A few soft thuds behind and the Akechi soldiers joined him, weapons bared. They made it almost to the door before the call went up.

There was a shout from the gate, then the sudden flare of torchlight. Guards tumbled from outbuildings, unarmored and wild-eyed, but with swords and bows at the ready. The Akechi warriors turned to meet the oncoming rush, and the night was soon filled with the shouts of fighting men and the clash of weapons.

A young samurai rushed at Izō, bare-chested, hair streaming loose from his queue as he brought his sword arcing down. Izō stepped into the strike, reaching up to catch the man's forearm to rob the blow of its strength. Forming a hard ridge with his free hand he drove it into young samurai's jaw, then hooked his ankle and tossed him to the ground. Spears stabbed down like beaks of hungry storks, and Izō was forced to throw himself flat, scrambling toward the temple door. A hand hooked the strap of his breastplate and hauled him up.

"My men will hold the courtyard!" Mitsuhide shouted into his ear. "We must reach Nobunaga."

Together they stumbled for the temple and kicked the door wide. Shrieking servants fled before them, scattering bowls, trays, and lanterns across the woven tatami floor. Flames spread up tapestries and hanging scrolls to lick at the temple's heavy oak beams. In the midst of the chaos sat Oda Nobunaga, hands on his knees, his robes in perfect arrangement.

"Akechi Mitsuhide." Nobunaga's voice cut through the din like a thunderclap. "I expected this from the others, but you? I thought you were a man of honor."

"I served the man, not whatever creature sits before me now." Mitsuhide pointed his sword at Nobunaga. "I know what you are."

"Do you, now?" Nobunaga's expression of placid indifference might as well have been carved from basalt for all the emotion it betrayed.

"And you've brought a hunter." Nobunaga stood, arms folded in front of him as he looked to Izō. Izō thought he saw a flash of surprise in the demon's eyes as it noticed the broken blade in his hand. "One of Hatano's dogs, I see. That old sorcerer might have proven troublesome. Which reminds me, I never properly thanked you for bringing him to me, Mitsuhide."

At this, the general leapt forward, katana transcribing a tight arc to Nobunaga's neck. The blow simply stopped, the sword neither rebounding nor shattering. Rather, it was as if Mitsuhide's blade had become mired in the air a hairsbreadth from the demon's neck. The general strained and tugged at the sword to no avail.