Ronin Warriors Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Is Thicker Than Water ❯ Blood is Thicker Than Water ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer-I will never own Cale, Anubis, and/or any of the following characters in this letter. Everyone belongs to his or her respective owners, producers, voice actors, and all such people associated with the following characters. The title of this letter is taken from the song Blood Is Thicker Than Water, which found on the CD The Sopranos: Music From The HBO Original Series, and is sung by Wyclef Jean Featuring G&B (The Product). Blood Is Thicker Than Water belongs to all the people associated with the following song.

 

Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Isabel Night

 

Dear Anubis,

 

I am very sorry for not composing this letter as soon as I set foot inside my temporary sleeping chamber, which, much to my surprise, was waiting for me after Dais, Sekhmet, Kayura, and I had asked our host, the girl I believe you were fond of, if we could stay for the evening inside her family's mansion. I never noticed, until now, how wealthy Mia's relatives are, and it is amusing to think about what kind of dowry she would have provided, if the two of you had decided to marry…

 

Wedding plans aside, I am writing this dispatch to let you know that the four of us are in the Mortal's Realm, collecting any personal objects that remained behind when you, the girl, and that boy-child chose to journey to the Nether Realm…and save the five Ronin Warriors. I have often wondered what it must have been like for you to come face-to-face with our former master, and, when the dust finally cleared, to forfeit your own life so that the remaining eight armor bearers could live. Nevertheless, I am happy to report that not only were we successful in acquiring your possessions, but that Mia and the Elementals were more than helpful in handing over several of your hand-written notes which, in all probability, might have unintentionally been left in this house on the day you came back to the Nether Realm. Forgive me if the next few lines sound, well, selfish, but after examining all that you had written, I now believe that you are the biggest idiot in the world for giving up your life…and…for thinking that my soul was more important than yours was.

 

Many questions popped into my head as I skimmed over what you had put down onto paper, but there was that one question that seemed to keep nudging at the base of my skull. Why? Why would you, a four hundred fifty-five-year-old youth who, given the opportunity to walk away from servitude, Talpa, and this Kami-forsaken war, would willingly waltz back into danger…only to end up sacrificing your soul for the sake of four people who will probably never be remembered by any mortal in the impending centuries to come? What, in all the levels of Hell that encompass Lord Enma's kingdom, would, as the mortals say, “smack you upside the head,” thus making you give up the wonderful prospect of a new future, and a new life, for the sake of those same four people who also tried to have you executed? You had the perfect occasion to flee from that Hellhole called Talpa's Castle, and not only do you fling yourself back into that chaos called war, but you then manage to go and get yourself killed! If that does not count as a case of sheer stupidity, then I do not know what does!

 

I am...truly sorry if my previous statement makes me sound like an ungrateful, angry, and spiteful little child, but I want you to have confidence in me when I say that I am not angry with you or your previous actions. I am, instead, angry with myself for surviving an emotionally charged war while allowing Lord Enma and his court to yank away one of the people I care about the most. Then again, in being wrenched away from your three brothers, you have also offered Dais, Sekhmet, and I the opportunity to be forgiven, as well as something the mortals call "a new lease on life." Likewise, because of your offering…as well as for relinquishing the opening that would have let you walk away from this disaster…I am forever in your debt.

 

I also noticed in the notes you had left, that you have identified me as one of your friends and brothers. I am, however, ashamed to hear those words…not because the bond we shared was exceptional, but because we had always understood these emotions to be like an unspoken rule. We never verbally told each other that we cared, probably because we always believed that we were going to be together until the end of time. Moreover, when that damnable war came…well…now I guess it is too late to finally open our mouths and say what we should have said…

 

I do not wish to stop in the middle of my writing and cut this letter short, but the light from this “electric lamp” is starting to make my eyes water, and this mortal contraption called an “alarm clock,” tells me that it is one o'clock in the morning. As I close this correspondence, however, my mind drifts back to a thought I had when I read your memo about why you had left the Dynasty…and why after such a long time, you were willing come back. It took almost four hundred fifty years to create a bond that would complete the lives of four strangers, and although that bond remained strong, it had never really undergone a life-shattering test. Moreover, when that test finally came, and the choice of starting a new life without us, or offering up your soul to the Deity of Hell in exchange for our pathetic existence, you proved to me that the bond we shared was still going strong. In fact, I believe that the ties we once shared were more powerful than any type of attachment blood-related families could ever possess. Though it may be too late to say those above-mentioned words…much less pen them down on paper, I just want to get the following string of sentences out of my head before I go to bed. Thank you; thank you for loving me, for letting me feel accepted, for all the good and bad times we had shared together, and for thinking that I have some worth in this world.

 

Love,

Cale

 

THE END

 

End Notes-Enma, in reference to Japanese Buddhist Literature, as well as this story, is the Judge of the Dead who with his demonic aids and servants, uses a powerful mirror to show the souls of the dead his or her sins before judgment is passed and he or she is sent off to appropriate level of Hell. I would also like to thank everyone who has looked over this letter; without your eyes, this story would not be possible.