Drowning by KarolinaNoumenon on DeviantArt.com

Gin felt the lake close over her as she bathed. Recent attacks came to mind as a hand covered her mouth. She let herself drop, and planted a solid punch into a groin. Exhaling loudly her uncle bent and she chopped his throat, her hand hard as steel. He fell forward. Gin stomped his neck and forced him under water. She kept the pressure on until he ceased flailing, then hurriedly dressed and ran home. This might be the death of her and her family, her uncle having been a powerful lord, but what was done was done.

Tanuki by jokneeappleseed on DeviantArt.com

The bandit Ishikawa wanders to a steep cliff, a prosperous village the other side. He steps onto a rope bridge hovering above the misty abyss.

Halfway across, Tanuki appears, scratching his big tummy and sipping sake.

Ishikawa draws a dagger.

“The village has nothing worth stealing,” says Tanuki, “except this bridge.” He tips his straw hat to the ropes. “They wove this bridge from gold fibers.”

“Trickster!” shouts Ishikawa. “That can’t be.”

Tanuki belches. “See for yourself.”

Ishikawa glances down. The ropes glisten gold.

“The bridge is yours,” says Tanuki.

Leering, Ishikawa’s dagger hacks at the rope, his bandit fortune.

A twang. The rope snaps. The bridge tips, hurling Ishikawa into the abyss.

Tanuki yawns. “Gotta fix the bridge again.”

 

Note: The Despot realizes this story has 120 words, not 100 words. The Despot makes the rules in this realm. The Despot will allow this small infraction, but only this once, for the sake of this story alone.

Monk by PointLineArea on DeviantArt.com

“I am bigger,” laughed Takamasa.
“True, but answer,” Masasada slashed, nicking Takamasa’s forearm, “how does one bring down Fuji-san?”
Takamasa winced and squinted as he considered the question. He thrust his sword forward, but it was knocked aside by Masasada’s thinner blade.
Masasada struck and drew blood. Before Takamasa could react, Masasada opened up another slit on Takamasa’s arm.
Masasada smiled. “One chop at a time. You see?” He slashed again and opened Takamasa’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and Takamasa dropped to his knees.
“Patience is a virtue,” whispered Takamasa, respectfully.
Masasada thrust down and inward. “Patience is a weapon.”

Samurai Spirit 5 – Slasher by Artgerm on DeviantArt.com

Taneshige turned, avoiding a slash. He brought his sword around, clipping Amano’s neck, causing a fan of blood to issue forth. Taneshige ducked, but could not avoid the spray. Dripping blood, wide-eyed, showing teeth, he raised his weapon and ran through the yard. Fearless Samurai turned and fled this Hellspawn. Taneshige turned a corner and slashed at a low, black shadow. His sword slipped from his blood-slick grip and he missed his mark. It was a good thing. His master’s daughter stood before him, quaking in her sandals, her robe split by the keen, crimson blade, but her flesh unmarred.

Preparing for Battle by F1yMordecai on DeviantArt.com

Takeko roared with exhiliration as she thrust her ko-naginata into the nearest soldier. The weapon was an extension of herself, used with deadly precision. She sliced through skin and muscle, plunging and twisting the blade with fervour, before pulling the ko-naginata free and piercing the next enemy.

Takeko stared at the five bodies strewn around her, their blood drenching the battlefield. A wave of euphoria swept over her, mingled with a numb feeling in her chest. She looked down to see a wound from a tanegashima. An excruciating burning sensation enveloped her and her world faded to black.

Seedpaining 033110 by godofwar on DeviantArt.com

“If you do not do,” says Master, “still you have done.”
I grow tired of this. He sees me frown.
Master smiles.
I am a warrior. A Samurai.
“If you do not teach,” I smirk, “still you have taught.”
His brows come together, questioning. His head is cocked. His hand clasps my wrist and squeezes.
He holds my gaze. His thumb presses.
My blade drops and lands softly on the rushes.
“Were you a true Samurai,” he lectures, “you would have faced me fairly.”
I taste steel, then blood.
“You would be Rōnin?” he hisses.

Daimyo by ISOTXART on DeviantArt.com

Ashikaga was tasked with eradication of the pirate threat. The Daimyo looked upon his men, weak and afraid, wide-eyed in the face of pirate-rage. He knew he must set an example. He rushed into the melee, and slashed the flesh of a burly pirate, even before his Katana had fully cleared its scabbard. The ugly brute fell to the sand as Ashikaga’s second in command stomped on his throat. The men rallied. Hands, an arm, ears and bits of flesh littered the sand, and Ashikaga was filled with pride as his Elite proved themselves and showed honor to their Daimyo.

Seppuku by Rlkahwe4kl on DeviantArt.com

“You fade, Lord. Allow me to do what I must.”

“I cannot!”

“You would die in bed? It is not fitting!”

The daimyo clasped Yamatso’s hand. “I will die. It is enough.”

“Leave my husband be,” the Lady hissed.

Yamatso grimaced. “Out of respect, I have stayed my blade, oni. No more!”

His wakizashi flashed and found her stomach. The Lady screamed. Her face twisted; a snake’s tongue whipped between her fangs. Yamatso twisted the blade. She collapsed, spewing yellow blood.

The daimyo stirred. “What have you done!?”

“Now you shall recover.”

“Commit seppuku!”

Fishing Swiftly by SpooningFairy on DeviantArt.com

Pondside, Mitsuo gripped his bamboo pole. Not a bite.

A soft tread from behind. Ronin bandit!

“Nothing here to steal,” said Mitsuo, not turning. “Haven’t even caught dinner.”

The footsteps neared. Mitsuo sighed. “Please. You’ll disturb the fish.”

The rasp of steel on scabbard.

Mitsuo rolled, a blade clipping his earlobe. Mitsuo spun the fishing pole, parrying another slash. The pole snapped. Mitsuo jabbed upward with the bamboo. The bandit grabbed his throat, croaking. Blood gushed from his windpipe. He splashed backward into the river.

Mitsuo watched bloody ripples rock the reeds. At this rate he’d never catch a fish.

Samurai commission by Brolo on DeviantArt.com

If you slash a man’s face, urinate on it, and trample it with straw sandals, the skin will come off.
–HAGAKURE

These samurai treat us like dogs, kick us and beat us because we’re common. “My Master” is drunk on sake and snoring like a bear. I creep into his room and stab and stab …

and …

and …

something sharp pierces my back. I look down: a katana protrudes from my belly. I fall. I see now, on his futon, an empty pile of blankets. “My Lord” raises his bloodied blade. I chuckle. The irony! I die like a samurai.