Rain fell in relentless, blinding sheets, turning the earth to a churning sea of mud and blood. Lightning carved the night into fleeting moments of stark, terrible clarity. In one such flash, the monstrous silhouette of the Grand Oni loomed, a mountain of hatred made flesh, its roar swallowing the sounds of the dying. And in the next, he moved. Saturu, drenched and bleeding, was less a man and more a force of nature meeting its equal. His sword was not a blade of steel but an extension of his will, each movement a testament to the title they chanted in the cities he saved: Oni Slayer. He fought not for glory, but with the ghost of a promise whispering behind his eyes—a sister's face, a vow of protection. It was this memory that fueled the final, desperate arc of his sword, a blow that channeled the very storm itself into the creature's heart. The Oni shuddered, its malevolent light guttering out like a drowned star, and fell with a ground-shaking finality.
Silence, heavy and unnatural, descended upon the battlefield. The only sound was the drumming rain and Saturu's own ragged breaths, each one a burning ache. He staggered, his body a map of exhaustion, and drove his sword into the mud to keep from falling. It was over. He had done it. As the adrenaline faded, a profound weariness threatened to pull him under. It was then he heard the footsteps, squelching through the mire. He turned, a weary smile beginning to form for his comrades, for the men who had fought beside him. But the smile died unborn. Their faces, illuminated by a distant fork of lightning, were not etched with relief or triumph, but with a grim, terrifying resolution. They formed a half-circle around him, their weapons not sheathed, but held ready.
"Kage," Saturu breathed, his voice hoarse, his eyes locking with those of his second-in-command, his brother. "It is done. We can go home."
Kage's expression was a mask of pained necessity. "Home? Yes. But you see, Saturu, a new world needs a new order. One unburdened by a legend whose shadow is too long." The truth, cold and sharper than any blade, pierced him deeper than the Oni's claws ever could. This was not a skirmish; it was an execution. He was the last loose end. As they advanced, he tried to raise his sword, but his arms were leaden, his spirit crushed by the weight of the betrayal. The first blow was a brutal slash across his back from a warrior he had once saved. He cried out, not from the pain, but from the injustice. The final strike came from Kage himself, a clean, merciless thrust that stole the breath from his lungs. As he fell backward, the world tilting, he saw the edge of the cliff and the raging waterfall below. His last thought was not of his killers, but of her. I'm sorry. I wasn't strong enough. Forgive me.The darkness rushed up to claim him, but as the icy water embraced his falling body, a final, searing spark of consciousness flared. A voice, ancient and absolute, spoke not to his ears but to his soul: A vow unbroken. A will unyielding. You are granted the Authority. Then, nothing.