What would you know about worthy, Anubis?

The red-haired Warlord stared out across the plains of the Celestial City, his eyes narrowed in a scowl. His right hand clenched more tightly around the handle of his kusari-gama; his left twisted the thick chain absently across his armored knuckles. Both his hands trembled slightly, but not from fatigue or weakness. No. The violent power of his Master’s energy- matrix still burned in his body, arced along nerves never-accustomed to the whiplash caress of the dark spirits. 

Anubis was, as the Ronin brat had so crudely put it… ‘juiced’. 

He did not enjoy the feeling; he never had, and not merely because receiving such energy was agonizingly painful. Rarely did Master Talpa allow them to taste the dark energies, and for that the Leader of Warlords was grateful. Such power, such enormous power- it was so tempting, but it was not…right. He had never articulated to himself why it was not right; it was only a vague feeling that the power damaged the human mind somehow; and of course that was foolish, the Emperor would not permit harm to come to his Warlords. Still…still, there was no denying that the power- did something, changed him in some way that was both disturbing and delightful.

Perhaps it was only that he feared addiction? Yes…yes, that must be it. A sensible enough fear. One did not retain one’s position, one’s status and favor, by succumbing to the lure of a potent drug- be it opium, or be it Dark Power. Both clouded the mind, both dulled thought- and both, once taken in excess, would destroy. How long would he continue to lead the Warlords, how long would he remain Talpa’s Right Hand with his thoughts fixed on power and his eyes blind to all else? Kale would be swift to take advantage, to usurp his place; The Wolf was already challenging him at every turn, something he had not done in years. And Sekhmet, the cold Snake, waiting for the first hint of weakness…and Dais, with the patience of the Spider, weaving his snares, most dangerous of the three. 

They envied him, Anubis knew, lifting his eyes to the sky with a smirk. They envied his superior status, resented his position…and any of them would gladly have traded places with him this day. How they had ground their teeth when he returned, still radiating the power of the Matrix; how they had desired it! And now it was gone, far from their reach, a glowing red orb in the sky-

With Wildfire inside it.

Anubis’ smirk twisted back into a scowl and the chain around his fingers tightened. Wildfire. That brat. Flinging himself into the Matrix in some misguided hope of riding it to where the fifth Ronin, Strata, lay in his entranced sleep. Fool. 

And the three Fools probably envied him, as well, wishing themselves in his place. Fools and worse than fools. Just as too much opium stopped the heart and brain, so too much power would soon stop Wildfire’s. But not nearly so painlessly as opium. The boy was as good as dead, but his death would be neither swift nor easy.

What would you know about worthy, Anubis?!

“Neither swift nor easy,” Anubis muttered aloud, his eyes on the crimson glow. 

Why did the thought not please him?

It should have pleased him. The Ronin would be destroyed. Both of them. All of them, for the three left behind- Hardrock, Halo and Torrent- would soon fall to the Warlords; outnumbered, bereft of assistance, and hemmed in from all sides, they would no doubt fight bravely but in vain. Master Talpa’s Empire would descend from the clouds above Earth and rule the planet without interference. This was what they had fought for, pledged to succeed at, what they had been punished- all of them, several times- for failing to do. At last they would be rid of those brats who had dared to defy the Emperor!

And the loss of Wildfire, especially, should have been a pleasing thought. The boy had been a constant thorn in their sides, from breaking Anubis’ own weapons in the battle of Mount Fuji to waking Halo and Strata from their armors’ refuges to finding new and more powerful ways to utilize the elemental armor. Ryo of the Wildfire was more now, much more, than a mere pest; he was a threat that grew more dangerous by the day. 

All of which should have made it a great and satisfying pleasure to know that he was being crushed to death by the power of the Matrix. Not being one of Talpa’s chosen, he would receive no strength from the power around him, no matter how his armor tried to absorb it. 

Yet it was not. 

What would you know about worthy, Anubis?!

Anubis growled softly as the boy’s words repeated in his memory. What did he know about being worthy? More than the Wildfire brat, certainly! Was he not the Right Hand of the Emperor? Did he not lead the Warlords? Had he not been the first chosen by Talpa, the first human honored to join the Dynasty and serve the Emperor? Had Talpa himself not sought him out, promising him favors, speaking to him almost as an equal- this mighty demon? And was he not the youngest so chosen? A general at seventeen, he had thought he could rise no higher, yet Master Talpa had elevated him above all others. 

What could an infant like Ryo know of worth? True, he was not all that much younger than Anubis had been when Master Talpa came to him, but Anubis had lived more than four hundred years since that awesome day. And true, Ryo led the Ronin- but that, surely, was mere tolerance on their part, sentimental feelings of gratitude for saving their lives. Hadn’t the girl, Mia, had to step in and stop their squabbling? And wasn’t it mainly luck that they had managed to get so far into the Dynasty-controlled territory-

Well. Luck, and a certain failure by the Warlords themselves to take the brats seriously. Kale had expressed some vague doubts about the ‘greater power’ those children seemed to possess, but, goaded by his companions, he had swiftly abandoned the concern. It would have been wiser, Anubis was forced to admit, if they had all paid a bit more attention to that concern. For the Ronin, unskilled and weak as they were, had fought as men fight when their homes are threatened- Anubis had seen that often enough to recognize it, knew the frenzy that could take one when one had nothing- or everything- to lose. 

And then- then they had grown stronger. Ryo had been the first, his strength and skill sharpened by almost constant fighting, his ability to resist pain almost inhuman, his utter determination… it was almost a pity that he-

Anubis’ eyes widened and he blinked, hauling his almost traitorous throughts to a halt. Yes, the Ronin had grown stronger, and yes, they had resisted almost admirably; even Master Talpa had admitted such. But to regret the boy’s death? Ryo had to die; they all had to die, for they would never join the Dynasty. 

What would you know about worthy, Anubis!? 

A hiss escaped the Warlord and he looked swiftly up at the glowing red spot in the sky. It hung, motionless; time here was not the same as time in the Mortal Realm, and the Emperor was no doubt savoring his victory. Abruptly, Anubis turned his back on the spectacle, staring instead at the large, luxurious room that was just one of many in his private quarters.

‘What would you know about worthy, Anubis!?’

“What would you know about worthy, you Wildfire brat?” the Warlord hissed aloud, then caught himself and took a steadying breath. “An insult,” he growled. “An insult thrown in battle…” They all did that, those foolish children, flinging taunts and jeers and feeble threats, hoping to rattle or enrage the Warlords beyond caution. Kale was particularly susceptible to them; Sekhmet ignored them; Dais analyzed them and either discarded the foolishness or turned it back on the silly children- usually with sharp results. 

‘What would you know-’

An insult. Ryo of Wildfire’s last insult. It was nothing. It wasn’t even particularly accurate. Worthy? Master Talpa thought him worthy enough; what did it matter if Ryo did not?

‘-About worthy, Anubis?!’

Anubis’ fist slammed into the wall and he whirled to stare out the window again. “Curse you!” he snarled at the glowing ball in the sky. “Curse you, Wildfire-”

He could almost see the boy’s bruised face, almost see the intense blue eyes narrowing under the shock of black hair…heard, clearly, the biting contempt in the young voice retorting to the Warlord’s taunt:

“You pitiful little boy, you’re not even worthy of my time!”

“What would you know about worthy, Anubis?!” 

Swift words of disgust and contempt, snorted almost as an afterthought before summoning his armor. Ryo had not been trying to insult, had not expected his words to have any effect. 

And Anubis…had not expected such a response. It had not occurred to him that Ryo would hold him in just as much contempt as he held Ryo!

“Why does this trouble me?” the Warlord muttered, glaring irritably up at the sky. “Why should it matter what a fool of a boy thinks of me, of my Master, of the Dynasty? He is of no consequence- now.”

No. It could not matter. It should not matter. It was not important, it-

Mattered.

Why? Why? Why did the words of a fourteen-year-old child in red armor sting so? Why did it so enrage him that Ryo had so little opinion of him?

Because…disrespect of Anubis was disrespect for Talpa’s Empire? But Master Talpa was not troubled by the Ronins’ defiance; he was amused by it. 

Because the child was too ignorant to know what true worth was? Because Ryo’s view of Anubis did match Anubis’ view of himself? Folly! Worse than folly! It smacked of insecurity, a self-doubt that was not to be tolerated. Uncertainties, doubts- these were for lesser men. Anubis knew his place, his duty, his power.

Because….

Because Anubis had, however grudgingly, respect for the leader of the Ronin?

Hmmm.

Perhaps.

Yes, perhaps. It was…fitting, that warriors respect each other, even bitter enemies; for one to hold respect while the other held only contempt was…it upset the balance. Anubis scowled again, not liking his next thought but unable to deny it: he had held the Ronin in contempt himself, dismissing them as weak nuisances, and had been shocked and enraged to be set back- however temporarily- in their battles. Not defeated, that was unthinkable, but he had failed to respect them and paid the price. 

“So now…Wildfire has failed to respect me and my Master- now he pays the price…” Anubis shook his head and scowled up at the sky, feeling the flimsiness of his rationalization. It was neither he nor Master Talpa who was teaching the boy to respect the power of the Emperor and his Right Hand. It was the power of the Nether Spirits…and in all probability, Ryo didn’t respect them, either. It was not combat, no, not the besting of one warrior by another. It was merely another of the impediments between himself and his comrade, Strata. But-

But there seemed to be no way to teach the boy the lesson he so deserved. Soon now, very soon, the forces within the matrix would crush out his life. There would be no opportunity to meet Ryo in challenge, the leader of Warlords against the leader of Ronin, as equals, the winner to decide the fate of Earth, the loser to acknowledge the superiority of the victor. 

Unless….

Unless Master Talpa could be persuaded to relent? To free the brat and send him back to Earth unharmed to face his fate at Anubis’ hands…? Yes…yes, surely Master Talpa would grant him this. It would add savor to the victory, glory to the Dynasty- it would be a victory to take pride in. What triumph could the Warlords claim, if the Nether Spirits were permitted the kill? Such a victory would be hollow, meaningless. No, worse! Anubis’s eyes widened in sudden alarm; it would make a mockery of the Warlords themselves! Of what use were they, if all could be accomplished merely with Dark Power shaped by the Nether Spirits? 

No. He would not stand tamely by and watch the Nether Spirits casually destroy the Ronin. Once, yes, before they found their strength, he would have been pleased enough to let the Spirits do their pest-control, but no longer. The Ronin were weak children no more; they were warriors. It was for a warrior to meet them in battle and take their lives. 

And he himself would slay Ryo. It was his right as leader. Master Talpa would agree. 

Casting another glance at the sullen green-black sky and the throbbing red star slowly ascending towards the zenith, Anubis returned his weapon to his side and strode for the door, his armored hands clenched into fists. The Emperor might not care to be disturbed at this moment of triumph, but it must be done, if that triumph was not to taste of ashes. Anubis would redeem his failures, teach the brat respect in the most painful of ways, regain his Master’s lost confidence, and assure him by his victory that whatever the Dark Power could do, the Warlords could do as well or better.

What would you know about worthy, Anubis?

“You will soon see that for yourself, Ronin fool. You will learn,” the red-haired young man murmured as he strode towards the hulking doors of the throne room. “I will teach you a lesson you will not soon forget about…worthy, Ryo of Wildfire.”