As Kiro's body fell, a surreal calm took over. Xenn, the stoic, spectral samurai frozen in time and agony, began to move. Almost imperceptibly at first, his blade, driven through his own chest, raised higher into the crimson-lit sky. Slowly, grotesquely, the skeletal hands of a long-dead warrior encircled the katana's hilt, their bones wrapped in a ghastly black aura that pulsed with the heartbeats of the damned.
'What is that…?' Kenshiro's mind raced with panic, he didn't know what the hell was happening.
Then darkness descended like a curtain, snuffing out the light of the world, leaving only Kenshiro, the fallen form of Kiro, and the tragic figure of Xenn illuminated in a spotlight crafted from a nightmare. Above this desolate stage, amid the oppressive shadows, sat the embodiment of death himself — Kaimetsu. His throne, a grotesque sculpture of skulls, rooted itself deeply in the dark, while roses and skeletons lay scattered at its base, a garden of despair flowering under his cold gaze.
Kaimetsu's form was as dreadful as the legends whispered across ages: a skeletal lord draped in a black cloak, the hollows of his eye sockets dark except for one, which held a red rose in a perpetual bloom of suffering. In his bony hand, a scythe gleamed with an unholy light, and his grin, a macabre slash across his skull, promised endless torment.
Kiro's severed head miraculously reattached itself as if time reversed, healing the grotesque wound with the grudging consent of the spectral forces at play. Bleeding and determined, Kiro dashed forward, his scream a war cry that cut through the suffocating despair, challenging the darkness itself.
Kiro said, "Kaimetsu!"
But Kaimetsu laughed, his voice a chilling echo across the hallowed battlefield. "You know the rules…once you are bound to the rot, once you are bound to the orb of Takeda and Shikorin…there is no escape. You will be coming with me to the endless darkness. You were warned. Those who try to run, take their own life, or dishonor the name of Takeda under his power, will live forever in darkness. You will wish for death, though you'd already be dead in this world, but not the void."
Kenshiro, frozen, thought more, 'Takeda…Shikorin…even has Death working with them…? There's no hope…everyone knows Kaimetsu….the literal avatar for death..In the primordial chaos before the world took form, Ryujin and its seven heads embodied the fundamental forces of existence. Among these heads, Shikorin, the head of rot, recognized that decay and death were necessary to balance creation and life. In a pact with the other heads, Shikorin channeled their combined powers to create Kaimetsu, the embodiment of death. Kaimetsu was formed to ensure that the cycle of life and death remained unbroken, guiding souls from the mortal realm to the afterlife. His presence was a necessary counterbalance to the forces of creation and growth embodied by Ryujin's other heads. Kaimetsu's duty was to claim the lives of those whose time had come, maintaining the natural order…it all makes sense, Shikorin represents decay, corruption, and the cycle of life and death. Shikorin's influence could cause rapid decay or slow, inevitable erosion…but a litera avatar of Death itself?! And Kiro is just running at it like a maniac?!'
As Kiro charged through the ghastly bridge of skeletons and roses, each step was agony. Thorns tore at his flesh; vile, rotten hands emerged from the ground covered in floral blooms, grasping and tearing with a frenzied strength. His body was ravaged, torn brutally as streams of blood painted the macabre garden a deeper shade of red.
"AGHHHH!"
Still, he persevered, pushed forward by a hope, a need to deliver a final message. His voice, raw and breaking, cried out to Kenshiro, "Kenshiro! Tell my tribe what I'm doing here! Find the hidden temple, you'll know where to go…past the land of the mist…go there…it's on the way to what you seek…the Nine Tails."
But as he fell to his knees, gasping and defeated, the relentless Xenn, ever the sentinel of this cursed place, appeared once more. Stoically, he resumed his solemn stance, his blade pointing towards the heavens, an eternal gesture unchanging as the skies themselves.
Kenshiro thought, 'His name…Xenn, what's his deal?! I sense so much power from him..he's on a whole different level! I've beaten enemies on the way here, but this…this just shows much the stakes really are, if its this crazy here, I wonder what Takeda's Paradise is like! Will I even make it there?! How would I get out of this?! And Kiro….I'll find the hidden temple…'
And in that horrific moment, Kiro's body, unable to withstand anymore, exploded in a visceral burst of blood and torment, signaling a definitive, brutal end. His remains scattered across the darkened veil, his sacrifice a silent scream in the vast emptiness. Xenn was behind Kiro's remains, he was the one that killed him, physical attacks that cannot be seen by the naked eye.
'He killed him…and I didn't even see it… so this is what happens to those who abandon the order of Shikorin…who abandon the oath..'
The battlefield quieted, a hush falling over the nightmarish scene as Kaimetsu's ominous laughter faded into the distance. The specter of Xenn remained, a sentinel amid the chaos, his story and sorrow etched into the very essence of the forsaken place.
The chilling void where battle and torment had raged seemed to pause, an odd quiet descending as Kaimetsu's hollow gaze shifted from the remnants of Kiro's demise towards Kenshiro. A shadow of curiosity tinged his eerie visage as he addressed the newcomer. "Oh…? Who are you?"
Kenshiro, playing into his true feigned terror, stammered through his lie, "Kiro was going to help me…." He trembled markedly, adding, "P-Please…I'm no one."
Kaimetsu's skeletal grin spread wider, amusement flickering in the void where his eye should have been. "Huh? But those two blades by your side tell me you have to be somebody, right? And you're somewhat covered in Shikorin's rot, but you're not corrupted. Xenn. Go."
In an imperceptible flash, Xenn, who had maintained his eerie posture, silent and foreboding, now slowly turned his head to Kenshiro. Without a visible motion, a horrible gash appeared across Kenshiro's chest. He fell backwards into a pile of roses, his blood mingling with their dark petals in an explosion of crimson that painted the night. Xenn, expression unchanged, blade pointed to the sky, returned to his stance as if untouched by time, right behind Kenshiro.
Kenshiro, struggling through pain and shock, slowly rose, trembling and soaked in his own blood. "I-I found these blades to bury them! For my master…" His voice was weak, the lie flimsy in his desperation.
But even as he spoke, the air cut once again – a second slash from the unseen blade of Xenn carved through Kenshiro's back. Kaimetsu watched with a growing intrigue, the eerie smile never leaving his face. "You must be someone. That rot has not conflicted you!"
Kenshiro stated, "I-I don't know what's going on either! I'm scared!"
Then, in a moment of rare defiance against the spectral speed of Xenn, Kenshiro immediately raised both swords, managing to block an attack - their blades locked in a brief, spectacular clash. A gasp escaped Kaimetsu's lips, an unheard event in countless ages, shock registering that someone had reacted to Xenn's unseeable strike.
Xenn hummed, "…..Hmmm."
Kaimetsu said, "You were able to block an attack from Xenn…you're more than just some random brat."
Kenshiro thought, 'He was aiming for my side, that's why! I got lucky…Mei's flower is still right there…I will still protect it! This bastard planned to cut me in half!'
Kenshiro's effort was monumental but fleeting. He fell to his knees, weakened and overwhelmed, before collapsing into the roses once more. His body bled from multiple dire wounds, the roses around him turning a darker shade of red with his blood, illustrating the bleed effect of Xenn's relentless strikes.
His vision got blurry, as he fell slowly, still holding onto his blades.
As the struggle faded, Kaimetsu turned to depart, a grotesque satisfaction coating his departure. He extended a skeletal hand, and within it coalesced the essence of Kiro's soul, trapped and struggling. With a vile delight, he consumed it, leaving behind nothing but the echoes of a lost spirit.
Kenshiro lay amidst the roses, the battle's tumult quieting around his fallen form. As the darkness claimed the landscape once again, his presence seemed almost at peace, a stark contrast to the horror that had transpired.
His own fear overwhelmed him, he was still shaking, bleeding out, but they slowed down slowly.
Kenshiro thought, 'Runes of Vigor..it saved me temporarily. I could feel it was close to being over…that's another reason why I blocked the attack, like I felt it coming. One more slash from Xenn…I would've been done for. I used it for my Kurogane katana..which is stronger than my other katana, hoping it would increase its effect…I was so scared…this just shows how weak I am compared to the real forces or disciples of Takeda/Shikorin…I don't even compete…it's a rude awakening…I was focused on rushing in at this state because of me wanting revenge, but now I see I need to get stronger…way stronger…!'
As Kenshiro lay bleeding among the roses, a rare tranquility settled upon the chaotic battlefield. Soft, gentle winds began caressing the bleak landscape, stirring the petals around him into a slow, rhythmic dance. Despite the agony coursing through him, he found a strange solace in the simple, beautiful movements around him. Each breath he drew was laced with the metallic tang of blood and the rich, earthy scent of roses and damp soil.
He could feel the soft murmurs of the wind whispering through the tattered banners that hung limply from skeletal trees, telling tales of battles long past. The pale moonlight washed over the desolate scene, casting eerie shadows and giving the blood-stained petals an almost luminescent glow. Kenshiro's eyes traced the delicate veins of the roses, noting how even in a place touched by death and decay, life stubbornly pushed forth, defiant and bold.
The pain was a constant companion, but so too was the beauty in this heartbreaking serenity. Even as his vision blurred and his senses dulled, Kenshiro remained acutely aware of the lifeblood seeping from his body, returning to the earth, nurturing it in a profound, cyclical farewell. This poignant realization brought a melancholic peace, allowing him to reflect on the fleeting nature of existence.
After what seemed like an eternity bathed in moonlit reflections and the soft sounds of nature's embrace, Kenshiro mustered his strength. With considerable effort, he slowly sat up, each movement a testament to his willpower. The surrounding air seemed to pulsate with a hushed reverence as he began to walk, leaving a trail of blood-soaked petals in his wake.
'I need to at least patch myself up..I can't let the wounds be open. Though the Runes of Vigor battle Art saved me a little, it was close. I don't stand a chance against the real enemy. I've been fighting those on my level, but this…just showed me how much more powerful Takeda and his own disciples or subordinates are than me.'
He wandered, driven by an innate survival instinct, until he reached an open tree trunk, its gaping hollow seemed inviting, a sanctuary amid the desolation. The tree stood majestically, its bark gnarled and worn, telling stories of centuries. This was within the forgotten bounds of *Kuroi Mori* (Black Forest), a mythical place said to house spirits and memories of ancient times.
As Kenshiro nestled inside the trunk, he used moss and leaves to stanch the bleeding, the cool touch of the foliage against his skin a raw contrast to the burning pain of his wounds. Tears mingled with blood, each drop a testament to his endured agonies and his unwavering resolve.
Laying back, he allowed a small smile to cross his lips, pain and relief merging into a single, sharp moment of clarity. "I lied to them to survive, haha…maybe I'm not foolish after all," he whispered to the quiet forest, the words hanging in the air like a vow. "But then again…they still wanted to end me. No wonder Takeda wanted Runes of Vigor so damn bad, but watching that man who the Battle Art die due to poison, it seems that it's weakness. I have to avoid it all costs…."
As night deepened around Kenshiro, his eyelids fluttered close, his breathing steadied, and the ancient, whispered secrets of Kuroi Mori enveloped him in a protective embrace. The scene closed with a lone warrior finding a momentary refuge in a world touched by spectral tragedies and timeless wars.