….
"Oomf!" Mei dropped to the ground, clunked in giant armor, with Nori and Kanbei holding onto her. They were outside of the cave, under the gray sky.
Mei said, "Let me go. Bye bye."
Kanbei exclaimed, "Nori! You know I'm old! Help me hold her down!"
Nori replied, "I'm trying! She's strong!"
Mei turned around, and asked, "Is my armor too big?"
Kanbei said, "Sneaky little one aren't you?"
"Maybe. You refused to make me armor. So I stole." Mei pointed at Kanbei.
Nori said, "Well, Kanbei, I can a-accompany her…?"
Kanbei sighed, "It's dangerous for her to be outside, her curse will—."
"W-We can maybe stop at certain places every once in a while. To let the curse cooldown and then go back out…right?"
"But the risk of Kenshiro being lost forever, because you two were too slow.."
Mei interrupted, "You know how much this means to me, grandfather. I haven't had the feeling of being worth something for a long time. That flower…that flower Kenshiro has…it's special to me. Please. I already stole your armor, I might as well go."
Kanbei gritted his teeth, "You little brat. Fine. But I will keep the crow on you at all times."
Nori asked Kanbei, "Will you be okay here alone..?"
"Yes. You don't know I'm used to it, haha. But know how much this means to me. If Kenshiro is saved, then the Nine Tails can be killed so we can reach Asura's stronghold. And from there, we can use what he stolen from me to get to Takeda's Paradise."
Mei bowed slightly, "I won't let you down."
"Don't. I will use the crow to peck your little face if you do anything I don't like."
"Don't. I'll kill it."
"Damn brat. Anyway, good luck to you too."
Nori asked, "D-Do you want us to help Kenshiro fight the Nine Tails as well?"
"…I haven't thought that far. But yes, if you decide to."
'I know Nori is capable of handling himself, but Mei..she's strong, and she's fought strong enemies embodied in rot, but can she handle a literal guardian of the forest who was conflicted with rot? The Nine Tails? With Nori, and Kenshiro, I believe she can. I don't want to be the one to hold her down against her will like she was as a child. I can sense that she feels a small hint of happiness within her. When she saw Kenshiro grasp her flower by his side during fights and after fights, that meant something to her. Maybe she can learn to be emotional again, I have to do this for her. My master, Hayato, was the same as her, emotionless, but he sacrificed his emotions to be powerful. It was often depressing to see, I don't want to see that from my own granddaughter. Her parents told me if something ever happened to them, that I'd take care of her. Keeping her safe isn't the only way to take care of her, but her well-being.'
….
As the day wore on, Kiro and Kenshiro passed through a gorge where the walls seemed to close in, the shadows deep and consuming. Sounds were amplified here, each drip of water and crack of stone a reminder of the oppressive environment that sought to crush any semblance of life attempting to defy the rot.
They arrived at what appeared to be a borderland, a place where the rot's influence met resistance. Here, the land fought back, verdant and wild, a stark line drawn against the creeping death. Warriors patrolled this boundary, their faces set in determined lines, guarding what remained of a world not yet fallen completely into despair.
"Find some more of those fanned creatures!"
"We killed one already, we got this!"
Kiro paused at this boundary, considering the warriors with a measured gaze. He knew the rot was relentless, its appetite insatiable. The place they guarded would fall, in time. But for now, it stood as a testament to resilience, to the enduring struggle of life against overwhelming odds. Holding Kenshiro still, he turned back, retracing his steps through the corrupted lands, pondering the fate of a world balanced precariously between the past and an uncertain future.
"I will not fight them."
Kenshiro asked, "Why? Scared?"
"No.."
'They're fighting for what they believe in…like I was.'
As they ventured deep into the festering heart of a world overtaken by rot, the journey grew increasingly perilous. Kiro's stride was purposeful, his mind alert, navigating with grim determination.
Passing the guarded borderlands, the terrain morphed abruptly—an indication of the rot's relentless march. The path forward snaked through an eerie bamboo grove where the natural beauty was marred by corruption. Each bamboo stalk was blotched with black spots, and the leaves dripped with a viscous, tar-like substance. The air was thick, and the usual serene whisper of bamboo in the breeze was replaced by a mournful groan as if the grove mourned its own demise.
Deeper into this infested sanctuary, the gray skies hung low, casting a pall over the land. Distant rumbles of thunder whispered of coming storms, or perhaps battles fought between the remnants of the untouched and the ever-expanding rot. Amidst this somber setting, a dilapidated shrine appeared, its once sacred torii gate now warped, the wood bloated and splintered with dark veins running through it like sickened blood vessels.
This shrine, a relic of purity, was overridden by the grotesque forms of mythical creatures turned vile by the rot. A stone dragon, coiled around the shrine's base, had its scales pocked and discolored, oozing a pungent black ichor. Its eyes, once probably gleaming with an artisan's crafted light, were now dull and lifeless, staring vacantly at the pair as they passed.
Forging ahead, they came upon a domain where the rot manifested not just in decay but in a vile parody of life. The once-verdant valley was transformed into a landscape of twisted nightmares. Trees bore fruit that throbbed and pulsed with a sickly glow, bursting open to release clouds of spores that hung in the air like toxic mist. The ground itself seemed to breathe, undulating softly, disturbingly alive.
In this unholy orchard, twisted creatures roamed. Deformed beasts with too many eyes or limbs dragged themselves across the fetid earth, responding to Kiro's presence with low, threatening growls. Among them, humanoid figures moved, their bodies a jumble of fungal growths and rotting flesh, yet they retained a semblance of their former humanity, making them all the more horrifying.
Kiro moved swiftly, avoiding encounters where possible, choosing paths that wound around the largest congregations of these tormented souls. Kenshiro, semi-conscious by now, murmured incoherently, his words lost amidst the soft thuds of their hurried footsteps.
"This land is very corrupt." Kiro explained. "Each area, covered in rot, like you and me."
Beyond the valley, the landscape opened up to reveal an ancient fortress, half-swallowed by the earth itself. The stone walls were thick with moss and the creeping rot, while the air around it vibrated with the sound of clashing steel. Warriors—the last defenders of this forsaken fortress—fought a losing battle against the embodiments of rot, creatures so thoroughly infused with decay that they seemed born of the earth itself.
The fight was brutal and desperate. Warriors fell only to rise again, their bodies hijacked by the very rot they sought to hold back. Kiro watched for a moment, the scenes a stark reminder of the relentless cycle of decay and rebirth governed by the corruption.
"What do you think about it? You think the land is sentient on its own? The way it used to breathe life, purged with nothing tranquility. Sure, this shits never been perfect, but it wasn't covered in rot. It drastically changed once that happened. My tribe, we used to travel together, sell goods, trade, buy things, and seeing that the other members are STILL trying to do what it takes…those fools…they'll die…I tried to stop them."
"We still can..I know I'm stil trying to even save myself. The fucking shame…I hate it. But I haven't given up yet. I chose to survive because I think I can focus and try more, try harder to be happy, to overcome this shame. Maybe if I did something great, like kill the Nine Tails, I can regain my confidence back, maybe my shake will go away."
"Ah. So that's why you're hunting it?"
"And I was told that the Nine Tails was in the way of Asura's stronghold."
"And you want to run in there?"
"I don't know the full plan, but yeah.."
"You got some gut, kid."
"But now it's not about me. From what I'm hearing, you regret it all. Don't you?"
"…"
Halfway up the mountain, they stumbled upon a forgotten temple, its architecture a blend of earthly worship and celestial aspiration. The temple doors stood ajar, revealing an interior defiled by the darkness. Statues of deities were defaced, their features distorted into grief-stricken masks.
Inside, the air was still, ominously silent save for the distant drip of moisture. Hieroglyphs on the walls told stories of creation and destruction intermingled, a prophecy perhaps of the very apocalypse they now endured. As they passed through, Kenshiro regained a fleeting moment of lucidity, his gaze catching on the desecrated figures of gods.
"They weep for us," he whispered, a hand reaching out to touch the cold stone, rough and tainted. His touch seemed almost a plea, a silent prayer for forgiveness, for salvation that he knew would not come.
Leaving the temple behind, Kiro knew that their journey neared its end. The peak of the mountain awaited, shrouded in heavier mists that promised either redemption or doom. With each step, the weight of Kenshiro's body and the weight of their grim reality bore down upon him.
But within Kiro existed a resolve forged in the very fires of the rot's devastation—a resolve to find a flicker of hope in a world smothered by despair.
As Kiro crested a low ridge, eyes alight with wariness, the unexpected sight of a small rabbit, horns red as bloodsted jade, hopped frantically across his path. Unlike any ordinary rabbit, its fur was matted with dark patches that seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of their own, stark against its snowy white coat. Despite its evident wounds and the creeping rot that sought to claim it, the rabbit fought valiantly, twitching and shaking off the encroaching darkness with every determined leap.
Intrigued by this bizarre creature and sensing its importance, Kiro, burdened yet agile with Kenshiro on his back, decided to follow. The rabbit's path was erratic, zigzagging through fallen logs and overgrown brambles that spoke of a land long forgotten by joy. Overhead, the sky hung heavy with clouds that swirled in tumultuous patterns, gray upon darker gray, as if reflecting the struggle below.
The terrain grew increasingly treacherous as they ventured further; once fertile soil now split with deep fissures, from which a faint, eerie glow emanated. These cracks seemed to breathe, exhaling a foul miasma that turned the air viscous and hard to breathe. Kiro's senses were assaulted by the smell of decay, a sweet and sickening odor that clung persistently to the back of his throat.
Around them, the remnants of what might have been a forest stood like sentinels. Trees, their bark twisted into grotesque forms, branches entangled unnaturally as if in a final, desperate cling to life. The leaves that remained were tarnished with blight, hanging limply as though mourning the sky they could no longer see clearly.
Every so often, the rabbit paused, its sides heaving, those strange, red horns glowing intermittently like twin beacons. During one such pause, Kiro noticed that each time the horns glowed, the rot's advance seemed momentarily halted, pushed back by an invisible force that radiated from the creature. This observation renewed Kiro's interest and solidified his resolve to follow the rabbit to whatever end awaited.
Slowly, the dense decay gave way to a gradually lightening landscape. A subtle chill touched the air, hinting at the approach of a boundary where rot's reign might lessen or falter. Kiro sensed the shift, a lessening of the oppressive energy, and saw in the distance a lightening of the sky, a promise of clarity.
The ground underfoot became crunchier, the decay overlaid now with a thin veil of frost that crunched softly under their steps. The rabbit's labored hopping through the frost seemed to grow more urgent, its path more deliberate as if it were being drawn towards something unseen.
Eventually, they reached a vast expanse where the land transformed dramatically. Here the rot seemed afraid to tread, halted by an unseen boundary. The ground was covered in a fine, white powder that resembled snow, a stark contrast to the decay left behind. This snow-like substance glittered subtly under the dim light that managed to pierce through the thick clouds, imbuing the scene with a serene yet eerie beauty.
Amidst this frozen landscape, a singular rose stood defiantly in the center of what appeared to be a natural clearing. Its petals were a vibrant, impossible red, stark against the monochrome surroundings, and from it emanated a gentle light that pulsated softly, rhythmically. As the rabbit approached, its horns responding in kind, their glow intensifying.
Drawing nearer to the rose, the rabbit's pace slowed, its every movement more labored than the last. Upon reaching the flower, it collapsed gently beside it, body heaving with the effort of each breath. The horns' glow flared tremendously, casting a warm light over the flower, which in turn seemed to pulse faster, brighter.
As Kiro watched, transfixed, the petals of the rose opened further, as if caressing the dying creature. A soft melody, barely perceptible, filled the air, reminiscent of a lullaby or an ancient chant of mourning. It was beautiful and sad in equal measure.
The rabbit's body began to disintegrate, slowly, peacefully. It didn't decay, but rather seemed to evaporate into the cold air, becoming part of the light that now shone with a steady brilliance. Each particle of its being shimmered as it lifted away, caught in the gentle luminescence of the rose.
Kiro, witnessing this transformation, felt a profound sense of peace mixed with sorrow. The rabbit had led them here, to this moment of beauty and quiet magic, its final act one of serene surrender. The horns, now lifeless and colorless, lay beside the rose, their purpose fulfilled.
With this quietly majestic scene burned into his memory, Kiro knew that their journey had changed. The witnessing of such purity, such a poignant end, instilled in him a renewed purpose. He adjusted Kenshiro on his back, who in his semi-conscious state had murmured unintelligibly through the experience, perhaps impacted in his own unseen ways.
As they turned away from the clearing, leaving the glow of the rose behind, Kiro felt a lingering warmth, a lightness that fortified his spirit. The path ahead remained fraught with decay and darkness, but now there was also a promise—a promise carried in the light of a rose in the snow, and the memory of a rabbit with red horns, that purity, and perhaps salvation, lay ahead in this twisted, beautiful world.
As the last traces of light from the rose and the rabbit faded, leaving behind a profound stillness, Kiro shifted Kenshiro on his back, ensuring his hold was secure and comfortable. His gaze lingered on the now calm and serene clearing, where the rose continued to glow faintly against the stark white snow. The once fearsome journey felt now like an echo, distant and softened by the magic they had witnessed.
"Kenshiro," Kiro began, his voice low and imbued with an uncharacteristic reverence, "these creatures, these rabbits with the crimson horns, they're not merely anomalies of nature. They're part of a much larger, almost forgotten lore."
He stood around the clearing, thoughtful, examining the ground where the rabbit had evaporated, then returned his gaze to the glowing rose. "Long ago, the world was a tapestry of unspoken pacts and alliances. Among the mighty beings who walked these realms was the Nine Tails Chimera Fox, a being of sublime power and ruler over the animal kingdoms."
Kiro paused, ensuring Kenshiro was listening, even in his weakened state. "The Chimera Fox wasn't just a ruler but a guardian who deeply cared for the creatures under its watch. It saw the continual cycle of life and death, the fear and uncertainty it brought to its denizens. So, it devised a gift, an endowment of sorts."
He walked slowly towards the rose, kneeling beside it. "See this? This rose is part of that ancient magic woven by the Chimera Fox. Crafted from its own life essence, spread throughout the land in secret places where the cold preserves its power. These roses... they are not ordinary flowers. They serve as sanctuaries, places of peaceful end for those who bear the burden of the horns."
"The horns," Kiro continued, brushing a hand gently against the petals of the rose, "are not just ornaments but sacred burdens. They are bestowed upon those animals that have suffered greatly, animals that have been touched by the darkness of this world - the rot, as we've seen. But these horns carry the light of the Chimera Fox, protecting them from complete consumption, giving them a chance to reach these roses."
His voice was a whisper now, mixed with awe. "When a horned rabbit embraces one of these roses, it completes a sacred ritual. The light from its horns and the light of the rose converse in an ancient language of old magic. The rabbit's suffering, its physical form, is cleansed and transformed into pure energy, returning to the Chimera Fox."
Kiro stood, stepping back and looking around the snow-covered clearing, the air filled with a strange, palpable tranquility. "This is how the Chimera Fox designed their end – not in terror or decay, but in beauty and light, allowing them to leave this world on their own terms, enveloped in grace."
He sighed, carrying the weight of the lore in his voice. "This knowledge is mostly lost, forgotten as the old beings faded into myth. But moments like these, they remind us that magic still breathes within the crevices of our world, waiting to be rediscovered and understood."
Kiro turned his gaze once more towards the faintly glowing rose, then up to the cloudy sky, pondering. "Know this – our world holds profound depth, woven by the ancient guardians. Each step we take is a step through stories laid down by their sacrifices and love. And you asked me, if I regret it all?"
"I did." Kenshiro responded.
Kiro had shed a tear, and he responded, "I do. I regret it all. They honored the code, their own beliefs, whereas I sabotaged it for my own gain. I killed many like you, tricked them into thinking I was their friend, even innocent ones, looking for a Shadow of God. They pleaded, but I refused to listen. I let my mind take a dark turn, influenced by Takeda and his whispers, fucking bastard. I thought I was doing the right thing at first, I saved some people of my tribe, but now I realize, i'm no better than Takeda. The lives I took, for him…to find a Shadow Of God…a leader always finds another way, but I took the hard way. But I don't regret saving my people that day Takeda came to our temple, but I regret listening to him and killing for him. I should've at least tried to fight him off guard, as my tribe had already scattered out to help other warriors and they did this under The Elder's command as soon as Takeda left. They were safe as soon as I left, why didn't I at least try and kill him?! Was it fear? Was I being selfish about my own life? I didn't care about others? Yeah. Guess fucking so."
"Kiro.."
"As we've traveled, I've seen the way the world transformed. How even the lands play a part in fighting for something they believe in. Some areas aren't tattered with rot, but it's not completely perfect, shows how much even they are fighting against it, the patches of clean grass are proof of that. What was I even thinking?"
As they left the clearing, the silence seemed to echo Kiro's words, enveloping them in a cinematic embrace, laden with the depth of ancient magic, solemn farewells, and the undying echoes of guardian spirits watching over them.
As Kiro and the silent Kenshiro ventured further from the clearing of the rose, the land began to subtly shift underfoot. The air grew heavier, tinged with a scent of iron and rain long past. The sky above morphed gradually, the clouds swirling into a deeper hue, until the expanse above was a tapestry woven of pitch black threaded with sinister streaks of red.
The world seemed to hold its breath as they approached what was clearly the remnants of a forsaken battlefield. The ground was littered with embedded weapons; swords half-buried blade-first into the earth, arrows scattered as if dropped by careless spectral hands, and fragments of what once might have been proud shields now shattered and forgotten. Amidst these relics, the skeletons of wooden structures, possibly temples or barracks, stood as charred skeletons, their purposes lost to time and decay.
Kiro dropped Kenshiro, and Kenshiro was free, still holding his katanas.
"Agh!" He exclaimed, landing hard. "You're letting me go?"
Kiro replied, "I come to realize what I did wasn't heroism, it was dishonor. Even when I saved some of my people which I believe was a heroes doing, what came after was a villains doing. And as a leader, I will not be known as a villain."
"I don't think you're a villain. You may have did bad things, but in the end you saw what's really important.
Above this grim scene, the clouds themselves appeared unnatural, a looming mass of dark red and black, out of which stretched enormous stone hands, positioned as if in prayer. These hands, ghostly pale against the somber backdrop, seemed to be reaching out from the heavens themselves, grasping for salvation or perhaps offering a silent benediction over the desolated land.
"Here, I will let you defeat me. This is what I deserve."
"Why here all of places?"
"This is where Takeda took me to, to explain my mission of finding a Shadow of God."
"What even is that? Can you even tell me?"
"I just know it's the essence of a deity, but that's it. Takeda didn't explain more. Please…do it."
"Do what? Kill you?"
"Yes. It's the only way."
"You thought you were doing the right thing, yet you did at first. Even though you turned into the thing you didn't want to out of fear, you don't have to end things here, you can redeem yourself by your actions, not allowing yourself to die."
"I feared if I refused Takeda, he would finish the job, killing the other members. I did horrible things for him, this is the only way I can atone for it. Please let me do this."
Kenshiro stood still, thinking, 'If it's what he wants..I have to do it. Maybe from him, this is what true loyalty is. Even from Nozomi, she showed it. And now from
Kiro,…loyal to themselves and the very thing they protect. I can be loyal to myself the same way, and maybe overcome the shame. Right?'
The battlefield was populated not by the bodies of the fallen warriors, but by shadows. Hundreds of shadows, frozen in time: some kneeling as if in prayer, others standing with shoulders weighed down by unseen burdens, and more in grotesque contortions of death. Each shadow was etched into the earth itself, a dark reminder of lives abruptly halted.
Kenshiro lifted his swords, saying, "Are you sure?"
Kiro nodded, "Yes. Do it."
In the midst of this haunting tableau stood a lone figure, a samurai of towering presence and tragic demeanor. Shirtless, his skin marred by scars overlying the sinister spread of rot that seemed to writhe within his flesh as though it were alive. His hair, short and white and red, lending him a wild, untamed air. Around his head, a red headband was tied, stark against his hair, its ends fluttering slightly in a breeze that carried whispers of past agonies.
The samurai's eyes were a piercing, unnatural white, devoid of pupils, staring unblinkingly upwards towards the eerie stone hands in the sky. A sword had been driven through his chest, its hilt protruding grotesquely, while in his grip was a katana raised defiantly towards the heavens. The katana was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its blade a perfect arc of lethal promise. The steel shimmered with a dark luster, veins of a lighter metal running through it in intricate patterns, reminiscent of flowing rivers on a barren landscape. The handguard was ornately carved, depicting a scene of dragons amidst clouds, and the grip was wrapped in faded silk that whispered tales of glory and doom.
His mouth was open in a silent scream or perhaps a final shout of challenge, forever frozen in that singular, tragic moment. Despite the clear ferocity of his last stand, there was an overwhelming sense of solemnity. This warrior, eternally poised in his final act of defiance, seemed less a victim and more a sentinel, guarding the memories of the battlefield against the ravages of time and oblivion.
Kenshiro and Kiro were looking at him, and Kenshiro asked, "Who…is that?"
A wave of fear hit his body, his legs trembled once, even a small drop of sweat started to arrive.
Kiro stood, up saying, "That's Xenn….a….subordinate of Asura. On his way of being a disciple for Takeda—."
FWOOSH!
Kenshiro had blood on his face, and he saw he was holding Kiro's beheaded bloody head, and the shirtless man in the stance still stood in the same position.
Kenshiro choked, his body shaking in fear, saying, "Huh..?"
He looked ahead, and saw the shirtless samurai, still in the same position, and he slowly turned his head to Kenshiro.
'What the hell….is that?!' Kenshiro panicked in his thoughts, full of nothing but fear he couldn't even move.