Chapter Five:
"Honorable Sacrifices"
Reality split open, colors burning between existence and void as the ChronoLance tore through at full acceleration. The tear sealed behind them with a thunderous crack that echoed across a sky painted in deep crimson. Time stretched, compressed, then snapped back into place as John's senses struggled to adjust. The filtered air of Oblivion Prime gave way to something ancient and alive, heavy with the scent of cherry blossoms and stone weathered by countless seasons.
He had exactly half a second to register the complete absence of road ahead before the steering wheel nearly jerked out of his hands.
"AHHHHHHH!" The car fishtailed wildly, tires scraping against ancient stone as John fought for control. The cliff's edge rushed toward them, a sheer drop into a valley that stretched beyond sight. They skidded sideways until finally shuddering to a stop -- the front wheels suspended over empty space.
His heart hammered against his ribs as sweat beaded on his forehead. Through trembling fingers still locked around the steering wheel, he watched cherry blossom petals dance through air that felt too thick, too real after the artificial atmosphere of home. Each petal followed its own rhythm, defying the wind's natural flow.
"Welcome to Eldoria and The Thousand Isles, John!" Realmweaver announced, her voice carrying a warmth that seemed at odds with their near-plummet into the abyss. "I do hope you'll find the weather agreeable. The blood red sunset never fails to impress."
John drew a shaky breath, fighting back waves of nausea as his mind struggled to process the transition. His parents' deaths felt simultaneously distant and raw, the memory of their bodies by the garage door clashing with the surreal beauty before him. He eased the door open, legs unsteady as he stepped onto weathered stone.
Below, the valley floor stretched into the crimson haze, filled with thousands of kneeling Players arranged in perfect rows. Behind each one stood a Shadow Samurai, their forms both solid and ethereal. Their armor seemed to breathe darkness, each plate flowing while maintaining rigid structure. Black mist rose from their forms against the sunset.
The wind carried cherry blossoms across the scene, petals drifting between the rows of silent figures. Not a single Player moved. Not a single Shadow Samurai shifted their stance. Only the black mist coiling from their forms showed any sign of movement, each tendril weaving through the air with deliberate purpose.
"Quite the turnout," Realmweaver commented through the open door, her tone gentler than before. "Though I should mention we weren't exactly invited to this particular ceremony."
"What's happening down there?" John asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The scale of what he witnessed pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"You're witnessing Tokyo's insertion into Eldoria," Realmweaver replied, matching his hushed tone. "Japan approached their Dive differently than the rest of the world. When given the choice, 89% of Tokyo's players chose to enter Eldoria through traditional means - through seppuku."
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
"Seppuku?"
"An ancient ritual of honorable death," Realmweaver explained. "The one who commits seppuku plunges a short blade into their abdomen, drawing it from left to right. A chosen second, called a kaishaku, stands ready to remove their head, ending their suffering quickly. It was - and clearly still is - considered the most honorable way for a warrior to die."
John watched as each Shadow Samurai moved into position, their movements carrying grace. The black mist thickened, casting strange shadows in the crimson light that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of countless hearts beating as one.
"They see this as their final act of service," Realmweaver continued, emotion coloring her usually analytical tone. "In their minds, choosing an honorable death to ensure humanity's survival carries more weight than fighting through the insertion process. The Shadow Samurai serve as their kaishaku, ensuring their transition into Eldoria maintains the proper ceremonial significance."
She directed his attention to the horizon, where the stone gave way to distant mountains shrouded in mist. "The remaining 11% who chose to stand and fight were granted a peaceful insertion. See those pillars of smoke rising in the distance? That's their camp. Not far from here, actually. Though I suspect our unexpected arrival might make for an interesting introduction."
Below, thousands of white-robed Players knelt in perfect rows upon the ancient stone. Each held a short blade that caught the crimson light. The Shadow Samurai stood motionless behind them, black mist rising from their forms into the cherry blossom-filled air.
Tanaka Yuki, aged 19, thought of her grandmother's stories about honor and duty as she gripped her blade. Beside her, Sato Kenji, a salary man who'd spent thirty years behind a desk, finally felt the weight of a warrior's purpose.
"The ceremony removes their pain," Realmweaver explained softly, "but leaves the sensation. Gameweaver understood the importance of feeling the moment without the agony clouding its significance."
As one, thousands of blades pressed against cloth. In the third row, Yamamoto Hideo smiled, remembering his father's words about sacrifice. In the twentieth row, Nakamura Mai thought of cherry trees blooming in her family's garden.
The blades moved. No screams pierced the air - only the soft whisper of steel through cloth, the quiet acceptance of thousands choosing their path to Eldoria. The Shadow Samurai moved with fluid grace, their dark blades catching the light once before completing their duty.
Cherry blossoms continued their dance through the air as the ceremony concluded, petals mixing with the rising black mist until the ground lay empty save for the scattered white flowers against dark stone. Each petal marked a choice made with perfect clarity, a life ended with purpose.
John stood motionless at the cliff's edge, watching the last of the black mist dissipate into the crimson sky. The empty valley floor stretched before him, a canvas painted with white cherry blossoms against the dark stone. Petals marking where Players had made their final choice.
"Should we head to the insertion camp?" Realmweaver's voice broke through his thoughts, carrying an understanding that transcended her artificial nature.
The words didn't come immediately. Images flashed through his mind - Harbor Pointe Food Station crumbling beneath endless rain, streets filled with starving people, the slow death of hope in a world running out of real food. Understanding washed over him. These Players hadn't just chosen an honorable death - they'd chosen to give meaning to lives spent watching their world decay.
A tear traced down his cheek. John wiped it away with the back of his hand, turning from the valley to slide back into the ChronoLance. His fingers found the steering wheel, steadier now than when they'd first arrived.
"Do you know where this Akira is?" he asked, his voice carrying both resolve and uncertainty.
"No, not exactly," Realmweaver replied. "But I'm sure we'll find him at the insertion camp." She paused, allowing the weight of possibility to fill the space between words. "That is... if he wasn't down there."
The engine hummed to life as John eased the car back from the cliff's edge. Cherry blossoms swirled in their wake as they turned toward the distant pillars of smoke rising against the setting sun, each petal marking the beginning of a story yet to be told.