There came the clanging of swords, pounding feet, drums and the screams of hate. There was fire, siege and cannons, few as there were. The skies remained blue, filled with only few clouds that were dimmed by the smoke out in the fields. Men with swords, by the hundreds, marched past trees and took to towns, destroying everything their eyes caught sight upon.

There was no mercy as women and children were sliced down, running from their homes. Men were tossed skyward and caught on seas of spears as this barrage of soldiers swept through the town life a flame engulfing a dried leaf. In the madness he stood alone. He had no family. He was young. Without a thought he reached for his blade and swung into the crowd of killers.

Hitting a few, their swords made their way to him, dicing his arms and legs with cuts here or there. In the chaos he dropped to the floor and crawled beneath the feet of the men with swords. While crawling he could hear gunfire. He felt slugs ripple, blasting past the soldiers above, hitting them and scathing him.

On the ground, crawling through muddy water and puddles of blood, he felt nothing. Looking up there was a light that existed beyond the legs of the invaders. That is where he went, fleeing and not looking back once he was free from the sea of soldiers being blasted apart by cannon fire. As he ran he began to feel warm, looking down he saw that a bullet had hit him.

Stolen novel; please report.

By the time he reached the trees, beyond the sight of the townspeople or their pillagers, he had grown dizzy, almost passing out. And for a few seconds the world went dim. in this moment he was at peace. The world floated away and he could see a boat on a white river reflecting into nothingness. The ferryman wore a mask and extended his left arm.

He awoke to birds. At the start of it all there was a breeze, humidity in the air and the bright sun peaking through a spell of clustered clouds. There was little noise atop that hill, more or less the faint noises of the town past the trees, beyond the lower field. It was the sound of men crying out. It was the sound of fire and war.

So he sat, an arm on his wound where the bullet had gone in; and in that instance he looked out at the sky and field with a blank mind. He felt tired, like one would after a great struggle of agonizing physical exertion. Jiyu, finally realizing his location, took his hand off of his wound and spoke quietly to himself.

So this is gonna be it, huh? Damn shame. I was hoping for something a little flashier. Ah, well.