The sound of the rain was a symphony in chaos, drumming a relentless rhythm against the sprawling metal spires of Neo-Edo. Lightning fractured the skies, illuminating the city in bursts of pale blue light, casting fleeting shadows across its neon-soaked streets. On the edge of a rooftop, kneeling at the very precipice of this sprawling steel jungle, Zenthari waited. The katana in her hand gleamed faintly in the rain, its intricate handle wrapped in black leather embossed with golden threads that shimmered like liquid fire under the burst of streetlights far below.
Her appearance was an enigma, a tapestry of the old world and the distant future. The sleek obsidian outfit clung to her like a second skin, its glossy material punctuated by crisscrossing buckles and matte straps running along her arms and thighs. The thigh-high boots she wore extended seamlessly from the suit, their reinforced soles clinging effortlessly to the damp surface beneath her. A broad-brimmed kabuto-inspired hat sat atop her head, its edges dripping with rainwater, casting her delicate pale features into shadow. Long black hair spilled from beneath the hat, winding loosely down her back like a cascade of silk. Behind her, the ceaseless glow of neon kanji holograms flickered in vibrant colors, advertising forgotten promises and calling out for attention only to be ignored. This amalgamation of traditional and futuristic aesthetics was as much a part of Zenthari as the blade she carried—it was balance, as her master once called it.
The memories of her master came, unbidden. The cherry blossoms of old Kyoto had danced in the wind that day, a perfect contrast to the ancient temple where she knelt at his feet. “Purpose is both blade and burden,” he had said, his voice a granite mix of authority and wisdom. “You must be prepared to wield both.” She had barely understood him back then, and now his words gripped her like a vice. Running her thumb along the edge of her katana—one of the last echoes of a world long lost—she sighed. The rain washed against her face, disguising the silent tears that came with it. He had taught her everything, only to be taken from her by the very syndicate she now hunted.
A sudden explosion shattered the stillness, coloring the sky in hues of amber and fury. The Oni Circuit—one of Neo-Edo’s most guarded tech sanctuaries—was under siege, as she had predicted. Zenthari stood slowly, like a shadow stretching in the light. Her form-fitting battle suit moved fluidly with her, and the dark rain-slicked skyline seemed to hold its breath as she adjusted her hat and tucked the katana behind her back, in its scabbard strapped with precision across the length of her spine.
Leaping from the rooftop, her silhouette dissolved like smoke into the chaos below. The streets were alive with panic; holographic billboards fractured and stuttered as data streams cracked under the pressure of the attack. Gunfire echoed down narrow alleys, and bursts of neon-orange plasma bolts sizzled through the air. Zenthari moved like liquid shadow. Each step, each leap, each strike was a harmony of terror and elegance, her boots striking pavement as she wove through panicked civilians and heavily armed syndicate soldiers.
She drew her blade just as the first soldier lunged at her. He was taller by a wide margin, clad in bulky exo-armor designed to intimidate. Yet he barely had time to register her presence before the razor edge of her katana cleaved through his weapon and sent him crumpling to the ground. The second came with less hesitation, firing twin energy pistols in a barrage of lethal orange plasma. Zenthari spun, her blade catching and deflecting the bolts in a dance so precise it bordered on inhuman. Within moments, she was upon him, delivering a swift strike that sliced through the joints of his armor, sending him gasping to the wet asphalt.
The syndicate’s forces were immense, but she was something older, something sharper than the brute force they commanded. Moving amidst the havoc, Zenthari pressed forward, her eyes fixed on the sprawling gates of the Oni Circuit’s primary tower. The structure loomed high above the rest of Neo-Edo, ancient in design yet refurbished with synthetic metals and ethereal light conduits running vein-like across its surface. A relic repurposed. Just like herself.
As she scaled its walls, the edges of her fingers clinging to invisible crevices and reinforced cables, echoes of laughter rang uninvited in her mind—the sound of his laughter. “You think revenge will fill the void?” He had asked that same question countless times. She gritted her teeth; she didn’t need answers, she only needed closure.
Inside the tower, the silence was sharper than any blade. Her boots landed on the slick marble floor with a soft tap, and the towering walls seemed to bend inwards as though the building itself was watching her. Illuminated kanji and vibrant holograms danced along the glassy surfaces; this was no place for human life—it was where ideas came to exist, where power was harvested. And at the very heart of it stood a man she had been hunting for years.
His voice preceded him, calm and measured. “You were always the best of us, Zenthari.” Hiroshi stepped from the shadows ahead, clad in robes that mirrored her own—but his bore shimmering crimson accents winding like blood streams across obsidian fabric. He was taller than she had remembered, and his face bore new scars, each one a map of all the pain he’d inflicted in her absence.
Her hand tightened on the katana. “And now I’m the last. You won’t walk out of here, Hiroshi.”
“Perhaps. But tell me,” he said, a grin spreading beneath his sharp features, “has the burden filled your emptiness, or only sharpened it?”
He drew his weapon—a blade forged in the same fires as her own. For a moment, the world stilled as rain streaked down the glass walls, the lightning beyond framing them like gods poised to clash. Then, with the ferocity of a storm, they lunged at each other, two shadows colliding in a dance of vengeance and regret.
Genre: Action/Thriller
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Cosplay Inspiration: Modern Samurai Style in a Sleek Black Outfit
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