The tenth Battle: Okita Souji Vs Susanoo

The arena was unusually calm, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Between the grand battles of gods and men, a brief respite had been granted. But this was no ordinary interlude—it was a lesson in the art of the sword. The crowd, a mixture of gods and mortals alike, watched in curiosity as a small platform was erected at the center of the battleground. Standing on it was none other than Okita Souji, the legendary swordsman of the Shinsengumi.

Okita, known for his youthful appearance and sharp wit, bore a serene expression. He addressed the crowd with the respect befitting his era. "Before the next battle, I would like to share with you what the sword meant in my time—the time of the Shinsengumi."

His words flowed gently, but there was an underlying authority to them. Around him, a few wooden swords had been set out, and next to him stood representatives of humanity's fighters: Adam, Sasaki Kojiro, Qin Shi Huang, and even the cunning Jack the Ripper, along with gods curious about the mortal art of the blade, such as Loki, Thor, and even Apollo, though freshly injured.

Okita Souji's Era and the Meaning of the Sword

"The sword," Okita began, his voice soft yet resonant, "is more than just a tool of war. In my time, during the late Edo period, the sword symbolized honor, duty, and the path of the warrior. For the Shinsengumi, it was a means to protect the weak, to uphold justice. Every strike was a promise—either to cut down evil or to defend those who could not."

The crowd listened intently, captivated by the sincerity of Okita's words. Even some of the gods, usually indifferent to mortal affairs, found themselves drawn in.

"As a swordsman, it was not merely about killing. It was about being in sync with your weapon, your body, and your soul. We lived by the blade, and we died by it. It was our way of life, our code, our identity."

He picked up one of the wooden swords, its simple form contrasting with the ethereal weapons the gods wielded, yet it carried a weight far beyond its appearance. Okita stood in a calm stance, the sword poised before him. His eyes flashed with intensity as he demonstrated a rapid succession of cuts, each one swift and precise, yet carrying a deadly grace that was almost impossible to track.

The gods and mortals alike tried to copy his movements. Thor, towering in his power, tried to mimic the elegance, but his swing, while powerful, was slow and imprecise. Loki, nimble as ever, attempted the rapid movements, but he lacked the focus, his strikes far too chaotic. Even Sasaki Kojiro, himself a master of the blade, looked on with respect.

"These movements," Okita explained, sheathing the wooden blade, "are not merely about speed or strength. It is about becoming one with the sword—trusting it as if it were an extension of your own body. This," he concluded, "is what the sword meant to us."

As the lesson ended, the crowd was filled with newfound respect for the art of the blade. Even the gods, for all their divine abilities, realized the immense discipline required to wield a sword with such grace and precision.

But this calm would not last.

The atmosphere shifted as Heimdall stepped forward, raising his horn high. The arena's energy began to rise as the crowd sensed the coming battle. Heimdall's voice echoed through the stands.

"The next battle of Ragnarok! Representing the gods—Susanoo, the storm god and the master of the blade! And for humanity—Okita Souji, captain of the Shinsengumi!"

The announcement sent shockwaves through the crowd. Susanoo, the god of storms and sibling to the mighty Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi, was revered for his raw strength and prowess in combat. He was not only a god of storms but also a master of the sword. Against him stood Okita, whose mastery of the sword had been demonstrated moments before. The tension in the arena grew palpable.

The Battle: Okita Souji vs. Susanoo

Okita stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana, while Susanoo strode into the arena with a storm-like presence, the winds swirling around him. He carried a blade forged by the gods themselves, shining with a divine aura. The contrast between the two could not have been greater—Okita with his humble human form, and Susanoo, a towering god of chaos and power.

Susanoo grinned, his voice booming. "Okita Souji, I have heard tales of your skill with the sword. But you face a god now—are you truly ready for this?"

Okita's calm expression didn't falter. "Whether god or man, it doesn't matter. The sword is what decides."

Heimdall raised his horn, the sound reverberating through the arena. "Let the battle begin!"

Susanoo wasted no time, charging forward with a speed that seemed to defy the laws of nature. His sword came down like a bolt of lightning, but Okita, as nimble as a leaf in the wind, sidestepped the attack and countered with a swift, precise strike aimed at Susanoo's side. The blade sang through the air, but the storm god's reflexes were just as sharp. He blocked the attack with ease, the clash of their swords sending sparks flying.

The two fighters danced across the battlefield, each strike and counterstrike faster than the last. Okita's movements were fluid, like water, adapting to each of Susanoo's powerful blows. Yet despite his agility and skill, Susanoo's divine strength made each strike feel like a thunderclap, and it became clear that Okita was fighting on the back foot.

But Okita's calm never wavered.

As the battle raged on, Okita's attacks became sharper, more deliberate. His movements seemed to sync with something deeper, something primal. The crowd gasped as they noticed Okita's eyes glowing faintly with a mysterious power—his Oniko, the demonic energy that he had inherited, finally coming to the surface. His strikes, now infused with this power, cut through the air with a deadly precision that even Susanoo couldn't ignore.

"Impressive," Susanoo admitted, wiping a trail of blood from his lip. "You've truly become one with your blade. But there's one thing you haven't achieved yet…"

Okita's eyes narrowed, sensing a shift in the god's demeanor. Susanoo raised his sword high, the winds swirling around him growing fierce and violent. His voice thundered across the arena. "The ultimate technique of the sword… the Invisible Blade!"

In that moment, Susanoo's sword vanished from sight. The crowd gasped, their eyes unable to track the weapon. Even Okita, with his keen senses, struggled to follow the movements of the blade. The air itself seemed to ripple as Susanoo's invisible sword moved with incredible speed.

Okita didn't back down. He closed his eyes, relying on his instincts, his bond with the blade, and the power of his Oniko to guide him. His sword clashed with Susanoo's invisible strikes, but each clash sent tremors through his body, the force overwhelming. Okita knew that he couldn't hold out much longer.

Then, in one final, desperate move, Susanoo's sword cut through the air, and this time, Okita couldn't block it.

The blade found its mark, slicing through Okita's body in a single, fluid motion. The crowd fell silent as Okita stood still for a moment, his eyes wide. A thin line of blood ran from the top of his head down to his crotch. His body remained upright, seemingly untouched by the blow.

But then, with a soft exhale, Okita's body began to split in half, from head to toe.

The arena was frozen in shock.

As Okita's two halves fell to the ground, a faint smile remained on his lips. He had fought with everything he had, and though he had lost, he had found peace in the battle. His fellow members of the Shinsengumi, watching from the afterlife, were overcome with emotion. They were saddened by his death but proud that he had fought with honor and had met a worthy opponent who pushed him to his very limits.

Susanoo, panting heavily, stood over Okita's fallen form. His sword reappeared, gleaming with the blood of his opponent. The storm god's victory was clear, but he did not gloat. Instead, he gazed down at Okita with respect in his eyes.

"He was a true warrior," Susanoo muttered. "I have met many foes, but none like him."

The crowd, both gods and mortals alike, rose to their feet in a thunderous applause, paying homage to the fallen swordsman. Okita Souji, even in death, had earned their respect.

As the arena fell silent once more, Heimdall's voice echoed through the space. "The winner is… Susanoo! The gods claim another victory!"

The score was now 6-4, but for many in the crowd, this battle had been more than just about victory. It was about the spirit of the sword, the bond between warrior and weapon, and the honor that came from giving everything on the battlefield.

Okita Souji had found peace in death, and the legacy of his blade would live on forever.