Victory Sealed the Fate
A sidestory to The Tales of Shampoo: The Phoenix Eye Saga

Part I:  The Final Day for Home


    Spring of the year 1989.  A small, isolated village in northern Vietnam, near the Chinese border.
    It is a truly rustic community, so tiny that it doesn't have a name; not that any of the inhabitants remember, anyway.  It is simply referred to as "Home" by the hundred or so people that have lived their happy, contented lives here, peacefully and without fear.  Generation upon generation continue to have their sense of pax domestica, a sense of tranquil belonging in this simple collection of huts, fields, and livestock pens that dot the immediate ground.  Children play their games, sweethearts swoon with love, parents work in the fields or with the animals, and everybody goes on about their daily activities; that is all there is here, and they do not mind or miss the conveniences of a modern world that they barely know is there.  This place known only as Home is idyllic, serene; it is a vestige of Eden on Earth, Nirvana embodied for the families here.
    In one hour that will all change.
    In one hour this village, this--home--will no longer exist.


    From out of the dark, dense underbrush of the Asian jungle walks a woman, about twenty or so in age, with short white hair and enchanting turquoise eyes, about average height and with an athletic, yet voluptuous build.  Although she is capable of passing as a local, a closer inspection reveals that she is of Chinese birth.  She wears a body-hugging suit made of raw silk; it is plain save for the color, a pale, wheat-like shade of tan.  She also wears, borne in scabbards strapped to her back, a pair of Chinese short swords.  In one hand, her left, she carries a bloodstained sack that encircled by swarms of flies that follow from the humidity of the jungle.  The woman moves from the jungle, into the sizable clearing that the village territory.  She moves with the grace of a panther lazily stalking her prey...because they haven't noticed her coming yet.
    She sees her prey: the small village up ahead.  With the same smooth motions, she steps into the village.  The children continue to play, not paying attention to the stranger in their midst.  The adults present, though, see the Chinese beauty walking to the center of the town, and their eyes go wide in terror.  A few parents, mindful of the danger, quickly grab their children and bolt into their huts.  
    This action only causes the woman to laugh softly, but it doesn't sound cheerful.  The notes ring over the clearing and into the fields.  People move in, carrying their scythes, poles, whatever is handy.  They will need their all to defeat the monster that has stepped into their midst.
    Meanwhile, the woman stops at the central gathering point, the hub of the village.  She stands, arms drooped lazily, looking unconcerned about the gathering throng that is approaching and surrounding her, slowly but surely.  Some of them are carrying their simple farm tools.  Some were possibly expecting her or one of her associates; those carry weapons.  It is no matter.  They will all be dead within the hour.
    She cups one hand to her lips, and calls out in crystal-clear and flawless Vietnamese, "Elder, come out!  Your fate for defying my Lord Nguyen Tran Loc is at hand!  I have come to rain punishment down upon you all!"
    A smile crosses full-bodied, sensuous lips.  Mango has spoken.


    After a minute or two, a very old woman comes out, guided by a girl of, perhaps, twelve years of age.  Following slowly behind the pair is a young boy, slightly older in appearance than the girl.  Both children are armed with swords, and the way they hold their weapons clearly indicates that they know how to use them.  Mango momentarily glares at the old woman, then the girl, and lastly to the boy, but says nothing.  
    The woman rests on her cane, looking frail and weak.  She however, looks at Mango with intense black eyes that burn with a mixture of hatred and defiance.  Those old eyes, set in a wizened face, have already set the tone for the words that follow:  "Begone, Whore of Nguyen.  You'll do us no more harm."
    "You know the price of defiance, old fool," Mango responds in a monotone.  "My Lord Nguyen does not appreciate those who disobey his word."
    "We are a free people," the elder countered.  "We accept no rule save that of our gods, of the rulers in Hanoi, and of our council.  We *do not* accept the word of a mad warlord who believes himself destined to rule the very heaven and earth."
    "My Lord Nguyen will rule that and more--"
    "He will rule in the hells!" one foolish man at the front of the crowd yells, eliciting cheers from his compatriots.  He and his cohorts, however, are silenced by a simple glance from Mango's eyes.  As for the man, he begins to shrink into the back of the crowd.
    Continuing from her interruption, she finishes.  "--and as much as he would like.  The world is to be his, and you cannot stop it.  Your attempt at defying him displeases him, and you must be punished for your folly.  All of you."
    The elder, despite looking unable to do so, utters a powerful statement. "I truly pity you and your ways, Whore of Nguyen.  We would rather die than live under Nguyen's oppression!  Other villages may be afraid of you, even the government in Hanoi may be afraid of you, but we are not!  We will survive and be free!"  The woman's words cause a cheer in the crowd encircling Mango.
    The woman points to the path leading away from the village.  "We do not wish bloodshed if we can avoid it.  Leave now with your life, and never return.  If you do not, you will surely be killed."
    
     
    Mango's reply is a hearty laugh, a mocking sound that manages to simultaneously raise the ire of the villagers, while sending a chill down their very spines.  After a second or two, she speaks.  "Setting terms?  My dear woman, you are more of a fool than I thought.  I come and go as I choose.  In any event, who do you have that would possibly be a threat to *me?"*
    In the corner of her eye, she sees the girl bristle, then edge forward, only to be halted by the elder woman's outstretched arm.  The girl bares her teeth in what is meant to be a threat; Mango simply yawns.
    The woman resumes her warning.  "I give you this last warning, you who are Nguyen's attack dog.  We have powerful friends, allies who will save us at our beckon call."
    Mango brings her right hand to her chin and rolls her eyes in a mocking gesture of thought.  "Those 'friends' wouldn't happen to be the Japanese ninja clan known as the Ghost Wolves, would it?"
    The old woman's eyes grew wide in surprise.  "How--"
    The Chinese woman roared, *"YOU SENILE, AGED BITCH!  HAVEN'T YOU REALIZED THAT BY NOW, WE KNOW EVERYTHING!  WE KNOW THAT YOUR SON WAS SENT, ALONG WITH REPRESENTATIVES OF TWO OTHER VILLAGES, TO GO TO JAPAN TO SUMMON THEIR ASSISTANCE!"*  Her voice dropped down to its normal tone, and she rolled the next words off her tongue, every syllable the bell's ring of the damned.  "My team intercepted them at the first village.  Executed every one of the ninjas.  Clan Ghost Wolf is no more.  Neither, for that matter, is that particular village.  Or the second one."
    The old woman became unnerved at that, but still managed to spit out, "So you intend to make us number three.  You will not succeed."
    "Old woman, I have already begun."  Mango pitches her pouch towards the elder, and as the pouch begins to fall open, revealing its contents, Mango says, "Be wary of the number three, marm.  It is a powerful, mystical number."


    The bag at the village elder's feet falls open slowly, the rim of the opening caressing the contents as it slides down around the sides. In a second, the cloth bag pools at the base of the contents, revealing its hidden, secretive treasure to the world.
    It is a decapitated, mutilated head of a man.  The cut is surgical, clean, as though it was either done by a scalpel...or someone with precision blade experience.  That in itself would indicate that the man would've died painlessly.  But, by the twisted grimace etched on the face, that appears highly unlikely. The eyes are just empty sockets; the mouth is lacking the pink flesh of a tongue.  Pieces of flesh have been removed from the face in various places.  This man died torturously.
    "My distinct apologies," Mango mocks.  "My compatriots Rain and Spring-Heeled Jack tend to get carried away occasionally."
    The old woman doesn't hear her.  She slumps down in front of the head, numbly sobbing, "Oh, dear gods....  My son...."  She picks the head up and begins to cradle it, crying softly at first, then begins to wail madly.
    The girl with the blade isn't as calm.  *"FATHER!"*  She drops to her grandmother's side, staring at the head at first, then looks at Mango with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.
    The boy turns his head in deference and respect, then looks at Mango with the same burning rage.  Wordlessly, he drops into a fighting stance, blade at the ready.
    The crowd's mood grows ugly at the scene, as a voice whispers, "Look at what that monster did to Ngoc Van Trai!"  A few of them run to their homes, either to get weapons, or in absolute fear and revulsion.  Another voice in the crowd murmurs, "Nguyen's dog shall pay for this!" and a few more grunt in consent.  They want Mango dead, dead, dead.  *Now.*
    Mango continues to stand at ease, staring at the elderly woman in a mood of disinterest.  "Let's get this over with, old woman.  I have an appointment in two hours that I do not wish to be late for."
    The old woman rushes to her feet, her face a mask of wrath and pain.  *"YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT?  YOU KILLED MY ONLY CHILD AND YOU SAY YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT?"*  Still holding the head of her dead son, the old woman points at Mango accusingly, bellowing, *"YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, ALL RIGHT.  ONE WITH DEATH!"*
    "That's but one of my appointments today.  Fortunately, I will not be on the receiving end."  She moves in closely, and to the old woman's horror, Mango takes the elder's face in her hands and she kisses her on the lips.  No lover's kiss, just a peck, a mere brushing of the lips athwart each other.  As she backs off slowly, she moves into a tighter stance, one more fluid, yet more controlled.  She says, softly.  "Woman, you know who I am, what I am.  You know what that means."
    *"WHORE!"* the old woman screams.  *"YOU WILL DIE NOW!"*  She turns to her granddaughter.  *"Child, avenge your father!!"*
    The verbal leash undone, the warrior child strikes.  *"FOR MY FATHER'S SPIRIT TO REST, YOU SHALL DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS!"* the girl screams as she leaps into the air and dives towards Mango, still simply standing there.


    The Chinese woman continued to stand there until seconds from impact.  Without warning, there was a glint of light, a blur, and in less than a blink of an eye, the young girl found herself pinned to the ground, screaming, by her own sword.  The blade had been driven through her shoulder, crushing bone, snapping tendons and muscle, bursting veins and bloodlines.  She'd never have the use of that arm again if she lived.  Which Mango wasn't intending to allow her to.  Not that she would die anytime soon, mind you--that would run the example that she was about to set.
    Mango smiled ferally, saying, "My dear child, I believe this is what you intended."  With that, she repeats the girls move, executing it on the old lady, mindful not to strike the severed head.  She leaps into the air, and at the zenith, screams in her native language, "Joketsuzoku strike!"  As she plunges to earth, she unsheathes her razor-sharp Chinese swords, swinging the right blade with a fatal grace.
    A second passes, and the old lady is cut cleanly in two.  The two halves separate, the innards spilling free, blood spraying in a wide arc, over all around, save Mango.  The lobes of the brain fall free of the skull, the intestines and stomach pool together in a reddish puddle of liquids and solids.  With a sickening, slurping sound, the remainder of the body drops like a sack onto the pile of innards.  The old woman has just joined her son amongst the ancestors.
   *"That* is how it's done, girl," Mango says, a leering grin on her face.  "Perhaps, if you pay enough attention, I will show you more about the finer art of killing."

    
    The crowd, shocked by the horror, momentarily pauses its collective breath.  Mistake two.
    Wordlessly, Mango rushes forward, boots the head of the tortured man as if it were a soccer ball, then skillfully punts it up to her knee.  She then boots it towards the boy, who has wet himself in fear of the atrocity just committed.  Unfortunately, that hesitation costs him, as the second the head is at the right distance, Mango plunges her blade forward, punching through the grisly projectile...and the head of the young boy.  The slash from the second sword neatly removes the second head, and the first sword becomes a grotesque yakitori stick.
    Mango, momentarily distracted by the screams of the girl pinned to the floor, kicks her upside the head, warning, "I'm busy.  Please keep quiet.  I'll get back to you later."  She spins, and arcing her arm, launches the twin heads off towards two more people.  As they duck, she leaps up and knees them in the noses, expertly hitting them just so that the bone fragments shred into vital parts of the brain, killing them.  She spins back, bounces back once, not bothering to check on the two new tallies added to the body count.  Mango relaxes for a second, taunting them forward with a wave of her sword.  "Come and face your fate, kiddies."


    Finally, the crowd moves into action.  A woman, wielding a sharp scythe, screams, *"KILL HER!"*  As one, the villagers rush towards the femme fatale.
    Mango, however, laughs once more, cooing, "There, there.  That's more like it!"  A simple, almost cheerful smile forms on her face as she rushes forth to meet her would-be killers...
...or more appropriately, her soon-to-be *prey.*
    She dives into the crowd and screams in Chinese, "Wheel of Fire!"  In an instant, people are hurtled away from the flaming top she has become, a whirling dervish, funeral pyre, and buzzsaw all in one.  Those who aren't simply swatted away or cleaved cleanly in two are turned into mobile balls of chi-powered flame, dying embers of a people slowing becoming so much ash.  Blood begins to soak and slick the ground, a virtual mud, as each of the adults attacking Mango are mercilessly slaughtered in their own turn, yet more get up and continue to rush her.
    She stops her spinning motion and begins an intricate dance of arm movements, as she calls out, "Laser Fan!"  A reddish, glowing after-image appears behind each blade as it moves, slicing into people again.  She continues her dance, smiling all the more now, looking for all the world like a demented, giggling schoolgirl.  The haze slices through appendages and torsos as clearly and neatly as if it were the actual blade itself.  Bodies pile on the floor; some intact, but most not.  She continues her killing dance, a gruesome mimicry of a traditional Chinese fan dance, moving with a stunning, breathtaking beauty that one could only conceive of as impressive if it weren't for the screams of the dying and the dead, the huts that have begun to catch ablaze, the crying of the children watching these horrors, and Mango's haunting, lilting laughter.


    The crowd grows smaller and smaller.  Mango takes this opportunity to become even more sadistic and vicious, and now begins her attacks, not on just the remaining adults, but the children as well.  A four year old boy is cleaved in twain.  A six-week old babe will know nothing of the life she has just lost, due to a well placed kick.  A young village girl, just in the throes of puberty, will never know adulthood as she becomes disemboweled.  An eight-year old, dreaming of being a warrior someday, quickly becomes a casualty of war, victimized by a ferocious punch through the chest cavity.  The horror continues, and the more it does, the more Mango smiles.  Not the feral, predatory grin of a killer, but of something far worse.  A smile with a meaning that can't be described.
    One of the few remaining adults in the village approaches, running in from the field; responding to the screams of the dying and the fires of destruction.  She runs in, a fire blazing in her eyes, the inferno directed at Mango.  A direct threat this; she looks to be able to really handle herself.  Mango yawns, stretches momentarily, then puts away her swords and goes into the crane position.
    The woman responds in turn by dropping her farm tool and bows to her opponent...
...but is nailed by Mango, whose slice kick sends the defender sprawling back.  "Never take your eyes off your opponent," Mango taunts her voice full of fire and brimstone.  
    The woman rushes in again, lays a mantis strike on Mango, slicing her cheek with her fingernails.  Mango drops back momentarily.  "Hmmm.  You're almost as good as *she* probably is."  With that comment, Mango rushes in, twists the arm, then delivers a pinpoint strike to paralyze the arm.  Arm still in her grasp, she twists once more, lays a blow to the woman's ribcage, and as the breath is knocked out of her, she screams "Demonic Break!" in Chinese, then punches into the woman's heart cavity, her hand glowing with chi energy.
    The resulting explosion detonates the woman and sends her remnants flying to the four winds in a grisly display of a burst.  Pints of blood spray everywhere, as do bone fragments and pieces of  organs.  Hair and teeth fly into the beyond, along with the tattered remains of the woman's clothing.  Inexplicably, not a drop lands on Mango as she stands there, laughing.


    Nearly a half hour later, it is over.  All of the adults in the village, mercilessly slaughtered, along with all of the older children and most of the infants and toddlers.  An entire village, wiped away, left to a dying memory.  Only Mango and the girl, still pinned to the ground, remain.
    Mango walks over to her.  She is bleeding and dying, listless but still alive.  Mango delivers a soft, awakening slap to her face.  "Child, wake up.  You are the elder of the village, now.  In fact, you are, most likely, the *entire* village."  She looks at the girl, her turquoise eyes, hinting at something unknown to the girl.
    "Leave me be, demon,"  the girl spits out, voice numb.  "Leave me to die in peace.  You have destroyed everything of mine, everything in my life.  Leave me to the dogs."
    Mango's eyes flicker briefly.  She then pulls out her swords once more, purring, "You have my word that I shall leave you in peace.  A piece here, a piece there...."  She brings her left blade to the girl's eyes.
     From outside the village, the unearthly screams of the girl's torturous end can be heard over the sounds of a cruel, unforgiving jungle.
    

    Ten minutes later, that is done.  And so is the life of this village.  There are no more sounds of children laughing, of lovers swooning, of people living their happy lives.  It is over forever.  Now, only twisted, mutilated bodies remain.  In some cases, less than that.  The woman who had been downed by Mango's special attack  paled in comparison to what had been done to the twelve year old girl.  The one who'd died by the Demonic Break didn't feel much as she was spread to the four winds.  The girl, however, felt every inch of pain that could be inflicted on her, right up to the very last breath.
    Mango walks out of the village, already partially consumed by flame.  She turns around to the village, and smiles.  Placing her hands into a triangle, she shouts as a flaming red battle aura envelops her.  She thrust her hands out and says, in a normal tone, "Joketsuzoku Ultimate Technique!  Hou ni Mo!"
    Her hands flare with the concentration of heavy chi.  A second later, a fireball of impossible size blasts the village apart like so much tinder in the path of a flamethrower.  Bodies burn away, livestock and living animals are charred to a crisp.  There is no longer a home, only a blasted, scorched, barren wasteland in the middle of a lush jungle; where there was hundreds of years of memories is nothing but ash and ruin.

    
    As Mango turns to return from where she came, she sees a little girl of about five or six years old, staring at her.  The child's eyes contain fear and...something else.
    Mango says, "Come here, child."
    Slowly, hesitantly, the girl comes to her.  As she approaches Mango, the Chinese woman drops to her knees and looks at the girl with a sunny smile.  The girl in turn returns that bright beaming smile.
    Mango says, in a sweet voice, "Do you want to see your parents again?"
    The girl says nothing, only nodding fervently, the same happy smile on their face.
    With no word, Mango hugs the girl, kisses her on the cheek...
...then snaps her neck; a clean break.  The Chinese woman picks up the girl, and places her near the dirt.  Standing next to her, she focuses, then thrusts her hand towards the floor, shouting, "Bakusai Tenketsu!"  As her palm connects with the earth, the ground suddenly erupts into a spray of dirt and rocks.  She angles the attack, and repeats it several times until there is a mound of dirt where a body used to be, a cairn for the little girl.
    The hour gone, Mango slips back into the depths of the jungle, returning from whence she came.

Part II:  Scarred By The Memory


    I enter the town from its southern perimeter, about twenty minutes after being dropped off by the helo insertion team.  Twenty minutes of maneuvering through the jungle underbrush, I find myself looking at the town.  The weight of the surprise I have in the sack makes its presence known as it bounces off my leg occasionally.  A small swarm of flies note the scent of dried blood and move in for feeding.  It's amusing, really; the bag's thick enough that their proboscises can't penetrate.  Even this small form of torture is pleasing, cleansing to my soul.
    I continue to move towards the village.  What fools they are, living their lives as if they are free.  They don't realize that death has come amongst them.  Death, walking in as a woman.  Sung Min Gei, known to my cohorts as Mango, woman born of the village of Joketsuzoku, China.  That is my birthright--that of a Chinese Amazon.  Until the day that victory sealed the fate....
    Ah, it seems they realize who I work for, if not who I am or where I am from.  A few of them panic and grab their children, heading for their homes.  Bah, as if that would stop me!  I fail to understand their stupidity in this matter, and I laugh at this.  Apparently people do not care for my sense of humor; they move in, as armed to the teeth as only peasant rabble can.  They fail to understand that they are readying their own deaths, making me that so much more eager to separate their bodies from their life forces.
    That is why I do this--partially; because I simply enjoy the use of the Arts which I was trained in.  Another reason I do this is because it is the bidding of my Lord Master and lover, Nguyen Tran Loc, Master of the Crystal Temple, Warlord of the northern reaches of Vietnam and southern China, a man so feared that whole governments will fall to him someday.  The last, well, it is simply my way of practicing my revenge on the person whose victory sealed the fate....
    Finally, I arrive at the center of the village, such as it is.  Well, holding the bag in my hand still I place my other hand, cupped,  to my lips, and using it as a megaphone of sorts, I call out in their language, "Elder, come out!  Your fate for defying my Lord Nguyen Tran Loc is at hand!  I have come to rain punishment down upon you all!"  I smile at this.  Admittedly, it's a bit more melodramatic than I am used to, but I suppose I must do what I must do in order to get the attention of the rabble around here.
    Assuming the gift I brought them doesn't do the trick first....


        After making me wait for what I assume the elder of this shanty town thinks is a suitable time, he comes out.  Only it's not a *he,* it's a *she.*  Accompanying her is a twelve year old girl, lean, obviously trained in the Arts, though not as good as my nemesis is; still she appears to hold a sword as though she can actually use it.  Behind the girl is a young boy, slightly older.  He is also trained in the Arts, and although he wears no glasses, he will make a decent enough surrogate for my needs; he holds the blade in the same manner as the girl.
    Perfect.  Another chance to practice my revenge against a suitable substitute.  Now, I am *so* glad I personally took this assignment, instead of farming it out to one of my henchmen, because this is what I need.  There has been a burning in my heart for the last two days, and this is perfect for curing what ails me.
    I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds, and concentrate.  Within that nanosecond, years pass, time slides back, revealing what once was, opening itself up to me, allowing me to return to a place where I am no longer welcome.  I have done this before; I shall do this again, until I complete the act in reality, commit the deed in true present.  Until then, I am content to practice what I must do, and practice until I perfect it.  After all, that is one of the tenets of the Art--practice until there is no more need of practice.
    I open my eyes, and Vietnam is gone; I now stand in my home village once more.  Joketsuzoku, the place forbidden to me for all time.  The reason why it is verboten, as the Germans say, stands before me.  I realize that the people before me are not truly who they appear to be, but it makes my job that much easier.  And my practice that much more pleasurable.


    Lao K'o Lon--Cologne--looks at me, her black eyes burning with defiance.  The words are that of the village elder who I do not see--I have to have *some* basis in reality, after all:  "Begone, Whore of Nguyen.  You'll do us no more harm."
    I look at the Cologne-clone.  In doing so, I am reminded of my shame and my hatred, and why they deserve to die a million deaths, and more and more.
    I am reminded of why I was exiled from my home, where I was queen.  Queen of the fighters.  The Amazon amongst amazons.
    The elder expects an answer, so I reply, "You know the price of defiance, old fool.  My Lord Nguyen does not appreciate those who disobey his word."
    The woman that is/is not Cologne replies in turn, "We are a free people.  We accept no rule save that of our gods, of the rulers in Hanoi, and of our council.  We *do not* accept the word of a mad warlord who believes himself destined to rule the very heaven and earth."
    The fools.  "My Lord Nguyen will that and more--"
    "He will rule in the hells!"  A man towards the front of the crowd shouts this, and it makes his companions believe he is brave.  All I have to do is to stare at the coward to reveal his true self.  As the man crawls to the rear of the crowd, he believes he'll escape me.  Little does he know that I'll see him dead within the hour.  Him, and this entire waste of jungle clearing.
    In any event, I finish my sentence.  "--And as much as he would like.  The world is to be his, and you cannot stop it.  Your attempt at defying him displeases him, and you must be punished for your folly."  Thinking of the fool with the tongue that is too quick for his mind, I add, "All of you."
    "Cologne" thinks about this for a second, then says in what she thinks is a powerful tone, "I truly pity you and your ways, whore of Nguyen.  We would rather die than live under Nguyen's oppression!  Other villages may be afraid of you, even the government in Hanoi may be afraid of you, but we are not!  We will survive and be free!"  The crowd begins to cheer again at her words; the Amazons are all I see, the fools all--listening to the weak words of Lao.  "We do not wish bloodshed if we can avoid it.  Leave now with your life, and never return.  If you do not, you will surely be killed."


    I laugh long and hard at Cologne.  This has the effect of showing the Amazons exactly what pathetic fools they are; they and the men of the village.  I let the effect sink in, then explain.  "Setting terms?  My dear woman, you are more of a fool than I though.  I come and go as I choose.  In any event, who do you have that would possibly be a threat to *me?"*
    The girl on the side of Cologne bristles.  Lao Shan Fu, once again, I see you.  You may be older than 12, now, Shampoo, but this is how I see you.  Your substitute is no match for me; I yawn in defiance.
    Cologne gives me one more melodramatic speech of hers.  "I give you this last warning, you who are Nguyen's attack dog.  We have powerful friends, allies who will save us at our beckon call."
    Time to drop the bomb on them.  Doing my best imitation of the statue of Rodan, I state, "Those 'friends' wouldn't happen to be the Japanese ninja clan known as the Ghost Wolves, would it?"
    Cologne is obviously shocked by my revelation.  "How--"
    Stupid, stupid, stupid.  *"YOU SENILE, AGED BITCH! HAVEN'T YOU REALIZED THAT BY NOW, WE KNOW EVERYTHING?  WE KNOW THAT YOUR SON WAS SENT, ALONG WITH REPRESENTATIVES OF TWO OTHER VILLAGES, TO GO TO JAPAN TO SUMMON THEIR ASSISTANCE!"*  My voice echoes through the clearing as I continue my speech.  "My team intercepted them at the first village.  Executed every one of the ninjas."  More the fools they, for believing that we'd lose; even more fools are you, for believing they'd win.  "Clan Ghost Wolf is no more.  Neither, for that matter, is the that village.  Or the second one."
    Cologne loses her never at that one; Gotcha!  "So you intend to make us number three.  You will not succeed."
    Time to show my surprise.  I throw the bag at her feet, letting the contents spill out slowly.  As they do so, I say, in a mystical voice, "Be wary of the number three, marm.  It is a powerful, mystical number."

    I find a new definition of amusement in the way the Cologne reacts to the head:  she stares and stares, as if she cannot believe what she is seeing, or who she is seeing.  It's her son, let her figure it out for herself.
    I do, however, have to say something.  "My distinct apologies.  My compatriots Rain and Spring-Heeled Jack tend to get carried away occasionally."  And truth be told, they do; Jack's a psychopathic Englishman who practically worships Jack the Ripper, and if he had his way, would rape and slaughter every woman on earth.  Rain's from Zaire; she's a sociopathic mercenary whose only hobby is inflicting pain and misery.  In short, they're two of my best lieutenants, highly capable for the job...even if they do get a little carried away on occasion.
    Well, here comes the melodrama.  Cologne picks up the head, and holds it to her wizened body, moaning like the damned.  "Oh dear gods....  My son...."  She begins to wail like a banshee, crying a storm all the while.
    *"FATHER!"*  Shampoo screams, beginning to stare at me as though she wanted to run that pig sticker of hers through me.  I think I may have gotten someone's attention. 
    The boy, now my substitute for Shampoo's childhood sweetheart, Jiang Muu Tsu--Mousse--is apparently faster.  While the girl is still in the initial stages of rage, he simply nods deference and respect, then drops into a fighting stance.
    Someone in the crowd whispers, "Look at what that monster did to Ngoc Van Trai!"  Absolutely not true--I told them who did it.  Those two are my best at creative torture, so I let them do what comes best to them.  I do notice, however, that a few of them are running to their houses.  Either to get toys for the battle, or to hide from their inevitable deaths.  
   Someone else is brave enough to cry, "Nguyen's dog shall pay for this!"  A few of his buddies agree, and they send visual daggers in my direction.  Oh well, such is life.  They want me dead; it's not going to happen.  As an old American saying goes, "Life Sucks.  Get a Helmet."
    In all honesty, though, I do have other things to do, so I let them know that.  "Let's get this over with, old woman.  I have an appointment in two hours that I do not wish to be late for."


    *That* got a reaction.
    Cologne's counterpart leaps to her feet, faster than I thought she could do.  She looks, well, displeased.  *"YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT?  YOU KILLED MY ONLY CHILD AND YOU SAY YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT?  YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, ALL RIGHT, AN APPOINTMENT WITH DEATH!"*
    Ho hum.  How clich�.  "That's but one of my appointments today.  Fortunately, I will not be on the receiving end."  With absolutely no time wasted, I give her the Amazon Kiss of Death and explain, "Woman, you know who I am, what I am.  You know what that means."
   The Cologne-clone's attitude is not surprising.  *"WHORE!  YOU WILL DIE NOW!"*  She then turns to Shampoo and shouts, *"Child!  Avenge your father!"*


   Finally, the child springs into action.  She leaps several meters into the air, and comes down, intending to give me a nasty cut.  Screaming, *"FOR MY FATHER'S SPIRIT TO REST, YOU SHALL DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS!"* or something like that (the granddaughter is as verbally dim as her ancestor), she plunges down towards me.  I have all the time in the world to move.  But before I do, I have enough time to remember my one loss, the loss that brought me here.
    The victory that changed my destiny....


   ....It was five years ago, and I was back in Joketsuzoku amongst my peers.  The best of the best.  I was the undefeated Amazon, the bravest of the brave.  No other than Cologne herself taught me the Breaking Point Technique.  I held the title of Mightiest of the Amazons, with my head held high, and a pride that one could not even begin to imagine.
    Until the day that Cologne's little great-granddaughter, a scamp barely the age of twelve challenged me in the annual contest.  A fight that I'd won since I was her age.  However, where I won with raw power, she didn't have.  A gangly little girl with a stick figure, a brat whose only claim was that she was the last descendant of the Lao clan, was challenging me.  Me who usually hospitalized my opponents, some of which died from their injuries.
    I thought to humor the child.  Surely, all the people in the tournament had let her win.  She was reputed to be fast, but speed means nothing if you don't have power.  So I allowed for the challenge to come forth, and after knowing what the rules were, we fought.
    To my surprise, she was fast.  I couldn't touch her.  She was impossible to catch.  Furthermore, she was landing devastating blows to me, as I attempted in vain to block.  Something must've gone wrong.  Could I have been drugged?  One of Cologne's arcane herbs placed into the last meal I ate?  Or what if she was wearing one of the magical jewels that the Lao family was charged with guarding?  A necklace of power worn under her shirt, maybe?  Or anything of a million magical combinations.  There was no way that this...child...was this good.  She must be cheating.  Period.
    And as she attacked me with a chi-charged strike (I hadn't mastered chi until I was 15!), I was beaten.  And that was the truth of it, then:  the bells in her hair gleamed with an unearthly light.  Now, most people would've said it was simply the light of the sun glinting off the brass of the small bells, but I knew better.  I knew that I had lost because of magic.  So as she turned her back to me, I did what was my right.  I was going to extinguish  the life of that cheating, lying minx, at any cost.  So I whipped out one of my blades and intended to chop her in half.
    To my surprise, no one else thought as I did.  Instead, what I got for uncovering the wolf in our midst was a scream of  "Look out, Shan Fu!" as I was hit in the head with something powerful, something hard enough to throw me back.  When I regained my senses, I was staring at the whole of the village looking at me with a mixture of shame, shock, and anger.  I also saw the girl Shan Fu, lying on the deck and staring at me with an intense hatred.  She also had a gash on her leg from my blade.  Standing over her, protecting her, was her myopic sweetheart, the young man known as Muu Tsu.  He was bleeding from a cut on his side, and it looked bad, but he withstood the pain and continued to protect his intended.
    I was forcibly turned around and made to face Shan Fu's father and great-grandmother, where I informed them of the misdeed that their charge had done to me.  I informed them, that as was my right, I struck against the person who had wronged me.  That her speed, although faster than mine--and I was no slouch in that department, either--was magically based and that I would be the true champion were it not for her cheating!  I demanded that I be given my due and that I get it now!
    They did something unexpected.
    They laughed in my face.
    They laughed in my face, as did the whole village.  They laughed in my face as Shampoo's father held up the bells, and proclaimed them to be normal, everyday hair ornaments--which everyone agreed they were.  This was a conspiracy, and they all laughed about it, with me as the butt of the joke.  They all laughed in my face as Cologne--a woman who I had trusted and trained under, the one who taught me the Bakusai Tenketsu--declared me to anathema, an outcast.  They all laughed as my name was erased from the record of the village, and as I was told that I was not one of them, that if I ever returned, I would be killed like the dog that I was.
    I was cast from my home and my life.  Even my family betrayed me.
    That day, the woman I was--Sung Pai Chan, called Peach by my peers--died.
    I would find myself a new identity.


    My new identity came a month after training in the mountains of South Korea.  I'd been on my own for about two years, improving my speed and building my chi, all with one goal in mind: to destroy the village of Joketsuzoku.  My life had been erased.  In occasional queries, I'd discovered that the man that I had intended to wed someday took another as his bride, since I no longer existed.  My parents had another daughter and gave her *my* name, since it "had never been used".  Worst of all, Shampoo was now the village champion, unbeatable (due to her magical trickeries) and basking in false glory that was not hers.
    In any event, I was training in the hills between Pusan and Chinhae, when I ran into another couple who were on their own training mission.  Lo and behold, it was my intended with his wife.  Worse, it was my younger sister!  Seeing me as the "mysterious outsider who attacked one of their own," they declared a blood hunt on me and charged.
    I did what came natural to me--I, born of Amazon blood though considered not of Amazon standing--killed.  Slayed someone who I would have loved as my airen.  Slaughtered the one who would have been the proud aunt to my children.  And as I slew them, a chi that I'd never felt before filled me, a power based on my rage and hatred.  I'd found the emotion that fueled my power.
    More importantly, as I saw the chopped and hacked bodies before me, I'd found a name.
    The village took my name, so I would take theirs.
    That day, I became Sung Min Gei--Mango....


    ....That rage and hatred made who I am.  It propelled me to become General of Nguyen's troops when his troops pounced on me and I slew them so rapidly and mercilessly that he executed his previous leader on the spot and offered me the position on the spot.  It was my power that put Rain in her place when she challenged me for the leadership.  It was my skill that got me invited to Lord Nguyen's bed, thus solidifying my position as master of the troops.
    And someday, the woman who would destroy Joketsuzoku.
    My rage kicked in.  Moving faster than the girl who was my substitute for Shampoo thought possible, I grabbed the blade from her hand just before she would cut me, then slammed her to the floor and rammed that sword of hers through her shoulder blade and into the rock beneath, effectively pinning her to the floor.
    She failed, and I think I should show the child how it was done.  As I told her this, I leapt into the air, and in a fitting tome of irony, called out, "Joketsuzoku strike!"  With my landing, I cut "Cologne" in a perfect half, better than any other swordsmaster could have done.
    *"That* is how it's done girl," I explain, hoping that I got this "Joketsuzoku's" attention.  "Perhaps, if you pay enough attention, I will show you more about the finer art of killing."
    The crowd, still slow and dim, continues to stare like a bunch of jackanapes.  Let me remind them once again of who I am.  I kick up the head of Ngoc-whatever-his-name-is.  Punting it forward toward the head of little Mousse, I thrust forward, noticing that the brat has soiled himself.  Obviously not a worthy replacement for the more foolhardy original, but he will have to do. 
    As the heads connect, I punch my sword through both of them, easily skewering both,  A rapid swipe from my other sword makes the blade in my left hand a colorful shish kebab. 
    The pinned Shampoo's response is to scream.  I kick her just hard enough to get my point across:  "I'm busy;  please keep quiet.  I'll get back to you later."
    I spin just enough to get the momentum needed to launch the organic spheres from my blades.  As they fly, I race forward, readying two more for the kill.  As they duck the heads, I leap up and knee them at such an angle that I know from studies of biology, the bone fragments from the shattered skull will fly into their brain and shred it.  In mid-air, I spin once more, then bounce off their heads before the bodies connect with the ground.  Launching back, I return to my original position.
    I issue my challenge, using my sword as the object of ridicule, the blood of their own still slick on my swords.  "Come and face your fate, kiddies."
   Have I gotten their attention?


    I think so.
    Finally, a woman with a farm utensil charges forward, roaring, *"KILL HER!"*  I'm assuming she means me.
    I laugh at these villagers of my practice Joketsuzoku, knowing their futility.  I am more than capable of destroying the real one without a scratch; these are of no consequence.  
    With that, I launch into my Wheel of Fire attack, burning and renting each body, creating a pile of those who cannot match my skill.  Their folly to chase me, their fate to die.   The ground is being soaked with the lifeblood of the fallen, slowly becoming mud, but I'm not bothered; my footfalls are so light it doesn't affect me.  
    Let's attempt step two.  Calling my strike of "Laser Fan!",  I go into the motions of the dance.  This is a move I learned from a geisha in northern Japan; it was a variant of the traditional Japanese/Chinese Fan Dance that she modified into a fighting style.  In order to learn it, I had to debase myself to her whims.  The swords strike as I dance, cutting each pseudo-Amazon and pseudo-warrior of this pseudo-Joketsuzoku to shreds.  The real villagers will pay for that, too; for every vile, disgusting sexual fantasy she took out on me in payment for the training.  She herself paid:  the minute I mastered it, I tied her spread eagle and paid several men to do what ever they wished to her.  *Whatever* they wished.  I think it was either the horse or the man with the sizable whip that ended her life.
    Ironically, I think I did love her.  She taught me a dance of elegant beauty, and fatal precision.  When she wasn't using me as her personal slave, she was quite kind and gentle.  When I wasn't being taught, or she wasn't in one of her "moods",  we were quite a pair of happy individuals.  She taught me many things:  how to please both man and woman, how to mix teas and poisons, how to hide weapons with an inventive skill, and most importantly, how to mask my rage behind a face of serene calm.  Perhaps if I was not as determined or she as experimenting, I would have stayed with her as her lover.  But fate has different things in store for me.
    I laugh with the thought, hoping that somewhere above, Tanaka Ayumi would understand.  And with that last musing, I realize that I *did* love her.
    Oh well--too late for that, now.


    And if I ruin the lives of these adults of this Joketsuzoku, I must need to kill the children, the hope of this village, as well.  I slaughter them all--newborns, toddlers, youths, all.  It matters not if they die, they will die someday anyway, and I am just speeding up the process of nature.  The village is a dying end; it sealed its fate when it crossed Lord Nguyen.  It sealed its fate when it begged the Ghost Wolves for help. It is a dead end, and children, it does not deserve.
    It is at this point, I meet the village Champion.  She comes racing in from the fields.  I do not have to imagine this girl as the adult Shampoo; she almost looks like that girl would, from the violet eyes, to the flowing amethyst hair.  She's obviously Vietnamese, and a bit dirtier than I'd expect that cheating wretch to be, but other than that, she is the Champion and the surrogate adult Shampoo that challenges me now.
    I'm glad she showed up; I was getting bored.  I hope she isn't too offended by my yawn and momentary stretching.  She deserves to die somewhat honorably, so I place my swords in their scabbards, and I go into the crane stance.
    She in turn tosses her scythe away and bows.
    Absolutely stupid.  I nail her in the face, as I admonish her not to do that against your opponent.  It doesn't matter in the end, for I'll be the last opponent she'll ever see.  She's momentarily thrown back, but she recovers and charges in.  I think she's learned her lesson.
   A well-placed strike by her actually hits me.  I haven't been touched by an opponent in years.  As I back off, I tell this "adult Shampoo" the best compliment I can give her.  "Hmmmm.  You're almost as good as *she* probably is."  Now I have to really fight.  So I charge in, swing her arm around, paralyze it with a precise blow to the shoulder.  Perfect strikes--that's something that I learned from Jiang Sun Tzu, he who would have been my husband.
    I twist once more, and throw a move that I'd learned from Cologne, and was refined by a mad monk I met in Nepal.  The killing variation of the Breaking Point technique.  I call it the Demonic Break.  He taught it to me on the condition that I end his life with it--his way of experiencing Nirvana.  After experimenting on a few hundred souls (and giving rise to rumors of a mass-murderer on the loose), I mastered it...then left him to take the life sentence as the murderer.  I had enough evidence that I'd "gathered", and making myself look like a near-rape by him (disguise and deception--another skill learned from bittersweet Ayumi), he was convicted easily.
    As the adult-Shampoo's body explodes, I realize that the burst of red is a form of Nirvana...being at one with the world.  All over the world.


    I take a half hour to mop up the remainder, then walk over to twelve-year-old Shampoo.  She's dying, but alive.  I slap her hard enough to wake her, not to bruise.  "Child, wake up.  You are the elder of the village, now.  In fact,  you are, most likely, the *entire* village."
    Even to the end, your imitator is still defiant, Shan Fu.  So much like you.  "Leave me be, demon; leave me be in peace.  You have destroyed everything of mine, everything in my life.  Leave me to the dogs."
    I suddenly have an idea.  I pull out my swords, and purr to her, "You have my word that I shall leave you in peace.  A piece here, a piece there...."  and with this notion, I plunge the tip of my blade into her left eye, popping it.  My slow, assured test of torturing the real Shampoo (when the time comes) has begun.
    I may not be a master like Jack or Rain, but I do try.  Besides, some of the "love play" that Ayumi gave me could easily come into painful play, here.
    Ten minutes later, what is left of the girl is dead.  And with her, the whole village.
    As I leave the village, I think I have time to practice one last thing upon the already burning huts.  I open up with my Ultimate Technique, the Fire of the Devil.  As expected, it's successful enough to detonate the entire town.  It exists no longer, and I have done my duty, and had a chance to practice my eventual attack on the real Village of the Chinese Amazons.
    Plus, I have to admit--it was fun.


    As I walk towards my rendezvous point in the jungle, I spy the little girl.   She's about five or six, I guess.  She's looking at me with a face of fear, and wonder.  I call to her, and she comes easily.  I drop to my knees, and smile--sincerely--at this adorable little waif.  She returns my smile, and it twangs at my heartstrings.
    She's all alone, the true last of her village.  I could take her in as my own, but I already have enough problems with that brat Shiva.  If Ayumi were alive, she and I could've raised the girl--perhaps motherhood would've mellowed her tastes out.  
    Perhaps I could give up my revenge and take this child and move away to somewhere--to Ayumi's house in Hokkaido (she left me in her will, fancy that!) or to America, or somewhere.  Perhaps I could give her a life that I'll never fully have.  I can just imagine her as my daughter, growing up happy somewhere in this world.  Perhaps...
...perhaps not.  It's too late for me, I realize.  Until I wipe the stain of Joketsuzoku from my heart by wiping the village itself from the planet, I can't be free.  I can't be a wife, a mother, until I am human again.
    I ask her if she wishes to see her parents again, which she nods all too eagerly.
    I hug the girl, kiss her on the cheek.  I would so love to call you daughter, child; to give you the happiness that I can never have..
    I'm so sorry.
    I snap her neck, giving her the clean, painless death that I can.  I lay her on the ground, and I use the Breaking Point on the earth, doing it over and over and angling my shots until she is buried under a mound.  If I had a flower or something, I would leave it there.  I'm so sorry, my sweet child.
    Then I break down into tears, not caring who or what sees me.  Rain would call me a fool. Jack would think I need comforting.  Janiero would call me brave.  Roland and Nova would understand.  Shiva wouldn't understand at all.  I don't give a damn what any of them would think, though.
    My sorrow is my own.


    As I walk away from this village, this Joketsuzoku, I'm emboldened by the truth.  The sensation hits me as I re-enter the jungle brush.
    This is all your fault, Shan Fu.  All the deaths, all the suffering, all the pain.  Not just mine, but everyone's involved in this.  This is your fault.   That child, that would-be daughter of mine is just another reason why I more than hate you all, more than you can ever understand.  You and your lover, Mousse and your ancient ancestor, Cologne.  All the villagers.  But you especially, Shampoo.
    Your victory sealed the fate of everyone who's ever died at my hands.  Of all that have suffered at my fists.  For every love I've lost, and every pain I've endured.
    And I will never be free until I ensure that the victory that sealed the fate....
...ends in your death.
    I swear it.