#ryukotsuki

Not when Fuma had come so far and fought so long to regain what was lost and avenge his fallen brothers and hurt family name. With the blade of his family - once split into three and repaired as one again - on top of his iron will and nearly endless amounts of energy stemming from his determination… Fuma had thought he had a better chance than before to win. The sword itself was nothing without the wielder, blood of the god who had first carried it from heaven, and the fight could just as well have been won, perhaps, with just fisticuffs alone. The samurai was certain that he was no longer that arrogant, over-confident young boy who had thought facing off against a great demon such as the Bone Dragon would have been a cake walk. He had learned over the years of him being just as much of a prisoner on the hellish islands as the small human populace. Then over the course of his journey, he’s truly opened his eyes and taken to heart of what mattered the most and that he will not repeat the same mistakes he had done decades ago.

So it… really wasn’t meant to be this way.

He can feel the hot, sticky tongue wet with his own blood on his shoulder. The claws against his flawless skin, minor cuts and scrapes having healed quickly and left nothing but a dull sting behind. The demon’s venom had put a stop to that process quickly once it really began to sink in, and open wounds stayed that way for much longer and bled freely. Fuma feels that he will soon learn just how his brothers died behind the gates those many years ago, and how disappointed in him they must be to know their sacrifices were in vain.