--------------------------------------------------------------------------- I have declared myself exempt from any disclaiming obligations. Tenchi Muyo: Culture Shock Extra Bit 1: Raiman-Doa by Stahlfaust edited by Gitaro the Metalhead anonymous contributers include: Kevin Sigmund --------------------------------------------------------------------------- He was alone. He realized that now, as his best warrior lay dead. His best friend, or the closest thing he had to one, the only one that he confided in, laid slain by an unknown fighter. The life of the only one who he could trust was gone. The Cleavi general Raiman-doa raised his head from his knees and carefully surveyed his surroundings. He knew every inch of his sanctuary by heart, but he surveyed it anyway. The ignoration of the opportunity to practice would be his invitation to disaster. And Raiman had placed a notice out for disaster's head. His eyes were able to pick out details even in the total darkness that spotted his surroundings. Trees, unlike those typical of the Clans of the Goddesses, spread out in all directions like silent monoliths. They were not recognizable to any Cleavian. Raiman had them placed into his personal sanctuary from a remote wilderness planet. Some cold rock, third from it's sun. They possessed a strange majesty that appealed to the little peace that Raiman had left in him. They covered over one hundred feet in all directions, and the ground was blanketed in a coat of green moss. A sudden snarl formed on Raiman's lips. He was a general of the Cleavi, a warrior of unparalleled ruthlessness and efficiency. He was allowing his emotions run free, influence his actions. Friendship was a thing that he could not have. He knew that with every inch of his heart. It was the price that he paid, for having somone to trust in the first place. Emotions made him weak, made him make mistakes. They made him fail. And never had Raiman failed in his career as a messenger for the Lady Tokimi. With coldness of heart, Raiman tossed his loss aside. His warrior was just that; a warrior, born to live and die in the name of their Lady. He had fulfilled his life's purpose, and his loss would not be without blood recompense. The small amount of humanity left within Raiman lingered still, ever dying with every breath he took. His expression of fury left his face in that instant, returning to his of fathomless, empty expression. There was no point in mourning the dead. There was work to be done. Raiman shifted from his sitting position atop a fallen tree to a feral crouch, his eyes glittering as he stared into the darkness. The death of his warrior was nothing in the scheme of things, but it would certainly have unpleasant repercussions in his Lady's court, if nothing else. His chief rival, Ashito, would not hesitate to take advantage of the situation. Raiman would look like a fool in front of the other generals and warriors. They all knew that he was the weakest of them physically. Any one of them on even rank could kill him in single combat. Tokimi had tolerated him for a different reason, altogether. And it was for his sheer ability to destroy without fair play remorse. The foolish concept of honorable battle still permeated the Cleavi clan, one of the few things that they had in common with the Jurai. Raiman had no such restraints. Anything that was his enemy would die, in any way possible. The lack of honor in war, combined with his sheer ruthlessness and stunning grasp of tactics, meant that he had never lost a battle. Quite a feat for a relative weakling of the lower Cleavi nobility. His success had also made him a target of the many factions in the court. They couldn't touch him without Lady Tokimi's permission, but they didn't stop trying to discredit him. His recent failure would leave him vulnerable. Worse, Ashito would raise the court to laughter at Raimai's expense. They would laugh at him, as many before had. One of the few emotions that Raiman had left filled him. Anger. A bloody rage tore through him with the speed and power of a lightning bolt. No one would ever laugh at him again. He had made that promise long ago, before he had joined the military. His childhood was not a happy one, even by the Spartan standards of the Cleavi. Rejected by his father as a weakling, his scrawny physical condition made him an easy target for those Cleavi children who had given into the desire of control passed to them by the Lady Tokimi. Bullied throughout his childhood and school years, no one once tried to aid his struggle against those stronger than him. They beat him into unconsciousness on more then occasion, and he still had scars from the times their "fun" got out of hand. But the anger that their violence aroused was nothing compared to that which came from when they laughed at him. The beatings implied that they felt they needed to dominate the quick mind that made them look foolish in class. They beat him because, so deep they may not have even recognized it, they feared him. But when they laughed at him, he wanted nothing more then to make them suffer behind their mere comprehension. No one would ever laugh at him again. His anger exploded, and Raiman gave into it. With one smooth motion, Raiman drew his blade Akusui-ken and activated it. Its long, dark yellow blade spread an eerie glow throughout the grove. He lunged forward from his crouch toward a cluster of trees over 4 yards away. He covered the ground to the trees in the time it would take to blink, and his sword flashed from side to side, flicking from tree to tree. His smooth motions carried him through the grove, all the while his sword still in motion, never stopping for a moment. His actions were precise and accurate, every motion using the exact minimum amount of energy required, while producing the maximum devastation. He stopped suddenly, almost exactly 8 yards from where he started, and turned around to survey his success. The Akusui-ken's dark, sickly yellow light faded away, but Raiman's eyes could see the results clearly enough. It had taken less then 3 seconds from the time his blade activated to the unused position it had on his belt now. The time that passed should have made the results impossible. Long slashes, one for each tree of the seven trees that he had passed during his attack. Every slash was positioned perfectly, so that had men been there rather than trees, all would be dead. All in the time it took to have realized that Raimai moved. His fury vented, Raiman's calm mental cycles continued. The laughter that had given him hate had also given him ambition. The schoolyard beatings had taught him that which made him unstoppable in war. War has no rules. The time spent in the archives to avoid the beatings of his "peers" and an angry father gifted him with the knowledge of every military campaign in his race's turbulent history, and his tactical knowledge that gave him victory. Everything had a price, and Raiman's had been his soul. Some warriors fought for glory, for honor, some even for love. Love had been a feeling that Raiman had wanted to feel for a long time. He didn't believe in it anymore, although he had used to. He had learned it was a fairy tale told in books of old to inspire warriors. At times, he would give everything that he had accomplished just to see true love. Fortunately, such feelings passed quickly, replaced by the proper emptiness of a living machine. Raiman fought for himself. He triumphed over all with weapons that no one ever saw beforehand. The false sword handle that housed a poisoned barbed chain. The neuro-toxin covered dagger in his right sleeve. The speed and precision he had rehearsed occasion after occasion. None alive knew of the speed and precision that he possessed when he used his unique fighting techniques. He had led his armies on a dozen campaigns, and only the dead knew of the killing power he had at his disposal. The warriors of the court judged him by his lack of strength physically and in energy manipulation, and his merely adequate mastery of the Cleavi combat style. They thought that he was an annoyance. He let them think so. All warfare is deception. The dagger that no one sees is the one that would pierce their ribs. Raiman had the weapons to kill them all, and they would never see it coming. No one would ever laugh at him again. And at that time, even Lady Tokimi would fall before his secret plans. He would rule the Cleavi, and through them, the galaxy. His hands were stained with the blood of thousands. What was a few more to one such as him? Emotions were something that he was no longer qualified to judge. For now, he would watch and wait. He would bear the taunts and mockery of the court for now. After all, one day, he would be the one laughing, while they died by his hands. He would serve Tokimi with all of his being, and would lead her armies. He would kill the one who had killed his greatest warrior personally. He smiled as he thought of the carnage to come. His frigid smile, accompanied by empty ice-cold eyes, proclaimed his disdain for all life to the total darkness around him. Darkness that was nothing compared to the darkness of his heart. He would succeed. "General Raiman-doa, sir." The voice startled him slightly. He hadn't expected anyone to be watching him. "Yes?" He breathed deeply. Part of his head-scarf blocked his face. "We will be arriving at your requested location soon, sir." "Hmmm.." The General replied. "Sir?" The man questioned. Raiman smiled. "Yes?" "Should I inform the Lady Washu of your arrival?" It seemed as if he already knew the answer. "No." Came Raiman's reply. "Her treachery shall be repayed *now*." He was of the Cleavi. He represented skill, and death. *** END OF EXTRA BIT --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's notes: This is the most original version of Stahlfaust's part I have. It's quite a bit longer than the one at the End of Chapter 8, and wordier, but I'm pretty sure it's not as long as the first one he sent me. The editing was mainly to make it fit the details of my story that Stahlfaust may not have known about. It was also changed slightly based on some proofreaders' suggestions. Anyway, if you want to give Stahlfaust any props, email me, and I'll email him. See y'all later. Gitaro.