Spirits for Masks

To end a conflict in a single stroke, to sever the veins of life, cleaving through flesh and bones cleanly. Keep a steady breath. Grip as solid as stone, as fluid as water. Seek an opportunity and strike like a hawk diving from above.

The man in front of me was still. "How many have you challenged?"

"Twelve men have willingly put their lives on the line." My fingers flicked the handle, my blade peeking from its sheath. "All twelve failed."

His eyes darted towards my waist, a wave of emotions pulling through them. His hands hover over his sword, not yet grabbing his weapon. I can smell hesitation.

"Are you willing to fight?"

"...What do you mean?"

"I fight to be bested, not for glory or ego." My blade reclines into its shell. "A man who cannot commit to taking a lioness' cub without knowing the risk of death does not win fights."

"Do you mock my honor?"

"If it means you fight for your life, then yes." The wind howled over the clear field of grass, the clouds threatening to rain upon us. "Or do you want me to involve your wife and daughter too?"

"Enough." His brows were furrowed, a newfound fire named aggravated painted his very face. The man is ready to face me.

"Then come, Wily Satoshi."

He withdrew his blade, its sheath shirked the grass. Our feet trampled the grass, a perfect circle around the storm of distant lightning. My blade still rested, the man's heel dug the roots of the soil beneath him and lunged. His war cry for the heavens to judge, his blade to perfect a cut to my throat, charge headlong. Most of all, he was slower than I anticipated.

A stroke slashes through the winding gales.

The familiar scent of rust, a sheath lodged through his chest, my arm through his heart. He wasn't the one I was looking for, I already knew that from the moment he had already borne a child, with the responsibility of a father and husband. Those who chase two hares won't even catch one.

His weapon drops onto the dirt.

I pry myself away, the man with the gaping chest dead in just a few seconds. His weapon was still untouched by his blood, metal forged from the dedication of a blacksmith. I grab it, fully unsheathing my broken blade and replacing it with his.

"This will do."

There were rumours of his prowess back when he still was a ronin and a ronin's blade is a fine weapon to be used. A letter of challenge alongside a significant threat to his beloved was enough to draw him out from the village.

The clouds began to cry, washing away the puddle amassing underneath his fresh corpse, washing away the scent off of my armour. Of a nameless samurai whom I had to forcefully make him depart with.

With the world mourning another soul, I left the cadaver to its fate. May haps a hungry Jikininki will sate their curse upon the man's flesh or another entity of similar eating habits. The early bird gets the worm.

Will he be another restless spirit, yearning for vengeance over an unfair death? If he did reincarnate as such, I'd have more tailing after me. A duel is fair, he was simply outmatched. No dead man will have a need for a blade while crossing Sanzu River.

Thunder erupts from afar, the firmament flashing bright before the eerie grayness returns. The water was dripping off of my helmet, creeping in through the crevices of my armour. With the soft ground staining my feet, I rush in search of shelter.

The storm grew fiercer with each second, the downpour from the skies was relentless, even the trees began bending to the wild winds. Raiden struck upon the earth, a shockwave spreading through the soil, nature set aflame in water. Was he enraged? I had no time to fret, I could be his next target.

From the corner of my eye, I spied a cave to my left, hidden away by a waterfall flowing from its roof. My legs run faster to safety, a tree threatening to collapse over me, the liquid hail peletting my armour over and over again. Before I could reach my safe haven from the wrath of the thunder God, he delivered one final bolt.

In a flash of white, all I hear is a crashing boom before the shooting pain through my arm. A punishment so sharp yet so brief, the moment I regained sight of the world again, I was barely breathing through my helmet. The firmament is ever so white.

Until the plummeting rain fades into vision, that's when my consciousness returns by the mind numbing pain. A sting-- no, multiple, from my arm through my torso, my waist and my feet. I couldn't feel my legs and the ones that I could still feasibly move, they felt like they were lit on fire.

Charred smoke suffocating, paralyzed beyond belief, not even able to decipher left from right. All I could do was stare helplessly like smoked meat, Raiden's fury was just. Only his distant anger and the rain accompanied me in my near death state. More and more, it felt harder to breathe under the samurai helmet.

Even moving my left arm that was somewhat spared from the lightning was an arduous task. My eyes wide open, wanting to pop out from their very sockets as I clung to my consciousness by biting my tongue furiously. The rain made my body want to shiver but the shooting pain hindered, no control over what I did, not even the anger I wanted to push out. It felt like I was in a bubble, a space between passing on and clinging onto the mortal coil.

Despite not even grasping reality itself, I managed to rip the mask off. The frigid rain felt like a slap to my hardened skin.

The charring fume clashed against the wafting downpour. My eyes moved down, my right arm housing dying embers struggling against the rain. The katana was lying there on the ground, it stared at me as if it had fulfilled its vengeance for its master.

Twas the vicious cycle of karma, self work self profit. An evil for an evil, was that really what I did? An evil? No, this was just senseless and out of a fluke. Raiden was simply huffing off steam and I was unfortunately in the way. Yes, that should be it. When one chooses to carve their way with the sword, they are bound to meet another and challenge like stag beetles.

The ringing in my ears tunes out, the solemn dance of rain into the puddles I'm surrounded by is apparent to me. The clouds have emerged from my shrouded and blotched vision, thinner and lighter than once seen before. Yet, the stinging agony was there. My legs and right arm, they refused to move.

To still be conscious yet not be incapable of moving half of your body is but a nightmare many fear. Will I be able to move again after such a catastrophe? Will this be where I will be abruptly laid to rest? With life slowly inching away beyond reach? With the parting clouds finally breaking? With twilight peeking over the horizon?

I opened my eyes, and the moon also opened hers to stare. Dusk has overwhelmed, painting the sky in pitch black, the perfect little shiny dots hanging above the forest-- and something biting my right arm viciously.

Instincts kicked in, I threw my arm over my body. Its sharp rows of teeth broke apart to make home in my right arm, I could hear the impact the foul beast made into the bark of a tree. It bit through my armour and flesh, the blood tracing up my arm as I looked at the puncture wound riddled with that thing's fangs.

Canines, that was definite. If it was a wolf, then there's more of its pack.

I lifted my chin. What permeated the darkness of the night were eyes, so red that they almost appeared like lights. Their bodies blended well, darker than their own shadows and skinnier than a famished man. They neither approached nor even snarled, they were only waiting.

So was the nature of the Okuri-inu. Wolves that eat people who have fallen over or who passed out in the middle of a mountain path.

I attempted to stand up, grabbing the blade still laid beside me as my crutch. The moment I even applied pressure to even one of my feet, the sharp pain shoots through my entire lower half. I grit my teeth, my will to live was stronger than this revolting pain and damned dogs that try to eat people.

When I finally managed to force myself to stand, the wolves were gone from sight. The difficulty of distinguishing from the darkness was beyond what my eyes could do but I knew that they were still around. They're patient, they'll follow you up and down the path. Escorting, as they say.

I could beg, but bitter pride makes me swallow my words. If I'm still alive after a trial by fire, then I need no help from them. One of them thought I was delicious despite the tough shell I had.

The moon hadn't reached its peak yet, the night was still young and these wolves weren't leaving anytime soon until day breaks. My legs were aching already from standing, much less could they walk down an entire mountain. The thought of the cave re-enters my weary mind, a crude shelter but a shelter nonetheless.

With an iron will, miserable pain that can cripple a man, a sword replaced as a cane, I crawled my way to what little safety I can get.

To triumph is to continue.