Two sharply dressed Japanese men held a smaller man of their own kind aloft, blood soaked shirt around his torso, scars from brass knuckles around his eyes. He cries out like a banshee longing for a lost soul while the blood soaks his tears, slowly trickles down his cheeks and slowly soaks the floor beneath him.

In the short distance, no more than fifty feet from the scene, a woman clutches a crying infant, while she too cries in agony, shaking her head in disbelief, barely squeezing a tear out of her right eye, covered by a blue bruise. The infant is a male, no more than three months old, too young to realize what is unfolding.
In front of the two men holding the smaller gentleman, stay seated a Japanese man, dressed In a white tuxedo and tie, holding in his right hand Bushido blade, sharper than the teeth of a great white shark.

On the blade one can see slight rust from the deposit of blood of many years of ruthless cunning and precision. In his other hand he held a Cuban cigar, with the scent of a thousand roses, as he slowly released the smoke from his lips, it filled the room with the scent.

The room became engulfed in the smoke as it billowed from his lips. Then he suddenly and swiftly got up from the chair and pointed the blade toward the infant and the mother of the child, licking his lips in sweet satisfaction.
He slowly crept toward the two, step by step, as if he were a offender being served a field sobriety test, tippy toeing his way toward his victims.

The man being held by the goons yelled out in horrid furor;

Man: No! You bastard! Leave them out of this, this has nothing to do with them. Kill me, leave them be. I swear if you touch them I’ll...

Boss: You’ll do exactly what? Hmmm? You can do nothing! But since you decided to interrupt my little game, I think that it is about time for you to pay the consequence.

The boss nods toward the two men. One of them slowly drops the man to the ground while the other places his foot on his head firmly. They grab a table from one side of the room and prop the man’s hand on it and hold it down. The woman screams in shear horror.

Woman: No! No! Don’t!

The boss gathers his blade and starts licking it as if he were some sort of fiend for human flesh.

Boss: This is the price you pay for betraying the Yakuza. No one crosses us, no one ever survives. Only we do. Only the family will ever live. Now you must pay your price for insolence.

The boss grabs his knife and slowly tickles the blade across the hand of the man. As he slowly applies more pressure he starts cutting into the tendons and hand of the man, reaching the bone and severing the fingers one by one with exact precision. The man cries out in agony and blood starts bursting from his fingers as if it were a fire hydrant.

Boss: Ahahaha! There, I rather enjoyed that. Let your blood spill and bleed you out as if you were a little piglet, sacrificed to the gods.

Man: Aah! You bastard. Aaaaaaaaah.

Boss: What is it that I am? A bastard you say? No, not really. I had a mother and father, but that’s something your son will never have. I’ll first get rid of you, hack you into little pieces and throw you to the pigs, so that you may rest where you belong, with the rest of the scum.

The mother of the child lay there shaken, holding her child in her clutches, wrapped more tightly than a Christmas present.

Boss: Woman, do not weep. I shall have my way with you…nay. I shall let my men have their way with you, while I dispose of this husband of yours. There will be no trace of either one of you left when we are done with you, and your son will never know you existed. He will live in a world he doesn’t belong, I’ll make sure of that.

The woman begins crying even more as the two men drop her husband to the floor as if he were a placemat, and leave him there bleeding from his severed limb. They slowly walk their way toward the woman while deliberating what they’ll do with her.

The boss, blood soaked white tux and all, makes his way toward the man and admonishes him further, grabbing his face and slapping him around.

He then gathers the blade and holds it out in front of him, and with one swift swipe of the blade takes the man’s head clean off, his body hitting the canvas, while the head is still in the air. The head comes to rest ten feet behind the mutilated body, a look of sheer fear on it’s face.

The boss, not quite satisfied with his handiwork, starts stabbing the body, over and over, over and over, at least fifty times until he finally stops himself and nods proudly.

The screaming infant slowly interrupts his gaze at the body. Thoughts of murder begin crossing his mind, as he slowly makes his way toward the infant.

Meanwhile in the other room, screams of horror can be heard from the woman as the other two men rip her clothing from her battered body.

Then out of the distance, two gunshots are heard, instantly dropping the two on their knees, killing them.

Continued in Part 2, Blade Of Destiny