by Bryce Allen
He couldn’t hear Hiroshi, but the fight wasn’t over. Once Kenji felt he was a safe distance away, he tried to pull his feet beneath him, but his arm faltered. The wound was deep.
Before Kenji could shift his weight to the other arm, a firm hand gripped the robes at the back of his neck. For a moment, Kenji thought Hiroshi was helping him to his feet. That farce ended quickly.
One sharp tug, and Kenji was off the ground. He flailed against Hiroshi’s strength, but it didn’t help. Hiroshi lifted him like freshly caught prey, displayed for the world to see.
Kenji’s feet dangled inches from the ground, but he still had his sword. He slashed at Hiroshi, all technique forgotten. One flick of the Zettai, and Ebusu’s blade was knocked from Kenji’s grip.
Hiroshi adjusted his grip on the Zettai, so that the blade was downwards. Kenji flailed again, but Hiroshi ignored it.
Hiroshi tensed, and his fist smashed into Kenji’s stomach. Dangling from Hiroshi’s grip, all Kenji could do was take the full force of the strike. The air left his lungs, and the wound on his chest opened further.
“Stop fighting and I can end this without any more suffering.” Hiroshi hissed the words. “Please.”
Kenji’s hearing was returning, but he didn’t hear the words. He kicked at Hiroshi, still dangling in the air. The attack missed, pathetic in every way except the effort it took to perform.
A fist crushed his stomach again. Kenji’s body went limp and his abdomen lit up with pain.
Kenji convulsed, still hanging from Hiroshi’s grip. It was the mindless flailing of dying animal. At that point, it didn’t matter if Hiroshi hit him again. His mind could only process so much pain, and on a primal level, that brought Kenji comfort.
Kenji’s body swayed, and he felt the sun’s rays warm his other side. He was being displayed to the audience. Hiroshi didn’t gloat or boast of his victory, nor was he consumed with blood lust. He simply wanted everyone to know that this was a decisive victory.
Kenji wanted it to end. A part of him silently begged Hiroshi to kill him. It would be the easiest path. He never thought he would die while being held to a crowd. It seemed like a dishonorable way to leave the world, but at least the pain would end.
Kenji wasn’t sure if it was the pain fading, or the calm of certain death, but a new voice entered his thoughts. It was a rebellious voice, filled with hope. The thought was clear and focused, and it was powerful enough that Kenji whispered the words aloud.
“Close, but not quite.”
Hiroshi heard him speak but couldn’t make out the words. He leaned in to better hear.
It took every ounce of will Kenji had left to raise his knee to his chest. He was worried that the damage from Hiroshi’s strikes would slow him down, but he mustered just enough speed.
He stomped down towards Hiroshi’s sword hand. Hiroshi didn’t expect such violence from Kenji and was caught off guard. Kenji’s heel smashed into hilt of the Zettai.
Hiroshi’s grip was strong, but he wasn’t prepared. The Zettai was ripped from his hand and clattered to the ground. Hiroshi barked his despair. Kenji fell to the ground, pulling Hiroshi down with him. Without the strength of the Zettai, Hiroshi was unable to hold Kenji up.
The Zettai was only two paces away. Kenji saw it first. He dove for the blade as Hiroshi fumbled to a kneeling position. Hiroshi dove too, but it was too late.
Kenji reached it.
Kenji’s fingers wrapped around the handle of the Zettai. The power he felt was potent. The sword’s energy filled him, spreading like roots through his body. It embedded itself in him, solidifying his body and mind.
A desperate groan escaped Hiroshi’s lips and he scrambled backward. Kenji paid him no mind. He was in his own world.
Kenji moved smoothly to his feet. His body was light, and it took only the slightest effort to move. The pain in his abdomen still throbbed, but it was just an annoyance now. His chest wound still trickled with blood, but the strength returned to the muscle.
Kenji looked around. Every little pebble of the arena floor appeared to him. He saw details in the stone around him that he’d never noticed before.
With a sudden snap of clarity, Kenji’s hearing became strong and clear. He could hear Hiroshi’s panicked breath. Kenji thought, just for a moment, he could even hear Hiroshi’s heartbeat.
Wielding the Zettai was never part of Kenji’s plan, but the plan had little importance now. With the power Kenji felt, they didn’t need it.
Kenji heard Hiroshi scoop something off the ground that got his attention. He turned to look at Hiroshi, and Kenji felt a flash of anger.
Hiroshi, in his desperation, had picked up Ebusu’s sword. Kenji cocked his head and raised the corner of his lip in disgust. Hiroshi didn’t deserve to wield his master’s sword.
“Put that down,” Kenji said. “This is over.”
Hiroshi got to his feet and leveled the sword at Kenji. Hiroshi shook his head. Even from a distance, Kenji noticed the tears swelling in his eyes. Hiroshi knew he would die.
It didn’t quell Kenji’s anger. The Zettai enhanced his emotion, as it did his strength. Hiroshi would drop that sword.
Hiroshi took a few tentative steps towards Kenji, Ebusu’s sword at the ready. Didn’t he understand that Kenji would destroy him?
Hiroshi took one more step. He was only a pace away from striking range. The Zettai still at his side, Kenji stood still. He didn’t drop into a stance or ready the sword. He only stared into Hiroshi’s eyes, testing his mettle.
Finally, Hiroshi attacked. The moment Hiroshi raised his sword for the cut, time slowed for Kenji. Hiroshi screamed. Kenji could see every muscle tense in his body.
Kenji didn’t raise the sword or shift away. He didn’t need to. Kenji took a calm step to the side and let Hiroshi finish his cut. The blade passed beside him, cutting only air.
Hiroshi moved into the next cut, and Kenji felt his body tense and change direction. He knew exactly what attack was coming next.
Hiroshi pulled the sword back and threw his whole body into a lunge. Kenji turned away from it and watched the blade stab the air.
Hiroshi’s attacks continued. He slashed at Kenji, never catching anything but the air around him. Kenji never raised the Zettai, he dodged every desperate attack. Hiroshi was tiring, and his attacks weakened with every swing, but he kept coming at Kenji.
The only thing Hiroshi accomplished was to anger Kenji further. Hiroshi had killed Ebusu and was now wielding his sword. Not only that, but the blade was being wielded by an inept swordsman. It wasn’t right.
Kenji wound up for an attack. It was a sloppy cut, nothing like what Ebusu taught him. Kenji didn’t care. He was still testing his strength.
The preparation for the attack gave Hiroshi enough time to get his sword up. Kenji unleashed the horizontal cut. It met Hiroshi’s block just above the handle. Kenji didn’t know if it was luck or skill, but if the attack had landed any higher, Hiroshi would have been impaled by his own sword.
The full power of the Zettai knocked Hiroshi into the air. He sailed backward, legs kicking, searching for the ground. Somehow, he landed on his feet, only falling to a crouch when he hit the ground.
Kenji wasn’t going to give him time to think. He kicked off the ground. His own speed surprised him. He moved over the ground at a pace he didn’t think was possible. One moment he was five steps away from Hiroshi, the next he was behind him. With that much speed and strength, Kenji could leap over the arena walls and into the crowd.
Hiroshi spun around to face Kenji, cutting as he turned. Kenji didn’t expect the cut, but he was fast enough to block it. Hiroshi had to take a step to keep his balance, and Kenji capitalized.
Kenji freed a hand from the Zettai and dug his heel into the ground. He brought his fist back to his side, then thrust it out. The punch was complete before Kenji even comprehended it. His fist landed in the center of Hiroshi’s forehead.
Hiroshi flopped backwards, dazed. He groaned softly while
clutching his head. If Kenji acted soon, the fight was over. He marveled at his fist. That kind of strike should have broken his hand. He flexed his fingers to confirm there was no damage.
He felt invincible.
Kenji moved to finish Hiroshi. Before he could, he noticed strange noises coming from the crowd. People gasped, and the frantic crowd moved away from the emperor’s balcony. It only took Kenji a second to realize what was happening.
Kami was executing their plan.
She was already in the balcony. Kenji couldn’t see her, but the distant clash of steel filled the arena. Even Hiroshi turned his attention to the balcony, confused. Kenji listened to the struggle, his patience fading.
If he thought she would fail, even for a moment, the Zettai would allow him to leap to the balcony and take control. A smile almost crossed his lips when he imagined how angry Kami would be.
After a moment that felt like an hour, Kami succeeded. Sagura’s back appeared on the edge of the balcony. His hand was raised, begging Kami not to do it. She did it anyway, of course.
One sharp shove, and Sagura tumbled of the edge. They needed him alive, but Kenji wouldn’t mind if he landed on his head. The fall was only fifteen, maybe twenty feet. He’d live.
Sagura flailed mid-air, golden robes twisting around him. To his credit, he landed on his feet. Unfortunately, his legs were unable to withstand the weight of the girth he’d attained through wealth. Kenji heard the satisfying snap of his leg breaking.
Unable to catch himself, Sagura landed chest down. He rolled in agony, clutching his leg. The break occurred mid-shin, leaving his foot twisted at a sickening angle. After the shock wore off, Sagura pulled himself to a sitting position and looked up at Kenji.
Before she could climb down, Kami was overwhelmed by the soldiers guarding Taijin. Kenji caught a glimpse of the men surrounding her. They held their spears to the skin of her neck. Even with his speed, Kenji couldn’t reach her before they killed her.
Kenji’s fear for Kami was overwhelmed by Sagura’s presence. He had questions for the governor, to say the least.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Kenji said, his voice loud enough for all to hear.
He leveled the sword at Sagura and waited.
Sagura forced a laugh but cut it off when he winced in pain.
“You did well, Kenji.” His voice was quiet, meant only for Kenji.
“Tell the people what you did, what Hiroshi did,” Kenji demanded, frustration seeping into his words.
“What do you want me to tell them?”
“Tell them the truth,” Kenji growled.
Sagura nodded, lost in thought. “I hoped you were the man Ebusu believed you to be, and I am not disappointed.”
Kenji surged forward. Before Sagura could even blink, Kenji was over him. Kenji did not strike Sagura; instead, he leaned over him until they were face to face. Sagura’s words fell on deaf ears. Hearing his master’s name only fueled the fire building in Kenji.
“The people need to know how you worked with Hiroshi to kill Taishi and sabotage the Tenno Tournament.”
Kenji didn’t realize it, but he was shouting.
His anger only calmed Sagura. Kenji’s mind wouldn’t make sense of it. He should be begging for his life and admitting his sins. What was he doing? What side was he on? Kenji glared at the governor, trying to understand.
“I will attest to Ebusu’s innocence.”
His words made the crowd stir. People were confused, but most of all, people were scared. Some of them shouted, demanding more of the truth.
None of this made sense to Kenji. The plan was simple. Kami would force Sagura into the arena, and out of fear for his life, he would confess his crimes. Hiroshi’s plan would end, and the people would know the truth.
That wasn’t happening. Sagura didn’t have a hint of fear in his eyes. He was sympathetic towards Kenji. He spoke with the kind of soft tone that only a friend would use.
Then, Sagura lowered his voice again so only Kenji could hear, “I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, but the empire needed you back, Kenji.”
In the rumble of the crowd Kenji lost track of Hiroshi’s breathing.
“Kenji!”
Sagura’s warning saved Kenji’s life. He turned towards the direction of Sagura’s stare. Hiroshi’s blade darted towards Kenji’s heart like an arrow. The tip of the blade was only inches away when Kenji saw it.
Kenji was fast, but Hiroshi was close. Kenji leaned away from the lunge and brought his sword up to protect his heart. Hiroshi’s blade caught Kenji’s chest, just below his collarbone.
There was enough power behind the stab that the blade pierced Kenji’s flesh. Kenji could do nothing as the sword slid under his collar bone and erupted through the top of his shoulder.
Both warriors froze. Kenji didn’t dare move. He was a worm on a hook, unable to squirm for fear of tearing himself apart. Hiroshi was in as much shock as Kenji. Every breath Kenji took felt like he was being torn apart from the inside.
The pain dulled most of his thoughts. The side that Hiroshi had impaled was his dominant arm, and the one with the Zettai in it. If Hiroshi realized how much damage he’d caused he would pluck the sword from Kenji’s fingers.
Kenji’s free hand darted to the hilt. Hiroshi reached for it, but Kenji got to it first. Hiroshi saw that he was too late and recoiled, pulling the sword from Kenji’s flesh. Kenji made a few quick slashes to push him back.
Hiroshi took a defensive position a few paces back. Kenji was surprised at how easily the sword left his body. It was as if Hiroshi was pulling the sword from still water.
The burning pain of steel was replaced by a new pain. Kenji’s heart pounded, and he felt every beat in his new, gaping wound. He knew that the Zettai was masking the pain, but the Zettai was not replacing the blood pouring from his shoulder.
Kenji stumbled backwards, the blood loss and shock overwhelming him. He still felt light, but not because of the Zettai’s strength. He felt himself fall back, but he didn’t have the energy to stop it.
Kenji didn’t fall far, and his head didn’t split against the arena floor. He felt a presence catch him, or perhaps Kenji just landed on someone. His consciousness was fading, and Kenji couldn’t tell.
Kenji was pulled into a sitting position against the person that caught him.
“Sagura?”
“Clear your mind.” Sagura’s voice was harsh and demanding. It grated against the sleep that Kenji was desperate for.
In the distance, Hiroshi came in and out of focus. He was moving closer, but he was cautious.
“Do you feel the Zettai in your hand?” Sagura asked.
Kenji glanced down through half lidded eyes.
“Tighten your grip.”
Kenji’s eyes found his hand. His hand was pale, with tints of ashen purple. Above all else, it was cold. His whole body was cold. Kenji was surprised to find he was barely gripping the sword. If he let go any more the sword would fall to the side.
“Tighten your grip,” Sagura demanded.
Kenji groaned and pulled his fingers tight around the hilt. Kenji questioned what he felt, but the hilt was warm. It didn’t burn him. It was a soothing warmth that spread over his body like the sun-bathed stones near the waterfall. The tighter he gripped the sword, the faster the warmth moved over his body.
“You were chosen by the blade,” Sagura said. “You cannot die here, the empire still needs you.”
With that, Sagura shoved Kenji to his feet. Kenji caught himself from falling forward and balanced. His right arm hung at his side. He was unable to lift it, but there was enough muscle left for him to keep it close.
Hiroshi was only a pace outside of striking range. Kenji raised the Zettai between them. The roots of power spread from the blade into his being. The energy was a wildfire consuming him, suspending him in an alert state.
Hiroshi lunged, cutting down toward Kenji’s wounded shoulder. Kenji shifted back and caught the attack with the Z
ettai. Even with its power, Kenji was slower than he had been before. In contrast, Hiroshi seemed faster and stronger than before. His cuts were clear and purposeful.
Kenji countered the attack with a cut to Hiroshi’s neck. It was an awkward angle for Kenji. He was so far from his center line that the cut was ineffective. Hiroshi leaned to the side and the cut passed over him, exactly as Kenji anticipated.
The failed cut brought Kenji’s’ arm to a position where he could easily cut again. He redirected his attack before Hiroshi could correct his balance.
It was a short cut, but it landed. Kenji’s attack ripped through the soft flesh just below Hiroshi’s ribs. Hiroshi choked back a scream. If he hadn’t already been moving away from the cut, it would have taken his life.
Hiroshi gritted his teeth and pulled away. He took a heavy step backward and the sword left his flesh. He didn’t bother taking any time to recover.
Hiroshi stepped back in and slapped the Zettai to the side, creating an opening. He made a vicious slash at Kenji’s face. Kenji dodged it, but the quickness of the attack almost caught him.
Hiroshi made several more cuts. All of them were well timed, but desperate. Hiroshi shouted with every one. They were deep, inaudible screams, tearing from his throat. Some of his steps were starting to catch the ground, nearly causing him to stumble.
Kenji was forced to give up ground. He deflected every wild cut but took a step back with every one. Finally, Hiroshi made a cut that threw him off balance. Hiroshi’s blade traveled farther than his body would allow.
Kenji struck. It was a simple cut at Hiroshi’s neck. Hiroshi threw his sword up with only inches between Kenji’s blade and his neck. Their swords locked, and they pushed into each other.
Kenji pushed all the strength his single arm could muster against Hiroshi’s two. They were perfectly matched. Their blades trembled with the same effort their bodies did.
Both men were bloodied, and both were next to death. They held their ground. Steel grated against steel, and all Kenji could see was the sharp side of Ebusu’s blade trying to reach him.
