Afro leapt back as the wickedly sharp sword slashed for his chest. He was fast; but the blade nevertheless drew a red line across his skin. He hissed in pain. Before he could recover, the other samurai reacted with a dozen shallow slashes and cuts. The aim was so true and the sword arm so strong that it was all he could do to parry them. Sweat dripped down his face as the black samurai realised that he was losing ground.

A crash of steel and the two blades met again. Afro angled it so that the other would be deflected to the side – all he needed was one clean cut – but the other was just as skilful and held his position. His arms ached and for the first time in a while, Afro got the idea that he was facing someone on his own level. The Number Two headband which trailed behind him fluttered in the breeze created by their rapid movements.

His arms burned. His sword was starting to shake. The other guy just wouldn't back off. Was he some kind of cyborg? Afro had seen them before. Warriors who augmented their fighting skills with technology.

A quick glance into his foe's eye killed that thought stone dead. No, he'd fought for a long time and he had learned to take the measure of a man through his eyes. This was not a warrior who relied on things beyond his own control. This was skill alone.

He felt a shiver across his spine. This was one fight he wasn't entirely certain that he could win...

A quick kick smashed into his gut and with a surprised exclamation, Afro tumbled to the ground. Instinct took over and he rolled just as the blade descended like a guillotine and sliced into where he would have been.

"Afro! Yo, Afro, you better step up your game he's kicking your ass!"

Afro ignored the annoying voice of the ninja/sign of his deteriorating mental health. As always, it served only as a distraction. A distraction he didn't need right now...

Moving like greased lightning, the white-clad samurai slashed again, this time intent on severing his head from his shoulder. Afro baulked for a second – images of his father's severed head flying through the sky, and a voice. ''One day, when you are old enough, find me."

Justice...

The man who had killed his father still lived. He couldn't afford to fall here. He surged forwards with a renewed offensive, weaving a web of steel about himself as the two blades met again and again. Each of the samurai almost seemed lost to their own minds. Striking so quickly and with such force that even a single error could be the difference between life and death.

This wasn't a fight between amateurs. Or even a fight between experienced veterans. This was a battle to the death between two masters of the blade. This was the kind of battle he had once dared to dream that he might once participate in, to avenge his father. But this was no childish daydream. This was real.

And he was losing.

It wasn't obvious. Not to anyone but a master. Afro knew though. He was tiring; his strikes were beginning to lack the force required to batter through his enemy's defences.

He tried to bring his body back into line. Deep breaths, forget the pain. Forge on and win this battle as he had so many others!

Afro slipped beneath one of the white-clad warrior's swings and his sword licked out. The warrior parried quickly, but not quite fast enough. A red spot fouled his pristine robes. Blood. But not enough. The wound was light. The other samurai still had victory virtually assured.

Unless he did something clever...

Afro bellowed a battle-cry and charged, letting his form slip out of focus and slipping on – perhaps just a bit too easily – the mask of someone livid with rage. He charged forwards with a wild swing!

The other easily blocked it. The white-clad warrior grinned, but it quickly became a startled look of pain as Afro's free hand brought his scabbard hard into his abdomen. The man coughed and his spittle was tinged red. For a fraction of a second, his grip weakened. Anyone else would have missed the chance, but Afro was a master of the sword. He rammed his blade into the ground by his enemy's foot (Nicking it in the process) and forcing another step back. With the scabbard, he struck upwards and sent the blade flying into the air!

There was a clatter as two equal parts fell to the ground. His reinforced scabbard, which he often used to fight in absence or even in combination with his sword. Split in two as easily as he might shear a log or body.

He didn't have time to think on that now, this was his chance - perhaps his only one – with savage swiftness, he brought his blade up in a crescent. The white warrior moved as easily as a ghost, but even he couldn't evade the whole blade. The tip drew a dark line across his chest. Crimson stained his robes again. He followed through, intending to drive the tip through the man's heart but the samurai stepped aside lightly and wrapped his arm around Afro's wrist. There was a crack and a flash of pain as he was thrown to the ground.

Afro rolled again; noting the blinding pain from his arm in an almost absent-minded way. Broken wrist, maybe smashed.

Using his free arm, he pushed himself up again. He'd expected the attack to resume at once, but the other had staled to reclaim his sword. The wind howled between the two samurai. His sweat-stained headband swayed in the sudden breeze. At times like this, he almost wondered why they fought as they did? What if the head-bands had never come to exist? Would all this fighting have come to pass? All the killing and blood-letting? But those thoughts never lasted long. He was a warrior, he lived in the now.

Again, he saw his father. Fighting the final battle against Justice. His moves so pure; his style so good. It had been the first time that Afro had seen a samurai do battle. Justice had gone for his guns, but his father was too fast, closing the distance. His blade shining like the wrath of the heavens themselves. Afro's eyes had widened, this was it! His father was going to win!

Then a spray of blood. His father's body slumping to the ground as his head rolled freely. In a single, horrible movement, Justice had killed the only man Afro had ever truly loved with all his heart.

The man stood up and brushed himself off. Stooping only to retrieve the headband from his father. The Number One. Then he walked towards Afro. The young boy had frozen. Locked in horror and shock. This couldn't have happened. His father was a legend, he couldn't fall in battle! Not in front of his own son.

Afro had thought that he was going to die. Justice merely paused in front of him and with an almost affectionate motion, put his hand down on the tearful child's head.

"This memory will always haunt you. You will be consumed with hate for me."

And then, as though Afro meant less than nothing he turned his back on the sobbing child.

"Come challenge me. When you're ready to face a god."

He had thought himself ready. One by one, he had tracked down and eliminated anyone who could have stopped him. He held the Number Two headband and with it, the right to finally duel Justice and avenge his father.

But none of that could happen. Not unless he picked himself up and and won this fight.

The other samurai picked up his blade and weighed it carefully in hand. He looked to Afro and for a second, their eyes met. He gestured to where his blade had fallen. Afro needed only a second to piece it together.

Honour among warriors? He thought. He shook his head. Such a thing wasn't unheard of; his old master at the dojo for example. But he'd learned that it was much rarer than he ever could have expected. Especially among those who would search or the headband.

"Afro!" The voice again. "That fool wants to give you back your sword! Go on and get it and use it to take him down!"

Optimistic. Afro thought sourly. This warrior was good. Several cuts above the low level thugs and mercs he usually faced. As things were going now, he'd probably be the one to be killed. For most of his fights, Afro could usually rely on his superior skills to see him through. This time however, he had a horrible feeling that he was the one outmatched.

He reached his sword and clenched it in his working hand. With an effort of will, he tried to focus on the fight at hand. It wasn't easy. The agonized throbbing of his broken arm made him feel that a dozen shards had been driven into it. He tested it for a half-second and found it worthless; he'd not be able to fight with this.

A strange feeling stole over him then. Was it...fear? Afro Samurai was not a man used to fear. Oh, he inspired it pretty often that was true. And this wasn't the first fight he had been on the verge of losing. But usually, his enemy was a robot or there were more of them or there was some other factor. Hardly ever before had he been beaten with pure skill. It brought him back to his days in the dojo...

No. He wouldn't think of that. Not now. Especially not now. He wouldn't think of what had become of the dojo because of him or the days that had followed.

Drip. Drip.

Blood dropped from the tip of his blade and the wounds on his chest. His chest heaved; gasping for air.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound was all he could focus on. The sound of life itself dripping from the end of his blade. Falling into the spreading pool of crimson at his feet.

Drip.

He charged. Trying to build up speed as he angled his blade for the next series of thrusts and parries. He only had one arm; he couldn't drag this out any longer. One way or another, this would be over in the next few minutes.

His bloody sword met the white blade in mid-air and the battle began anew.

The hot wind of the desert scrapped across his nerves as Jack felt the sand blown through his loose robes. He suppressed a frown at the loud snort of amusement that came from his side. Two warriors were gathered around the enigmatic Brother One. The so called best of the best; the most elite.

Jack once more cast his eyes over them. There was the cowboy, all guns and ego. A quick draw of a gun, but Jack had already dismissed him as a threat. Beside him, a Manhunter – a killing machine of the kind developed by Aku himself. It set his teeth on edge to be working with such a creature, but it was known that they could go rogue and Jack had to believe that even a machine was not innately evil.

Even if its arms did gleam with fold out weapons; its hunched back supporting a portable shield generator. Two blades crossed across its lower chest. This one was the biggest threat, Jack was sure. He would keep an eye on it for the rest of the trip.

Jack had fought more than enough robots in his life to know that they were hardly ever any good. His sword hand itched and as a warrior who had learned to listen to his instincts, he knew that meant something. Just not what...

For the dozenth time, he ran the story of thos rogue samurai through his head. The demon-souled warrior who held the Number Two headband and cut a bloody swath of destruction through the land. Again, something in his soul rebelled at the idea. That a samurai of all things could stoop to such actions...

It was a duty to bring down this rogue. Samurai to samurai. He may have been one of the few remaining warriors to hold that title, but he still had to maintain its honour. Samurai couldn't be a force for evil, Aku was already too strong for that. Samurai were supposed to be a force for good. All he had been taught led him to that conclusion; that it was his duty to strike down evil wherever he found it. That it was the duty of any samurai to stand with the oppressed wherever they needed him.

And now, to find one who abused his powers so evilly? It made his heart boil and his gut burn. Samurai should be more. They should be...should be...

A memory he had not returned to in a long time. His father standing at the side of an artificial lake. His face the very picture of serenity. He was wearing his armour. The armour of a shogun; an elite samurai. He wielded the magic sword which had been forged to defeat evil. The very sword Jake now held.

His father who had been torn down when Aku came for him again. His father who had stood rather than run, even knowing that victory was impossible. His honour would not allow him to abandon his people. Even for his own son.

No. A samurai was a force for good. That was all there was to it. Anyone who would abuse their position and the skills that came with it not only didn't deserve the title, but was due a meeting from a real samurai.

What was the purpose of a samurai? This was a question which had been posed to him numerous times during his training. Was it a warrior? Was it to be wise? Was it to be honourable? Was it to be the best a man can be?

No. It was all of that. All of that and more. To be a samurai, you had to oppose evil. Wherever you found it.

A flash of a burning town, evil towers striking up through the ground. People running, screaming, in the midst a single lost shogun. Alone and beaten, but never bowed. And never to run.

You fought evil. No matter the cost.

"All right everyone gather round now." Brother One's booming voice broke through his reverie. "The Afro-Samurai has recently been spotted in this region. Now, all you know why we need to find him before he kills again so I won't bore you with the details. Just now that our actions decide the future. We must be strong for those yet to come! We must fight and win no matter what! The Afro-Haired Demon is a powerful enemy without doubt. If we show weakness, he'll pick us apart just as he did my own precious brothers. Once we find him, we'll move in as a group and finish him off. You have my word that you will all be paid in full, whatever payment you wanted."

"With the money that you're payin' and the bounty on this guy, I'm surprised he ain't dead already." The cowboy put in. "He ain't that tough, is he?"

"I called him a demon and rest assured, I did not lie on that account! He is as fast and powerful as a storm and about as forgiving! If you fight him alone, you will most certainly die! That was a mistake that I made once before. Each of us tried to fight him on our own, thinking that honour would force him to fight with some sense of fairness. We were wrong. He cut us down one by one and without even blinking. At the end, he even slew his childhood friend whose only wish was to stop the monster that he had become. My entire organisation, wiped out. Only I was lucky enough to survive and as you all saw, I did not do so unharmed. These scars are as much a reminder to me as they are a warning to others. Do not underestimate the Afro-Samurai. If you do, you will most surely pay."

"Hmmp." The man spat on the sand. "Jus' give me one shot and I'll bring you your demon."

"We shall see." Brother One said. "But advise you not to count on it. I've seen him dodge bullets before. Nothing but the very chains of hell themselves can hold this demon for too long."

The cowbow spat at the ground again. Jack frowned. Surely, this ill-mannered brute wasn't the best that Brother One had been able to round up? Jack couldn't speak for the Afro-Samurai, but he himself could have cut the gunman down at least three times by now.

As to the robot...

No, he was being silly. Brother One was an honourable man. If these were all he had been able to gather then it was down to Jack himself to make up the difference. Samurai versus Samurai. His code called for nothing less.

"Where's this outlaw headed?" The gunman asked. "I'll have you his head, headband and all by the end of the week. Guar-an-teed."

Jack scoffed at the thought. The robot appeared to agree and broke up the conversation with a static-sounding voice.

"What is the location of the target?"

"Unknown." One replied. "But we have reports that he is not far. Two days from here there is a town in the middle of the desert. It is not a well-off place. They survive on water from deep wells, but with the Afro-Demon making his way across the sands, I suspect he will stop there. It will probably not be a peaceful visit."

"Then we move fast." It was the first thing Jack had said since being brought to the ground. His straw hat was tugged gently in the breeze. He raised a hand to steady it.

"'Friad that you're gonna lose your shade little man?" The gunslinger snorted. "You won't last a minute once we get there. I don't know what One is thinking. I suppose I'll have to put you to good use as a bullet shield."

Jack drew upon his legendary patience. The insult slid off him and he turned to One, all bussiness.

"Can we reach the town before the demon?"

"If we make haste." One said. "But I was intending to catch him on the way out, in the open desert we could-"

"With all due respect elder, we can't afford that." Jack was adamant. "If what you say is true, then he has called more than enough innocents already. I will not allow another town to fall before I reach him."

"Well aren't you just mister heroic." The gunman said. "Dressed up in your nice white nightdress and with your nice sharp pig-sticker. Let me tell you something, once the fighting starts you're gonna get killed. If you can even keep up at all."

One ignored him. Locking eyes with Jack. The samurai tried to communicate his need to be there, he wouldn't suffer innocents to be harmed. They had to move fast. Most people had a hard time reading his body language, but just for once he seemed to have met someone who could.

"-Very well then." Brother One bowed gently. " You have shamed me young man. In my haste to purge a demon, I had forgotten to consider those caught in the fire. By all means, we will intercept him at the town, or before if we can reach it."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

The robot was silent, but the gunman snorted.

"We gonna be taking any more orders from this white-clothed punk? 'cus if so, I'm not responsible for what happens. I only listen to the man with the money and that ain't him." He paused for a second. "Still, the town is good too. Plenty of cover." He shot Jack a glance. "And moving shields."

His teeth ground together, but Jack still managed to project the outward image of perfect serenity. He turned without a word.

"We should go." He said.

"Agreed." Brother One started to walk into the desert. "It is one and a half days or so to the town if we hurry. I've brought water so follow me and I shall lead you to the demon. After that, its down to you."

The manhunter followed without a word. Jack did the same. The gunslinger shot him a glare and then brought up the rear.

The small group trudged out into the desert.