10 Flower that Withered - Chapter 10

Musashi's katana moves not just with the strength of his body but with the resilience of his spirit. The Shogun's assaults are relentless, her spear a living extension of the will of Inazuma, each strike seeking finality.

Yet, Musashi deflects and weaves, his blade a mere sliver of silver against the storm of Ei's power.

Though the Shogun possesses millennia of knowledge, Musashi's unpredictable artistry in combat levels the field.

As steel meets steel, sparks illuminate their resolve. The Shogun is precise, while Musashi is fluid. He is not fighting merely to survive; he fights for a belief—a vision of freedom that challenges the very order the Shogun upholds.

The symphony of their battle resounds, every clash, every parry resonating with the hearts of the onlookers.

Even as the Shogun's spear descends with the weight of ages, threatening to overwhelm him, Musashi's counterattacks bear the weight of hope.

With each passing moment, neither warrior wavers. In this momentous exchange where every swing could be the last, they find not just the measure of their opponent, but the essence of their own souls.

As the battle rages, it becomes clear—it's not just about who will survive, but what ideals will endure when the dust settles.

(Raiden Shogun) : As the Raiden Shogun's voice rings out, "Shine down!" the air itself crackles with the gathering storm of her power. Electro energy courses along her polearm, a lance of pure, unyielding force lacing the edge of the weapon.

The vertical slash descends like lightning, aimed with divine precision. It is the wrath of the storm, the edge of judgement, blurred by its own speed and intensity.

Musashi, with a swiftness born of countless duels, he positions his katana to intercept. Metal clashes with energy-charged metal in a spectacle of sparks and sizzling power.

(Musashi) : "Ughh!" escapes Musashi, a shout of pain. Musashi's eyes narrow, his grip on his sword's hilt unyielding, but even his skill cannot negate the force of the Raiden Shogun's Electro-infused blow.

The surge overwhelms Musashi's defenses, flooding into him. His muscles tense, pain sears through him, a testament to the Shogun's might, and for a moment, it seems as if the duel has reached its conclusion.

But where another might falter, Musashi's resolve solidifies. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught, he channels this pain into focus. The electricity may course through him, but it does not control him.

Musashi stands his ground, showing the human spirit's resilience. With the resolve of a seasoned samurai and the determination of a warrior who has faced mortality's edge, Musashi brandishes his second katana.

Blades gleaming with the deadly promise of a duel pushed to its limits, he stands proudly, the very image of unyielding fortitude.

(Musashi) : "Electrocution would be such a hassle," he states, his voice steadier than the hand that had just wrestled with the Shogun's lightning. "But I don't care about it anymore. Now I will fight you to my fullest, Shogun-sama." His declaration carries not arrogance but a deep respect for the opponent before him.

It resonates with the honor of a fighter giving his all, acknowledging the strength of his opponent and the gravity of the battle at hand.

(Raiden Shogun) : "Let us proceed then," the Raiden Shogun, embodiment of Eternity, regards Musashi's dual stance, gave a respectful nod to the commitment. She aligned her Polearm against the dual-wielded katanas.

(Musashi) : "A weapon is the extension of one's body," Musashi declared, blades poised in readiness. "Do you agree, Shogun-sama?" With a burst of agility, he closed the distance between them, startling the Shogun.

Their weapons met—polearm to katanas—in a resounding clang of steel. She barely intercepted his twin katanas with her polearm.

(Raiden Shogun) : "Indeed, I do," the Shogun admitted, but her brow furrowed with intrigue. "But from where you got such swiftness, absent the Electro Vision?" Confusion laced her tone.

(Musashi) : Musashi stood firm, his breathing steady even after the explosive maneuver. "Speed, Shogun-sama, does not solely arise from Electro Vision," he began, locking eyes with her, "it stems from mastery of the self and one's blade." He motioned to his katanas. "My life has been a relentless pursuit of the sword's art. Each stroke, each stance, and every slice is a verse in a poem I've written a thousand times over in my heart."

(Musashi) : "Balance, rhythm, and an unyielding will synchronize to create velocity that transcends mere elemental boosts," he continued, a focused yet philosophical tone to his voice. "What you witness is the culmination of intense training, acute perception, and an intimate bond with these blades that have become extensions of my very being."

The Shogun studied Musashi, her earlier confusion giving way to a dawning respect. She understood now that Musashi's swiftness was a natural extension of his lifelong dedication and his deep harmony with the path of the sword.

(Raiden Shogun) : "I understand now," she acknowledged. "If you wield your full might, then it's only fitting I meet you with my utmost as well." With a fluid, practiced motion, the Shogun drew Musou Isshin, the revered blade that slept nestled close to her heart.

Musou no Hitotachi, a sword art that it had no equal, one that no other art could hope to meet in direct confrontation. It was said to be capable of cutting the very fabric of conflict with a single, perfect slash.

(Musashi) : "Musou no Hitotachi..," he repeated softly. To be deemed worthy of such a strike is such an honor for him. "Shogun-sama," Musashi Miyamoto declared with reverence, "I am truly honored. May our swords cross in earnest!" Musashi exclaimed, launching himself with a surge of speed towards her.

However, the Raiden Shogun had entered a heightened state of focus when she pulled her Musou Isshin. Now, her perception is as sharp as if time itself had slowed.

(Raiden Shogun) : "You have been a formidable opponent, Musashi," the Shogun softly whispered, more to herself than to him.

Then her blade moved with the speed of light, delivering flurry of strikes with precision so acute and fast that Musashi didn't have any chance.

In a final, swift motion, her sword's dance culminated. She reduced Musashi to naught but ashes. Hia form dissipating as if he were but ink in the rain—all at the hands of the Raiden Shogun's incomparable might.

(Raiden Shogun) : The Shogun's gaze shifted to Kujou Sara. "We shall depart from this locale, Sara," she commanded with her characteristic poise. "Our presence is no longer a necessity here. With the dawn of the morrow, as the sun greets the sky, my edict of a week-long peace shall commence."

(Sara) : Sara responded with immediate understanding, bowing respectfully and affirming, "Yes, Shogun-sama."

Kokomi and Gorou, once the Shogun and Sara departed, turned their gazes to the spot where Musashi had made his last stand.

The scene before them was somber—a charred patch of earth, with nothing but ashes to mark the passage of a warrior.

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken reverence for their fallen comrade.

Amidst the remains of the duel, they found a sorrowful acceptance. Musashi was a samurai, and they knew well that to such a warrior, an honourable end in battle was a fitting closure to a life dedicated to the way of the sword.

Though the loss was sharp and the absence of their greatest ally deeply felt, in their hearts, they understood he had met the destiny of a true samurai.

(Kokomi) : Kokomi's voice, though tinged with loss, carried the resolve of a leader. "We must honor Musashi with a grave, Gorou. After all, we owe him a great debt. It is by his actions that we count our losses in bruises rather than lives lost."

Gorou, his ears drooping in a clear sign of his grief, nodded in silent agreement. He knew the importance of paying respects to a fallen comrade, especially one so valiant and selfless as Musashi who had fiercely protected his allies to the end.

With a solemn determination, they set to work, ensuring that Musashi's sacrifice would be remembered and honored as befit the legacy of such a noble samurai.

MEANWHILE, IN FONTAINE...

On the shore of Belleau Region of Fontaine, Byakuya sat alone on a chair, savoring the serene ambiance.

With a cup of tea in hand, Byakuya's gaze swept across the landscape of the beach, where the gentle lapping of waves played a calming song.

Here, away from Melusines and gazes of women, Byakuya found a moment of peaceful solitude.

But suddenly, a mysterious woman's presence disturbed the tranquil setting.

Her garment speaks of her association with the Fatui, a formidable and often-feared faction known throughout the nations.

Plus, the emblem of the Fatui on her tie stands out starkly, an open declaration of her affiliations.

The shoulder design, ruffled sleeves, and the corset-style of her shirt give her an air of intimidating elegance, complemented by her form-fitting pants.

Her black skin of hands and forearms, adorned with red fingernails and rings, and her high-heeled stilettoes add another layer of charisma to her tall, slim figure.

Regardless of her intentions, her presence is an omen that the quiet tides of Belleau may be about to change.

The woman stopped a few paces away, her gaze fixed on Byakuya, an unreadable expression in the black and red depths of her eyes.

Whatever the purpose of her visit, it was clear that this encounter was not mere chance.

(???) : "Hello there," she began, her voice a mix of curiosity and authority, "it seems your name is quite the buzz among the Melusines. I'm intrigued—would you share your story? Just a casual inquiry, nothing serious."

(Byakuya) : He offered a half-smile, shrugging modestly. "Well, I might have caught an eye here and there, not just in Melusine circles, I guess. My appearance does tend to stand out. But truly, I'm just here for a wander, to take in the sights of Fontaine."

(???) : With a sharp shift in tone, her words carried a newfound weight. "I see," she acknowledged his response. "Setting that aside, are you aware of who I am?" Her gaze locked onto him firmly, seeking an answer.

(Byakuya) : He met her gaze, his expression one of genuine ignorance. "I don't know. Who are you?" he inquired.

(The Knave) : With a poised air of authority, she revealed her identity, "I am The Knave, the 4th Fatui Harbinger." Her name carried a significance that suggested far-reaching power and influence.

(The Knave) : She leaned in, offering an invitation letter. "Perhaps, you'd consider aligning with the Fatui? Your talents would be... Appreciated."

(Byakuya) : He, however, stood firm, unmoved by the proposition. "Thank you, but no," he replied confidently, "I don't want to dirty my hands." His refusal was courteous but final, closing the door on her offer.

(The Knave) : She observed Byakuya, her eyes catching a glimpse of the Dendro Vision at his right hip. With a calculated, patient angle, she introduced a provocative thought, a subtle nudge towards reconsideration. "Pyro versus Dendro... A fascinating concept, don't you agree?" Her words carried an undertone of challenge.

Byakuya's gaze met Arlecchino's, his posture shifting as he stood and deposited his teacup onto the chair he was sitting on.

(Byakuya) : There was firmness in his voice, not a hint of intimidation. "Is this a threat? It doesn't concern me. No one has yet to break free from my floral onslaught." His words weren't just a reply; they were a quiet statement of his prowess, his readiness to face challenges head-on, daring and unafraid.

(The Knave) : Arlecchino's laughter suddenly pierced the air, her amusement clear. "Flowers against fire?" She mused aloud.

Even with the katana at Byakuya's side, as sharp and steadfast as it might be, hung at his side, yet in her eyes, not enough to challenge a Fatui Harbinger. Her confidence in her own power and elemental advantage was evident.

(The Knave) : Arlecchino's gaze fixed on Byakuya, her expression hardening with the weight of her offer. "I present you with a final proposition," she stated, the formality in her tone leaving room for no misinterpretation, "Ally with us, or face the consequences." She declared, hinting the position that Byakuya is in.

(Byakuya) : Byakuya took measured steps backwards, unsheathing his katana with a determined grace. "Your threats fall on unyielding ground," he declared, his resolve as sharp as the blade he brandished. "But heed this warning," he continued, leveling the point of his katana at her, "you ought to harbor fear for what comes next." With the utterance, "Scatter, Senbonzakura," the katana underwent a transformation, fragmenting into a myriad of slender pieces.

These fragments danced away from the hilt, now mere glimmers in the air, like the scatter of cherry blossom petals in the wind.

Arlecchino's confusion at Byakuya's power turned to concern when a lone petal from his Senbonzakura brushed her cheek.

The seemingly gentle touch was deceptive, leaving a small but precise cut on her skin.

The realization that such a delicate object could wield such sharpness made her retreat hastily.

As she withdrew, she couldn't help but contemplate the danger of facing the full wrath of Byakuya's technique — a thousand such petals, each with the potential to wound as sharply as the one that had grazed her.

She recognized the need to regard Byakuya with a newfound level of caution; his prowess was not to be underestimated.

(The Knave) : Arlecchino, despite her retreat and the minuscule wound on her cheek, couldn't help but see potential in Byakuya's unique capabilities. "A single petal seemingly carries the sharpness of a blade. How is that possible with just a Dendro Vision?" She mused, intrigue lining her voice.

She recognized in Byakuya a power that transcended the usual boundaries, one that could shift balances in the subtle war of powers. She couldn't resist making one last attempt at recruitment.

(The Knave) : "With you on our side, becoming the 2nd Fatui Harbinger is as easy by just entering, you know?" She remarked, trying to tempt him with prestige and power within the organization's ranks—a position only a few could dream of, and fewer still could claim.

Byakuya's stance was resolute as he faced Arlecchino, the cherry blossoms swirling around him like a guard—a display of both beauty and latent threat.

(Byakuya) : "Go, before I completely obliterate you," he said, the softness of the petals sharply contrasting with the steel in his voice.

Arlecchino, ever calculating, weighed her self-preservation heavily more than her fascination. The disappointment of a failed recruitment flickered across her face, masked quickly by her survival instincts.

(The Knave) : "Alrighty then, one day, I'll see you again," she proclaimed with a confidence that didn't quite reach her eyes as she turned to leave.

Retreating, she blended into the horizon, her thoughts already spinning new webs of strategy, thinking how to make him join the Fatui.