To live A Happy Life, Or to Be a Warrior

The waterfall gently crashed into the lake lying at the temple's base. Birds softly chirped, animals happily called, the sweet scent of flowers and the jungle gently wafting through the air. The sky was pure blue, with moons and planets gently hovering transparently in the overhead dome.

Spider sat on a wreath mat, cross-legged, meditating. He only wore a shawl covering his waist and upper legs. He missed his mechanical arms, the ghost limbs still itching and sending feedback to his brain. Time here seemed to be irrelevant. He felt as if he had been here for weeks.

His regiment was that of a monk. He would wake up, eat breakfast, and meditate at the waterfall's base each morning. Over the past dozen times he had woken up, he had spent the day with a different teacher. Some days he joined Pride in his chamber, where they made art. He rather enjoyed Pride.

The entity was a jolly and lackadaisical creature. Spider often could barely get a word in as the man droned on and on about his incredible feats, accomplishments, and adventures. Pride had seen so much, gone to so many planes of reality before arriving at this place. He was not a god as mortals perceived the concept, seeing as his handiwork never directly influenced the events of history nor the course of the tide that is life. He would merely find specific unique individuals and whisper in their ears.

Joy was a much different story, and Spider found that she was his favorite. She was humble and kind. Very rarely speaking of her exploits, Spider often had to nearly interrogate her to get any history out of the kind celestial. Just like Pride, she never directly influenced civilizations or events. Yet despite this, a thousand words of a thousand people each had their own interpretation of her. Some species worshiped her as a goddess, others more so labeled her as a certain kind of mentality. Regardless, her handiwork was very apparent the more Spider learned about the universe.

Now Purpose, there was an enigma. Beneath the temple lay a mighty forge, which he rarely left. The clanging of metal and great whoosh of energy smashing into opposite energy often shook the place as he hammered away. Spider both feared and greatly respected him. He was not a cosmic gathering of elements and energy like his peers but was once a man. He had spent almost a million lifetimes traipsing across the cosmos, fighting in many wars, both razing and leading entire worlds.

Purpose had developed a begrudging fondness for Spider; perhaps he saw something in him the others did not? The two rarely engaged in conversation, more so Purpose assigning a task for him and Spider doing so.

Some days Spider would have to kick a tree until either it or he broke. On other days Purpose charged Spider with carrying heavy materials in a basket on his back down the mountains into the underground forge. Every now and again, Purpose would have Spider hold the blazing orange metal with heavy tongues as the great man swung a mighty hammer, bending and forging the metal into a weapon primitive worlds like Mars could only dream of.

Today was different. Spider could feel it. There was no singing coming from Pride's chamber; the balcony doors to Joy’s room were uncharacteristically closed, and the hammering of the forge had not begun.

Soft footsteps caught Spider’s attention, disturbing his meditation. He opened his eyes to see the Master walking towards him. His immensely long beard was wrapped around his waist, wooden sandals softly clopping on the stone cobble pathway. Spider began to rise, but the old man raised his hand with a soft expression, his pupil-less eyes soft yet focused. The Master sat alongside Spider, both silently gazing at the waterfall.

“How are you today?” The Master asked kindly.

“I am well. I thought there were no days here?” Spider chuckled.

The Master smiled.

“There must be days here; how else would we be able to simulate life for a mortal?” The Master said.

Spider smiled.

“And what have you in store for me today then, Master?” Spider asked.

The old man sighed.

“I had hoped we could spend more time guiding you, but I am afraid the great adversaries have forced my hand,” The Master said darkly.

“The Dark Axium has struck?” Spider asked hesitantly.

The Master nodded.

“It is my regret to have underestimated them. They have been emboldened by the inaction of my former pupils,” The Master said softly.

“If I may,” Spider said slowly. “You all operate on such a grand cosmic scale; surely their evil is nothing more to you than ants fighting beside my feet for me.”

“Yes, you are correct. Yet, these ants are egged on by people your size. But just as the ants fight, they grow stronger and larger. We cannot allow this; I am afraid the trials must begin soon,” The Master said darkly.

“I am ready,” Spider said fervently.

The Master studied Spider, his wrinkled face shifting with a soft expression.

“So much life in such a little body,” He said wistfully.

Spider smiled.

“Just as a spark burns potently against the wind, so too does your soul refuse to diminish. If nothing else, take pride in that. It is comforting knowing there is still so much life out there amongst the darkness,” The Master sighed. “Let us begin then. Please, follow me, young one.”

The two rose off the ground, the Master leading the way up to the temple. Inside the courtyard, Pride stood alone. His jolly expression was replaced by a stoic one. He held a folded gi made of pure blue threading in his hands, with a white collar and cuffs.

“The trial of Pride is the first that every great warrior must overcome. Please, follow him, my child. I wish you good fortune and great success,” The Master bowed.

Spider and Pride both bowed, a moment of heavy silence as they raised themselves upward again. The Master had disappeared. Spider slowly dawned the blue gi, tying the blue belt around his waist. He recalled this belt of a thousand stitches; it was one of the first things Pride had ever required him to make.

“This way,” Pride gestured, his hands pointing to the hallway on the right side facing the outer entrance.

They walked down the long hallway that led to Pride’s chamber; the doors were closed. Pride stood to the side. Spider looked at him.

“I can go no further. Good luck,” Pride said solemnly.

“Thank you,” Spider nodded deeply.

Spider inhaled, then exhaled, facing the gold double doors. He pushed them open and walked inside. The chamber was gone, replaced by darkness. There was no floor, walls, or ceiling; his feet seemed to float as he walked upon thin air. The doors shut behind him, and Spider was seemingly drifting in nothingness for a moment. Then the world materialized around him.

Captain Spider was standing upon the turret of the Magnolia. The city burned before him, the battlefield a maze of carnage and smoke as the enemy and allies' bodies and blood covered the orange sand as far as the eye could see.

He was once again in the body of a ten-year-old, his titanium Forge Master Arms holding his sword. Great joy filled him as he descended from the turret. As he walked from the tank, the ranks of the free Army chanted his name.

Spider trekked onward, reaching a great tower. Inside the base of the building stood a chamber hall, with its long walls and richly furnished furniture and carpet giving the air of royalty. At the far end of the chamber hall sat a great throne.

Spider began walking towards the throne. On either side of the walls, stained glass let in rainbow-colored light. On his right and left, the chamber started filling with the crowd of the Free Army. Spiders, slaves, guild members, and warriors he had never seen before chanted his name.

“The Forge Master of Mars!” They shouted, over and over.

Spider reached the throne's steps and noticed he was now covered in armor that had just materialized. Grand and magnificent, the armor could withstand anything. It was jeweled, forged in the most outstanding Spider Forges of Mars. This was his destiny.

Memories flooded back to him. How his father had cast him aside like a piece of trash, carved his flesh to implant his tinkering. Spider remembered every Master that had beaten him, starved him, and forced him to insert into machines again, and again, and again.

He remembered the first time he had tried to speak, but his organic brain, shambled by too many interactions with computers and machines, could not even form a coherent sentence. He remembered the first time he had stuttered, how he would try to speak for forty-one years, and people would beat him, spit on him, and call him an outcast. A stuntling.

Now here he stood, the greatest and most accomplished Spider Mars had ever known. Everyone in this room was beneath him. All he had to do was climb upwards and claim his rightful seat as the Master of Mars. Under his command, legions would rise. Ships would crash and burn, and armies fall to the mechanisms of his own design. He had Mars; next would be Earth and the rest of the solar system. All he had to do was take his rightful seat.

An immense sense of joy and purpose filled him; this was his dream. To spit above those who had rejected him, force those who had mistreated the innocent to bow and slobber in agony for mercy as his warriors drove steel into their flesh, just as his father had done to him on that operating table.

As Spider grinned, he looked back from the doors he had entered, outside were the Vagabonds. As they fought for their lives, a wretched and hideous beast with many arms and bat wings was easily parrying their strikes.

Spider reached outward, retreating from the throne.

“What are you doing?” A voice called.

Spider turned and saw himself. Except, this man was fully grown, with gold-plated mechanical arms. At his feet scantily clad beautiful women lounged, atop his head was a gold-plated crown; behind him, burly and mechanically optimized warriors stood ready.

“You don’t need them. Mars is yours, now is the time to take back everything they stole from you!” The grown Spider called, raising a wine glass.

Spider looked at him, then back at the Vagabonds. Carla lay dead in a pool of blood. Hera was wounded. Nameless was encased in golden fire, desperately trying to defend Julia as she tried to help a dying Aj. Sammy was lying with her back turned, her chest neither rising nor falling.

“N-n-n-no,” Spider seethed.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What do you mean, no? They don’t care about you! You’re just a machine, a useful tool, a stuntling who rose above your station. Take your rightful place, and rule Mars as is your right by might!” The grown Spider King called.

Spider grimaced. He started ripping off the armor, sprinting towards the Vagabonds.

“You go through those doors, and you will never rule Mars!” The Spider King called.

Entirely removed from the armor, Captain Spider sprinted from the throne. He reached outward, his sword at the ready, trying to defend his friends. The Army booed and jeered as he crashed into the double doors. The world disappeared.

Spider collapsed onto the floor of the temple hallway, hyperventilating. Above him stood Pride and Joy. Pride was grinning, as was Joy.

“Well done!” Pride boomed.

Spider rapidly spun his head around, once again in the body of a fifty-one-year-old.

“Where-where-where?” he sobbed.

Joy cautiously knelt, laying a hand on Spider’s shoulder as he scanned the hallway in panic.

“You are here in the temple, with us, friend,” She gently whispered.

Spider was crying, crouching in a ball.

Joy gave Pride a concerned look.

“I told you he was not ready,” She said adamantly.

Pride shrugged.

“Most mortals fail that test,” He spoke.

“Let us retire to your chamber,” Joy nodded.

Spider wiped his tears away.

“No.”

“No?” Joy asked, concerned.

“I am ready for the next trial,” Spider grunted.

Pride boomed with laughter as Joy grimaced.

“Dear friend, it only gets harder from here,” She soothed. “Perhaps we should wait, and when you are ready, resume the trials.”

Spider stood up.

“I am ready,” He said through gritted teeth. “For the next trial.”

Joy and Pride exchanged a look, and Pride shrugged.

“Follow me then,” she said softly.

Joy strolled down the hallway, Spider en-toe. To say the least, he was rattled by decades of memory flooding back to him. He had never had the chance to take a step back and analyze his life before. He had always seen himself as a servant, a slave, a supporting role. His own ambitions and well-being were never at the forefront.

But now he had to focus. Now, he had come too far to back down; his friends needed him. He had failed and allowed others to die. He had witnessed what happens when evil is allowed to enact its will unhindered. Under his watch, Spider would never allow this to happen again.

They emerged into the courtyard, walking through it, then entering the opposite hallway. Joy led the way, walking passed Spider, her long velvet red cloak swaying with her slender form, her dark black hair tied neatly in a bun, two ceramic rods holding them in place. They arrived at her chamber on the far side of the temple.

They came to two double doors, painted red, with dragons engraved into the wood. Joy stepped aside and bowed, her arms and hands inserted into the opposite sleeve at her waist.

“I can go no further,” she said solemnly.

Spider nodded in gratitude, then pushed them open, immersing himself in the bleak darkness of the empty space. Once again, he was surrounded by empty darkness; he seemed to be floating in nothingness.

A room materialized. There was no plain of destruction, no armies, no expanding scene of turmoil. There was merely an empty, wholesome space. In the far-right wall, a stove sat, with a kettle boiling atop. Spider was sitting on a rocking chair, gazing out the window. Outside the seeming home, the Martian plains bloomed with life. Grass, flowers, and crops blossomed as he gazed. He noticed several pieces of wreckage, old war machines, rusted away, covered in green fauna from the windows view.

Suddenly, several children of Earth Asian descent scampered into view. They held toys, laughing. An elderly woman followed them, scolding them.

“Out with you! Do not disturb your grandfather!” the woman scolded.

The children whined but obeyed, scuttling out the door. They had no mechanical augmentations, were relatively healthy, and were full of genuine joy. They reminded Captain Spider of the children he had met back on Zeta, so pure, innocent, and devoid of life’s miseries.

The old woman sat in the rocking chair across from Spider and picked up her knitting needles and wool.

“They get that from you, ya know?” She teased, her aged but beautiful face twinkling.

“T-t-t-the-the w-w-w-war?” Captain Spider stammered, fear rising.

The old woman put a gentle hand on his arm. Warmth and steadiness filled him, his chest decompressing, his mind at ease.

“That was sixty years ago, my dear. It’s all right; you’re here now,” She smiled.

“W-w-w-where a-a-a-a-am I?” Spider asked fearfully.

“Home, my dear,” The woman smiled.

Remorse filled him. She had had this conversation many times. She was well versed in bringing him back from the nightmares. She had stood by him and loved him all these long years. Even at his worst, when he had awoken to scream from the terrors of war, she was there. She had given him many children, and now in their twilight years, they enjoyed the company of their grandchildren.

Spider sobbed gently.

The woman rubbed his arm consolingly.

“We are all so proud of you, dear,” she said gently, her eyes kind and soft.

“Did-did w-w-w-we h-have a good-good life?” Spider asked.

The woman nodded gently, a tear forming in her eye.

“We had an amazing life together,” she said soothingly, her voice barely breaking.

Knocking at their door caught both people’s attention. In the window, the sky darkened, red light seeping into the beautiful and peaceful picture. The distant boom of artillery could be heard and felt. Overhead, the sound of air vehicle engines roared. Sirens blared in the distance. Yet, inside the room, all was well.

Spider grabbed the knobs of his chair, trying to heave himself upward. His body ached, his tired old bones whining, the sinew barely cooperating. Spider groaned and stood up. He grabbed his cane from his chair and began hobbling towards the door.

“Please,” the woman begged.

Spider slowly turned, seeing his reflection in the kitchen mirror. He was seemingly a hundred years old, his form twisted; he was far older than his father was back when Spider was made Forge Master.

“Don’t go out that door,” She spoke. “Please, stay here. We have children and their children. It’s a simple life, but a good life. You needn’t do anymore. Mars can never repay you for what you have done; we could ask nothing more of you.”

Spider stood there, leaning on his cane. He thoughtfully pondered. Memories came to him. How the Vagabonds had gone off to Zion, and how he had stayed behind. How he had rebuilt Mars and ushered in a new, green, and beautiful age. How he had married and raised intelligent, beautiful children. How they had replaced him and brought in even more impressive innovations to Mars. How his grandchildren were now going to school. They had top marks, easily the smartest in their class.

It was perfect; there was no pain or sadness in this life. He could quickly leave the temple of trial and start this very life on Mars right now. Why not? What else could they ask of him? Forty-one years squandered inside the body of a ten-year-old, fighting and slaving away. If he were to ever be happy, it would be in this kind of future.

Realization cut through his mind like a kitchen knife. He couldn’t have the throne nor this life. Those grandchildren, this fantastic, kind, thoughtful, accepting wife, all were meant for someone else. Not him.

Spider began shambling to the door.

“If you leave through that door, you will never be happy,” His wife called.

Spider stopped.

Without looking back, he twisted his cane into the ground. He accepted his fate.

“I know,” He said softly.

Spider pulled open the door and stepped through.

Spider collapsed onto the floor of the temple hallway. Joy, Pride, and Purpose stood above him.

“Are you all right?” Joy asked hesitantly.

Spider slowly nodded, staring at the wooden floor.

“Well done, old chap!” Pride boomed.

“Silence,” Purpose barked.

“How dare-” Pride started.

“Be quiet,” Joy seethed.

Spider slowly picked himself up.

“You are much stronger than most mortals who pass through these halls,” Purpose said quietly.

The visions and memories washed over him as Spider swayed back and forth. He felt nauseous. His mind rebelled, screaming, wanting to return to Mars and start a new life. All this time, and now here of all places, this was when he revisited everything from his past. And to think, he had some kind of possible future on Mars, that someone would willingly marry him and build a life together. But that was for ordinary people, not him. Spider pushed these thoughts from his mind.

“Take me to the next trial,” Spider grunted.

“Are you sure?” Purpose asked.

Spider nodded.

“Very well. Follow me,” Purpose spoke.

“Good luck, little one,” Joy said softly.

“You’ve come too far to quit now!” Pride said happily.

The three sentinels led the way silently down the hallway, entering the courtyard. Here Spider and Purpose are separated. Walking over to the far side of the temple, the stairwell leading down to the forge sat there.

Purpose ignited a torch and walked down the stone stairs. Spider stood at the top, looking down into the ominous maw of the cave. Hesitant and grim, he deeply feared what awaited him. Whether it was more visions or some sort of new test, doubt bubbled inside of whether he would make it or not. Something inside pushed him forward despite his mind and body rebelling, screaming not to go down. Spider descended down the stone steps.

As the stairs wound deeper underground, both men were silent. Eventually, the stairs evened out to the forge. Spider was unaccustomed to the sight, yet still, it astonished him. Hot magma flowed through the center like a brazen river. Massive billows fed from a pipe that extended from the ceiling, feeding into a gigantic pool, from which one could draw metal into a forging stone. Like an anvil, the forging stone was massive, easily four feet tall and ten wide.

Runes and symbols were etched into the forging stone, with a set of great hammers and tongs resting on the side. The smoke escaped through the great chimney carved into the ceiling. The walls were decorated with shelves of spare tools and materials of every kind.

Spider cautiously stepped into the great room as Purpose walked over to the pool.

“No illusions down here. You’re free to come over,” Purpose called.

Spider stood in place, his eyes darting and searching.

Purpose took off his bright red armor, carefully placing it on the armor stand in the far corner. He then put on a dark leather apron and gloves.

“Come along; I don’t have all day,” Purpose barked, pointing to the forge pool.

Spider sheepishly nodded, walking over to the pool. The water was murky inside the stone pool, steam rising from it. There was faint movement as if something appeared to swim inside. Spider backed away fearfully.

“You need not fear the soul forge. For what you see is merely but an extension of yourself,” Purpose somberly nodded, grabbing the tongs.

“What do you mean?” Spider asked hesitantly.

“That’s you,” Purpose spoke, pointing with the tongs.

Spider could not see anything else, merely the dark, murky water.

“I-I don’t understand,” Spider said.

Purpose sighed.

“Do you recall when your mortal friend Aryus wielded golden energy?” Purpose asked.

Aryus, who was Aryus? Was he referring to Nameless?

“Yes?” Spider nodded sheepishly.

“When a mortal uses their soul’s energy and it extends their reach beyond the mortal plane, they exert their essence. This can be used for warfare, politics, art, sport, or anything one puts their mind to. When one increases their power and combines the life forces of past existences with the very fabric of the cosmos, they produce light and force. The children of Zion call this ‘particle manipulation’,” Purpose said.

“So, it is magic? But the Professor said it was science, that the serum unlocked this ability,” Spider spoke.

Purpose smiled.

“Science. Magic. Sorcery. Discovery. They are all one and none, same and equal, yet distinctly different. Push, and pull. Action and reaction. The exertion of energy sends ripples across the vast ocean of existence. There are materials in the cosmos that may accelerate the natural progression of evolution and learning, but in the end, they are all the same.”

Spider’s eyes widened.

“Will-I will be able to exert my energy?” Spider asked, amazed.

“That is up to you. You may only discover that answer by passing this final trial,” Purpose nodded, billowing air into the forge, the embers glowing red hot beneath the pool.

“I am ready for this trial,” Spider nodded.

“Be warned. This is the most difficult process one may utilize to unlock their energy and past lives. It will be necessary to endure a great amount of suffering to achieve the very extension of your soul,” Purpose said.

“Is this how you started your path?” Spider asked.

Purpose’s face was solemn, an odd look in his eye.

“Yes,” He murmured.

“I will no longer be mortal if I continue then,” Spider realized.

“No. You will not. As we said before, if you wish to return to the mortal plain as you once were, go back the way you came. There is no glory, no riches, no peace, and no family on this pathway. I am old. My time draws near its end; it is time a new warrior undertakes the path and guides the next generation,” Purpose said. “There is no turning back once you have begun.”

Spider was silent. With a gut-wrenching fear in his stomach, he stepped closer to the forge, so close he could reach inside the pool.

“What must I do?” Spider asked.

“Reach both hands into the pool and embrace the suffering. Remember your past lives, find your soul's extension, then withdraw it. Place it on the anvil, and I shall shape it, calming the metal like essence and bonding it to your being. It will remain with you until your life cycle ends, and your energy rejoins the stars,” Purpose said.

Spider gazed into the murky water. Slowly, he extended his hands, reaching toward the water. Even from a foot away, his hands began stinging from the heat. He grimaced, recoiling. He exhaled, gathering himself. He then thrust his hands into the pool.

He screamed. His skin was flayed, the water boiling. Tears ran down his face as his mind went blank. Every fiber of his being wretched and begged to be released, to recoil from the water. He pushed deeper into the boiling murky water, the water reaching his elbows.

Suddenly, his hands caught something. Was it some kind of animal? It felt both slimy and coarse, yet solid steel. His vision went dark, the forge disappearing. The pain was gone. He was drifting in nothingness again, his body gone. There was no time, no light, no sensation. Suddenly, a light appeared, and his body hurtled towards it.

He was standing on top of a burning tank, a curved Katana in his hands. He was yelling at his men, hundreds of them, as they charged forward. They were attacking the big city on Mars, but there were grass and trees. Thousands of ships of every kind fought above him. The victory was close; he could feel it.

Suddenly, heat wracked him as a massive wave of air burst through the battlefield. Men, tanks, trees, and buildings disintegrated in the nuclear holocaust as fire rained down from above them. The vision darkened.

He was standing in a bunker, his men operating a machine gun. Outside on the pitch-black sand of the island, odd ships were crawling ashore. Their fronts opened, and men that looked like Nameless piled out. The machine gun roared, while fear and adrenaline were raging through his body. For hours they fought, emptying drum after drum of ammunition. Suddenly, a man with an odd metal backpack crawled into view. Spider tried to say something, but fire encased everyone inside the bunker with a whoosh. The vision darkened.

Spider was walking inside a trench, thousands of men lining the inner walls. Their bayonets were fixed on bolt action rifles, several holding white flags with a bright red solid circle in the center. Spider drew his sword and looked out over trenches. Out across the snowy no man’s land, Spider observed the enemy lines. They were disorganized and badly bloodied.

Spider looked down at his men with a grin.

“Long life to the Emperor!” Spider heard himself shout.

Whistles blew, and the men charged forward. “Banzai, banzai, banzai!”, they screamed. Spider led the way, artillery and primitive machine gun fire ripping through his men. They reached the enemy. He recognized their kind of faces from the Russians of Mars. Except these men were peasants, their eyes dull, their fight spent.

With a type of glee that only a warrior who had been raised from birth to kill could experience, Spider drove his sword through the chest of a blonde boy as he leapt into the enemy trench. The armies clashed, his warriors ripping the men in green and brown uniforms apart. Suddenly, the scream of an artillery shell cut off Spider’s senses. Darkness, then light.

He was standing on a balcony. It was overlooking the courtyard of a massive stone, white castle. It was burning. The enemy were storming the gates, their bright red armor glistening, and flags with gold leaf extended from their backs. He could see ladders and siege engines breaking down the defenses.

Spider turned and walked back into the room.

Kneeling on the floor, a man was shirtless, facing the double paper doors. A knife lay before him. Spider took a knee, bowing his head beside his lord.

“My daimyo,” Spider heard himself say. “They have breached the defenses.”

“It is time,” The lord nodded. “You have served me honorably, Oda Junichiro.”

Oda. A sensation Spider had never felt before rose within his chest. His first name, from his first life as this soul.

Oda rose. He slowly drew his sword. It was an exceptional weapon; no ordinary soldier could wield it effectively. Only the most learned and aggressive samurai would wield the Nodachi. It was so long and intended for horseback only, to wield it on foot would typically be a death sentence. Yet Oda Junichiro, bodyguard to the Ashikaga family and head horseman, wielded it easily.

“It has been an honor, my lord,” Oda Junichiro said solemnly.

The daimyo thrust his knife into his stomach, slicing open his abdomen. With a swift motion, Oda cut off his Master’s head. As his Daimyo’s head rolled, the enemy burst into the room. Oda roared, baring his greatsword, and crashed into them. In a blur of viscera and death, his vision darkened.

It was darkness, but even seeing nothing, Spider still felt the greatsword’s hilt in both hands. Light charged him.

With a shout, Spider drew the molten red blade from the pool; his skin wretchedly burned.

“Quickly, bring it here!” Purpose shouted.

Spider slammed the great sword blade onto the anvil, fury and rage coursing through his body. Purpose smashed the blade with his hammer, sparks flying. Spider saw he was now encased in the pure blue fire as he looked down.

As the sword formed, Spider realized that Purpose was redirecting both his and Spider’s energy into the blade. It was becoming an extension of their very souls. Over hours, their energies combined, and the Nodachi took form.

Eventually, it was finished, the blade a beautiful and long curved blade. Gentle, pure white silk entwined itself majestically around the handle, the golden cross guard taking the form of leaves. Spider envisioned the handle, the Tsumami Maki.

Purpose sighed, stepping away and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“It is finished, Oda Junichiro, of the clan Ashikaga,” Purpose said staunchly.

The warrior was silent.

“Oda?” Purpose asked.

“If you will, I am Spider of Clan Vagabond,” Spider said wistfully.

Purpose smiled and placed a hand on Spider’s shoulder.

“Welcome, Spider, Forge Master of Mars.”