From his vantage point in the shadows, beneath of one of the tents Len Sosu hadn’t destroyed, the assassin flicked his fingers, sending an imperceptible signal to the millions of parasites that now writhed within the weakened (or dead) bodies of the men surrounding the unfortunate boy. Their previous slow, crushing movements became that much more forceful as each body grabbed onto each other with a tight grip. Like a giant human woven blanket, the bindings finally tightened completely, the gaps filled by squirming maggots to produce a completely airtight seal comprised of muscle, skin, and parasite. It didn’t matter how strong that kid might be, he would still need oxygen to breath. And with so many (somewhat) living bodies packed so tight, where would he ever find that air?

The horror, to die within such a grotesque tomb of human flesh! The spies and agents of Garion would have never thought of such a thing, certainly, given how their people spent more time persecuting individuals rather than fighting wars. But his homeland was different. A country savaged by perpetual civil war, every soldier from the rainy lands of Fenshingiri was expected to use every trick at their disposal to win. Garion's brute force tactics never stood a chance. And with the artifact dagger now in his possession, the Fenshingiri Agent had no further business here. It was time to move on.

Yet, paranoia kept him rooted in place. Something didn’t seem right. Even from his hidden location the Agent could hear the continued sounds of struggle from beneath the human tomb. A minute passed. Then two. Then four. Still the unpleasant noises continued. Was there something critical he forgot? No, of course not. He had performed this technique so many times before, in situations far more dangerous than this. His jutsu couldn't be countered by the mere physicality that this boy possessed. Raw strength meant nothing when there was always another body to absorb the blow. Victory was assured.

But, still...

The Agent's nagging thoughts were only stopped the moment his chest imploded inward. As if flicked by the finger of a god, something small slammed into the assassin’s chest, completely blowing the Agent off his feet. He stuttered backwards and frantically jerked his arms about to retain balance, grabbing onto the rough fabric of the tent for support and barely managing to stay upright. A belabored, haggard breath ripped from his lungs as the blow had completely knocked all the air out of him. Like any good soldier he wore thick padded leather to absorb blows but even with that on, the single invisible strike almost completely took him out.

He coughed and wheezed through the pain in his chest and quickly reached in to pull out whatever projectile had suddenly struck him. His mind raced for an answer. Were there Garion reinforcements somewhere? Was this some kind of strange jutsu? He was hidden, and hadn't even revealed himself! How had someone struck him with, with...

His shaky fingers finally dug the projectile out from the thick padded armor and he held it up briefly in the small light filtering from the tent’s entrance. His eyes failed to adjust properly and he stared at the offensive fragment for a bit in completely disbelief. It couldn't be, but it was. In between his long fingernails he held onto a misshapen, cracked tooth. He'd been hit by a tooth.

Dumbfounded the Agent glanced up again at his tomb which was still quivering from the ongoing struggle within. What could have possibly-

Now he could see it more clearly. Too late, however, as right as the realization came to him another fragment of tooth rocketed past and nailed him right between the eyes. Typical of a Fenshingiri like himself to miss the details and focus too much on the big picture. As he staggered back and held his crushed face in between two palms the assassin seethed at his error. His tomb hadn’t been perfect after all. It all made sense now.

That madman had been blindly throwing teeth! No wonder Len Sosu hadn’t suffocated, the lad was perforating bodies with the tiny hard teeth as if he were punching holes in paper. It hadn’t been random either- the boy had been launching the tiny imperceptible things in a wide arc, sweeping the whole camp in chunks. Unlike with the boy's previous projectiles the teeth were so small they passed through the tents without making much noise at all. Ridiculous!

Before any counter attack could be launched a lethal cone formed of toothy projectiles blasted out in specifically in the direction of the hiding Agent. The assassin barely had time to scamper for cover as the camp was blanketed in a barrage of fast spinning bone-like fragments. The flurry came so fast it instantly shredded the fabric of the tent and blew it like a strong squall right off its support structures. It left the assassin cowering behind an upturned wheelbarrow, totally exposed to the still glistening sunlight.

In the next moment the tomb exploded outward. Body after infected body tumbled and turned through the air in all directions leaving only the red-stained and still rather upbeat looking Len Sosu underneath. His fist was planted squarely between his legs, blasting the thick sheet of maggots that held him to the ground as well. Before the meat puppets could even hit the ground he did a quick wipe with one open palm, completely shedding any hanger-on maggots still desperately trying to find and opening. That let him open his eyes for the first time in a while and take in the scene, complete with the assassin laying sideways beside the wheelbarrow in a none too stealthy fashion.

Still not risking opening his mouth Len Sosu instead merely gave a pursed lip smile. Between his thumb and forefinger in the other hand was a single tooth, and behind that a handful of what could only have been hundreds of freshly harvested teeth. Not his own, of course- what a dreadfully awful thing to even suggest. The assassin rose to attempt to flee but took another blast of randomly aimed teeth right to the leg as Len Sosu effortlessly flicked another several dozen from between his fingers in rapid succession. Nearly all the teeth missed and embedded themselves deep into the gravel, but he only had to hit one for it to count. This technique clearly wasn’t very precise and was clearly improvised, but that didn't seem to matter much as another volley pelted the assassin like hail. The assassin managed to dash just a bit closer to his goal before two teeth blew straight through his unarmored legs, once again propelling him away with magnificent force. He gasped, choked, and grimaced. But he didn't scream.

Len Sosu totally did, though. Letting out an internal yell of triumph he began his victory march. Stepping over the now useless bodies Len Sosu casually advanced towards the fallen assassin’s position. Without the puppetmaster pulling the strings, the bodies didn't seem quite as able to keep up with Len Sosu. With extra vigor the boy plucked out the cloth in his ears and nose and gave his opponent a nice, sportsman-like thumbs up. “I think you said you had my dagger, kid?” He tossed the teeth he collected up and down in his palm, like a child playing with a toy. “I wouldn’t want to damage it accidentally, so how about you toss it aside for me, and I’ll, you know...” A dangerous glint shimmered in Len Sosu’s eye. “Just be on my way?”

The assassin could barely pull himself up on his two thin arms, which in the Jinchi sunlight looked even paler than those of the other Fenshingiri soldiers. The dirty cloak swathing his form likewise gave the impression that there was nothing physically imposing about the man. Perhaps that was to be expected out of a person whose power relied so heavily on disease. “You really are an idiot,” came the Agent's wheezing voice. It wasn’t the distorted, whisper-like sounds the corpses had spoken in, letting Len Sosu know he had hit real paydirt.

“Suit yourself!” Gripping all the teeth at once he gave a wind-up pitch and hurled them forward with full intent to not just kill, but to completely obliterate the withered form of his target. The recoil from the throw even sent Len Sosu sliding backwards. At that same moment the assassin rose to his feet in what looked like an attempt to dodge. Instead his slow movement placed him directly into the path of the cloud of flying teeth. A multitude of the projectiles sank deep into the Agent's skin, peppering him on all sides. Like with all of Len Sosu's attacks, the strength behind each one blew the Agent backwards with frightening power. A riotous laugh escaped from Len Sosu.

“Who's the idiot now, idiot!”

The assassin couldn’t speak, of course, as he tumbled away. Yet while the Agent's broken body flew away from the sheer might of the attack, there was a purposeful chaos to it. Len Sosu noticed it too late, right as his prey reached the apex of his acceleration. Moments before the assassin's careening body could crash against the far wall of the compound, he gathered what was left of his composure to slam both his feet and arms against the ground. The upward force, coupled with the helpful horizontal velocity provided by Len Sosu’s toothy assault, propelled the Agent upwards into a clean arc. It happened so quick Len Sosu was still mid-laughter as the assassin’s body effortlessly cleared the compound's metal wall. The boy's laughter ended abruptly as he heard the soft thud of a landing body on the far side of the iron fence.

“Ah, ha, ha, oh. Oh shoot.” At once the endless energy of Len Sosu sent him dashing forward as his mistake became apparent. He reached the wall and attempted to run straight up the vertical distance, planting both his gore-covered sandals on the slick surface. He managed to get about halfway before friction could do no more and gravity pulled him back down. As he landed Len Sosu cursed, then tried once more to the same result.

Opting for a more direct approach Len Sosu swung his fist into the barrier instead. The force completely obliterated the sturdy entwined rebar, sending a cloud of smoke and debris in all directions and obscuring vision entirely. “That’s more like it! Where are you, dirtbag? You better not- oh, come on!” Coughing as he charged through the bedlam he himself created Len Sosu saw nothing at his feet but the surrounding jungle. A blood trail twisted a bit into the foliage but disappeared not long after. The assassin had made a clean getaway. A clean getaway with the artifact dagger that Motonubu had told Len Sosu to get.

A revolting sense (more revolting than the maggots, even) shuddered through Len Sosu. He hadn’t lost this fight. That dumb parasite guy was a weakling, and the next time they met Len Sosu wouldn’t let him get away. This seething continued for a bit before Len Sosu relaxed again. That guy, that wormy Agent, he was so full of holes now he’d probably die in a ditch somewhere anyway. Len Sosu had the moral and physical victory!

Spirits sufficiently lifted Len Sosu patted himself off, then took a quick look around to get his bearings. The Fenshingiri camp was fairly isolated, with the islands tropical palms and ferns appearing to be the only living thing nearby to have observed Len Sosu’s mistakes. Good, good! Having decided that this was a temporarily setback, Len Sosu turned back towards the road leading back to Camp Monog proper, and triumphantly strode back towards civilization. He would dip back into his room for a quick wash to get the viscera off him, and maybe score a change of clothes and a bite to eat. Then he would go search the wilderness for that pale coward’s corpse and the artifact dagger. Len Sosu hadn’t failed the job. He had just...postponed its success.

Len Sosu, after all, never lost.

-

Nights on Jinchi felt cooler than on most other tropical islands, owing perhaps to its more northern location than the rest of Annitou’s archipelago. Thus the island often drove its less resilient inhabitants indoors sooner in the evening than they would have liked. This was a pleasant boon to the secondary industries which were springing up rapidly alongside the islands continued colonization. Where there were soldiers, there was alcohol. And where there was alcohol, there were shady establishments that would serve it.

Huddled beneath a bloodied coat a pale, thin young man slipped into the doors of the upsettingly named “Three Dead Dogs” pub. If given the chance the owner would launch into a lengthy explanation for the name, but generally most of the patrons chose Three Dead Dogs for its limited lighting, proximity to the temporary jailhouse built by Annitou, and for its booths that allowed for a tiny amount of privacy.

“Not enough to hide that face, though.” A commanding, but feminine voice let out a combination of a chuckle and resigned breath as the bundled, grimy figure slid into the seat across from her. The diminutive and disheveled Agent made the tall, broad shoulder woman across from him look that much more intimidating. Since this table was about as poorly lit as the others, it made a fine rendezvous point for those not terribly interested in seeing their partner's face, meaning any onlooker would care too much about the disparity between these particular individuals.

The pale Agent's hands groped around a bit on the surface as if looking for something before he pulled them back with a scoff. “Sorry,” the woman spoke while trying to hide her amusement. “No freebies this time apart that bowl of salted beans, bub. If you want something, you should order it.”

The man wheezed, his voice strained with exhaustion. “Those look a little bit too much like teeth for me.”

“You back for more info? Or did you get more than you bargained for with the Fenshingiri?” The woman sat back and placed her hands to her side, out of sight of the Agent. “You certainly look like someone did a number on you.”

Keeping himself hunched over the young man spoke his words though a forced shiver. “You told me the Garion Agent wouldn’t be an issue.”

The woman’s face revealed nothing, though the edged tone to her voice suggested she was rather pleased to see the man in this state. As she leaned backwards she took a swig from her flask. “You seemed quite confident you could beat him this morning. Did he snatch the dagger from you-”

“That isn’t the point.” The man doubled over for a bit as if in pain, then sat back up. He ran a bloodied hand through his thin blonde hair and spoke with a collected composure, even if his posture indicated otherwise. “I want my money back. You lied.”

“As I told you before, no refunds.” The woman moved to rest one of her hands on the hilt of one of her two nearby swords. Both the blades looked much like the chaff weaponry most mercenaries of Jinchi carried, but a discerning eye could tell the two weapons were of significantly higher quality than what could be found on the island normally. “If you underestimated the Garion Agent, that’s on you, not me. I gave you nothing but the truth.” As she spoke one of the pub’s staff lurched into view, depositing a large pitcher of water onto their small table before departing just as stealthily. The young man hurriedly grasped at it and began chugging the liquid before even responding to the woman’s provocation. Taking it as a moment to get in another jab, she continued. “Didn’t you tell me no living being could possible best a Maeda in combat?”

Chest heaving as he downed the entire jug in one go, the man took a few more moments to steady his breath and think of his response. “And I heard the Kiku-ichimonji were an honest clan. No wonder they cast you out, Iron Tower.”

The mention of her family instantly soured the otherwise amiable mood of Kiku-ichimonji Junko, as any mention of ancient history tended to do. Her casual sitting posture snapped back to the more formal style those familiar with the swordsman from her land would recognize. “Let's not turn this into a pissing contest, Maeda. I can’t refund you, but I’ll offer you something of equal or lesser value. Is that agreeable?”

The pale Maeda, having finished his large pitcher of water, now looked remarkably better. He sat up straighter and his movements lost their wavering fatigue. Even his expression changed from the pained grimace he wore upon entering the pub and more towards the demure and resentful look he had wore at their first meeting. The wild look of fear was now gone from his eyes and replaced by crueller, darker stare. Even his thin lips lost their scowl. Was he more dangerous like this, or less?

“What was in that water, anyway? Do you just get extra cranky when you are thirsty?”

“The usual,” Now Maeda’s voice rolled out in a clear, but unsettlingly even tone. Every crisp word he spoke with a smooth confidence. “Water, salt, and sugar. Good for blood loss.” He paused as he was about to wipe his mouth with his grimy sleeve, then opted to grab a napkin instead. “Let me here this new information. I'll decide if it is of equal value or not.”

What a change! Junko needed to remember for future business dealings that the Maeda were easier to work with when well hydrated. “There is another artifact you could recover. One might be nice-”

“I never said I recovered the first-”

“-but with two I’m confident your people could turn the tides in Fenshingiri. Maybe the Maeda won’t have to live underground anymore like rats, eh?”

“I didn’t recover the dagger, and don’t presume a mere hired sword like yourself could understand our fight.” The Maeda wove his fingers together and placed them on the table. Even in the dim light she could make out the slightest movements beneath them, not pulsing veins but rather those nasty worms that infested the man’s entire body. In all her years of work she had never come across any Agents with quite as repulsive a jutsu as this man. “I'm not here to talk strategy. Tell me something good or I'll be reconsidering our partnership.”

A lengthy exhale between Junko's lips was the only immediate response, and she weighed her options during those few thoughtful seconds. “A Metsina flagship arrives tomorrow morning, carrying a stone carving. Allegedly the carving was originally from Jinchi before it disappeared.”

“Before?” Maeda’s paranoid curiosity got the better of him as he showed a spark of interest. “That would make it centuries old. How can they know it is from Jinchi?”

“Other than the stories, they don’t. But it seems to want to be brought here.”

“Seems to want? How can a carving- is this thing alive?”

“It’s not alive.” She brushed away his commentary to try and keep the questions to a minimum. “Anyway, the ship is disguised so Annitou doesn’t find out. There will only be two Metsina Agents on board, and they’ll likely be taking the artifact somewhere discretely. The scuttlebutt is that the carving is seeking out other artifacts, and Metsina wants to use it to strike it rich. Snatching it before that happens would be your best chance at recovering it.”

“Who are the Agents?”

“No clue.” She cast her eyes aside to avoid looking at Maeda’s sallow, quivering eyes. “That is all the information I can offer you. Take it or leave it.” The following minute was quiet apart from the usual clinkering and clattering of pub noises. Not even giving a nod the Maeda stood up and departed. The woman watched him go the entire way until he was out the door, then very quickly examined the floor and table to make sure the diseased Fenshingiri hadn’t left a trail of infectious maggots behind. A few things that looked like they might be teeth were down there, but she quickly assumed those were just some discarded beans. An unpleasant itch shuddered across her body. This was why she hated working with Agents.

“Miss Junko,” one of the pub’s staff appeared with a script clutched in his hand. “That man didn’t pay for his drink, so I’m assuming...”

“Put it on my tab.” She finally released her grip on her blades, and sank backwards into the cushioned chair of her booth. “And get me another bottle of rum.”