Night rose, casting a shadow over the village as the tension of an impending battle thickened in the air. Villagers huddled inside, their windows barred and doors bolted, abandoning the streets to a lone samurai. Standing just beyond the village, he held himself still, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana, his dark gaze fixed forward. Mirai's presence was silent yet charged, like the calm before a storm.
A faint rhythm of footsteps began to seep through the silence, breaking it little by little. From the shadows, a group of rogue samurai made themselves visible, their figures outlined against the sparse moonlight. They approached with silent menace, eyes glinting under helmets. Mirai's hand tightened briefly around his katana before he unsheathed it in one swift, practiced motion, his blade gleaming with a deadly, silvery light.
"You all sure took your time," he muttered, his voice low, carrying a note of impatience. He watched as their own blades caught the moon's glow, reflecting sharp, cold flashes. The harsh scrape of metal echoed in the night as they drew their swords, a discordant music that seemed to cut into the tense air around them.
"You've drawn your last breath tonight," one of them declared, his voice rich with malice as he aimed his sword directly at Mirai, the intent to kill clear in his eyes.
"On our honor, your skull will be used to hold our sake—" Another joined in, but his words choked off in a gargled gasp as Mirai's sword sliced through the air with a deadly, precise arc. The blade cleaved through his flesh in an instant, severing him in two. His body dropped with a dull thud, blood pooling like spilled ink, the rich crimson spreading and glistening beneath the moon's faint light.
The other rogues flinched, staring in shock as their comrade's body lay sprawled before them, lifeless. Mirai stood over him, a silent, spectral figure with his blade dripping red in his hand, his face calm and untroubled by the violence.
"Enough talk," he murmured, his breath visible in the chill night air like faint wisps of smoke. He flicked his sword downward, droplets of blood splattering the ground, staining the dirt beneath him. "You samurai are all the same—'my honor this,' 'our honor that.'" His tone carried a faint sneer, and his eyes glinted with dark amusement.
Mirai turned his gaze to the remaining rogues, his black eyes void-like, an unnerving depth that seemed to swallow light. Their hesitation was unmistakable, and a small, mocking smile curled at his lips. "Let's skip the speeches and have some fun, yeah?" he taunted, stepping forward with a loose, confident stride. "You won't get another night like this one, after all."
The rogue samurai glanced at each other, gripping their blades tighter as they prepared to charge, their expressions hardened into a mix of fear and determination.
"Do you need a refresher on the plan…?" Ryoshu muttered as they moved quietly through the forest leaves crunching beneath their feet, he was one arm left of the man he once was, severed limb occasionally twitching from muscle memory. The faint smell of damp earth filled the air as shadows of branches reached over them like twisted fingers. The masked man walking beside him shook his head slowly in response, silent but resolute.
"There is one thing that's unclear to me," he said, pausing mid-stride. His masked face turned slightly, regarding Ryoshu with a hint of curiosity. Ryoshu halted and looked over his shoulder, brow slightly raised.
"What's that?" he asked, his voice sharp and brisk.
"Why all these men, just to take revenge on a youth?" His voice carried a quiet disbelief, the words hanging heavy in the damp air. Ryoshu stopped as well, turning to face him fully, a calculating look in his eyes.
"It's not just about him," Ryoshu explained, his gaze shifting back toward the village, his tone thick with disdain. "It's to crush any form of hope he gave those villagers." His lips curled into a sneer. "People need to be reminded that they're under our thumb—including you."
The faint, cold sound of blades being drawn filled the forest around them. Ryoshu barely glanced back as samurai crept from the shadows, their forms lit by slivers of moonlight. A sense of threat thickened, hanging around them like a shroud. Ryoshu continued walking ahead, seemingly unperturbed, knowing the masked man couldn't fight back now.
"Stings, doesn't it?" Ryoshu murmured with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Being outplayed by a fool, I mean."
He raised his hand dismissvly as if saying good bye to the man in the mask, saying at the top of his lungs all the while to it reaches his ear. "I'll see you in hell buddy, but you wont be the one to help me there."
The village was painted in an eerie, fiery glow, the orange hue flickering across homes as bandits swept through the streets, torches in hand, igniting everything they passed. Flames consumed the thatched roofs, spreading hungrily from house to house, while thick, dark smoke billowed into the sky, blotting out the stars. Desperate screams filled the air as villagers scrambled for safety, their voices raw with terror as they watched loved ones trapped within blazing walls, their souls slipping away into the rising plumes of ash.
"Mom, what's happening?" Shou whispered, his small voice trembling with confusion and fear. He clung to his mother's side, eyes wide as the fiery light seeped through the cracks in their walls. His mother wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing his head close to her chest to muffle his breaths, her heart pounding as she forced herself to stay silent, even as her own fear crept into her eyes.
"It'll all be over soon, Shou. Don't worry," she murmured, her voice soft but strained as she tried to soothe him. Her fingers gently threaded through his short, dark hair, trying to calm him, even as her hands shook. She dared not look out the window, too afraid to see the destruction beyond their walls.
As they huddled in the corner of their small home, the sound of footsteps slowly approached, the heavy thud of boots on wood echoing with grim intent. A soft knock pierced the silence, too deliberate, too menacing, filling the room with dread. Shou's mother tensed, holding her breath as if her silence could somehow keep them safe.
Then came a loud, jarring bang against the door, a violent kick that rattled the walls and sent splinters flying. Shou buried his face into his mother's shoulder, both of them trembling as they heard the door crack, then give way.
With a final crash, the door collapsed, revealing Rosaki and his men as they filled the room, their shadows stretching long and dark against the flickering light from the fires outside. Rosaki's gaze settled on them, cold and unfeeling, as he took a step forward.
"You're coming with us... Yuri," he said, his voice sharp and laced with a cruel satisfaction.
The mother's grip tightened around Shou, but she couldn't hide the fear in her eyes as she looked up at Rosaki, her body trembling as she clung to her son, knowing there was nowhere left to run.