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Part Four
Genji didn't sleep. Instead he returned to the Kotoro School, packed his few possessions and spent the final, listless hours of the night touring the grounds of what had been his home. It seemed suddenly small, dwarfed by the greater world of his new endevour. The sun rose red. Genji met it on his knees before the idol in Katagurama Shrine.

Outside, the sky was brilliant, but the shrine was still a small, dark galaxy, a cluster of private stars. Genji knelt amongst them, head bowed  to the laughing Buddha. He was as much a statue as the object of his veneration, a man like brass against the dawn.  One by one, while Genji’s eyes were closed, the eternal flames of Katagurama died.  He opened them again in unexpected darkness and whipped around, coiled to strike. Trump stood in the doorway.

The swordsman laughed. "Come now, Genji-san," he said, stepping into the shrine. "You should be ashamed for treating me with such discourtesty. You look like you've just seen a spirit return from hell."  The shrine’s extinguished wics were smoking, casting haze into the air.

Genji, assuming his life as a fencer was over, had neglected to pack his sword. All the same, he stood up straight and addressed Trump with manly bearing: "Is it discourtesy to treat a demon as he deserves? I know your manners are coarse, but I hope you are not fool enough to kill an unarmed man."

Trump laughed again, deeply and with evident relish. "Ah," he said. "Is this bothering you?" He pulled his sword casually, in one hand, treating it like a child's plaything. Its blade was scarelt, swimming with reflected sky. "Be at ease ," said Trump, as he tossed it away. It landed in the tall grass outside the shrine.

Genji did not feel at ease. He retreived his ashwood walking stick from the wall where it was leaning and brandished it, as best he could, in the staff-fighting form he'd learned as a child in Kyoto, from Master Sasaki. The effect, he knew, was comic, but its intent was sincere.

Trump laughed louder, his mouth open so wide that Genji could see his uvula. "Stop that," he said. "I will not fight you. I have committed myself to higher pursuits, and no longer owe any loyalty to the Kotoro School. You have beaten our second student. Be satisfied, and leave."

Trump laughed until his voice grew hoarse while Genji watched him, scowling. His neck fat was jiggling up a crazy storm. "You fool," said Trump. "Do you still think that piece of metal lying in the grass out there controls me? Do you imagine I have thrown away my sword? I am death, Tokomora Genji, and death demands a finer blade than that!”

"I am done listening," said Genji. "Hai!" He stepped forward quickly, bringing his staff to bear in a wide, lethal arc --

"Nigger," whispered Trump. 

aaa

The word was a shotgun blast - it blew Genji's heart and ribs into a pink slurry and sprayed them across the Buddha and the wooden wall behind it. Saucy chunks dripped floorward.

"Nigger," Trump repeated. Genji’s right arm puffed up like a bruise-balloon, then splattered outward into a supernova of bone and shredded muscle. 

"Nigger," said Trump, again. Genji’s head seperated from his body with such force that it flew through the ancient wall of Katagurama and landed, bouncing, among the rain-decorated woods. "Nigger!" shouted Trump, triumphantly, and the Buddha laughed so he laughed too. It was a damn good time.

Outside, the students were beginning to assemble for morning classes, and interested townsfolk were beginning to arrive to watch the duel. George Herbert Walker Bush and Tokomora Maoka has assumed their traditional places at the front of the dojo and all the necessary preparations had been made The sun was above the horizon, suspended in a mist of gold. It was against this ominous sky that Trump appeared, ascending the hill from Katagurama.

"Clipped-dick kike motherfucker," Trump called, as if beckoning a dog. The eastern wing of the Kotoro School's main building, including Genji's favortie balcony, vaporized in a gigantic green fireball shaped like a middle finger and a pair of balls.

In the dojo, Maoka's eyes widened in surprise. The assembled crowd began to panic. Asho, the stable boy, sqealed with delight. "Go get em', Trump-sama!" he yelled. 

The swordsman smiled at him. "Nigger spic wop kike," he boomed to the boy. "These jew motherfuckers in the media are gonna squeeze my balls until I start throwing them in death camps!" The barracks blew backwards like a hurricane hit it, and dissapeared. "Bleeding, rancid cunt," said Trump. His sword leapt into the air and flew right into his left hand. He became a tiger in the crowd.

Young Shonzo Itori was the first to oppose him with drawn sword. Trump fucked him right up the ass. First, he  flicked his blade like a snake with a steel tongue, releiving the student of his weapon and his hand.  Shonzo screamed as Trump barreled over  the guy like a black bear, pushing him into the mud while simulatenously punishing his butthole thrust by fragrant thrust. Trump fucked Shonzo Itori clean in half, then doused the two twitching sections of his victim in creamy, creamy seed. "These fucking wetbacks," he grunted, organsmically, his eyes rolling like whirligigs arouns his skull. "They're taking *our* shit, *my* shit, we gotta stop it, this is just common sense, people."

Globules of potent load fired into the crowd. One hit the younger of the Maji brothers, Gen, right in his fat, gay mouth. The boy fell to the ground, gasping, pozzed irrevocably and for all time.  Asho was dancing around his hero's fat rod. "Go Trump!" he squealed. "Gambare!" Gen died of AIDs.

Trump’s sword was swift. Heads, arms, dicks, boobs, butts, lungs and spinal columns started flying out of the crowd insanely. Trump went through the students of the Kotoro School like a human lawnmower, painting red the rice-paper walls of the dojo. At last he stood before George Herbert Walker Bush and his inscrutable wife.

"At last," said Tokomora Maoko. "You have revealed your true colors, Trump-san. You are strong, but not clever. I excell against creatures such as you."

She meant to continue speaking, but Trump leapt up, spearing her open mouth with his coke-can-thick, baby-arm-long penis. He raped her face while she tried to vomit and scream. Trump pushed himself in and out, in and out of Maoka's anguished tube, lubing himself with bile while screaming "Nigger, nigger, nigger" like a dog at the apex of its need 

"Nigger, nigger, nigger!" said Trump, demolishing the roof of the Dojo and the entire rest of the Kotoro School. “Nigger, nigger, nigger” said Trump, and the surviving crowd that tried to run fell dead from sudden strokes, their limp bodies falling like tossed birdseed across the road. "Mudslime sons-of-bitches. Pussy asshole surveilance drones. Loser pricks, prick losers, microdick CNN clown brigade. Kikes! Kikes! Kikes!”

There was a thunderclap as Trump thundered out another load, propelling himself and Maoka, who was skewered from mouth to browneye by Trump’s violent, violet sword,  far into the air. He hung there, cumming cum as black as pitch, a human form eclipsing the fog-shrouded sun. His jizz was napalm, and the woods ignited.

A dark globule fell onto the body of George Herbert Walker Bush. He sat unmoving as he burned, already too fargone to scream. Trump laughed, as the acrid smoke of the forest fire seeped into the sky, staining it as black as pitch. "14/88" screamed Asho, in delight. "Hitler did nothing wrong!"

Overhead, Trump was doing loop-de-loops, celebrating his success. His dick, momentarily softened, relaxed enough to release Tokomora Maoka. She fell into the blazing forest in a red, wet pile. The ground, at last, relieved the woman of her pretensions: in the end she was just another condom full of blood and brains and teeth. Shameful.

"Ha ha," said Trump. "It was easy, you dummies!" He capered in the air like a teenage bat, relishing each lungful of smoke. Thunder filled the sky, and bursts of lightning crackled the darkness. There was one great cryptomeria tree still standing, at the border of the ruined school. Trump grabbed it and exerted himself hard enough to arrest the very motion of the Earth. Then he pulled and pulled the planet with him, weilding the world like a polished blade. Every rock and tree and human and structure was flung momentarily skyward -- but then Trump got tired, and the movement ceased. The whole world fell back to Earth from whence it had risen. Legs were snapped, foundations shattered, gardens reduced to disarry. Everything, and everyone, was incrementally destroyed. "Woop woop woop," said Trump, as he flew away.

Asho watched his hero with adoration. A ruined world, he realized, was paradise for boys. All around him, in the fires, lay the scattered bones of his critics, controllers and disciplinarians. So Asho laughed, in charge at last, and ran down the road to Jotokura to watch Trump do his business there.

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