At that moment, it felt as though the whole world was engulfed in a raging inferno, the night sky stretching over a vast sea of flames. The screams of the townsfolk echoed through the air as their blood was callously spilled on the wooden walls, blending with the ominous rhythm of drums.
Warriors clashed head-to-head with their opponents, sparks from their finely crafted iron weapons adding to the flames of battle and the fire that burned within their hearts.
"Brother! Brother, wake up, please!" Mirai cried over the lifeless body of his twin brother, his small, pale fingers digging into his fallen sibling's hand as he tried to pull him free from the stones pinning him down.
"Mirai, you have to stop!" his mother shouted, her voice trembling as she fought back tears, gripping her son to pry him from his brother.
"Brother!" he screamed, struggling against her grip, desperate to stay by his side. Mirai's knees pressed into the debris of their ruined room, his heart overflowing with unimaginable sorrow for his fallen comrade.
"Stop, I said, Mirai!" his mother commanded, wrapping her arms around him in an attempt to offer comfort amid such gruesome times. Her throat was tight with emotions she couldn't bear to express in front of her surviving child.
"He's gone…" she muttered, her voice soft yet heavy with grief. The words struck Mirai like a blow, widening his eyes in shock as if snapping him back to reality. "Your brother is dead—I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."
And as much as the flames of battle raged on, grief burned beside them, their sorrows ignored by the giants around them who continued to wield their blades at one another's throats.
"Shogun! Show yourself to me!" the yellow-eyed warrior screamed to the heavens, his voice echoing across the battlefield. He walked through fresh flames, his gaze scanning the chaos for his next victim as he whipped his blade forward, cleaning it of the last foe's blood.
The drums of battle picked up pace. The man's eyes darted to his left, catching the glimmer of a sword peeking through the wall of fire surrounding him. With gritted teeth, he dug his feet into the soft, crimson-soiled earth, jumping backward to avoid the deadly blow.
"Who dares!" he hissed, raising his head to meet his aggressor, only to see the Shogun standing there, his hand firm on the hilt of his blade.
"Very well, as you wish; I stand before you," the Shogun announced, his voice cutting through the chaos. Leaving no room for hesitation, he lunged forward with his blade, but the enemy samurai dodged with ease, his sword crashing down toward the Shogun, who quickly parried with equal force, causing both to stumble back.
"What's wrong?" the Shogun roared, "Show me this demon blade you claim to possess!"
"Very well, take a good look, for it will be the last thing you see!" The yellow-eyed samurai pressed forward, swinging his blade toward his opponent's legs. The Shogun pushed off the ground as hard as he could, his blade coming down on the samurai and colliding with his armor.
The battle moved at the rhythm of the drums, the surviving warriors on both sides halting their fights to witness the duel.
The onlookers formed a circle around their leaders, the dancing flames moving to the tempo of their song. Both the samurai and the Shogun circled each other, their eyes fixed on any subtle movement.
The Shogun advanced, his loose shoulders swaying with his steps, his wrist turning the blade and striking upwards as the moment allowed. The samurai tried to react, but his movements were too slow; the blade stripped him of his helmet as it fell to the blood-streaked ground.
The sound of flutes chimed in with the rhythmic gongs of the drums, the soldiers and samurai chanting in time with the music, watching the tide of battle unfold.
Each blow met another, the balance of power shifting with each step, every move calculated. They danced a fine line with the flames that engulfed the town, their lives at the hands of each other, both simply itching to just crush it within their grasp.
The samurai stared down at his opponent, striking at him with all his might. The Shogun raised his blade to block, only to be pushed back by a blow to his gut.
"What's the matter, Shogun!? Did that measly kick do you in?" the samurai spat, his words laced with venom as he readied himself for another strike.
"Like I could ever be done in by you fools…" the Shogun murmured, wiping sweat from his face as he charged.
The sudden shift in pace caught the samurai off guard, the drums quickening with the Shogun's actions. The Shogun struck at the man's legs, his blade clashing with the samurai's in a desperate block.
But the Shogun didn't rest or waver; his strikes came in rapid succession until their blades collided for a final time, sparks flying across the field as both of their hands shook with effort. With gritted teeth, the Shogun pushed the samurai off him, causing his enemy to stumble, his mind reeling.
He grinned, dashing forward and raising his hands for a final strike to the head. The samurai, seeing this, lifted his sword in a last attempt to stave off his own demise. The Shogun let go of his blade, causing it to spin mid-air as he sent his foot flying across the samurai's unprotected face, sending him to the ground.
The Shogun picked up his blade, the dirt falling away as he walked over to his fallen enemy, pressing the edge against his throat.
"Do you yield?" he asked, staring down at his adversary, despite the man's feeble attempts to avoid the katana's tip.
"I'd rather die," the samurai grinned, his hand turning his blade to show the Shogun his own reflection. "Shinmu—"
The Shogun's eyes widened as realization dawned, but it was too late; his fate was already sealed along with the lives of his people.
"Devour…"
A shadow engulfed the area around them, condensing into a tornado that tore into the earth, shattering the ground and forcing all the remaining warriors back under its overwhelming force.
And then, silence—the flames of battle had died with their foes, leaving only the bleak, pitiful remnants of war.
"Are you all right, Tashida?" one of the samurai's right-hand men, wielding a thin blade and bearing striking purple eyes, rushed to his side.
"I'm fine, Akimaru," Tashida muttered, pushing himself up from the sullied ground.
The sound of footsteps broke the eerie silence, Akimaru drawing his blade once more as he realized they were surrounded by enemy samurai—all of whom knelt in unison, heads bowed before Tashida.
Akimaru sheathed his sword, and Tashida held his katana high, victorious in the shadow of war.