[WIP] Ronin's Way
Still have some work to do shaving it down, but here's what I hope will win it!
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Yasuo rose his sword to shoulder-height.
He held it horizontal to the ground; the curve of the blade shone brightly beneath the sun.
Then he thrust it forward.
Skin tore like paper. An explosion of blood, like bursting a ballon, splattered upon Yasuo’s face. He heard the echoes of strangled gasps, violent coughing, noises too quiet and dull to be coming from the dying man just inches from him. Yasuo’s vision started to become blurry. The man’s sharp nose lost all definition, his mouth was ajar, in shock, blood streamed down the corners of his mouth and fell onto his chest. That color was overpowering all else.
Red.
Claw-like fingers brought some structure back to him. The man’s hands were gripping at Yasuo’s wrists. The grip was surprisngly tight. Adrenaline, shock, and fear, denial of death. Yasuo pushed his sword forward and he felt the sword’s point break through the skin on the back of the man’s neck. Now those fingers grew weak. They slid from Yasuo’s wrists to his blade. The ronin watched as those hands grabbed his blade in a feeble attempt to remove it from his neck.
More blood. More red. It now coated his sword. All those intricate designs along the blade, were now filled like tiny streams of crimson.
‘Did I think this sword would see so much blood?’
Yasuo blinked.
'So much Ionian blood?’
The man’s clawing ceased now. His arms were at his sides, limp, puppet-like but with torn strings. His face was almost the ghostly pale of death. And still, Yasuo kept him from passing by leaving that sword in his neck. All he could see, the only color his eyes sharpened, was that red.
Then there was a voice.
“Yasuo, enough.”
Yone.
Yasuo pulled his arm back. The sound of steel sliding against flesh was followed by a thud as the man’s body hit the ground. Yasuo turned on his heel, instantly, and faced the direction the voice came from with eyes wide. But all he saw was high grass, swaying in the wind. He looked to the right, another corpse lay on the ground amongst the grass. To the left, just the wind greeted him with a gentle breeze.
It was his voice. He could never forget, he could never mistake his voice for another. YONE told him to stop. He looked around and saw only the tops of high-grass, swaying in the wind.
There was no Yone.
Slowly, Yasuo sunk to the ground. He buried his sword into the dirt, point first, and he sat beside the dead man with indifference. By now a pool of blood had formed about his head and neck. It’d do nothing to nourish the earth or water the grass.
Spilled blood did nothing for the living. Blood was only spilled to avenge the dead.
Yasuo brought his legs up and rested his forearms upon his knees. His hands hung in the space between them– limp, fingers half-curled and dripping red. Breaths came slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. It was that way that Yasuo sat for several silent minutes. His headache still lingered, but this brief calm was enough to hold it at bay.
'I’m okay.’
The wind returned to him, the breeze gave him comfort like it always did.
'I’m okay.’
The breeze shifted slightly though, it was warmer now. Strange for this region of Ionia.
'I’m okay.’
Now the breeze was humid. Yasuo blinked. The color of the grass beneath him melded from green to yellow.
It was happening again.
Yasuo’s breath spiked and caught in his throat. He heard laughter. Slowly, his eyes rose from the ground to the space before him. The grass was only ankle-height now. Yellow, prime grazing area for the wild horses which roamed the plains of Ionia. Yasuo could see the outlines of two figures in the distance. They were running after one another. Zig-zagging and skipping away from the other’s touch, in both their hands were bokken, wooden training swords from their sword school.
The one chasing the other touched the back of his shirt with his sword. A triumphant cry rang out from him. The other’s shoulders drooped in defeat, and the boy turned his back to the other and placed his hands on his knees. The victor, rose the bokken and brought his arms all the way back, then a loud slap followed as he smacked the flat of the sword against the other’s rear.
Gleeful laughter followed, accentuated from a sharp yelp from the other. Then the victorious one sprinted ahead of him and became the chasee.
The two drew closer to Yasuo now. Yasuo tried to stand up from his position but he couldn’t move. He could only watch, and listen.
The laughing one, joyous and carefree, arm raised and bokken waving in the air, drew closer. Yasuo could make out his features, he could hear his voice clearly as he continued to run from the other, but the distance between the two boys became closer and closer.
“Yasuo! Yasuo! Enough! Ahahaha!”
Then the wind blew again and took it all away. A powerful gust came forth.The wind blew and blew, angry and tumultuous, and eventually Yasuo lowered his hand and the grass had changed back. It was tall, green. There was no laughter and there was no joy, only an empty field.
He inhaled after what seemed like an eternity, and only the sharp scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils.
Yasuo shuddered, his whole body shook, and he pressed his trembling hands against his head. Yasuo could feel the wetness from the blood against his skin as he pressed his fingers to his scalp. His body shook again. The headache came forth with full force, pressing against the inside of Yasuo’s skull and letting its thunderous presence be known. And Yasuo pushed back, his fingers squeezed his head in retaliation. Trying to shove the pain back in, trying to shove the memories and thoughts and voices and faces back in.
Yasuo’s face contorted in anguish and he could feel his whole torso trembling.
He tilted his head back and screamed.
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