In his unprecedented rise to power, the NeoSin of Shaolin had uncharacteristically overplayed his hand. In doing so his soft-targets had been left exposed and vulnerable. Capitalizing on this costly oversight, a cunning radicalized terrorist organization had ruined the crown jewel of the Hyper-Sapiens, the Nihonto Khan. It had also irreversibly tarnished the Voice Unheard's impeccable reputation within not only the Yakuza, but the Syndicate as a whole.
Once in possession of a vast fortune and international resources, Yazhun SanVun had been forced to relinquish his dream of unchallenged supremacy over Japan's criminal underworld. His sister was still missing. Presumed dead. Only a handful of Bokushi still remained within the partially rebuilt confines of the Khan, and allies were few and far between. Marking it as the perfect time for the unapologetic captain of superhuman capitalism, Samson Starr, to present the fallen crime boss with an 'opportunity.' One beneficial to both parties.
After months of intense back and forths, mediations and go-betweens, Yazhun had given the Trifecta the greenlight to invite Samson and members of the Selebirty brand to a formal sitdown at the Khan.
Outside where beautiful cherry blossoms once occupied a scented courtyard lining the semi-circular drive leading up to the entrance, only heavy equipment remained. Construction cones stretched north and south for several blocks as restoration of the destroyed area was slow, but steady.
"Welcome to the Nihonto Khan." The Trio of blonde beauties, Yazhun's orators and personal assistants, greeted the Selebrity convo with smiles and respectful bows. Their uniformed appearance had not suffered as a result of the SanVun's fall from prominence. "Right this way please." Leading the group past scorched walls, destroyed statues, and the Khan's closed down casino, it didnt take long before they all emerged in the open aired garden in the center of the dilapidated structure.
There Yazhun sat in a perfectly formed lotus position in deep meditative purity. The inverted nature of his skin pigmentation was an unmistakable trademark. One that often caused guests to stare or marvel. As his eyes slowly opened a solitary sandal wearing slave shuffled over from beyond the shadows, timidly draping a black and gold trimmed kimono over his master's sculpted shoulders.
Yazhun gazed at his guests for a moment, nodding before motioning for them to all take a seat. He offered no refreshments. No real gestures of hospitality. Something felt off.
Suddenly the doors closed. The slave, gone. The identical triplets, gone. As if biologically integrated with a 3d printer beneath his skin, an ocean of nanites rapidly washed over his body concealing it within his personalized NeoSin Sheath. A clear declaration of hostile intent. From crocks and crevasses it appeared as though a small band of loyal NeoSin wearing assassins were brought forth with but a thought. A setup.
Without warning Yazhun slightly cocked his head and neck back before aggressively leaning forward and shouting, "You were foolish to come here!" The full herculean might of his metahuman voice was directed at the spikey haired martial master with enough forced to rumble a mountain, while the rest of the squad were immediately set upon by the treacherous assassins in Yazhun's employment. For what, or to what end was unsure. Questions needed to be answered but they would have to wait. As for now, the group's only mission was to put Yazhun and his bastards down.
It was a rehearsed and over used cliche, but that wasnt to say it lacked in its visual potency. One by one a string of all black, moderately bullet proof luxury sedans fell into formation alongside the curb outside the ScS. The calling card of the San'Vun Syndicate.
Metro City had never held much interest to the Voice Unheard. Or at least that had been true up until the secret sanctorum had become publicly known. Opening its esoteric doors for the first time and allowing the ordinary, a glimpse at the extraordinary. A waste as far as Yazhun was concerned. Such a supernatural privilege should be an exclusive right for those who's power held sway over the normal complacency of the average man or woman.
Yet for what the Shadoking sought to uncover demanded his personal attention. It could not, would, not, be left to chance.
The doors opened in ceremonious unison and the entire San'Vun entourage spilled out into the streets and onto the sidewalks. Black shades, black suits, black hearts. *Wait here* Yazhun signed with a quick flurry of articulated finger movements. Much to the uneasy reluctance of his people. His personal protective detail.
As he stepped inside the smell and ancient aesthetics filled him with a sense of the familiar. Tradition and lore dripped off every piece of art. Every cataloged and archived scroll. More then just a monument for the mystical arts, the Sanctum itself was a breathing extension of magical marination. A true treasure in a city of ill-repute.
Without hesitation the Black Hand slowly strolled through the grand hall towards the library. His uniquely negative shaded fingers tracing along the various volumes until stopping at one in-particular. Its magical pages full of living illustrations pre-dating any of equal merit or source. This was it. The one true book that could help the Voice Unheard unearth the greatest treasure the World had never known. A book of maps. A book of legend. A book of, the Last Dragons...
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