Chakra Wizard
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This is a plot I developed rather recently that I’ve been experimenting with. Kind of trashy in nature, perhaps, but I just loved the premise, so I had to keep it. Like with the rest of my original ideas, I’m not putting the whole thing up, but just enough to get you guys kind enough to read it affiliated with everything that’s going on. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy it
The night was calm and particularly cool – surprising, considering Oahu’s position on the globe. Perched atop a hill overlooking the scenic Hanauma Bay, the location of the Ryokudan household was the perfect match for its lavish appearance, a home more fit for a monarch or a high-profile celebrity than the family of a successful businessman. Men in black suits, beneath which were sure to be firearms of some form, surrounded the complex on every side, just as they were paid to do each night as the manor’s master slept. The master wasn’t asleep, though – far from it, in fact – merely biding his time in his office until drowsiness finally overcame him, a cigar hanging from his mouth and multiple stacks of recently counted bills laid out across his desk.
Yatsumi Ryokudan had spent many a night in these exact same circumstances, leaning back in his large, leather-cased chair as he reminisced on his successful life. Indeed, his career could hardly be described as anything less than impressive. Taking control of his father’s considerably small business at the meager age of nineteen, he had spent the last twenty-three years transforming said business into a massive empire, both his wealth and his reputation increasing tremendously over time. True, while he lacked in others areas of worldly knowledge, in the realm of money, he was on par with the greatest minds of the past century, and many other individuals in his field had the utmost respect for his accomplishments. …This was merely his public façade, though.
Within the confines of his own household, one could hardly describe Yatsumi using any term even remotely synonymous with the word “pleasant” – and he certainly had the appearance to match. He was fat – to put it lightly – as most people would expect of businessmen who smoked cigars, while his complexion could only be described as “gruff”. His sausage-link fingers were decorated with seven rings in total and coupled with the pinstripe suit that normally hid his no-doubt hideous figure from sight, he had the overall appearance of an overweight pimp – not too far from the truth. For all his negative attributes, though, there was no denying Yatsumi’s fortune, nor the power which it brought him, …power that any normal man lacking decency would kill to have. Just as that very thought crossed Yatsumi’s mind, a loud creak was heard on the opposite end of the large, spacious room.
“Hnh?” he muttered aloud as the huge double doors swung open to reveal the new arriver. He looked hardly out of his teenage years – which he was – and was dressed in a dark sweatshirt, which was zipped up to hide his white t-shirt from view, and baggy jeans, the leggings of which were mere millimeters away from touching the ground. His brown hair was thick and fell down to his shoulders, each strand of it flying off in a direction different from the last, and his bangs completely hid his left eye which, along with its right-bound counterpart, was an icy blue color. He said nothing to Yatsumi as he walked up to his deck, causing the latter to remove the cigar from his mouth in order to speak first.
“Oh, …it’s you. What the hell do you want, Aito? I don’t have time for this.” he said abruptly, hoping to end this matter quickly before returning to his musings. Aito, as he called him, gazed blankly from one end of the desk to the other, counting each stack of bills along the way, before looking up into Yatsumi’s eyes.
“I can see that. …You’re clearly DROWNING in paperwork.” he said coolly, causing the hand that wasn’t holding Yatsumi’s cigar to tighten in anger.
“Keep up the smartass remarks, punk, and I’ll beat you like ****in’ cake batter. …Now why the **** did you find it necessary to barge into my office when you know damn well that I can’t stand that shit?”
No immediate response was given. Instead, Aito took this time to reach into his sweatshirt – an action which brought Yatsumi some uneasiness – and pull out a small, silver Zippo lighter and a pack a Camel Nutty Menthols, placing one of the cigarettes in his mouth before returning the pack to its former place and doing the same with the lighter once he had used it to light said cigarette. He stood there for almost a minute on end, taking occasional puffs on the small device as he stared blankly at his colleague until finally, Yatsumi snapped and slammed his hand on top of his desk.
“Would you ****ing spit it out already!? Goddamn-”
Before he could complete his outburst, Yatsumi’s ability to speak was temporarily stolen from him by the sight now resting before his eyes – a M1911 pistol, on the end of which rested a large-caliber suppressor – and it was aimed directly at his forehead.
“What the-”
“You asked.” Aito replied, no change in his expression during this entire exchange.
“What the **** is this!?” Yatsumi shouted, fear clearly present in his voice, though he did his best to hide it. Reaching his hand beneath his desk in search of the shotgun which resided there, he quickly brought his search to a halt as Aito jumped up on top of the desk, paying no heed to anything he might be stepping on, and cocked his gun to ensure he had Yatsumi’s undivided attention.
“It’s called a gun, dipshit. And it might be pointed at your head now, but I assure you that if you reach under that desk again, I’ll aim it someplace where it’s NOT likely to kill you outright.” he warned, making absolute certain that Yatsumi knew exactly what his chances of surviving this encounter were. …Nonexistent.
“I have every ****in’ reason to make your death as painful as humanly possible, …starting with the fact you killed our mother.”
Of all its desired effects, it was amusement that this statement ultimately brought Yatsumi, who now saw this as nothing more than a childish ploy for revenge.
“Hmph, you little prick. You honestly think you’ll get away with this?” Yatsumi inquired, returning to his inclined position to show Aito that he wasn’t afraid of him or his weapon. Aito, however, wasn’t so quick to anger.
“Wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” he replied calmly, his utter lack of emotion igniting Yatsumi’s fury once more and causing him to tighten his grip on the arms of his chair.
“Well then, explain to me what you intend to do about the men patrolling the area! Shit, some of them are probably on their way to this office right now! Whaddaya say to that, you cocky little ****!?”
The desperation on his face and in his voice was clearer than spring water. So, too, was the fact that whatever effect his threats were supposed to have on Aito’s actions didn’t come to pass, since his expression was as blank as ever.
“Cameras are down. Made sure they were before I came here. …Nobody knows I’m in here and no one’s coming to make sure you’re alright.” Aito answered him, taking neither his gun nor his eyes off of Yatsumi as he spoke. Although he had no means of finding out whether or not he spoke the truth, Aito’s calm disposition was enough to convince Yatsumi that it was so.
“That right, huh!? Is that ****in’ right!? Well then, explain to me what you plan to do when they find out the bullet came from THAT ****ing gun!! Huh!? Didn’t think THAT far ahead, did ya, smartass!?” he shouted, at this point only attempting to stall his impending demise. The rivers of sweat pouring down the sides of his face could’ve been seen from the entrance of the room, his true colors having surfaced at long last.
“The rounds are hollow-point. No one’ll know it came from my gun once it goes through that fat ****in’ head of yours. …You gave them to me, remember? You oughta know.”
When Yatsumi made no attempt to respond, Aito’s right cheek elevated slightly, the corner of his mouth moving along with it. While it was true that prior circumstances left him with no other choice but to carry out this assassination, given his history with the man, he couldn’t help but enjoy himself. Wasting no further time, he briefly removed the cigarette from his mouth and readjusted his aim, causing Yatsumi’s eyes to widen past their already impressive size.
“Y-You’re ****in’ insane!”
“You’re right. If I wasn’t, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”
“SHUT UP!! You can’t ****in’ do this to me!!”
“Watch me.”
“YOU’RE MY SON, YOU LITTLE ****!! I OWN YOU!!!”
The nature of the statement was enough to keep Aito’s finger off the trigger a brief moment longer, but it was the way in which it rolled off his tongue that forced him to bite his own, so as to maintain his hitherto composed appearance.
“The devil doesn’t have sons, …only servants. …And I am NOT your mother****ing servant.”
As the final word shot past his lips, so too did the bullet from his gun, hitting Yatsumi in the center of his exceptionally wide chest, despite Aito’s previous declaration to shoot him in the head. Coupled with his already inclined position, the force of the impact was enough to tip Yatsumi’s chair over and send him crashing to the floor, his head mere inches from colliding with the wall behind him. Returning the weapon to safety mode and then to the back of his jeans, Aito gazed longingly at the dying man in front of him and, upon noticing that he was still breathing faintly, stepped down off of the desk and walked over to the wall, placing his back against it and sliding down so that he was sitting directly beside him. He didn’t make eye contact with Yatsumi – who was glaring maliciously at him as he tried not to choke on his own blood – and took another puff on his cigarette before proceeding to give him the explanation he thought he deserved.
“You should’ve known it would come to this, you fat piece of shit. …I should’ve ripped out your ****in’ heart the second I found out you killed Mom, but I bit my tongue and kept my place. …For Seishin’s sake, mostly.” he explained in his usual detached voice, looking down at his father every few seconds to ensure that he was listening which, to his surprise, he was. It would seem that, in his dying hour, the only concern Yatsumi had left was finding out what had brought him to this distasteful end. …Aito didn’t disappoint.
“In the end, though, it was Mao that ultimately pushed me over the edge.” Aito finished, at which point Yatsumi was obliged to use his remaining energy to protest.
“The **** are you…ramblin’ on about? …I never touched a…a hair on Mao’s…head…”
He barely got the last word out before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went limp, the life of Yatsumi Ryokudan coming to an end after forty-two long years. Thinking to himself that this turn of events should’ve taken place at an earlier point in history, Aito took one last puff on his cigarette before standing up, extinguishing the lingering ember in the ashtray sitting on the desk before wrapping the remaining butt in a tissue and placing it in his pocket, refusing to leave any evidence of his presence here lying about for those who examine the room tomorrow to stumble across. After that, he left the room just as he had arrived, briefly stopping in front of the door to gaze over his shoulder at the desk, behind which laid the body of his now deceased father.
“True enough, …but it was a choice between either me carrying your blood on my hands for the rest of my life…or sitting idly by as a 12 year-old boy did it in my stead.”
To Be Continued…
Mob Child
- Assassination -
The night was calm and particularly cool – surprising, considering Oahu’s position on the globe. Perched atop a hill overlooking the scenic Hanauma Bay, the location of the Ryokudan household was the perfect match for its lavish appearance, a home more fit for a monarch or a high-profile celebrity than the family of a successful businessman. Men in black suits, beneath which were sure to be firearms of some form, surrounded the complex on every side, just as they were paid to do each night as the manor’s master slept. The master wasn’t asleep, though – far from it, in fact – merely biding his time in his office until drowsiness finally overcame him, a cigar hanging from his mouth and multiple stacks of recently counted bills laid out across his desk.
Yatsumi Ryokudan had spent many a night in these exact same circumstances, leaning back in his large, leather-cased chair as he reminisced on his successful life. Indeed, his career could hardly be described as anything less than impressive. Taking control of his father’s considerably small business at the meager age of nineteen, he had spent the last twenty-three years transforming said business into a massive empire, both his wealth and his reputation increasing tremendously over time. True, while he lacked in others areas of worldly knowledge, in the realm of money, he was on par with the greatest minds of the past century, and many other individuals in his field had the utmost respect for his accomplishments. …This was merely his public façade, though.
Within the confines of his own household, one could hardly describe Yatsumi using any term even remotely synonymous with the word “pleasant” – and he certainly had the appearance to match. He was fat – to put it lightly – as most people would expect of businessmen who smoked cigars, while his complexion could only be described as “gruff”. His sausage-link fingers were decorated with seven rings in total and coupled with the pinstripe suit that normally hid his no-doubt hideous figure from sight, he had the overall appearance of an overweight pimp – not too far from the truth. For all his negative attributes, though, there was no denying Yatsumi’s fortune, nor the power which it brought him, …power that any normal man lacking decency would kill to have. Just as that very thought crossed Yatsumi’s mind, a loud creak was heard on the opposite end of the large, spacious room.
“Hnh?” he muttered aloud as the huge double doors swung open to reveal the new arriver. He looked hardly out of his teenage years – which he was – and was dressed in a dark sweatshirt, which was zipped up to hide his white t-shirt from view, and baggy jeans, the leggings of which were mere millimeters away from touching the ground. His brown hair was thick and fell down to his shoulders, each strand of it flying off in a direction different from the last, and his bangs completely hid his left eye which, along with its right-bound counterpart, was an icy blue color. He said nothing to Yatsumi as he walked up to his deck, causing the latter to remove the cigar from his mouth in order to speak first.
“Oh, …it’s you. What the hell do you want, Aito? I don’t have time for this.” he said abruptly, hoping to end this matter quickly before returning to his musings. Aito, as he called him, gazed blankly from one end of the desk to the other, counting each stack of bills along the way, before looking up into Yatsumi’s eyes.
“I can see that. …You’re clearly DROWNING in paperwork.” he said coolly, causing the hand that wasn’t holding Yatsumi’s cigar to tighten in anger.
“Keep up the smartass remarks, punk, and I’ll beat you like ****in’ cake batter. …Now why the **** did you find it necessary to barge into my office when you know damn well that I can’t stand that shit?”
No immediate response was given. Instead, Aito took this time to reach into his sweatshirt – an action which brought Yatsumi some uneasiness – and pull out a small, silver Zippo lighter and a pack a Camel Nutty Menthols, placing one of the cigarettes in his mouth before returning the pack to its former place and doing the same with the lighter once he had used it to light said cigarette. He stood there for almost a minute on end, taking occasional puffs on the small device as he stared blankly at his colleague until finally, Yatsumi snapped and slammed his hand on top of his desk.
“Would you ****ing spit it out already!? Goddamn-”
Before he could complete his outburst, Yatsumi’s ability to speak was temporarily stolen from him by the sight now resting before his eyes – a M1911 pistol, on the end of which rested a large-caliber suppressor – and it was aimed directly at his forehead.
“What the-”
“You asked.” Aito replied, no change in his expression during this entire exchange.
“What the **** is this!?” Yatsumi shouted, fear clearly present in his voice, though he did his best to hide it. Reaching his hand beneath his desk in search of the shotgun which resided there, he quickly brought his search to a halt as Aito jumped up on top of the desk, paying no heed to anything he might be stepping on, and cocked his gun to ensure he had Yatsumi’s undivided attention.
“It’s called a gun, dipshit. And it might be pointed at your head now, but I assure you that if you reach under that desk again, I’ll aim it someplace where it’s NOT likely to kill you outright.” he warned, making absolute certain that Yatsumi knew exactly what his chances of surviving this encounter were. …Nonexistent.
“I have every ****in’ reason to make your death as painful as humanly possible, …starting with the fact you killed our mother.”
Of all its desired effects, it was amusement that this statement ultimately brought Yatsumi, who now saw this as nothing more than a childish ploy for revenge.
“Hmph, you little prick. You honestly think you’ll get away with this?” Yatsumi inquired, returning to his inclined position to show Aito that he wasn’t afraid of him or his weapon. Aito, however, wasn’t so quick to anger.
“Wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” he replied calmly, his utter lack of emotion igniting Yatsumi’s fury once more and causing him to tighten his grip on the arms of his chair.
“Well then, explain to me what you intend to do about the men patrolling the area! Shit, some of them are probably on their way to this office right now! Whaddaya say to that, you cocky little ****!?”
The desperation on his face and in his voice was clearer than spring water. So, too, was the fact that whatever effect his threats were supposed to have on Aito’s actions didn’t come to pass, since his expression was as blank as ever.
“Cameras are down. Made sure they were before I came here. …Nobody knows I’m in here and no one’s coming to make sure you’re alright.” Aito answered him, taking neither his gun nor his eyes off of Yatsumi as he spoke. Although he had no means of finding out whether or not he spoke the truth, Aito’s calm disposition was enough to convince Yatsumi that it was so.
“That right, huh!? Is that ****in’ right!? Well then, explain to me what you plan to do when they find out the bullet came from THAT ****ing gun!! Huh!? Didn’t think THAT far ahead, did ya, smartass!?” he shouted, at this point only attempting to stall his impending demise. The rivers of sweat pouring down the sides of his face could’ve been seen from the entrance of the room, his true colors having surfaced at long last.
“The rounds are hollow-point. No one’ll know it came from my gun once it goes through that fat ****in’ head of yours. …You gave them to me, remember? You oughta know.”
When Yatsumi made no attempt to respond, Aito’s right cheek elevated slightly, the corner of his mouth moving along with it. While it was true that prior circumstances left him with no other choice but to carry out this assassination, given his history with the man, he couldn’t help but enjoy himself. Wasting no further time, he briefly removed the cigarette from his mouth and readjusted his aim, causing Yatsumi’s eyes to widen past their already impressive size.
“Y-You’re ****in’ insane!”
“You’re right. If I wasn’t, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”
“SHUT UP!! You can’t ****in’ do this to me!!”
“Watch me.”
“YOU’RE MY SON, YOU LITTLE ****!! I OWN YOU!!!”
The nature of the statement was enough to keep Aito’s finger off the trigger a brief moment longer, but it was the way in which it rolled off his tongue that forced him to bite his own, so as to maintain his hitherto composed appearance.
“The devil doesn’t have sons, …only servants. …And I am NOT your mother****ing servant.”
As the final word shot past his lips, so too did the bullet from his gun, hitting Yatsumi in the center of his exceptionally wide chest, despite Aito’s previous declaration to shoot him in the head. Coupled with his already inclined position, the force of the impact was enough to tip Yatsumi’s chair over and send him crashing to the floor, his head mere inches from colliding with the wall behind him. Returning the weapon to safety mode and then to the back of his jeans, Aito gazed longingly at the dying man in front of him and, upon noticing that he was still breathing faintly, stepped down off of the desk and walked over to the wall, placing his back against it and sliding down so that he was sitting directly beside him. He didn’t make eye contact with Yatsumi – who was glaring maliciously at him as he tried not to choke on his own blood – and took another puff on his cigarette before proceeding to give him the explanation he thought he deserved.
“You should’ve known it would come to this, you fat piece of shit. …I should’ve ripped out your ****in’ heart the second I found out you killed Mom, but I bit my tongue and kept my place. …For Seishin’s sake, mostly.” he explained in his usual detached voice, looking down at his father every few seconds to ensure that he was listening which, to his surprise, he was. It would seem that, in his dying hour, the only concern Yatsumi had left was finding out what had brought him to this distasteful end. …Aito didn’t disappoint.
“In the end, though, it was Mao that ultimately pushed me over the edge.” Aito finished, at which point Yatsumi was obliged to use his remaining energy to protest.
“The **** are you…ramblin’ on about? …I never touched a…a hair on Mao’s…head…”
He barely got the last word out before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went limp, the life of Yatsumi Ryokudan coming to an end after forty-two long years. Thinking to himself that this turn of events should’ve taken place at an earlier point in history, Aito took one last puff on his cigarette before standing up, extinguishing the lingering ember in the ashtray sitting on the desk before wrapping the remaining butt in a tissue and placing it in his pocket, refusing to leave any evidence of his presence here lying about for those who examine the room tomorrow to stumble across. After that, he left the room just as he had arrived, briefly stopping in front of the door to gaze over his shoulder at the desk, behind which laid the body of his now deceased father.
“True enough, …but it was a choice between either me carrying your blood on my hands for the rest of my life…or sitting idly by as a 12 year-old boy did it in my stead.”
To Be Continued…
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