Page 116 of Brutal Union
The clang of steel rings out as he crashes into me, blade-to-blade. He’s still fast—strong—but I’ve fought him in my mind a thousand times. Every form. Every weakness. Every lie. We break apart and circle. He comes in low, I parry and snap the flat of my blade across his ribs. He grunts, surprised.
“Anata ni wa kono shogo wa fusawashikunai,”you are not worthy of this title.I hiss, striking again—low then high. He blocks, but barely.
“Omae wa kono ichizoku no nawokegasudarou. Omae wa kyodai-tachi to onajiku amaenboda. Kusatta hahaoya to onajiku.”You will disgrace this family's name. You are just as spoiled as your brothers. Just like your rotten mother.He growls and lunges again, slashing toward my neck. I duck under, pivot behind him, and rake my blade across his back. Not deep. Just enough.
“You trained children to be killers,” I spit, landing a blow to his thigh, forcing him to drop to one knee. “You are afraid of true men, that seems soft to me.”
He roars, sweeping wide and catching my shoulder. Pain flashes hot, but I twist with it and elbow him in the jaw. He stumbles, and I kick him hard in the chest, sending him crashing onto his back.
“You don’t know how to lead without killing everything around you,” I say, breathing hard, blood dripping from my arm. “You break. You poison. You steal. You are the most dishonorable man I know.”
He scrambles to his feet, swinging wildly. I dodge, drive my foot into his ribs, and knock the sword from his hand. It skitters across the floor, ringing once before going still.
I press my blade to his throat, breathing steady now. I’ve waited my whole life for this moment, but it doesn’t feel like victory.
“You could’ve built something,” I whisper, pressing harder. “But all you did was destroy. And still—still I gave you the chance to walk away.”
He coughs, lip bleeding. “Because deep down, you wanted my approval.”
I lean close, my face inches from his. “No,” I say, voice cold as steel. “I wanted to prove I never needed it.”
Then I swing.
Not for his neck.
Not yet.
Just enough to carve a deep, punishing cut across his chest that forces him to stagger back.
The dark silk of his kimono sliced open and soaked with red. He stumbles back a step, then another, breath hitching as he grips his side. The arrogance is gone. But his eyes still burn with that same fire—the fire of a man who thought he’d never bleed.
I don’t give him time to recover.
My blade slashes across his thigh, clean and fast. He buckles to one knee with a grunt, panting, sweat dripping from his jaw.
“You think this is how you prove something?” he spits, lifting his gaze to mine. “Killing me makes you a king?”
“No,” I answer, circling slowly, blade glinting in the low light. “It makes me your fucking God. There is no heaven for tyrants, father.”
He tries to rise, and I slam my boot into his chest, sending him sprawling flat on his back. His sword lies ten feet away, forgotten. He coughs, blood bubbling at the edge of his lips. He’s still breathing, still glaring—still trying to win a war he already lost.
I stand over him, katana raised, my heart pounding not with fear—but with relief that this moment is finally here.
“You were never worthy of the Yakuza,” I whisper, raising the katana high. “And as you die you will not be worthy of the same heaven that holds my mother. Your spirit dies here. ”
“Sho-” He sputters but it is too late.
One clean swing. The blade cuts through flesh, bone, silk. His head rolls once, then settles, eyes frozen wide in disbelief.
Blood pools across the polished floor, spreading around his lifeless body like a halo in reverse. I lower the blade slowly, chest heaving.
I look over my shoulder.
Nadia stands a few feet away, a smile so wide and bright you’d think she’d see heaven and not me killing my own father. Her blade is lowered. Her shoulders are squared.
And when our eyes meet, she runs into my arms, and whispers, “I am so proud of you.”
EPILOGUE
