#shousan

Blade met metal. The sound of swords clashing with each other—razor-sharp steel slicing through air—resounded in this large room they made their dance hall. Their sparring had only just begun, however he had never been more sorely tested than when he practiced with her. She could read the energy; his moves entirely predicted as she came at him with the intent to fell her foe. The best he could manage was dodging and blocking her precisely, and swiftly, calculated moves. Which spoke malms about his own skill. That he was capable of matching her was impressive enough.

And yet, their dance was over soon after it started. He saw her waver, her footing beginning to slip which prompted him to immediately withdraw. In a fluid motion, he sheathed his blade and reached out to grab her as she fell. Her face pale and turned downcast; her limbs struggling to regain energy. This was becoming more constant as the days went on. Each time they sparred, he noticed she would begin to fall sooner than the time previous. Hearing her pant in his arms, he lamented their fate. This was his fault for not breaking her host sooner.

That was because he was under the impression Nobushige’s mentality would not hold for long in the beginning—the Raen’s mind lacking traits which individuals oft expressed. He was wholly malleable and frailly motivated. If he could’ve been convinced that Hers was best suited as the dominant personality, he would’ve been no more. Then, this wouldn’t be happening. But encountering that person changed everything. The person who challenged Nobushige to want for himself and not others.

He had to be careful about where he held her. When she was given a moment of consciousness, she was made to endure a terrible pain. The Raen’s body scarred with injuries new and old. Though he could not feel a thing, she could. She felt it all. This body didn’t belong to that man anymore and he should learn to treat it better for her sake. Damn his skewered morality. He shouldn’t have to worry about the wants or final wishes of his prey. All should be done in her interests even if it means viewing the rest of the world’s inhabitants as worthless cattle.

Eat, kill, and give her your service eternal. She was too beautiful to be left wanting and ever suffering from this hurt. She was his god. An entire life time of devotion to her…only for this to be their outcome? It wasn’t acceptable. One day, he too would waste away like ash, his skin already littered with dark marks of age. Had he truly the time to save her before she was subjected to the same end?

She had thought him something like an untouchable presence. Stoic, and someone hard-pressed to give way into what he felt. He always wore the straightest of faces, even when around the woman he swore his life to. Even in all the years they had trained together, she had yet to see his perfect image crack. Shousan was overly paranoid, sure, but she wouldn’t consider that a weakness of his. He had reason to be. Probably.

Surely…someone like him would be just as untouchable in a game of poker. He’d wear the most unreadable face and have zero tells. A formidable opponent to try their skills against on game night. She’d tried to convince him before, but he never relented. Until now.

Until recently, they hadn’t the luxury to afford time to spare on such a trivial leisure. But as the days went on and the danger which once loomed over them started to become naught but a distant memory, they found more opportunities to just enjoy the simpler things in life. Such as gambling. Whilst they didn’t gamble their hard earned funds away, they instead traded jobs. Their household chores. On-top of winning a week of relaxation, the victor would also be made any one meal of their choice the night after.

It wasn’t really anything that interested the old geezer, however, when she offered him a chance at having her cook for him, he finally took slight interest. Not to say she was skilled at cooking food or anything—in fact, she’d never had much success beyond putting together bread and butter—but he was something of a traditionalist; and if it got him to at least try having fun for a change, then it was worth it.

And once their small group of eight were all seated around the table, their cards dealt out in front of them…Honozuka watched Shousan for any sort of notable tells. And like she expected, there weren’t any. Not in the first few rounds they played, at least. Shousan was losing, and it looked like Tsukiyode would walk away the winner. However, as the next batch of cards were tossed around, Honozuka noticed a change in Shousan’s demeanor. He tapped his right index finger atop the table in an offhand manner. The most basic of tells in the books. Looking up into his eyes, she could see the faintest glimmer of a smile hiding within them. Really? Was he actually this telling in poker? Was he actually having fun?

His journeys had taken him far from the land in which he once called home. Across plains, treacherous mountains and rivers…through many a quaint village, and the largest of cities. All to find that which he sought most. An answer to the riddle he was unable to solve, try as he might.

He had heard rumours about a small town towards the east that surrounded a well so deep that it was said to house a spirit inside. Or rather, that it had the power to draw from its depths a creature from the bowels of hell. That should one who tosses a coin inside prove fortunate enough, his wish would be granted by whatever first took hold of the thrown copper.

Whilst at times, those who asked for their wish to be granted brought great prosperity to their farmland and trade, at other times…their wishes were twisted into a cruel misfortune and they would find their homes pillaged and their crops destroyed.

It was a risk he was willing to take if it meant a chance at reuniting with his beloved. The woman who appeared to him as a child and freed him from his family in a swathe of beautiful crimson.

And thus, when at last, he stood afore the well that would either curse him or bless him with the answers he longed for, he wasted no time in tossing in a coin of the finest quality. An aged coin that once belonged to a prestigious lord and engraved with his face. Given the lengths it took him to acquire it, he feared less the consequence.

Peering into the black waters beneath him—the townsfolk all nested in their beds as the night was ripe with darkness, Shousan awaited whatever spirit lurked in its caverns with naught but the faint light of his held lantern. The ripples from whence his coin sank were yet fluttering in motion until they faded away into utter stillness.

Yet nothing appeared before him. No such spirit or illusion of one. He thought then to walk away and continue his search elsewhere, however…a voice came to him then. It spoke curiously inside his mind and told him what he presumably desired. Whether it was a lie, or the truth…it mattered none to him.

“A mortal heart. Innocence, given way into sin. A vessel without fear. With will unbreakable. With will yet to break. Acquaint yourself with a boy named Dairoku in a city further east. His son…he shall be the first to carry the spirit you keep by your side.”

If it was a lie, then he would waste many of his years and be well into old age. Rendered incapable of further pursuit of his life’s mission. If it was the truth, then it would all be worth it in the end. ‘She’ would be of this world once more. That was all that he cared for, ultimately. He held no compassion for others; even his own self.

Another waste of time. Yet again, his efforts proved fruitless. Though he was certain he had the right of it, the host bodies he had ripened to maturity lasted no more than a few days at best. He had thought at least he would be somewhat contented by seeing ‘Her’ again, but he hadn’t found a vessel proper enough to coax her spirit into arising. Those who tried merely spent their last moments quaking and bedridden, unable to eat.

And then, they’d flail violently out of control until their limbs cracked and dislocated—their minds falling victim to severe shock which would soon claim them if their self-inflicted wounds did not first.

He attempted to remedy this by restraining them, but then they would not eat or drink; and because their trauma would not relent, they would die to starvation.

‘Core, Heart,’ and ‘Void.’ When all three conditions were met, she would be brought back to him in a proper mortal form, extending that of the sword he had wielded most of his life. However, it was the last condition which posed him trouble to no avail. It mattered not how much time he had; nor how many disposables he went through. If he couldn’t ascertain the meaning, he would never see her brought back from the inanimate. She would remain a sword forever…and he might not live long enough to see her freed. Even if a malignant formless thing was all she would be.

“Worthless.”

He soon found himself unable to see those around him as people anymore. They were now simply objects of waste. That those who found themselves strapped to his table had dreams meant absolutely nothing to him. If they were not capable of drawing forth her spirit true and whole, then they were but pigs to be put to slaughter.

‘Void.’

Void of what exactly?

If she required a spot to house herself, he would carve out their eyes—pull out their tongue; strip them of whatever innards they could live without…

If she required someone devoid of emotions, he would break them down until nothing remained.

If she required them to be without a soul, however…he yet knew naught how to strip one’s soul from their flesh.

In earnest, it made the most conjunctive sense. If ‘Core’ meant energy, and ‘Heart’ meant flesh, then surely ‘Void’ would detail the absence of soul.

Those who live are born with one attached. And without, they are no more than a rotted corpse. To find someone who can survive it being sundered…or to locate a vessel with it already removed would be no easy feat.

That he had come this far meant he would go farther still.