His eyes stayed closed until the end, out of respect or interest he wasn't sure.

He wasn’t borrowing her body, and she wasn’t borrowing his mind. Even now, it was as if she was suppressing herself inside him till he could get his bearings. Memories, feelings, emotion, attitude, personality, they all melded as one.

He, no, she wasn’t even the same person anymore. They were the sum of each other’s parts. He wasn’t brought to another world, and she did indeed die. Neither of them existed anymore. This was what it meant by gaining power it seemed.

As his mind flickered about with its last thoughts of independence, Kyo looked back. After meditation, the vision of himself was still vivid.

He went to war that day. He went to die.

It was a suicidal strike, one that not even 10% of the soldiers were supposed to survive. They had the high ground, the cannons with gunpowder, the snow. It was all against them.

And yet, like a swarm of piranhas, they attacked.

Smoke, avalanche, water, all of it decimated them before they even started going up the hill.

With a sharp kick of his heel, Kyo’s horse charged forward into the fray. With expert precision, his marksmanship took down cannoneers and pot tippers, giving them a taste of their own medicine as they faltered and slipups occurred.

The cold arctic wind was soothed by the warm tingle of adrenaline. The tips of steel flew up the hill, reaching targets with perfect marksmanship despite dropoff. And when he reached back, only for no more to appear, he discarded it for a yari as he plowed through the guards of the hill. His horse, bred for pure power, accomplished the feat of climbing equipped heavy armor with potency. The arrows failed to pierce the scaling created for it, as well as Kyo’s armor.

Creating a spearhead formation, the remaining strands of troops climbed up behind him. His horse circled around one of the siege posts when the inaccurate rifle hail was unleashed upon him. Even when he was hit it merely slid off his armor, made the same way his swords were. He threw his yari, knocking the cannon with a slide and sideways tilt. The sparks ignited the gunpowder stocks surrounding it, creating an explosion that crumbled the foundation of the stone, a chain reaction leading to other siege posts being lost as well.

“It’s the Crimson Oni!”

“The Crimson Kyodaina?”

The shout led them into a state of panic and confusion. His skills were unparalleled, no one could match him in combat, and he was considered one of the country’s trump cards. Why he was sent to die, he didn’t know. Though he studied it, he still liked to stay out of politics.

The names were based off his armor, constantly stained with the blood of his enemies while the Kyodaina was based off his name, Kyodaina Senshi, or mighty warrior. With the adrenaline rush he once again charged forward, sword in hand.

…

He was all alone.

The elements had killed off his unprepared reservoir, the unjust advantage killed the rest. The opposing army numbered 55,000, and reinforcements to capture the point would arrive in three days.

Kyo already sent his horse off, no point in his old comrade dying here. He had already prepared a message for his family, so he didn’t have to stop fighting.

He was surrounded on all sides by furred individuals of multiple cultures and ethnicities. Of which, he didn’t particularly care at this point. Slipping a hand into his pouch, he popped drugs of all kinds. Painkillers, stimulants, and other things that might give him the edge in battle. He was, thankfully, given enough time to fill his belly with food and drink before getting a quick whiff of smelling salts to bring him back to reality.

The mob surrounded him, eager to take his head, as it would surely bring great glory.

Inhale.

…

Exhale.

Without another thought, he was already on the move. More than a man a second was taken down by what should have been a heavy individual. He was already so accustomed to the armor, he sometimes didn’t know it was on. Kyo’s skin was even a much paler shade due to this. His foes wore warm furs, and though it provided some protection, it wasn’t nearly enough compared to normal armor, much less that touched by those of expert craftmanship.

To keep his blade sharp, he slit throats and opened intestines, forcing them to stop and pick it up. His wakizashi, still in its case, deftly deflected blows to the side as his rampage continued.

They were no longer numbers to him, he was already in the trance of combat. The slow, methodical movement of every slice extending to an infinite yet so short amount of time. His blade dulled after maybe five hundred or so due to careful slices. Even so, he kept using it until it wasn’t even able to cut anymore, completely blunt.

His wakizashi in backward strokes shadowed behind. Though he was impervious to the attacks, the bruises and welts underneath piled up from taking so much savagery. In places, the armor would dent and break apart, coming off.

Yet, with every bit that came off, he was only faster.

His short blade too began to run out, and so he picked up others. Some were shoddy while others were poorly maintained, but they did the job. With every landing, his eyes darted around the battlescape. His own unique technique was one he developed himself. His moves flowed like a river, from Jigen-Ryu to Tamiya-Ryu, never ending as one followed up the other. His body ached and his stomach heaved as his pace only increased, hundreds piling up their own stacks. By now he had killed thousands of his fellow man.

And like that, he plateaued. And then slowed, and slowed again. His plating was becoming worthless, his strikes started to lose their ferocity. The drugs could only do so much. And yet, his warrior spirit never died, and he reaped the battlefield.

He threw vials of activated gunpowder and used the terrain to his advantage. Cannons, fireworks, barrels of explosives, snow, sleet, and rock. Even in Kyo’s practically unconscious state his brain functioned phenomenally.

Stolen story; please report.

More.

He wasn’t even wearing protection at this point. He didn’t look human with the torn skin and dark underflesh. Blood oozed from several coagulated wounds, freezing in place from the weather.

Not enough.

Again!

Saying those words to himself, Kyo pressed on.

…

50,000

A miraculous, inhuman feat. 50,000 dead. There was a literal mound of bodies, surrounded by hills here and there. The rest either fled or were currently waiting for him to bleed out. A smart choice.

His legs were already pinned under the flesh. He didn’t know how long it had been. He used up his food and water even while brawling. Judging by the position of the sun, it had been two and a half days. The reinforcements would be soon to arrive.

They were only expected to kill 30,000 to be frank. But with essentially 0 surviving allies, he decided to make up the slack. It would be a huge victory in terms of strategy, moral, and equipment.

Inha-

It didn’t work that time. His lungs were already full of fluid. He had already gone through 2,300 ml of blood, far beyond that which a human could survive. It was functioning on only electrical impulses by then though. Should he care?

His shaky fingers brought a small golden loop ending with a locket to his face. Through it all, it managed to stay on. He was thankful.

He clicked the side with his fingernail, opening to a spectacularly done drawing of his wife and kids, while on the other side were pictures which must have also portrayed the same image in a different way. Different, as in scribbles. He remembered the face when Ilian brought it to him with such reverence, his pride in such a thing.

He clutched it to his chest.

To be honest, he didn’t want to die.

He really didn’t. He wanted to live as he had, spend more time with his wife, explore and grow to make up for a time that had been lost. Yet, all that was replaced with compliance in almost an instant. He did his duty, what he was trained to do, and most importantly he did what he was told. That was enough. He was an impenetrable fortress within his mind, he would not break, not falter.

His fists bled the last of their fluid as they were cut open from the pressure on the amulet.

But at least, he met her. To him, that was enough.

…

Her pupils lay on her hands, staring as if it were an alien thing.

Their minds were completely synced up. They felt no different. They looked down at their body’s now obvious expulsion from their chest. To be more precise, she felt no different. As if it was always like this.

Reaching into the depths of her breastplate, her fingers brushed against two metal objects coiling around her neck. The first one was an old, familiar gold locket, sealed airtight to protect against the weather. The other, a well worn yet well maintained silver pocket watch.

It was from her teacher, who gave it to Raira so that she could finally come on time one of those days. She still never did. Within was a small note containing what she believed she stood for, her own version of the bushido code. A folded up painting of her full family was also there.

She pressed down slightly harder. Her revenge would make the earth quake. However, now was not the time.

The now nameless samurai looked at the iron box. She couldn’t quite remember what was in there or how to open it, but perhaps it would come to her. The name situation could be sorted out in the future as well.

According to what she knew, it was quite likely that the mountains were either changing or done changing, which would provide complications for leaving. Standing up from her meditation position, she walked over and started gathering her things to head down the cave.

She wasn’t quite used to fighting creatures, and many of them were unfamiliar to her. The eels as well. They were not something that she remembered.

Slinging the bow around her shoulder, gray powder fell. Now adjusted to the ambient temperature, she continued onward. The meditation had not only restored sound mind, but sound body as well. A good, well rested feeling.

There were many questions, but she brushed off ones such as where to get food and water. She couldn’t know, so there was no use fretting about it. Instead, it was more towards what to do after getting outside. She had no currency, no other clothes, no hygiene. There was no way she would fit in.

If she could get some water, she could craft improv soap. It was surprisingly easy. Her only cleaning rag she had was dirty as well, so it would seem that, though she had more water, it would be the first thing needed to be found.

From what could be recalled, this place had many habitats. It was almost to the point that it wasn’t really a mountain at all, but an entire world of its own. It was one of the running theories that humans came from this place, though it was equally likely that they obtained their origins from doppelgangers who absorbed a combination of multiple different animal genes. Something entertaining to think about for a long trek, she supposed.

It was almost impossible to count how far you’ve gotten in caves like these, she soon realized, and the feeling of no progress was quite degrading.

Her hair stood on end.

The human brain had always done that as a defense reflex. It took subtle details that you never noticed and put them together to protect you. To be perceptive was to be good at actively noticing, to be aware is the flip side of it.

She marched on.

The glow wasn’t quite as strong here. In some places, the light never even reached the ground. Ignoring common sense, she pressed forward still.

Her eyes narrowed.

Because the lighting was not the best, she had to get very close to be able to even see what’s in front of her. Three mouths led deeper into the mountain. Or out of it for all she knew.

Getting closer to the right one, there was no signs of wear and tear made by walking creatures, and smelled of a weird combination of basalt and vinegar. Approaching the center one, it was more cleanly routed and had an almost perfect shape. There was no scent coming from that one. The last one was petite in size, requiring that the person would crawl through. No strong scent, but definitely had something go through there.

She could always come back, that would be her normal train of thought. However, she didn't know if the mountains were still changing, which meant she couldn’t just meander. Her expertise in hunting seemed to shine in the moment.

The one to the right seemed like it contained danger, as nothing went through there, while the center was suspicious. It was too sterile, and a bit too clean for her taste. The left would normally be her choice, but it was small enough that it could have been created by a burrowing creature, and if it could go through stone… well, she didn’t want to be on the receiving end. No spear would protect her from that.

Which means… the right path.

Risk was better than death, and her spine crawled when she looked at the inviting middle path.

Still, it could just be the nature of the place she was at getting to her.

For a little test, she took some of her flour she had stored away along with her other regents like her spices. With delicacy, she took the thin layer of polish off the bag that held the glass containers, which was used to preserve its quality. Pouring a bit of the flour in the center of the paper-thin sheet, she gave it a loose knot.

It was a prank used by the kids these days, a ‘flour bomb’. Though much more fragile, it would do the deed. Lobbing it around the corner, she backed out after as a loud pop was made. The powder flakes puffed around the corner, splattering against the wall.

SLAM

Tremors shook the ground as the cave suddenly completely closed off with a dropping wall, fitted perfectly into place. Running liquid gurgled beyond the stone. The babbling creek, once over, receded back to where it came. The wall slid back up slowly, revealing a spotless, odorless room, with only a few rougher ends here and there.

She just stood there, wide eyed.

She didn’t know what that was, but....

Right it is...