The Hades Bureau Crusade

It was eight days after Shōgatsu—the height of the New Year celebrations—which, in the unfamiliar precision of the Western calendar, was the thirteenth of February, 1867.

The scene is no-more at the abandoned warehouse, but in the heart of the city of Takayama itself. The city of mountains and old commerce, the scene unfolding was a crusade, a six-man infiltration unit slicing through the dawn.

The six warriors—Saitou Ichirō, Naoya Shida, Masashi Tsuyoshi, Taiichiro Kenichi, Hijikata Toshio, and the petrified courier Saru—were already on horseback, the hooves muffled by the frozen dirt road.

"You guys, it's time," Ichirō spat, his breath ghosting white in the cold air, his gaze fixed on the lights of the city limits.

"Yeah." Kenichi agreed, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana, a small, anticipating smile playing on his lips.

"I'm ready," Tsuyoshi echoed, his voice unnervingly cheerful for the impending slaughter.

"H-H-Hey, you guys, can I be left out? I can only ever run around, I'm no good..." Saru pleaded, practically vibrating with terror in his saddle. He had been dragged into this madness, his legs already aching with the effort of not fleeing.

"Hm." Toshio offered a single, noncommittal sound, his expression unchanging, a silent, lethal acceptance of Ichirō's statement.

"Alright then, time to slice some mafia heads," Shida said, his voice brimming with raw, joyous aggression.

"Remember, ye guys, three functional tiers of operation with several officers. Many of the rank-and-file won't be found in the Bureau at this hour, but we are certain the majority of the command structure will be present."

"How does their base work, any idea, Ichirō?" Kenichi asked, shifting his weight.

"It works like an underground colony system, a downward-spiraling vortex. The further down we descend with the stairs, the higher the tier hierarchy is in the floor structure."

"So in other words..." Shida prompted.

"Yeah. In other words, the Fourth Tier of foot soldiers will be found on the first floor we encounter, while the Oyabun himself will be found in his heavily guarded office at the very bottom."

"Doesn't leave much for escaping, does it?" Tsuyoshi noted, tilting his head.

"It doesn't. But that's because he never thought he needed to. He's so sure in his public agenda, his 'brothers' and himself, that he won't consider running away even when we arrive."

"There's six of us, there's three or four tiers for us to bust open. How are we going to go about this deployment?" Shida asked, his focus sharpening.

"Each one of you will handle a single tier by yourself. However, because every opponent in the first tier of the Three Executives are formidable opponents, I entrust two of you to clear that top section swiftly."

"So.. Ichirō Big Bro, you'll go straight for the Oyabun?" Saru asked, his voice trembling.

"Precisely."

"YOU'RE A BIT TOO CALM ABOUT IT, Y'KNOW!!" Saru shouted, his terror momentarily overriding his politeness.

"Hehe, ye think so? Ma always said I got a nice habit of that," Ichirō replied, his grin widening, a dangerous, carefree lack of tension in his face.

"IT'S NOT NICE IN THIS SITUATION!! NOOOO WAY!!"

---

Meanwhile, the bandits had arrived with Tenmichi and the line of captive women in Takayama after a brutal, tiring midnight journey designed to evade local samurai patrol checkpoints.

"You, and you," Kurogane, the co-leader of the operation, pointed sharply at two of the seven bandits with a dismissive gesture. "After we reach the Hades Bureau, you two will take these captive women and sell them off in the market. Do not waste time bargaining. We need your presence in the area, as we can be sensitive to raids for this girl here."

"Yes sir," the two bandits agreed, their eagerness to profit visible even in the pre-dawn gloom.

"And you two," Kurogane pointed to the older and younger bandit who had accompanied him during Tenmichi’s kidnapping, "you'll ensure this woman is brought, and you'll ensure this little girl is brought."

"Brought.. where exactly?" the younger bandit, Yahiko, asked, his eyes gleaming with ambition.

"The Oyabun's office, of course."

"WOAAAHHH! WE LOWLY MEASELY BANDITS GET TO VISIT HIS OFFICE?" Yahiko exclaimed, excitement overriding all caution.

"Gotta say, that's an opportunity I want before dying," the older bandit, grizzled and cynical, smiled.

Yahiko smirked. He sauntered up to Tenmichi's now well-acquainted friend—the Oyabun's former maid—and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking cruelly. "Dying? That's never gonna befall us!" He assured himself, tightening his grip on her hair, forcing a ragged grunt from the woman.

"The only person dying is this slut over here who's hair I loved pulling while caressin' her butt with my rod," he smirked, his eyes glazed with vicious pleasure.

"Yahiko, that's enough," Kurogane ordered, his voice flat.

"Hm?" Yahiko lifted his head up, dialing his pupils to Kurogane, "So strange, Kurogane," Yahiko complained, a whine entering his voice. "You've been acting like we haven't been doin' some nasty but fun things to her for a good while now. You kinda changed and got more reserved after this little brat came along."

"What are you trying to say? Be clear," Kurogane turned, his eyes holding a depth of coldness that cut through the morning air.

"All I'm sayin' is you got real protective and stuff after we got the runt. What's wrong?" Yahiko teased, pushing his luck.

"Nothing's wrong, Yahiko. Keep your measled accusations to yourself if you may," Kurogane muttered, but the lack of true force in his voice only emboldened Yahiko.

"Oh? I have a feeling the Fukuwakagashira has grown weak and doesn't want a little violence when a toddler is around." Yahiko spat the title, enjoying the insubordination.

Kurogane’s eyes went dark, reflecting a sudden, terrible emptiness. He slowly started to walk up to Yahiko, the pace unnervingly measured. Yahiko was a little petrified, the blood draining from his face at the sight of his leader’s deliberate approach.

Yahiko loosely let go of the woman's hair in pure, stark fear as he took a step back, the rest of the bandits watching on, slowly gasping as they realized the danger.

Kaching!

A sword was unsheathed and sheathed so fast—a blinding flash of mirror-bright steel—that the reflection of the bright, cold sun on the blade momentarily blinded everyone. Before they could focus their eyes again, their ears registered the sound first.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"MY... MY HAAAAAANDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yahiko dropped to his knees, his screams piercing the air. The hand he was using to pull the woman's hair fell onto the snow, severed cleanly at the wrist, lifeless and leaking torrents of dark blood onto the pristine white.

"KUROGANEEEEEE!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU, YOU BASTAAAAA—"

Shing!

"Silence," Kurogane unsheathed his sword yet again in a swift, unpredictable motion, having it now rest the flat of the blade against Yahiko's Adam's apple.

Yahiko gulped, his desperate, rattling screams instantly choked off into whimpers.

Tenmichi’s eyes were covered instantly by the Oyabun's former maid, who herself was horrified, yet simultaneously flooded with a sickening wave of relief. The rest of the captive women gasped in horror, covering their own mouths, the smell of fresh blood stinging the air.

"Let's go, now." Kurogane commanded, his voice back to its flat, professional tone, as if slicing off a subordinate's hand was a daily administrative task.

---

A local, completely unremarkable Ryogaesho (money exchange) store sat in the pre-dawn quiet. Its doors, fitted with a brass bell, rang open.

The man at the receptionist's desk was in his forties, noticeably overweight, with a bushy mustache and a carefully groomed goatee.

"Oh welcome good sir! How may I—"

He raised a single, quizzical eyebrow as a second figure entered.

"Oh welcome two good sirs, what blessing to have two customers at the such early morning, it's only 5 am! How may—"

He raised his eyebrow even higher as a third entered.

"Oh welcome THREE good sirs, what blessing this truly is! How—"

He raised his second eyebrow, a feat of facial gymnastics.

"Oh welcome four good sirs, today must be my lucky day! Ho—"

He raised his second eyebrow even higher, straining the skin on his forehead.

"Oh... w-welcome.. five good sirs.. today.. wow, today's weather must be so exquisite! H—"

He instantly dropped both eyebrows, the pride collapsing into frantic, wide-eyed alarm.

"I ONLY HAVE TWO EYEBROWS YOU KNOW?! HOW MANY OF YOU CLOAKED MEN WILL WALK IN?!?!"

"Ah sorry, sorry." The first cloaked man spoke in mock apology, his face indiscernible beneath the shadow of his hood.

"Well I guess it's okay..." The man—Yamamuro—calmed down slightly, nervously straightening his collar. "What are you men here for? This ain't a booze bar y'know!"

"Oh, you know, we just..." The cloaked man paused, leaning conspiratorially over the counter.

"We wanted to talk to the manager of this store."

"Well that'd be me, myself, and I!" Yamamuro lifted his chest... or rather, his prominent belly... with ridiculous pride.

"Oh? I was told this store was owned by someone else." The cloaked man spoke, his tone filled with sharp, calculated satire.

"You were told wrong, boy! I've been the proud owner of this store, always keep cheap rates for the poor in Takayama for a couple decades now! Hmph!" Yamamuro spoke, puffed up with self-importance.

"Oh really..?" He asked, the shadow on his face somehow conveying a smug smirk.

"Ngh?" Yamamuro was caught completely off-guard.

"Then all you've been doing these past years.. is selling out the poor in the name of 'cheap rates' for the benefits of your Oyabun, huh?"

"NGH?!" Yamamuro instantly reached his hand out to grab a small, concealed pistol from the shelf, but from behind the first cloaked man, another cloaked man reached out from underneath his cloak with a sword, slashing with impossible speed. The blade connected with agonizing precision, taking four of Yamamuro's fingers clean off.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! MY... MY FINGERS I SPENT 44 YEARS OF MY LIFE WITH!!!!!!" Yamamuro shrieked, clutching the bloody stump of his hand.

"That's too muuuuuch K-dot-san.. you're kinda scaaaaary.." The cloaked man whined from the front of the group, his voice mocking fear.

"I'm sorry Ichi-san," Kenichi (K-dot-san) apologized to Ichirō.

"Don't worry,

Finish him off."

 "Oh? I was almost worried you immediately grew sympathy upon entering." Kenichi mocks.

"H-H-H-HEY D-DON'T! NO DON—"

Slash.

The screams cut off with a sickening wet choke.

The men took their cloaks off, revealing Ichirō and his troops. In the very back, near the entrance, Saru was frozen, his face green.

"Y-You guys! Why am I here at all?! Seeing that makes me want to vomit!" Saru exclaimed, desperately covering his mouth.

"Tch, grow up, Saruuuu, or are ye not the man I thought ye've grown up to be?" Ichirō smirked, looking back over the corpse.

Saru looked down, moaning softly in misery and deep sadness.

"Looks like his screams caused a ruckus downstairs," Ichirō announced, tilting his head toward the floor.

"Downstairs?" Saru squeaked.

"Yes, Saru, you think we just walked into a random money exchange store owned by the Oyabun and killed one of his workers? The main office of the Bureau is right below us, accessible by that shaft."

"IT IS?! OH BOY."

"Right then. Y'all ready?"

---

In the dingy, smoke-filled lounge on the first floor of the Hades Bureau—Tier 4—a group of enforcers were gambling and drinking.

"Hey! Yamamuro was shouting upstairs! What could that ruckus be about?!"

"Lord knows.. You think it's trouble?"

"That too at the dawn of the day, it's like 5 am.."

"I think I'll go upstairs and check it out.." "Right, you should go."

"Jeez, that cockney geezer, what's he thinking riling us up at this time in the morning." The man grumbled, walking up the hidden staircase.

He opened the wooden shaft cover that led to the store upstairs and found a man kneeling directly in front of the opening.

"Yo."

"HUH?! Y-YOU—"

(The man didn't finish his thought. A sudden, massive boot connected with his face, sending him tumbling violently down the stairs and back into the lounge floor, landing with a sickening crunch.)

"Oi! What happened?!"

"Th-That was... Taiichiro Kenichi!"

"WHAT?!"

"What are you—"

(Before anyone could unsheathe a weapon, the ceiling directly above the lounge burst open with a deafening crash. Debris—wood shards, tatami mat fragments, dirt, and plaster—rained down, bathing the room in a sudden cascade of dust and wreckage.)

"ALRIIIIIIIIIIIGHHHHTTTTT!!!!!!" Ichirō roared from the dust cloud.

"HAHAHAH!" Shida's laughter rang out.

"KYAAAAA!!!!! I'M SCARED!" Saru's strange, high-pitched cry joined the chaos.

"Heh." Toshio landed silently.

"WOOOO!" Kenichi landed hard.

"LET'S GO!!!!!" Tsuyoshi shouted.

The six warriors dropped down into the very center of the first floor of the Bureau, landing amidst the stunned and wounded enforcers.

"Geez, Tsuyoshi, ye think we dropped in a bit too hard? Some people got knocked out by the debris y'know?!" Ichirō shouted over the ringing in the room.

"Saves a lot for our dear Saru here, though," Tsuyoshi replied, pointing innocently at the petrified courier.

"Huh?" Saru squeaked, confused.

"True, right then, Saru!" Ichirō's attention snapped to the courier.

"We will leave the Fourth Tier to you, ba-bye!" The five samurai ran instantly toward the corner of the room where the main staircase was located.

"HUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH???????!!!!!! YOU GUYS DIDN'T TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT THAT!!!!"

"I... I FORGOT.. HE SAID TWO OF US WILL FIGHT AGAINST THE FIRST TIER, I DIDN'T REALIZE THAT'D MEAN I'D HAVE TO FIGHT ALONE IN ONE OF THE TIERS!!!!! KYAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!! I'M SCARED! I'M SCAAAAAAAAREEEEEED!!!!" Saru shrieked, his voice climbing to a hysterical pitch as the five figures vanished.

"Hey, you bastards.. Who the hell are you?!" The men in the floor, armed with crude weapons, began to close in.

"Tch!" Saru locked up, his body trembling, but his stance shifting slightly.

"Well, complainin' ain't gonna do much so.. Might as well get to it..."

---

"Ichirō, you think it was a good idea to let a non-fighter like Saru handle the opening floor?!" Kenichi asked, worried, as the five ran down the stairs to the second level.

"I have a lot of faith in that boy, ever since he was a kid, all he's been doin' is getting out of trouble with his wits. This will be one of those moments," Ichirō smiled, a mixture of pride and genuine recklessness in his voice.

"Right."

The five reached the second floor, the air here thicker and warmer, smelling of stale sake and desperation. "This floor oughta be filled with Third Tier warriors."

"Hey! Those are intruders? What the hell?!" The men stood up immediately, their chairs scraping back, drawing their swords with grating sound.

"They must be here for the Oyabun! We don't know how they got here, but don't let get 'em further away!" A man shouted, his voice cracking.

"Shida! I leave these lowlifes to you!" Ichirō shouted, not breaking stride as he made his way to the other corner of the room to use the stairs again.

"You got it! You just keep goin' down without worrying!" Shida unsheathed his sword, the light of the emergency lantern reflecting sharply off the perfect steel.

Ichirō smiled and nodded: "Let's go, ye guys!" The four ran down the stair again, their footsteps receding rapidly.

"Oi.. That's Naoya Shida of the Kodokuna Sonae!" One of the men whispered, utterly petrified, his courage draining away like water through a sieve.

"Tch.. What the hell is he doing here.."

"You men! Stop being scared and charge in! It's an untimed intruder alert, but we can't let them leave alive!"

"YEAHHHH!" The men shouted in a desperate, last-gasp unison.

"Alright, you bastards, remember this face AND this sword very well because the next one you'll see won't have flesh or bones and will HAVE A SCYTHE!!" Shida roared, charging headlong into the formation, his sword becoming a terrifying, blinding blur.

---

“…This… this isn't good,” Saru whispered.

The room was huge. A wide stone floor with pillars, broken furniture, hanging banners, and dozens of shadowed arches lining the walls. No windows. No visible exits, except for the stairs the others used.

A perfect arena.

A horrible arena.

Then the footsteps started.

From every arch.

From every shadow.

Heavy boots. Metal scraping. The unmistakable sound of many, many men who absolutely wanted him dead.

Saru's mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Then his soul left his body.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—!!!”

He drew his sword so fast he almost threw it behind himself by accident.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT—!!!” he screamed, waving it wildly. “I SURRENDER! I’M VERY WEAK! EXTREMELY WEAK! I HAVE A DOCUMENTED HISTORY OF COWARDICE—!!!”

They charged.

Saru turned and ran.

He ran in zigzags.

He ran in circles.

He ran directly into a pillar and bounced off it like a ragdoll.

“WHY IS THIS PLACE BUILT LIKE A TRAP FOR ME SPECIFICALLY?!” he shrieked.

A spear flew past his head.

A sword clanged against the wall next to his face.

Saru gasped, skidded behind a toppled table, and peeked over it—

There were at least twenty men.

“TWENTY?!” he cried. “THAT’S TOO MANY FOR A SUPPORT CHARACTER!”

They flipped the table.

Saru screamed, tripped over his own feet, and accidentally stabbed a man in the thigh while falling forward.

The man screamed.

“I’M SORRY!!” Saru screamed louder.

He yanked the sword free, spun blindly, and the flat of the blade smacked another man in the face on total accident.

“STOP STANDING WHERE MY ARMS ARE!” he yelled.

They rushed him again.

Saru ran again.

He ducked between pillars, slid under broken furniture, vaulted over debris with the grace of a man being chased by death itself.

At one point he rounded a corner and slammed face-first into another squad waiting there.

They all stared at each other.

Saru raised his sword with trembling hands.

“…Hi?”

They attacked.

Saru turned around and sprinted straight back into the first squad.

“WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF YOU?!” he cried. “DID YOU MULTIPLY?!”

They absolutely multiplied.

Saru zigzagged again, tripping, recovering, accidentally rolling between a man’s legs and stabbing him in the butt on the way through.

“I SAID I’M SORRY!!!”

He burst into a wide open section of the floor again—center area, nowhere to hide.

They surrounded him in a full circle.

Saru spun slowly, sword shaking.

“…Okay,” he panted. “Let’s all calm down. We can talk this out. I’m very open to negotiations that involve me not dying.”

They stepped closer.

Saru's voice cracked.

“…I can also cry if that helps.”

They rushed him.

Saru screamed and swung blindly.

Steel clanged.

Sparks flew.

Somehow—miraculously—he wasn’t instantly killed.

He slipped on dust, fell on his back, kicked one man in the knees, rolled under another, stumbled upright, and accidentally parried a strike through pure terror reflex.

His sword locked with another.

Their faces were inches apart.

The man sneered.

Saru's eyes crossed looking at him.

“…You have really nice pores,” Saru said.

The man blinked.

Saru headbutted him and immediately fell over from the impact.

“I regret that decision—!!”

He scrabbled backward on his hands and heels as blades stabbed into the floor inches from his face.

Saru spun, slashed wildly, and by sheer coincidence cut a hanging banner loose.

The massive cloth dropped down over six men, tangling them instantly.

They fell over like bowling pins.

Saru stared.

“…I totally did that on purpose.”

He ran again.

Minutes felt like hours.

Saru was sweating, bleeding, wheezing, his arms burning from even holding the sword.

They were still coming.

Always coming.

“You’re done running, long legs!” someone shouted.

Saru skidded to a stop.

He looked behind him.

A wall.

No exits.

No pillars.

Just stone.

He turned back to the advancing line of swords.

He gulped.

“…Okay.”

He straightened his back.

Lifted his sword.

Tried to stand like a real warrior.

“My name… is… Saru…”

His legs started shaking violently.

“…And I am very, VERY scared right now.”

They charged.

Saru screamed something completely incoherent and leapt forward.

What followed was not a proper sword fight.

It was a disaster ballet.

Saru slipped on blood and somehow slid beneath a sweeping blade.

He stabbed a man’s foot.

He tripped over that man’s falling body.

Rolled into two more.

One slipped on the same blood and collided headfirst into another.

Saru got up swinging like a madman, screaming the whole time, eyes closed half the time, and somehow—somehow—men kept falling.

Not because he was skilled.

Because the universe itself had decided today was funny.

A man tried to spear him—Saru tripped, the spear flew over his head and impaled another attacker instead.

A swordsman leapt at Saru—Saru flailed backward, the man overcommitted and flew straight into a stone pillar face-first.

Saru stared at the unconscious body.

“…I am a tactical genius.”

More rushed him.

Saru turned and ran again.

He led them in one final wide loop across the entire floor, screaming, flailing, knocking over broken furniture, jamming weapons into cracks between stones, kicking loose rubble behind him.

Men tripped.

Men fell.

Men cursed his name.

Saru slid under a low stone beam at the last second.

The front rank followed.

The beam cracked.

Collapsed.

Half the floor came down like a domino disaster.

Dust exploded.

Men vanished beneath stone.

Silence crashed down after it.

Saru stood at the far end of the hall, chest heaving, sword dangling uselessly at his side.

He looked at the ruin.

Looked at the unconscious men.

Looked at the buried ones.

Then at himself.

“…I lived.”

He burst into tears instantly.

“I LIVED!!! I SHOULDN’T HAVE LIVED BUT I DID—!!!”

He fell flat on his back, laughing, crying, wheezing, limbs shaking.

“…I hate you Ichirō Big Bro…”