//------------------------------// // Prologue: End Of A Legend // Story: The Legend Of Benkei: Untold // by -Singleton- //------------------------------// The sashimonos of the assembled samurai fluttered slightly in the wind, their dark clan colors vibrant against the contrast of the sky. No man dared move, much less cross the bridge that lay before them. The officer of the unit looked uneasily towards the flag bearing ashigaru, nodding as the peasant banged the war drum hesitantly, the strikes resounding across the flat landscape. They had been ordered to advance. Nervously, the samurai marched forward, inching closer and closer to the narrow wooden bridge where the giant figure stood, riddled with arrows. Benkei stood over six and a half feet tall, his imposing figure blocking out the sun that wreathed his form in a golden glow, giving him the appearance of a god. He wore a simple white kimono, indicative of his past as a monk, and over it the elegantly made ō-yoroi armor of a samurai. His armor was black, gilded with white streaks of color running through his large, square shoulder guards. His rectangular chestplate and tassets were laced in a similar manner, white streaks running through solid black, the interlocking metal plates rimmed by a piece of solid iron. Over his armor, a white shawl was visible, but had now taken on the color of his blood, for Benkei stood silent and still, his armor and flesh pierced in many places across his body. His blood dripped and stained the polished wood of the bridge he safeguarded, and soiled his stark white kimono, the pool of blood beneath him growing larger by the second. But Benkei just stood there, face shrouded by his shawl’s hood, his naginata clutched stoutly upright. At his side, he carried the very soul of a samurai, a masterly crafted set of blades, a katana, and a wakizashi, both encased within ornate sheaths gilded with gold. Even the strong rope that secured the set of blade’s to his thigh was laced with gold, glistening in the sunlight, just as his blood soaked robes did. The samurai began to cross the bridge, only wide enough for three men at a time, the officer accompanied by his two bodyguards at the forefront of the unit. Through their metal masks, the samurai looked uneasily at the hundreds of bodies in the river below, their blood staining the serene stream a dark red. As the officer neared Benkei, he hesitated for a moment, mere feet from him now, before drawing his katana and setting his sights on dueling him. He glanced nervously to the men behind him, before inhaling deeply, and letting the warmth of the sun calm his nerves. He closed his eyes for a moment, the wind rustling his jin baori surcoat that he wore over his lamellar armor, before stepping forward, ready to face his opponent. The giant remained unmoving, his naginata’s blood soaked blade remaining still, just as he was. The officer inched forward, the sun catching his blade as he slashed forward heavily, his foot slamming down particularly hard. The officer missed Benkei, meaning to get him to move and fight, but it was at this point he realized something was very wrong. The behemoth of a man dropped to his knees, the extreme amount of arrows impaling his body nearly touching the officer who just stood there, astonished. Benkei’s naginata slipped from his cold hands, tumbling into the river below to join the weapons of so many others. Benkei remained in this position for a moment, before slouching forwards onto his face, the impact pushing the arrows deeper into his body. The officer moved forward hesitantly, removing the hood from Benkei’s head, as he stooped down to look at his face, finding only an aloof stare, and a glossy look in his eyes. “Benkei wa shinde iru!”, the officer shouted triumphantly, raising his katana over his head, as he turned to face his men. “Onio wa shinde iru! Kare wa haiboku sa rete imasu!”, one of the samurai shouted, relieved to have been spared the fate of the men before him. The officer and his men picked up the bloody and arrow impaled Benkei, and heaved his body into the river below, before advancing past the bloody bridge, and gaining access to the long sought after castle of Minamoto no Yoshitsune. “Sayōnara Benkei. Anata wa yoku tatakatta.” , the officer said in a smug tone before moving to catch up with the rest of his men that had begun torching the wooden castle. It was a hard fought victory, with hundreds dying trying to defeat Benkei, before archers finally arrived and fired volley after volley at the juggernaut who seemed unphased by it all. The truth was that Benkei had died standing during one of the hailstorms of arrows hours earlier, the fatal arrow piercing his heart. In his dying moments, Benkei refused to fail his master, dying standing up, loyal to the grave and beyond. Too intimidated to face him after killing a ridiculous amount of samurai, the opposing army waited for several hours for Benkei to give into his wounds, despite him having done so far earlier. Smoke drifted off of the humble wooden castle, the dark columns of thick black drifting high up into the sky, contrasting starkly against the orange sun, before dissipating in thin wisps. The red and orange fire burned violently against the setting sun, the flames licking at it, meshing with it, as the blaze burned on into the night. As the castle burned to the backdrop of a setting sun, Benkei’s body drifted slowly downstream, the gentle currents caressing his mutilated body, as his clothes were cleansed of their red hue. He floated downstream for many days, his body facing downwards, his eyes still open. Yet, Benkei did not decay, succumb to waterlogging, or any of the other afflictions of death. No, he just floated and floated, letting the wind and the currents take his body where it willed, the sun rising and setting as day dragged on into night and then back into day again. But something strange happened while Benkei’s corpse floated down the endless stream. It was almost as if the arrows in his wounds had disappeared as the days had gone on, and the wounds themselves mended rapidly. Even his master work armor repaired itself, as if it were being carefully hammered and laced back into place. But the strangest of all of these happenings was when the sun rose on the fifth day of his journey downstream, Benkei’s naginata , long separated from him, miraculously floated up next to his hand, the water reflecting the sunlight’s rays onto the shiny blade of the weapon. It followed his body for several hours, brushing up against its deceased master, longing to be grasped in defiance of the enemy once more. They remained together like this, floating gently down stream, the sun beating down on the two for another day before the blade’s wish was finally granted. Benkei’s dead hands opened as the currents pushed the weapon into his firm grasp, allowing him to close his hands and clutch the weapon tightly against his chest, before resuming his eternal stillness. Benkei was still very much dead, yet there was something manipulating him, healing him, and preparing him. The answer as to what it was readying him for remained unclear, as he continued his journey, seeming to float on in the forever flowing river that reflected the sun’s rays magnificently, the refraction of light in the water, mirroring a distorted sky that was still just as beautiful and endless. But all journeys come to an end, and when Benkei’s body reached the grassy shores of a small fishing village, his lifeless body fully rejuvenated, his armor mended, and his naginata held tight , a burst of pure white light encased his body in a blinding aura of radiance. Moments later, Benkei’s body was gone, having vanished into nothingness. Just as he had come into this world, in a flash of heavenly light, so too did he now resign from it. His origins were unknown to anyone, only Benkei having witnessed his "birth". Yet, even he did not understand his odd arrival, and now departure from Earth. As such, his body was never recovered, leading Benkei's tale to drift into legend over the years. But Benkei was very much real ... ... and he is still very much alive.