THE ETERNAL SWORDSMAN
Chapter 8: RYOMEN TETSU ANKRAII
FEW YEARS AGO...
The wind howled against the cliffside walls of the Hitorika Swordsman Headquarters. The banners bearing the sigil of the moon swayed with each gust, their fabric whispering of centuries of tradition. Lanterns burned with steady flames, filling the stone halls with a golden glow. Within the training court, three figures stood at the center, and time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Kanyko adjusted the straps of his uniform, his eyes flicking curiously toward the headmaster who stood before them. Hiyori Kimimoro was as still as carved granite, his towering frame casting a shadow that stretched across the courtyard tiles. He wore a Japanese straw hat with white ribbons that fell and covered parts of his face; beneath those ribbons, his very dark grey eyes so close to black they swallowed light watched like coals. His long, straight black hair hung pale and tied loosely at the end; his shoulders were broad and the presence he carried felt older than his years. Beside him stood Ukoten, silent and sharp-eyed, his presence already carrying the quiet authority of a man destined to lead.
Across from them was Juzou Sasesage, younger, leaner, but already carrying the weight of sorrow etched into his eyes. His short grey hair fell loosely over his forehead, damp from training. Even here, among comrades, he seemed apart like a man standing one step outside the world.
Headmaster Hiyori's presence did not ease. He tilted his straw hat, the white ribbons fluttering. "Kanyko," he said, voice low, "I want you to meet someone."
Kanyko's grin softened into something warmer, professional. He stepped closer to the younger swordsman. "You'll be part of Division Four under my watch," he told Juzou. "We keep it honest and bloody. You'll do fine."
When the boy blinked, Hiyori added, with a rare softness that the courtyard had not felt in years, "We will care for him. He will be trained. He will belong."
Later, Kanyko and Juzou walked through the headquarter grounds: the ceded courtyards where trainees practiced katas until dawn, the stone steps where veterans sharpened their blades, and the quiet shaded corridors lined with the faces of those who had fallen. Kanyko kept the talk light where he could.
"I heard what happened," Kanyko said after a pause. "I am deeply sorry for your loss. So you are gonna stay here at the headquarters from now on, right?"
Juzou's eyes tightened; for a moment his facade cracked. "Yes." The answer was small and final implying there was nowhere else to go.
Kanyko's smile returned, gentler. "Cool. Now I'll introduce you to some of the finest people I know. You'll love it here. And by the way, when we are alone you don't have to be formal with me we're around the same age after all."
A small, reluctant laugh slipped out of Juzou. He followed Kanyko with the awkward eagerness of someone newly given shelter.
Down the long corridor, Ukoten walked with his long black hair flowing through the lantern light, silent and composed. The corridor hushed around him; even the shadows seemed to respect the way he moved. From a nearby doorway a voice rose in greeting.
"Brother," came the familiar sound.
A younger version of Division Seven's Master Mikoto Senju stepped forward, long straight black hair and red eyes catching the lantern glow. He glanced at Ukoten with a look that carried both deference and blunt curiosity.
"You sensed it?" Mikoto asked quietly. "I want to know that Juzou... what is the nature of his Karma energy?"
Ukoten paused, considering. He didn't look surprised; instead, his voice was calm but edged with something like perplexity. "I didn't sense much, not in the way we expect. But when I was close to him I felt uncertainty which doesn't make sense at all. Not for a sword born under the Hitorika." He shook his head with slight concern
Mikoto's jaw tightened. He narrowed his eyes and said nothing more; he did not need to. The quiet between them was heavier than the lantern light.
The clang of steel from the training court echoed like an aftershock, the memory of Kanyko's laughter and Hiyori's instructive voice folding back into the present, until the past itself seemed to shudder and the scene dissolved.
The city burned.
Ash spiraled into the night as flames devoured the rooftops, painting the streets red and black. At the center of the chaos, Juzou Sasesage stood with his blade raised, his mouth twisted into a manic grin.
"Do you see it, Hayate Senju?" His voice cracked with fervor. "This is the truth of power. This is the peak of a hitorika!"
The steel of his blade pulsed grotesquely, veins of molten crimson crawling across its surface as if it were alive. Each thrum sent ripples of distortion through the air. The weapon's edges wept shadow; the smell of iron and rot rolled across the burned pavement.
Hayate braced himself, lightning sparking violently around his body, arcs snapping across the charred stones beneath his feet. "You've gone too far, Juzou. Whatever that you have becomr it's not something any swordsman should be."
Juzou's eyes widened, wild and bloodshot. "Not swordsman? No, Hayate… this is transcendence!"
With a scream, he drove the blade into the cracked ground. The earth split open, and from the fissures burst a storm of Hollowkind misshapen creatures clawing and shrieking as they poured into the burning streets. They spilled like a black tide, their eyes bright coals in a sea of shadow.
Hayate's jaw clenched. In an instant, his Raiken ignited with scarlet light, the energy coiling like a storm. He cut through the first wave in a flash, his strikes too fast for the eye to follow. Every swing left arcs of blood and light across the battlefield; the air sizzled with the scent of burnt meat and ozone.
Yet for every Hollowkind he felled, more erupted from the rip. The ground itself seemed endless, birthing horrors without end.
Above the cacophony, Juzou's laughter echoed. "You can't save them all, Hayate! You can't even save yourself!"
Then it shifts.
At the headquarters, Division Seven's Master Mikoto clenched a fist until the knuckles whitened. He watched the feed from Setagaya on a wall of lantern-glass like any other commander. "Hayate," he murmured, low and taut, "I know you can do this… Besides, you are my nephew." The words were equal parts faith and fear; he could sense the bite of something darker behind Juzou's new ability.
In the mayor's office, men in pressed suits scrambled for radios and phones, barking orders. "Get troops air support anything!" the mayor yelled, voice high with panic.
A hush fell like a stone when Royal blue karma energy flooded the room. The air thickened. The mayor's raised hand dropped; his knees buckled and he slumped back into his chair, eyes rolling as sleep rolled over him. Headmaster Ukoten's silhouette filled the doorway, aura pulsing like a tide.
"Sleep…" Ukoten said once, the word a blade. The mayor fainted clean away, the phone dropped from limp fingers. Ukoten's aura hardly wavered. "You can't interfere. Don't worry no one else will die."
His presence was a dam across the screaming world; the military calls died in his shadow.
Back in Setagaya the war crashed on.
Again Hayate and Juzou locked eyes. A whirl of Hollowkind sprang from the ground and latched onto Hayate's katana: numerous hideous hands, teeth, and jaws clinging like a chain, holding the blade in place with massive grip. Hayate's muscles bulged; electricity danced over his skin, desperate to break free.
Juzou moved his mouth and a howl spilled out of him as he intoned, "HOLLOW SUMMONING SPACE RIP HOLLOW ART HOLLOWKIND RYOMONO!!!"
From the roaring rift ripped open a massive void. A giant, dragon-like Hollowkind with purple eyes rose, larger than a bus, scales like smoking obsidian, and a maw that could swallow cars whole. The air bent around it; the rift pulsed with hungry light.
Time seemed to slow. The dragon lunged, huge teeth closing toward Hayate's throat. The sense of finality swallowed the rooftop; even seasoned swordsmen felt the cold of loss press under their ribs.
Then everything changed in a splatter of motion and moonlight.
The dragon its huge head already closing about Hayate shredded into pieces mid-lunge. White bone and black flesh exploded outward as someone cut through it cleanly with a single stroke.
Juzou stared, slack-mouthed in a rare shock. Hayate's eyes found the blade, and his breath left him in a ragged exhale.
You could see it then: a katana, blue and black, dripping hollowkind blood; moonlight pulsing along its spine. The blade was lodged in the creature, its edges still humming with cold karma.
"you…" Hayate whispered, recognition striking him like a blow.
From the dim smoke stepped Hiruko Kyotetsu blood on his clothing, hair windblown, eyes calm and electric. He pulled the katana free with quiet strength and looked toward Juzou.
Hatake beside him said, in that same flat, steady voice, "Sorry we're late."
Juzou smiled, that twisted grin returning like a wound reopening. "Master Hatake and some random, huh?"
Hatake's face did not move; his voice was a command held back at the root. "Do it, Hiruko."
Hiruko's answer came like thunder and a boyish shout fused one word: "YEAH!!"
His katana flared. Royal blue karma energy poured from the blade like ocean light. The moon seemed to lean in, its pale face caught in the blade's glow. For one impossible heartbeat the war paused, the air thick with the taste of destiny and steel.
The night inhaled.
TO BE CONTINUED....