Chewing with grotesque enthusiasm, Kiro's body began a vile transformation. His skin curdled into a hue of dark reddish-pink, akin to rotting flesh. Spikes, sharp and uneven, sprouted from his form, piercing through his clothing with sickening cracks. The transformation did not stop at his skin; his face twisted into a nightmarish visage, something drawn from the depths of a dark fantasy, eerie and unsettling in its unique horror.
From his grotesquely transforming mouth came a long sword, pulled as if from the depths of a monstrous abyss. The sword was a horrific creation, shaped like an X, crafted from the same rot that now comprised his body. Bones, small and fragile – clearly human – hung macabrely from the blade. His hair morphed into what seemed to be long locks, but upon a closer, dreadful look, one could see it was formed of the heads of humans, their faces locked in eternal torment.
"Battle Art: Command of the Rot." Kiro stated.
Kiro continued, "When the other Merchants were scared, I stepped up. Even our Elder…he didn't see this coming but oh I fucking did. Even if we are enemies with the dragon heads, we have to do what we can to survive, to keep and protect the legacy and memories of our tribe! Those fools..they didn't see the danger of Ryujin, he's back again! They thought defeating Ryujin would make everything great, that bastard was a deity! Shikorin…the deity dragon head that represented decay, corruption, and the cycle of life and death. It all…started with Shikorin. The way the rot spreads and corrupts everything..and everyone..that's the way he made the rot spread through the entire being of Ryujin, they were under his influence for a small time, bloodthirsty…since the bodies were connected, which caused them to be seen as enemies and defeated by us, and the first holders of Battle Art. The second fall of Ryujin..…in order for Shikorin to be sealed, they had to separate his head from them, and seal the other heads. The other heads agreed to this with the help of the monks. Was the only way to get rid of Shikorin..for a time."
Kenshiro thought, 'The other heads of Ryujin noticed Shikorin's increasing corruption and attempted to curb its influence….This led to a great conflict within Ryujin, causing turmoil in the natural world. Storms raged, earthquakes shook the land, and plagues spread. Recognizing the threat Shikorin posed, the ancient monks intervened. That's what Kenbei said to me…so why is this bastard telling me all of this! To justify himself for betraying his own people?! I can see he ate rotten flesh..he purposely made himself conflicted..but not fully! Does that mean there's a certain amount someone can take before they become fully confiscated? Worse than that, I can't even move, I can't talk but I can see! Move, dammit! It's like before, when I fought Hyogo, when I killed him, it felt like this. Rage..anger.. but I feel Like something is gonna jump out of me…It happens every time I think of my village even for a second, how slaughtered it was…I get a wave of wrath..and even my own shame…like I was sharing or harboring someone else's vengeance and wrath within me!'
Kiro continued, "Hell, I don't even know what Shikorin wants…but when I deliver you, a Shadow Of God to them, I will be exalted by Takeda to become a disciple. That way…I can be the Elder who kept the legacy of us. In order for true balance to remain, our legacy needs to live on, but the others never saw it as I did! I tell you all of this, all of this shit about Shikorin and the dragons…it's the exact same thing when I told the Elder and the other merchants of the tribe. To convince them that Shikorin cannot be beaten! Our only choice is to succumb to the rot, and live on, it's the only way."
With his transformed, monstrous form complete, Kiro announced in a voice that was no longer his own, chilling and deep, "For though I have seen a Shadow of God, your soul will be delivered." His intent was clear – he was now set to destroy Kenshiro, the very warrior he had just been cheering on.
Kenshiro, still stuck in place, his eyes burning red, his veins popping, grunted heavily, trying to force himself to talk.
'It's no use…it's no use…I'm not In control…what is this?! Just move.. I can't move! Move, move! Even as a kid, I felt this boiling anger after my first kill, my eyes did the same thing as before, but this feeling is different! And what even is a Shadow Of God?!'
Kiro walked forward, thinking, 'The Samurai Asura..one of Takeda's/Shikorin's disciples..informed us of the Shadows of God. 12 of them in total. The rot makes them physically stronger the more they come in contract with it, and they harbor the remnants of the All Father. The one who commands fate itself..if a Shadow of God is delivered as a sacrifice to a disciple of Takeda himself, we will be exalted as disciples or on par with Shikorin's essence. For they are the key to true victory! I'm doing the right thing, I am! For my tribe, all the things we shared and learned, I won't let it be in vain! We are physically weak because of our shared Battle Art: SoulSong. But if we all commune and accept the rot and become a disciple, we will have the power to create a new legacy and uphold the old ones, no longer will we be the ones who are the weak ones. Once fully commune with the rot as a disciple, fully embracing it, they promised we can keep our right minds, but gain a bloodlust. But within the joy and dance of our SoulSong, I know we can still stay true to our heritage and legacy! That's something the Elder didn't see as I saw! I'm doing the right thing! This is true love for what I was embraced in: to withhold and keep the secrets and the memories and knowledge of the tribe eternal. But that can't be achieved..if everyone gives up and dies to the rot without embracing it! Takeda promised me if I successfully deliver a Shadow Of God, he'll accept my entire tribe! Those Bastards are scattered everywhere trying to help warriors like Kenshiro..fear is what drives them, I know it!'
In a blink, nearly imperceptible to the natural eye, there was only the faintest blur of movement. Before Kiro could even register the attack, Kenshiro was already standing behind him, katanas in hand. There was no sound of a strike, no visual indication of the swing, nothing but the swift and silent delivery of a devastating move. Kiro's body, so freshly transformed, was slashed into bloody segments, falling to the ground in a grotesque display of raw power and speed.
Kenshiro was drooling, but still couldn't speak, his bloodlust was intense.
Kiro said, "They told me—us, that the Shadows of God in a carnage state would act like this. Not due to the rot, no, to the shadow within them."
Yet, the horror did not conclude there; the pieces of Kiro's savaged body began to crawl towards each other, mending in a disturbing, unnatural regeneration. As his form came back together, Kenshiro stood still, the glowing red fury in his eyes intensifying, his face a portrait of wrath incarnate. His two katanas, one emitting a faint, otherworldly light, the other dark as the shadows that danced on the peripheries of the battlefield, were poised for continued combat.
'This bloodlust…is this really mine?! It can't be! But it feels like it's mine, but someone else's!'
The air was charged with a palpable tension as the titanic battle between Kiro and Kenshiro unspooled in the ominously quiet heart of the mountains. Kiro, his large frame seething with dark power, charged at Kenshiro, his blade bathed in a reddish pink aura that hummed with sinister energy. Kenshiro, however, stood his ground, his expression unreadable, caught in some otherworldly trance.
As Kiro's first strike descended – a vertical slash aimed to cleave the air and Kenshiro in two – Kenshiro's arms moved with an otherworldly precision, blocking the blow effortlessly. The point of impact between blade and arm guards ignited a brief flare of light, and the first glowing symbol appeared on Kiro's chest: 力 (chikara, meaning "power"), pulsating with a deep red glow, reflecting his brute force.
Kiro, undeterred and possibly even fueled by the emergence of the symbol, swung horizontally, attempting to outpace Kenshiro's defenses. But again, Kenshiro's arms moved with supernatural speed, parrying the blade away. At the moment of blockage, another symbol sparked to life on Kiro's chest: 怒 (ikari, meaning "rage"), glowing ominously, mirroring his growing fury.
The battle continued, each of Kiro's attacks more ferocious than the last, each block by Kenshiro more determined. With a swift, arcing cut aimed at Kenshiro's shoulders, Kiro's blade sang through the air, its aura deepening to a darker shade. Kenshiro raised his arm in a block that was almost serene in its precision. As the blades met, the next symbol appeared: 戦 (ikusa, meaning "battle"), shining brightly on Kiro's bulging musculature.
'Tch. I'm unlucky to get him when he's in a carnage state. I didn't try to kill him after I noticed he wasn't affected by the rot. Why didn't I? Well that big bastard of Agroba was right there.' Kiro thought.
Further emboldened, Kiro attacked in a flurry, his series of stabs designed to break any rhythm Kenshiro might find. Kenshiro's form blurred, each parry was a brushstroke of mastery in the martial tableau, his movements not just defensive but an art form unto themselves. With each contact, more symbols appeared, including 勝 (katsu, "victory") and 忍 (nin, "endurance"), each flashing brightly before stabilizing to a simmering glow.
Kiro, his chest now a tapestry of glowing kanji, seemed to draw strength from these symbols themselves, his attacks coming faster, harder. Kenshiro's blocks were no longer merely reactive; they were anticipatory, his body and mind in perfect sync. The mountains themselves seemed to hold their breath, the only sounds the whistle of Kiro's blade and the thunderous impact with Kenshiro's imperturbable defense.
'The rot gives those who are accepted by Shikorin power, a glimpse of the future, a glimpse of motivation. He intended the rot to treat us as he wanted.'
It was then Kiro unleashed a particularly vicious overhead strike, channeling what seemed like the essence of the mountain's ferocity. Kenshiro met this with a raised forearm, the block generating a shockwave that rippled through the air. At the moment of contact, the symbol 破 (yaburu, "break") emerged, its glow fierce yet fleeting as it quickly faded, symbolizing perhaps the futility of the attack against Kenshiro's indomitable spirit.
'Something's fighting for me!' Kenshiro thought.
Not relenting, Kiro tried a different tactic, feinting to the left before swirling to deliver a backhanded slice aimed at Kenshiro's midsection. Kenshiro twisted deftly, his own movements a dance of shadows and light. As the block connected, a new symbol, 静 (shizuka, "quietude"), appeared. It cast a soft, almost serene luminescence, stark against the backdrop of rage-fueled combat.
"The commands aren't working on you huh…guess you're as strong as they say the Shadows of God are."
Then, without warning, as Kiro raised his sword for another strike, the reddish pink aura flared wildly, casting eerie shadows on the craggy walls. Kenshiro, his eyes momentarily flashing an intense red, stood resolute, a silent guardian against the tempest unleashed by Kiro. Each movement of his arms now seemed to trail shadows, echoes of the blocks past and future.
As Kiro's relentless assault continued, each new symbol on his chest a testament to his shifting strategy and emotional state, Kenshiro seemed to draw from a deeper, unfathomable well of strength. His blocks were no longer just physical acts but resonances of an inner mantra, each connecting with Kiro's essence, deciphering it like a dark script.
It was in one such moment, the clashing of their wills almost symphonic, that something shifted. Kenshiro's demeanor, the air around him, even the light reflecting off his arms seemed to alter. He was no longer just blocking – he was absorbing, transforming the very nature of the conflict.
Kenshiro, his out appearance showing nothing but rage, started to drool even more, clenching his blades with both hands.
Kiro, thrown by this enigmatic change, faltered slightly in his rhythm. This did not go unnoticed by Kenshiro, whose next move was not a block but a redirect, guiding Kiro's blade away, displacing energy and intention with a fluidity that was almost disconcerting.
The battle reached a crescendo, the symbols on Kiro's chest glowing so intensely they were almost white-hot, the amalgamation of meanings and intentions swirling in a vortex of kanji. Kenshiro, amidst this storm, was the eye of rage, his blocks less about contact and more about guidance, leading Kiro's fury to expend itself in the air, ineffectual.
When suddenly, Kenshiro vanished in a sheer burst of speed, almost a mirage made manifest. He reappeared in an instant, his blade moving not in defense but in attack, slashing across Kiro with lethal precision. Each cut was a deadly caress, leaving trails of blood that steamed in the cold air, Kiro's regeneration barely keeping pace with the assault.
The symbols on Kiro's chest flickered wildly, reacting to each precise, punishing cut. As Kenshiro's blade found its marks, the mountain itself seemed to quake under the cumulative force of their confrontation, explosions of stone and earth mirroring those of blood and power.
Kenshiro's eyes, glowing crimson, reflected a tapestry of rage and purpose as he rained down blows upon Kiro. With a primal scream, his attacks intensified, becoming a blur of motion and destruction, each strike punctuated by a burst of explosive force that rocked the very foundation of the mountains.
Amidst this fury, Kenshiro's mind drifted, pulled into a spiraling vortex of visions. The battlefield faded, replaced by a void as black as the space between stars. Here, a shadow loomed, large and oscillating with an aura of red and black. It paced, a restless, faceless entity radiating anger – a mirror to Kenshiro's own soul perhaps.
'Where am I? What is this?!'
This specter, undefined yet intensely familiar, screamed without sound, its voice a hollow echo in the vast emptiness of the void. Kenshiro, drawn to its presence yet repelled by its raw malice, stood frozen, the echo of his real-world battle a distant thunder.
As quick as they had come, the visions shattered, pulling Kenshiro back to the mountainous battlefield. His sword still danced through Kiro's defenses, the harsh reality of blood and roar a stark contrast to the silent void he had briefly wandered.
In this relentless onslaught, Kenshiro's rage and precision carved through the fabric of the battle, each movement a stroke of dark intent.
As their fierce combat tore through the silent night, Kenshiro was abruptly plunged into another chilling vision. Above him, the heavens were split asunder by a blood moon, its cracked surface parting to reveal a sinister, shadowy figure that slowly crawled forth. The world around him transformed into a nightmarish landscape; his movements were curtailed by black, thorn-laden vines that dug cruelly into his flesh and through his eyes, blinding and binding him. Beside him, obscured figures writhed under similar duress, their identities veiled behind the dark. The shadow figure moved with uncanny speed, darting towards him. Its cold grip enclosed Kenshiro's face, a terrifying whisper piercing the haze, "We are one."
"Who are you?!" He screamed.
Snapped back to reality by the searing pain of the vision and the imminent threat of Kiro's blade, Kenshiro's reflexes kicked in. Wheeled around by the intensity of the moment, he adopted a stance that was almost dance-like, both katanas held aloft, barely inches from his head, crossing at the wrists, right knee raised in defiance. This was the beginning of the legendary SoulSong, a stance so rare and so mystical that just witnessing it unwound Kiro's focus into shock.
Kiro launched a fierce attack, his sword slicing through the air towards Kenshiro. But with the grace of a seasoned dancer, Kenshiro parried; his left katana met Kiro's blade, diverting it away with a ring of metal on metal, his movements fluid and precise. Each parry was executed with the sharp clarity of a master swordsman, the fluidity of his dance synchronizing perfectly with the deadly intent of each exchange.
Kiro chuckled, "So…you're using my own stance against me…you don't have the Battle Art, so its effects won't work."
Kiro, relentless, adjusted his angle aiming for a swift, upward slash intended to unbalance. Yet, as if preordained, Kenshiro's right katana caught the attack, redirecting the energy, using Kiro's own force against him, guiding the blade away. The clash echoed, a harsh symphony against the soft whispers of the wind.
Not deterred, Kiro attempted a piercing thrust, fast as a striking viper. Mysteriously unperturbed, Kenshiro twisted his body, letting the blade whoosh past him, merely grazing his clothing. With a swift, almost unseen movement, his right blade swept down in a powerful arc, knocking Kiro's sword off its lethal course.
The fight surged with escalating ferocity. Each attack from Kiro was met by a counter-move from Kenshiro, who appeared to be not just fighting but performing—his movements a dark ballet, his blades extensions of his will, conducting an orchestra of steel.
'Tch! He's using the moves of the dances to fight! Even though I know the dance well, his strength is counteracting my knowledge..'
As the duel wore on, the destruction around them mirrored the chaos of the encounter. Sparks flew like stars in the night, stones and dust kicked up by their shifting, darting feet. Kiro, increasingly frustrated, swung with reckless power, a wide arc meant to end the dance.
Kenshiro responded with a leap, almost floating over the blade, his own swords describing perfect, deadly halos in the air. Landing, he slid into a seamless series of strikes, each one parried by Kiro but forcing him back, step by step.
It was then, in a moment of exalted clarity and horror, still in the SoulSong dance, that the four kanji symbols appeared above Kenshiro's head: 統一 (unity), 苦痛 (pain), 解放 (liberation), 運命 (fate). Their glow intensified, casting Kenshiro's face in a supernatural light, his eyes blazing red, tears of blood marking his visage with trails of his torment. Kenshiro had activated these commands, and Kiro gasped, "Impossible…"
'Be wary..for the Shadows of God can be unpredictable. For they are the ones who are immune to the rot, so they are one with it.' Kiro reminisced in his head of the Samurai Asura speaking to him.
Kenshiro's final act was as swift as it was brutal. Utilizing a burst of almost preternatural speed, he vanished from Kiro's sight, only to reappear airborne and directly above his adversary. His descent was marked by the grim certainty of death; his twin katanas drove downward, one piercing through Kiro's open mouth, silencing any last words.
With a fluid, deadly grace, Kenshiro spun his body around Kiro's, blades still embedded, completing a full 360-degree turn. With a fierce yank, he freed his swords with a rapid yank, and with them, claimed Kiro's blood. His adversary's head fell from his shoulders, a stark culmination to the brutal dance.
As the tumult of the battle faded, the eerie stillness of the aftermath settled around Kenshiro. The moon, witness to both the visionary ordeal and the physical duel, cast its indifferent light across the battlefield, illuminating the victor standing amidst the devastation wrought by his own hands, a solitary figure marked by both the power and the curse of the SoulSong.
'That wasn't me…but it felt…natural…I just want to move…please move!'
As the severed head of Kiro landed with a grotesque thud, a surreal silence descended upon the battlefield. However, the eerie tranquility was short-lived. Kenshiro, his once dominant stance now faltering, stumbled backward and collapsed to his knees. The exertion of the SoulSong and his subsequent victory had drained him terribly. Blood trickled from his mouth, coughed up in violent spasms as his body rebelled against the immense power he had wielded.
'What's happening?! I can feel the bloodlust even more…it's to the point where it's overwhelming my very soul..'
Amidst his weakening grips on consciousness, a startling phenomenon unfolded; Kiro's dismembered body began to twitch and convulse unnaturally. The segments, driven by some ungodly force, started crawling towards each other, reassembling. Before Kenshiro's disbelieving eyes, Kiro was slowly piecing himself back together, powered by the malevolent magic of his sword of rot.
With a final, sickening snap, Kiro stood whole once more. His eyes burned with a vindictive light as he raised his formidable sword above his head, aiming a deathly blow towards the debilitated Kenshiro. Reacting with the last vestiges of his strength, Kenshiro twisted around. His eyes, returning to their normal hue, flashed with determination as he drove his katanas up, intercepting the descending blade of rot.
"Not today!" Kenshiro exclaimed, back to normal.
A cataclysmic clash ensued. Steel met corrupted steel with a force that seemed to splinter the very air around them. The ground beneath their feet cracked and heaved, unable to withstand the magnitude of their power. Each push from Kiro was met with an equal force from Kenshiro, despite the latter's rapidly waning strength and the blood he coughed marking his every exertion.
'I'm weakened…I can't lose here! All that power I dished out, I don't know how long I can last!'
As they struggled, every ounce of Kenshiro's remaining life force poured into holding back the sword of rot. His screams filled the air, a raw sound mixed with desperation and defiance. The world around them seemed to dissolve into chaos, the ground splitting further apart, sending shards of earth skyward.
In this apocalyptic tableau, the kanji symbols once again materialized, this time filling the space around them, glowing ominously as if feeding off the intensity of the battle. 統一 (unity), 苦痛 (pain), 解放 (liberation), 運命 (fate) — each symbol pulsated with an ethereal glow, casting a spectral light over the two combatants locked in their deadly embrace.
Kiro said, "Even if I have to use all the commands of the rot in my power…I will deliver you."
But as the moments wore on, Kenshiro's strength ebbed visibly. Each breath became a labor, each push a monumental task. His arms trembled under the strain, his swords barely holding against the pressing darkness of Kiro's weapon. With a final effort that seemed to drain the very essence of his being, Kenshiro's resistance faltered. The overpowering force of the blade of rot descended, crashing against his defense and driving him to the ground.
'Keep pushing…Kenshiro!' Kenshiro thought to himself over and over.
Silence ensued, profound and heavy. Kenshiro lay defeated, the once radiant glow of his eyes dimmed to a mere human tiredness, his katanas slipping from his weakened grasp. Kiro, on the other hand, stood looming for a moment longer, his breath ragged and heavy. The victory was his, but so too was the toll it took. Slowly, the conqueror dropped to his knees, his form still wreathed in the fetid aura of decay, his own weapon resting beside him.
'I lost…' Kenshiro thought silently as he was fading.
The scene held its breath, the only sounds that remained were the faint whispers of the wind and the distant crackles of the earth settling.
….
Snow covered the woods densely, transforming the landscape into an eerie, silent white cocoon, swirling gently as if the world had slipped into a peaceful slumber. Yet, for Kenshiro, this cloaked silence harbored the tumultuous echoes of his past. Confusion contorted his features as he stumbled through the thick blanket of snow, surrounded by the skeletal trees standing like somber sentinels.
'Another vision…this place? Did I faint? Everything feels familiar, but I've never been here before..'
Amidst the calm, whispers began to pierce the solitude. At first, they were indistinct, murmurings that could be mistaken for the wind. But soon, the whispers coalesced into voices—voices that he recognized all too painfully. They belonged to the villagers of his childhood home, each one brutally slaughtered in a massacre that left no soul unscathed.
"You brought this upon us..." a voice hissed, ethereal and cold.
"Shame! Shame upon you, Kenshiro!" another screamed, the accusation slicing through the chilly air.
Kenshiro spun around, his eyes wide in a mix of fear and desperation, seeking the sources of the condemnations.
'No..no..what is this?! Why is this happening to me now?'
Kenshiro pleaded, "No, you don't understand!" he pleaded to the faceless voices. "I trained to protect you... to kill only to safeguard our peace!"
But the voices didn't care for his explanations; they only grew louder and more vehement, inundating him with their blame. "Violence begets violence! You invited death to our doorstep!"
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry!"
Overwhelmed, Kenshiro clenched his fists, his breath forming small clouds in the freezing air. The voices crescendoed into an unbearable cacophony until, suddenly, they ceased. Silence reclaimed the woods, leaving Kenshiro alone, his heart pounding loud in his ears.
A heavy sigh escaped him as the solitude pressed down. "I trained... to protect. But maybe I invited the very darkness I sought to keep at bay," he muttered, his voice breaking. The weight of blame and shame settled on his shoulders like the snow upon the branches around him.
"My skills, my strength... Takeda knew only because I existed. Did my existence bring about their doom?" His words hung heavily in the frosty air, each syllable a testament to his torment. "What if I didn't exist? I can't….."
The lingering presence of his village seemed to converge upon him, tightening like a noose. Kenshiro felt himself disintegrating, his skin fluttering away in tiny, dust-like particles, carried off by the remorseless wind.
"I don't know if..," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "I will ever shed this shame. It clings deeper than a shadow. I am... a failure." A solitary tear traced a path down his cheek, freezing before it could fall.
Then he heard a whisper, saying, "We share the lust for..vengeance...do not fight it. Let the memories fuel our wrath."
'No…damn you..'
As that frozen tear clung to his face, reality shifted. Kenshiro's eyes fluttered open to a harsh daylight, breaking the grip of the haunting memory. His first sensation was pain, his body ached, and he found himself bound, unable to move. His gaze focused, and he saw Kiro, looming over him, his presence shadowed by the grim nature of rot that bound Kenshiro.
Fury ignited within him, momentarily overshadowing his prior despair. "I'll fucking kill you… let me go…" he growled, his voice ragged but filled with venom.
Kiro, seeming almost amused by the threat, leaned closer, his voice a rumbling echo of defiance. "Not in that state, brat."
The scene froze there, with Kenshiro restrained, his spirit combating both the physical bindings of rot and the psychological chains of his guilt-ridden past. The woods, the snow, and the voices of accusatory ghosts lingered in his disturbed thoughts, a stark reminder of a battle far from over, fought on both external and internal fronts.