Kenshiro stood around piles of rotten beast bodies, his entire frame covered in their blood.
He was panting heavily, saying, "That's more like it.."
'Two katanas I have now…but I still feel like this isn't enough for the Nine Tails. I have to keep tracking and getting stronger.'
Kenshiro turned around fully, seeing the shadow of the Battle Art of Katsuhiro fading away into the sky, and at the same time, Nozomi was slowly dying at the same time.
Nozomi spoke softly to Kenshiro, "Thank you…Shadow of god…"
Kenshiro didn't say anything, just pondered on what that meant.
Shadow of god?
Embodiment of a Battle Art?
What did that even mean?
He looked back down at the dandelion on his side, and walked away, thinking, 'Guess I'm learning some lessons here. Loyalty…after fighting that crazy bastard Hyogo, and fighting Nozomi, and taking the Battle Art of Katsuhiro….I guess I can be loyal to who I really am, not who I'm forcing myself to be, someone who doesn't want to care about anyone else because I was afraid of them dying because of it. I cared about the village, even going against their morals because I was afraid someone would come and kill them all, due to the fact that no one knew how to fight. Which…I still do think it's my fault that they ended up getting killed, I don't even know if I'll ever get over it, or even develop my mind after the shame I'm feeling from it, but I do know I'll keep my allies close, because I don't wanna be alone in this world. I'm stronger than I was before, so I might have the fucking chance to actually keep them from deaths door.'
….
(A few hours later)
(Nighttime)
High atop the dense canopy of the Yoshina mountains, Kenshiro surveyed the cursed landscape before leaping gracefully from his perch.
'I've been tracking the Nine Tails, not so easily though. Been tracking footprints that they only have, rotten fur, and the trail of places populated with trees, which is where most beings and animal or humanoid races lived, and the Nine Tails governed through them all, acting as some sort of wise mediator between them. The scent, being tracked with a unique oil, tinged with rot, is what Kanbei gave me. I want to kill the Nine Tails at where he's mostly at, his own domain. So far, I've seen that even the beasts and creatures and humans inflicted with rot dwell around a certain area they're accustomed to. I can even use my afterimages to maybe distract it and try and put all my power into cutting its head off, or I might slash the afterimages a certain way, and have him chase it, and either make him fall down a large height, nah..that won't kill it. Fuck. I don't wanna go there and freeze up. Failure is not an option..at least at this point In my life. Failed too many times. If I hadn't played a dirty trick on Hyogo, I would've lost. I lost to Nozomi but got up again, and won because she put the weapons down; she was enjoying it so much she wanted to try and beat me to death. That estate and family excelled in all forms of combat, Nozomi tested me on all counts, with and without weapons to see if I was worthy of her master's Battle Art. Yeah I trained myself for years until now, since I'm 19 right now, so I've been training myself how to kill since I was 9. And since I was 9..I've killed over 200 bandits that wanted to raid the Kuroyama village.'
He had just woken up from a nap, and he turned to the left, and saw there was a bag beside him. Kenshiro tilted his head, he was prepared to kill anything that might jump out the bag and annihilate him.
As soon as he opened the bag, Kenshiro's cheeks flustered, he saw steaming bread, and it seemed fresh as well, and some meat in there.
"Food? Fresh food? Who could…"
He dug around in the bag, and saw a piece of paper , and he grabbed it. Once he pulled it out, it was a note that said, "Here's food for you, I hope you and the dandelion are okay. If it rains, please let the dandelion touch the water."
Kenshiro grinned, saying silently, "Mei…"
'That same crow that I saw before must've delivered this to me, the same one who delivered me the map before. She reminds me too much of the people from my village: Nice, caring…but held secrets known to themselves. I just met Mei, and yet, she's this caring. There has to be another reason why she was shunned by everyone before, what is it? Does it connect to the rain..? The rain she speaks of? But damn, thank you.'
In a split second, Kenshiro scarfed down the food, saying, "Thank you, Mei."
'Come back to me—.'
Kenshiro thought these words, the same exact words Mei told him before he left to hunt the Nine Tails.
'Be safe if you're going out to play, and please come back to us!'
Kenshiro though these words, from his mother and father, who Kenshiro waved goodbye to with a smile, but later one, would come back drenched in the blood of bandits who he heard planned to raid the Kuroyama village, he would sneak off and wash himself off on his own.
Kenshiro leaped off the branch, shaking his head, his eyes boiling with rage. Why? One second of a thought that reminded him of his village and family, led him to think of their slaughtered bodies scattered all over the ground. He shook his head over and over, clenching his teeth.
'I'll kill him…I'll definitely kill him…'
His descent carried him into a canyon, shrouded in a malevolent rot—an apocalyptic scar in this world. The canyon walls, draped in a mosaic of decay and death, bore the marks of twisted, supernatural devastation: abandoned samurai armor melded into the rock faces, tattered kabuki masks hanging from skeletal trees, and broken jizo statues partially buried under the corrupted earth.
As Kenshiro dashed through this forsaken gorge, the remnants of once-majestic torii gates loomed, their wood splintered and dark. Lanterns, devoid of any comforting light, swayed eerily in the stale air. The entire area possessed a haunting atmosphere, akin to entering an abandoned village frozen in a moment of catastrophe—a stark monument to despair.
'Commander Takeda…did he really do all of this because he kept losing…? Unsealing one of the Ryujin heads..for power? But ended up being consumed? How does that even work? Do they share a body? Shit. If that's the case…I don't stand a chance against him. Getting to the Paradise is my main goal, because he's there. The Temple Of Assassins know a way to get through the barrier that's protecting it, and it's full rage art after that. What would I even say to that bastard? Could I even muster up words to say to him? I would just plainly ask him, "why.". Why he did what he did…'
With both katanas drawn and gleaming under the dim light seeping through the heavy clouds, Kenshiro encountered the cursed inhabitants of this ravaged land. The first, a grotesque fusion of tanuki and rot, lunged at him with claws extended. Kenshiro sidestepped with supernatural agility and delivered a swift, clean slice. The creature's top half slid off its bottom, falling to the ground with a wet thump, as dark ichor spilled onto the mossy stones.
Moving deeper into the canyon, his next adversary was a once-human samurai, its armor fused with its flesh, creating a monstrous shell. As it raised its rusted blade to strike, Kenshiro deftly ducked under its swing, spinning to deliver a rising cut that bifurcated the creature from waist to shoulder. Armor and flesh split apart with a sound like breaking pottery, its fragments clattering against the ground.
A monstrous koi leapt from a polluted stream, its scales replaced by sharp jags of rotted wood and metal. In mid-air, it transformed into a serpentine dragon, glaring with bulbous, unseeing eyes. Kenshiro met it head-on, his blade tracing a glittering arc through the air. He cleaved through the beast horizontally, its two halves continuing their pathetic ascent for a moment before succumbing to gravity, crashing down around him, sending up a shower of foul water.
'Fucking sucks…sucks how these creatures used to be peaceful..well some of them.'
Navigating through an ancient, overgrown garden, he sliced through a swarm of spectral butterflies, each cut causing them to dissolve into ethereal wisps—a barely-there reminder of their foreboding allure.
As Kenshiro advanced, the path narrowed dramatically, the canyon walls closing in like the jaws of some titanic beast. Ahead lay a precarious bridge formed from the decaying limbs of what were once sacred trees, now nothing more than a path of desolation. It was guarded by a towering abomination—a creature with the decayed husk of a human body, a rotten hyena head with glowing red eyes, and wings crafted grotesquely from contorted human bodies. Above its head floated a black halo, pulsing with an unknowable power, and in its hands, it clutched a massive spear wreathed in vines and glowing with a sickly red aura.
'No way…it's risky fighting that thing..gotta sneak around. Ancient beings, once it dies, roams the world in hunt for a dead or dying giant, and takes over its body to live out their days, and possibly continue their bloodline so they won't go extinct. Shikorin, one of the Ryujin dragon heads who represent decay, corruption, and the cycle of life and death….he's to blame for this monstrosity. This was probably the first sign of the incoming corruption, these beings were probably test subjects or something, to test for the future of what was going to happen…the Agroba is the past, an ancient relic of what's happening today…it foresaw it for hundreds of years.. and we're just now seeing it. Or maybe others have seen it before me. The monks? The ones who sealed Ryujin after the first fall? Wonder if there's any left.'
This sentinel of corruption seemed to command the rot that suffused the air, its presence a blight upon the natural order. Kenshiro crouched low behind a massive, overgrown root, observing the creature. Its gaze swept methodically over its domain, safeguarding the jagged, cursed expanse that Kenshiro needed to traverse.
He knew that a head-on confrontation could be costly in this narrow, confined space. His eyes narrowed as he considered his options, analyzing the terrain and the behavior of his formidable adversary. The area around was thick with the oppressive energy of decay, but also dotted with remnants of what once was—a tactical landscape filled with both hazards and opportunities.
'It's strong. I won't win easily. Don't wanna risk it.'
Silent and resolved, Kenshiro planned his path forward. Each movement would need to be precise, each decision swift. In the shadow of the grotesque guardian, he prepared to navigate this perilous stretch of the canyon, seeking a way to bypass the looming threat without alerting it to his presence. Here, at the edge of desolation, the dance of death awaited, and Kenshiro, ever the master of his art, or so he thought. was ready to move with the ghostly grace of the shadows themselves.
Kenshiro crouched in the shadows, his eyes riveted on Agroba, the hyena-headed guardian whose very breath seemed to seethe with contagion. The creature's heavy, rhythmic panting filled the air—a haunting melody of decay. Agroba's massive form cast an ominous shadow across the jagged, tree-limbed pathway as it paced back and forth, never straying far from the narrow bridge it guarded.
'It's guarding the area, even though it is conflicted with rot, it's not fully conflicted yet, or because the body is so big it hasn't taken much effect by it. The Agroba species safeguards areas they make their territory. That's it. Damn bastards claim a spot, and then take it as their own. I can't go around it, or go another way, the scent I'm tracking and tracks from the Nine Tails only head this way.'
The air was thick with the scent of rot and rusted metal, and somewhere close, water dribbled continuously, like the ticking of a clock—reminding Kenshiro that his time to act was fleeting. With calculated grace, he took advantage of a moment when Agroba's glowing red eyes were turned away. He moved swiftly, his footsteps as silent as the fall of ash from a burning hearth.
He ducked behind an ancient, moss-covered statue of a fox spirit that had once perhaps been anointed with prayers, now forgotten and defiled. Watching keenly, he noted Agroba's reaction. The creature's ears twitched, picking up a faint, unintended rustle from Kenshiro's foot against a dry leaf—minute but in this death-stilled air, as loud as a shout.
With terrifying swiftness, Agroba thrust its massive spear into the ground where Kenshiro had been seconds ago, the force creating a shockwave that sent fragments of rock and decayed wood hurtling through the air. Kenshiro had already moved, leaping gracefully to a higher vantage point on a ledge, clinging to the rugged stone with the agility of a mountain cat.
'Tch!'
From his new position, Kenshiro scanned for another route. Below him, Agroba savaged the ground, growling in frustration. The canyon echoed with the sound of carnage, disturbing the eerie silence that hung about the place like a shroud.
Breathing lightly, Kenshiro's eyes caught a splash of color in the distance—a rare sight in this blighted area. Tucked in a cleft of the canyon was a small clearing, illuminated by flickering firelight. Intrigued but cautious, he made his way towards it, each movement measured and silent.
He observed a solitary figure—a man, seemingly oblivious to the monstrosities prowling his doorstep. The man was hunched over, his attention fixed on a pot that hung over the crackling fire, its contents bubbling. He was oddly dressed for such a forsaken place, wrapped in a vibrant robe of deep indigo, interspersed with patterns of stark white chrysanthemums. Around him sprawled several bags, likely filled with goods, their contents a mystery. He had short white and brown rusty but curly hair that covered his eyes, half of his skin was dirty. And in his hand, was a flask of alcohol, and his cheeks were red due to his intoxication.
'There's a man here? Just sitting here all calm? Is he okay?' Kenshiro thought with a cautious approach to the man.
Kenshiro hesitated, weighing the risk of interaction. However, his curiosity piqued by the man's unconcerned demeanor in such deadly surroundings, he decided to reveal his presence subtly. He picked up a small stone and tossed it to the ground near the man to gauge his reaction.
Without turning, the man called out, "I'm no demon to be warded off with stones, friend. Come, sit by the fire if it pleases you."
"No thanks."
"Hey…b-brat, you wanna get passed here or not? Sit down." He said with a drunk-like demeanor and tone.
Kenshiro stepped from the shadows, his presence catching a flicker of surprised acknowledgment in the man's eyes, though the stranger's face quickly settled back into an easy, amiable grin. "Kenshiro," he introduced himself shortly, his voice low, alert for any sign of the creature behind him.
"Merchant Kiro, they call me," the man responded, finally turning to face Kenshiro fully. His face was weathered like old leather, the lines upon it speaking of countless smiles and perhaps as many secrets. His eyes were sharp and bright, a striking contrast to the tired stoop of his shoulders. "Merchant by trade and wanderer by nature…haha," he added, gesturing to the bags around him. Each was intricately embroidered, colored threads depicting scenes of myth and folklore, vibrant amidst the decay.
'A drunk merchant out here in the middle of all of this?
The air around them was cold, but the fire cast a warm glow, giving the small clearing an almost homely feel. Kenshiro found himself relaxing minutely—a dangerous feeling in such a treacherous landscape.
Kiro seemed completely at ease, as though giant decayed beings wielding spears were an everyday occurrence. "What brings you to Agroba's threshold?" he asked casually, as if conversing in a market square and not on the edge of desolation.
Kenshiro contemplated how much to share, his gaze never straying far from the path he had traveled. "Passage," he stated simply, his mind still on the possible threats that moved just beyond the firelight. "Just wanna get through. I'm tracking the Nine Tails."
"Ahhhhh. Hahaha…that damnnn pretty fox. She's a beauty isn't she?"
Kenshiro said nothing. He was just confused.
'What's a merchant doing out here? Merchants are known for traveling, yeah, but I would think they were going to not be outside with all this rot and beasts running around, and those conflicted with rot going crazy and killing whatever is in front of them.'
Kiro nodded, accepting this terse explanation with an easy smile. He reached into one of his bags, rummaging around before pulling out a small, sealed jar. "Care for some sake?" he offered, unphased by the surrounding perils. "It's not every day I get company that isn't trying to rip my head off."
"Maybe later," Kenshiro replied, his attention divided between Kiro and the ever-present danger lurking beyond their small enclave of light.
As Kiro shrugged and returned the sake to his bag, Kenshiro took a cautious step back, assessing the situation anew. He remained silent, thoughts rapidly turning over in his mind as he considered his next move in this chess game of shadows and rot, against an opponent that seemed as ancient as the trees.
Kiro chuckled heartily, his laughter punctuated by the crackle of the fire. He took a long swig from his jar of sake, seemingly unfazed by the proximity of danger. Motioning Kenshiro to come closer, he slurred slightly, his speech colored by the alcohol's warmth.
"You know, Kenbiro—."
"It's Kenshiro, that's my name."
"Ahh yes, Kenbiro, this land's swarming with the cursed and the damned, right? But I'm betting you've got your sights on that brute Agroba, huh?" He leaned in, conspiratorial. "You need more than fists and fury to take down a beast like that."
Kenshiro, though skeptical, remained silent, a signal for the man to continue.
Kiro's eyes sparkled, pleased with the tacit invitation to elaborate. "We merchants... we're a special breed. Belong to a tribe that's spread all too thin across the world these days. We're keepers of secrets, traders in the rarest commodities, and allies to warriors battling these rot-infested bastards."
Kenshiro shifted, curiosity piqued. "Please tell me more."
"See, our ancestors, they helped fight off Ryujin during the first fall, alongside the warriors who basically created Battle Art.," Kiro boasted proudly, weaving his tale with grand gestures. "Used none other than our sacred Battle Art: Soulsong Dance. Drains the will right outta whatever's facing it. Like sapping strength from a stone, it leaves 'em brittle, hollow. But of course it's not easy, we had to perform the dance on each head while losing hundreds of warriors. Ryujin was that strong."
Intrigued despite himself, Kenshiro nodded for Kiro to proceed.
"We live long, too," Kiro added, thumbing his chest with a proud grin. "Up to 400 years. Gives us plenty of time to refine our arts and trade. The Soulsong Dance has been passed down for generations, see. Every merchant learns it, though not all use it. It's sacred, reserved for true need," his tone turned somber at this juncture, the weight of the responsibility clear in his voice.
Kenshiro asked, "How many of you are out there? And why are you out here?"
"Huh…? I just told ya didn't I? Helping everyone fight off against the mosntrities and stuff, haha…we're scattered everywhere, the tribe of merchants all over the place, at your service, kid." Kiro burped, sipping his flask of alcohol again. "Oh, haha, and there's at least 40 of us left scattered around these parts, you might run into my wife or cousin or friend or something."
Kiro stood up suddenly, almost losing his balance. He laughed off his near fall, steadying himself against a nearby rock. "Let me show you the dance, eh? Might add a few years to your life!"
He began moving in what appeared to be a series of synchronized steps and gestures, his movements initially clumsy due to the sake but gaining fluidity as he continued. It was a captivating display, an intricate sequence that seemed to weave an invisible energy around him.
"Alright, your turn now!" Kiro declared, clapping his hands, a big grin plastered on his face.
Kenshiro raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in dancing. But Kiro, persistent and buzzing from the alcohol, was not so easily dissuaded.
'I don't wanna dance, I just wanna kill.'
"Come on, it's fun! You might not be so grim if you try smiling with your feet!" Kiro teased, attempting to pull Kenshiro into the dance sequence.
'Shit. Guess I'll try it. But I don't want to waste too much time. Just so he won't pout and all that. Maybe this will be helpful in the future.'
Kenshiro evaded his grasps with minimal effort, stepping back every time Kiro lunged forward with a new step. The scene turned comedic as the drunk merchant energetically attempted to encircle Kenshiro, who continually sidestepped with a stoic expression, clearly not tempted to partake in what he deemed frivolity. But then, Kenshiro started m to copy Kiro's dance, his arms swaying peacefully and feet tapping.
Kiro laughed, "Yeah, that's it, brooding warrior brat!"
Clearing a small area with sweeping motions of his foot, Kiro resumed his stance solemnly. "Alright…Kenbiro. Here's the plan: I perform the Soulsong Dance to sap Agroba's will. While I've got its attention, you strike it where it hurts. Weaken it first through the spirit, then the flesh. It's that simple. Can you handle that?"
Kenshiro nodded, his posture rigid, every muscle tensed for the confrontation ahead. "I'm ready," he responded, his voice a low growl of anticipation. "But why didn't you do this on your own?"
"Those who use SoulSong cannot just perform it and then fight, those who have mastered the SoulSong Battle Art have to aid someone who is a fighter. We're totally useless in combat if we're alone. We're physically weak. Us too, our fun tribe members got slaughtered during the first battle against Ryujin because of that purpose, losing almost 300 merchants. They can't fight to protect themselves. The SoulSong dance can't sap the will to fight from an enemy instantly, depending on their strength and solo will power, ultimately depends on how long it takes to sap their motivation to kill a little bastard like you."
"You're not useless. Because you're about to help me, and I'm using you. So let's do this."
"That soundedddd like you're taking advantage of me."
"You offered help. And I won't do that, I'm not an asshole, that's terrible."
"Oh, haha, right. Alright, let's go kill us a hyena!"
With their roles defined and the strategy set, each took their position—Kiro stepping lightly, almost theatrically, forward to confront the monstrous Agroba, while Kenshiro readied himself in the shadows, poised to strike at the perfect moment.
The rocky crevices of the craggy terrain formed an ancient battleground as Kenshiro stealthily approached the massive form of Agroba, who soared above with a deranged hyena-like laugh. Twirling his spear menacingly, Agroba dove towards Kenshiro, spear leading a deadly dance. Black aura exploded upon impact, tearing gashes in the earth as dark red and brownish spears burst forth, adding chaos to destruction.
Kenshiro responded swiftly, activating *Runes Of Vigor*. His katana glowed with ethereal runes, his movements a blur against the rugged landscape. He dodged a spear, slid under another, and launched into the air, his blade slicing through in *Shinsei Giri*, cleaving a gash in Agroba's side that emitted a faint, otherworldly glow.
'Let's kill this bastard…'
Above the battlefield, perched atop a precarious outcrop, Kiro began his tribal dance. The *Battle Art: Soulsong Dance* unraveled, and spectral forms of ancient merchants appeared, their hands playing haunting tunes on traditional Japanese instruments. Kiro, flask in hand, his moves fluid and hypnotic, cheered Kenshiro on, "You've got this, lad! Make these bastards know who they're messin' with!"
'Even after everything he's told me, despite some of it being pretty dark and sad, he's still optimistic. How can he be like that?'
Back on the earthly plane, Agroba recovered swiftly, his laughter turning into a roar of frustration. He was not used to his prey fighting back so fiercely. Wounded, he became even more dangerous, his attacks erratic and powerful. Kenshiro had to rely on all his training to evade the barrage of spectral spears that seemed to predict his every move.
"Dance around him, Kenshiro! Dance like your life depends on it!" Kiro slurred, his encouragement soaked in sake yet oddly motivating.
Kenshiro, feeling the boost from his Runes Of Vigor, executed a series of power kicks, each strike a stylish proclamation of his refusal to yield. He then unleashed the *Battle Art: One Thousand Blades*. Flashes of dark red afterimages darted from the Kurokage, striking Agroba at impossible angles, each hit bleeding more profusely than the last.
Agroba, now visibly faltering, swept his spear with ferocious speed, aiming to skewer Kenshiro. The warrior parried with Kurokage, sparks flying as metal met dark energy. Each clash echoed off the mountain walls, a symphony of survival in their savage concert.
Kenshiro leaped onto a towering boulder, using the height to launch himself at Agroba. Mid-flight, he spun, delivering a devastating slash across Agroba's face. The giant recoiled, howling in pain as the wound bubbled with dark blood.
"Just like the old days, eh?" Kiro roared from his high vantage point. "None can stand when we unite, boy! Not even this behemoth!"
Agroba, enraged, initiated a flurry of attacks, his spear moving faster, driven by primal instinct and pain. Kenshiro's dodges became a desperate ballet, each leap and roll a brush with death.
As the fight kept on by the second, the landscape transformed into a testament of their fierce battle. Boulders were cleaved in two, crevices widened, and the air hung thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood.
Kenshiro found his opening when Agroba's spear momentarily lodged into the ground. Sprinting with supernatural speed gifted by the runes, he ascended a fragmented cliffside, using jagged outcrops as footholds, gaining altitude. At the peak, he turned, channeling every ounce of his essence into a final, decisive strike.
The warrior launched himself at Agroba, his silhouette framed by the full moon. Time seemed to dilate as he executed a spiral dive, Kurokage leading. He landed a kick straight through Agroba's head, a grotesque spray of dark essence erupting into the night.
As he twisted off, Kenshiro plunged his katana through Agroba's face, the blade slicing through resistance as if it were mere silk. With a vicious twist, he severed head from body, the head spinning off into the abyss, trailing a ribbon of blood.
Landing gracefully, Kenshiro surveyed the carnage, breathing heavily. The echoes of his victory rang loud in the silent aftermath.
From above, Kiro, ever the proud, drunken, wanna-be mentor, raised his flask, shouting down to Kenshiro, "That's the spirit! Let them tremble at the mention of our names!"
Kenshiro stood over the Agroba, his eyes glowing a dark red color, his veins tightening, he looked at Kiro, and Kiro stopped.
Kiro said, "Kid..?"
'He's in a carnage state, those glowing red eyes, that anger, he's been triggered by a memory, he's a Shadow of God..I've found him..I can be exalted!'
Kiro walked forward, still drinking his flask of alcohol, said, "Out of all the disciples of rot..I have found a Shadow Of God..please allow me to be exalted soon…"
Kiro had a bag full of rotten flesh from those he found dead and decayed, and he consumed it all.
"What I said about the damn SoulSong was true..all of it. And our weakness…if we fully embrace the rot, we can survive, no more losses like the first fall of Ryujin…this..haha..this is the only way, brat. I'll deliver your soul to him, and I will be exalted."
Kenshiro still stood there, his eyes glowing red still, him gripping both katana's.