Crimson Blades

**DISCLAIMER. THIS STORY CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND ELEMENTS OF CHILD ABUSE.**

The stench of blood and iron sat in the air. As Kojiro passed through the slaughtered village, his wild hair stood on end. The fact the blood was still fresh meant he was close. The warrior had been following a series of massacres throughout his lord’s military territory, personally dispatched by the warlord to dispatch the threat.

His hand tensed on his sword’s handle. All of the attacks had been against villages hosting the lord’s armies. Each time, Kojiro found his fully armored compatriots slaughtered like lambs. At the current rate, his lord would swiftly fall to his enemies in a few months’ time.

The warrior already knew what monster was behind this carnage. The display brought him back to the days when he was still learning the art of the blade. Kojiro held his first sword when he was eight years old. He killed his first man only a year later, when he and his master were ambushed by soldiers.

The boy’s hands couldn’t stop shaking as he held the weapon. His opponent was old, feeble, and already wounded, but Kojiro still feared for his life. The man roared as he struck at Kojiro, who managed to parry the blow with a strong swing of his own.

The man turned and furiously pulled his blade back up, slicing deep into Kojiro’s cheek. The boy felt searing pain as hot blood streamed down his chin. With a pained scream, he tore his blade into the man’s side, and the man crumpled to the ground.

Behind Kojiro, his master sounded his praise. “A fine kill. You’re well on your way, my boy.”

The boy turned, and he saw the old man covered in blood splatters, his sword still dripping with red essence. The seasoned killer whipped his blade and sheathed it, approaching Kojiro. He examined the boy’s face and wiped the blood away with his hand. “You now have the face of a warrior,” he told the young Kojiro with a smile.

The older Kojiro looked back on that smile with disgust as his finger traced the scar. He continued following the trail of slain men through the village, ignoring the weak cries of those still bleeding.

Out of the droning ambience, an agonizing scream sounded. The warrior started into a sprint, quickly deducing the origin. He weaved between the buildings and came upon a darkened alleyway. On the other side, a villager cried as a thin figure drove its blade through them.

Kojiro sprinted forward, blade drawn. The figure evaded his strike and fled, dragging its sword out of the body with a spray of blood. Kojiro turned away from the shower as the killer made its escape.

The warrior gave chase, remembering the most vile sin of his master.

In another massacre, Kojiro found the old man hunched over something. As he approached, he found another child, held still by the old man. The boy’s hand gripped a dull knife, covered in blood like the other two. The master turned to Kojiro, his shoulder bleeding profusely.

He said, “Look, Kojiro. You have yourself a brother.”

His smile was unsettlingly wide. “His name is Kiryu.”

The boys trained against each other for years. Kojiro easily dominated at first, but Kiryu showed an aptitude for learning and paired it with a tricky mind. Their master quickly took a liking to the second boy. He would often give Kiryu additional lessons in swordplay, as well as closely accompany him whenever the three ended up killing their way out of imminent danger. The young Kojiro bore many scars from those battles, called “mortal reminders” by his master.

The warrior felt a burning in his heart as he raced through the village. The killer had put a sizeable distance between them, growing wider with each pace. The figure fled into the nearby forest where Kojiro couldn’t track him easily.

The man charged furiously into the treeline, pausing when he found himself in a clearing surrounded by deep shadows. He analyzed his surroundings as he caught his breath, sword at the ready.

Rustling sounded above him, and Kojiro rolled away from a deadly falling strike. The killer immediately launched a flurry of attacks, slicing into Kojiro. The warrior’s instincts allowed him to barely avoid being slashed through a vital area.

Kojiro struck back, wheeling his sword at his attacker repeatedly. The killer masterfully deflected the blows before slicing into Kojiro’s leg. The warrior yelled out and swung with wild abandon, pushing his blade through the killer’s attempts to block.

He felt his sword cleave into flesh, but his enemy was able to prevent it from cutting through his ribs.

They each backed away, discreetly assessing their wounds. Kojiro’s were deep, but he had survived worse in battle. The killer was already covered in blood splatter, but he had gained one of his own essence thanks to Kojiro. The warrior looked his quarry in the eyes, and Kiryu's cold, furious soul gazed back into him.

“Kojiro,” his master would say, “look into your brother’s eyes. Those are the eyes of a killer. Those are the eyes that strike fear in your heart. I look at Kiryu, and I see a hunter of men.”

Kojiro always agreed with his master on that point. Never in his life did he doubt Kiryu’s insatiable bloodlust. He wasn’t surprised when he found the master dead, drowned in a pool of his blood by his apprentice’s hand.

“You knew I’d find you eventually,” the warrior stated. “You can’t run forever.”

Kiryu’s eyes said everything he ever wanted to. They were the eyes of a predator. He would kill until he himself was killed.

As a murderer, and then as a soldier, Kojiro never had the choice of who he killed. Here, he would choose to put down this rabid dog.

The fighters circled each other. The clearing they had found themselves in was the perfect battleground. The swaying grass almost seemed desperate for bloodshed.

They both moved in at the same time. A tight clash close to the sword guards left them wrestling for control. Kojiro had always been stronger, but he needed to be careful. Kiryu always relied on being underestimated to catch his victims.

Kiryu suddenly maneuvered his blade around Kojiro’s, forcing the warrior to disengage so Kiryu could press his advantage. Kojiro countered with a wide swing, and the killer had to block the strong attack on his injured side.

Back to blade’s length, they stood. Kojiro noticed Kiryu’s leaning on his uninjured side. The warrior knew it was a ruse. The killer used the same tactic when they were still training.

The boys held wooden swords then; Kiryu had yet to demonstrate the full breadth of his abilities. The fighters stood against each other in the present as they did in memory, with Kojiro weakened by repeated strikes and Kiryu swaying to one side.

Even then, Kojiro knew something was strange. Kiryu’s eyes still burned with the will to win.

Kojiro began the exchange. Stepping hard, he struck to remove Kiryu’s sword from between them. Kiryu redirected the strike sloppily, allowing Kojiro to reengage. This stoked the boy’s confidence as he pressed forward.

The warrior was more conservative this time, making an effort to space his steps carefully. He struck at both sides of his opponent, forcing Kiryu to twist into his injury, ultimately weakening him.

Kojiro hooked his sword down to tap against Kiryu’s block before redirecting into a heavy overhead swing. In his mind, Kiryu couldn’t avoid or block the attack, so his victory was imminent.

Instead, the second apprentice attacked into the blow with surprising strength, knocking Kojiro off-balance. With a twist, the future killer made his own overhead strike.

His blade stopped inches from Kojiro’s nose. The young Kiryu flashed his first smile of pride. The older killer furrowed his brow.

Kojiro had managed to maneuver his sword between them. With all his might, Kojiro pushed back against his brother, opening his guard. Kiryu tried to redirect his blade, but his face shot with pain as his wound released more blood.

Burning with determination, rage, and pity, Kojiro struck the killer across his chest, releasing his cursed blood into the air.

As his brother fell, Kojiro sheathed his blade and took a deep breath.

He watched the life drain from Kiryu’s eyes. First, they flickered, searching for an opportunity, and then they stopped, staring into the heavens. Finally, he resigned himself to his fate. His blood pooled around him, and the killer released his last, rasping breath.

Kojiro turned and left the forest. As he did, the shadows encroached on the clearing, and they slowly devoured the space.