The village lay swallowed in a sea of fire, orange and red flames devouring everything they touched. The cries of anguish, thick with fear, were muffled by raucous, wicked laughter and the furious clash of steel. Blades hacked indiscriminately, finding the backs of the frail and the old, spilling blood that soaked through their robes and trickled down their spines in hot, crimson rivers. The acrid scent of burning wood mingled with the coppery tang of blood, filling the air with a thick, choking heat.
Women screamed, their voices hoarse with despair as their children were ripped from their arms, bonds of family shattered in the name of dominance. The sound of their pleas was lost in the raging inferno, mere whispers against the consuming flames. In the heart of this chaos, Ryoshu stood beside his leader, a towering man with broad shoulders and a gleaming, bald head that caught the firelight like polished steel. Behind them, a throng of samurai held villagers captive, forcing them into the village square, their wrists bound tightly with rope, their faces streaked with ash and desperation.
"Where's Utsusuki?" the leader asked, his voice low but cutting through the noise like the edge of a blade. He didn't turn to look at Ryoshu, his gaze fixed on the broken villagers before him.
"Back in the forest, our men are dealing with him as we speak," Ryoshu spat through gritted teeth, his barely-cleansed fangs stained with remnants of his earlier meal. The leader finally glanced down, a cruel smile pulling at his lips as he nodded in approval, before turning his attention back to the trembling villagers.
"I see—" he murmured, his tone one of detached amusement. Ryoshu stepped forward, his katana drawn, eyes glittering with malice.
"Alright, you sorry bastards!" he roared, his voice slicing through the chaos. "It's time you learned who rules over you!" He pointed a finger at them, one by one, savoring their expressions of fear and hopelessness. "Let this serve as a reminder of where your loyalties lie!"
A harsh, maniacal cackle escaped his throat, the kind that sent a chill into the bones of those forced to listen. His grip on his katana tightened as he watched the villagers flinch, squirming under his authority.
"Grab the kid," Ryoshu muttered to the samurai beside him. The warrior stepped forward, his massive hand seizing a small, fragile wrist. The boy, Shou, struggled, his bound arms pulling back as he fought against the overpowering grip, but the samurai wrenched him away from his mother's side.
"Shou!" The boy's mother, Yuri, cried out, tears streaking her soot-covered cheeks. Her arms strained against the ropes as she reached for him, only for the bonds to dig into her skin, cutting off her circulation.
"Stay back, woman. You'll get your turn," Ryoshu commanded, his gaze cold as iron as Yuri pleaded, desperation coloring every syllable.
"Please," she cried, her voice breaking. "Take me instead, I—" Her plea was cut short as Ryoshu's foot smashed into her jaw, sending her sprawling into the dirt, blood trickling from her mouth.
"I said, shut up!" he snarled, looming over her crumpled form as she writhed, clutching her face in agony.
"Mom!" Shou's voice cracked as he saw his mother struck down, his struggles growing frantic. But the samurai held him fast, one massive hand pressing down on his head, pinning him to the ground. Ryoshu strode toward him, blade in hand, a sadistic gleam in his eyes.
"Settle down. We'll make this quick," one of the samurai whispered in a hollow attempt at reassurance, but Shou's tears only flowed harder, staining his cheeks as he looked up in terror.
"If you squirm like that," Ryoshu sneered, pressing the blade lightly to Shou's neck, "the blade might get caught in your throat while you're still breathing."
"P-please…" Shou whimpered, his small body trembling as he squeezed his eyes shut. A final tear rolled down his cheek as he whispered, "Someone… save me…"
The world seemed to hold its breath. All sound faded, even the roar of the flames dimming as the blade lifted, poised to strike. Shou's small frame tensed, his breath stilled as he awaited the end, the villagers frozen in helpless horror, watching with wide, tear-filled eyes.
But just as the blade began to fall, a shadow moved within the flames, a single figure cutting through the chaos. With a flash of silver, steel met flesh, and a sickening thud echoed as a head rolled to the ground. Yuri looked up, her heart pounding in disbelief. Mirai stood there, his silhouette sharp and unyielding against the inferno, his blade stained and steady.
"You really thought that would work?" he asked, his voice low and filled with scorn. Silence gripped the onlookers, mouths agape in shock as they stared at the lone figure who had intervened. Ryoshu's face twisted with frustration and fear, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on his sword.
Mirai looked at him, an easy confidence in his stance. "They barely put up a fight—didn't even make me break a sweat. Guess I'll have to make up for it with you," he said, his katana gleaming as he drew it, the blade catching the firelight as he pointed it at Ryoshu.
The other samurai hesitated, their hands moving to their swords, only for a massive figure to step forward, blocking their path.
"Lower your weapons!" The leader's voice boomed, and the samurai stilled, wary but obedient. He strode forward, eyes locked on Mirai, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. "So you're the one causing me trouble."
"Mirai…" Shou muttered, his eyes wide with awe and relief as he looked up at his savior.
Mirai's gaze didn't falter as he faced the towering leader. "I'm here to put an end to this," he said, lifting his sword, his posture unbreakable. "I take your head, and the villagers go free."
The leader let out a deep, mocking laugh, the sound echoing off the burning buildings, reverberating through the village square. "You think you can challenge me, boy? You, a mere shadow of a warrior?" His smirk grew cruel as he reached out his hand. A samurai placed a sword in it, its hilt dyed a deep crimson, adorned with silver markings that gleamed ominously.
"Very well." His voice dripped with malice. "If that's what you wish…" He took a step forward, the ground seeming to tremble beneath him as he pointed the blade at Mirai.
"But understand this—if I win," he said, his words settling over the villagers like a death sentence, "then these people… will die by your hand."