Emoguiji, Son of Ugeroth (Ay-moh-goo-ee-jee)

Omura's head swam, and in his mouth he tasted the sour tang of blood as he slowly came to consciousness. His body felt sore all over, and several places stung from obvious cuts and slashes. He meant to bring his hands up to massage his face, but felt them constrained behind his back, tied together by heavy rope.   Slowly, he opened his eyes. The dark room that appeared before him was a blur, and even the bare amount of candlelight he could see made his eyes ache and wish to fall shut again.   He tried to move his feet, but they too were bound together, to the chair he sat in, he realized. A half-awake anger and impatience rising in him, he began to struggle against these constraints with greater effort, tugging left and right and attempting to pry these ropes apart. But, fatigue overtook Omura far too quickly, and before long he slumped back into the hard wooden back of the chair, and just sat.   From beyond the room, Omura's ears stood up when he suddenly began to hear distant sounds of movement. It came with it the sound of incomprehensible voices too, all growing closer and closer, louder and louder.   "...finally awake?" Those were the only words Omura could distinguish before he heard a door somewhere behind him open, and his instincts felt several people walk inside. He tried to swivel his head to see them as best he could, but all he saw were blurred shapes of people just in his periphery.   "He is awake." He heard a man's voice purr. "We shall proceed."   Omura sat helplessly as he was slowly surrounded by almost a dozen different people. As they walked into clear view, he saw they wore dark hooded robes, arms folded in their sleeves. The top half of their faces were completely covered by their hoods draped over them, and their lower half was a deep red mask, carved to look like a demonic smile.   "All of you," Omura demanded, "release me at once!" But one of them, the man he realized, pressed a finger to his lips.   "Please," he said behind the mask, "do not fret. It will all be over soon, Immortal of Sansburi."   At mention of that name, everything came careening back to Omura. He awoke completely as memories of that night finally resurfaced. The village of Izumi. The Heiwan Fireworks Festival. The shogun!   Omura was an Oathsworn Protector, a highly-skilled, personal bodyguard to the reigning shogun of Heiwa, Bando Kosaki. That night, he had been there at the fireworks festival in Izumi when he and the other oathsworn had come under attack. He'd thought them assassins meant to kill the shogun.   The last thing he remembered was being surrounded by three assailants that he now knew looked just like these people here. Then, there was a gas — he still felt the devilishly pleasant sensation that ran through him then — and then he awoke here.   He'd been defeated, the truth sunk in deep. Had they also killed the shogun? Fear shot through him, and his eyes suddenly glared up at the man in front of him. "Where is the shogun!? What have you done with him!?"   "Kosaki?" The man asked. "You don't need to worry about him."   "Like hell I don't!" Omura began struggling against his restraints with new vigor. He stopped only when three different people closed the distance and held him down. "If you put even one finger upon him..." His words were cut off as the man reached out a hand and harshly cupped Omura's cheeks between them.   "You'll what?" The man challenged, knowing full well how powerless Omura was. His hand released Omura's face. "Students," the man changed the subject, "tonight, in our circle sits with us an unbeliever."   Omura snorted. "An unbeliever of what, exactly?" But the man ignored his question and kept speaking.   "Here sits with us a man who looks upon the lie of goodness and turns a blind eye to the truth of evil." Then, the man pulled something from his sleeve. It was shaped like a demonic face, with two tusks that ran up out of its toothy grimace. It was a mask, a familiar red mask that Omura had heard about in many different stories. Suddenly, the dots began to connect for him. Who these people were. What that mask was.   "Wait," Omura gasped, "you're... that's..."   "Tonight, a new student shall see the face of our holy one, and he will know truly that his loyalty lies in our midst!" A dark, murmur of a chant began to resound among the other people here as the man took the mask in both hands, turning it to where the inside was now facing Omura. Fear swelled in him.   "A-away with your petty tricks!" Omura cried. "I will sooner die than will I betray my oathsworn loyalty to my shogun."   The man laughed, setting the object aside for a moment, taking one hand upon his hood, the other upon his mask. "Then, this should be all the more easier for you." One hand pulled down the hood and the other took off the mask, letting it fall to the ground. To Omura's shock and horror, the man he saw standing before him, the supposed leader of this circle, was the shogun himself, Bando Kosaki.   Omura's head shook in disbelief, praying this was a nightmare and at any moment he would wake up. Consumed with fear, he rocked his chair violently in vain hope to somehow escape.   "Gaze upon his face!" His shogun shouted, grabbing the mask and thrusting it towards Omura.   The Oathsworn Protector lived his final conscious seconds. Then, the Mask of Malice took over.