Within the sanctity of the Hokkaido Mountains in the central island, a Shinto shrine filled the air with subtle fragrance from incense, wild berries permeating the air with its soothing scent. A priest strolled along the leaf-covered path, as the first gust of wind blew eerily through the populace of the forestation, exciting senses and scaring smaller animals back towards their safe havens. Yatsomagatsu Hinotachi – The 80 Day Sword, a blade of marvelous and superfluous craftsmanship had only hours ago been shaped in the divine forge of the Shinto style. A blade of cold blue steel, folded thrice, each instance creating a far more durable, flexible, stronger, sharper blade. A smile played across the Priest’s visage, hands moved through the air to retrieve the blade from its place upon an altar.

Thunder rolled along the ground, monotonous tones struck sharp staccatos in the air as a distant shadow spread across the horizon. Closer and closer it moved, distinct shapes revealed the horde of Samurai barging towards the Temple grounds. Wizened, old eyes of the Priest squinted briefly in the rays of the sun, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. Surely they wouldn’t dare rush in past holy grounds…? Distance closed, the squadron came to a halt… save one whom moved onwards, an armored rider bearing the silver visage of a tormented soul, silver gleaming tears lightly revealed by the sunlight streaming from forlorn slits that were eyes. From behind one could see nothing but shadow, as though there were no orbs to reveal the nature of the person inside. Revealing nothing, shadow. Secretive. What was he hiding?

“May I help you?” the priest asked, the Rider’s armor ensconced his entirety, from head to toe. A katana lay at his side, the only weapon upon him. The Priest took a momentary step backwards, taking in the atmosphere surrounding this enigma upon holy sanctum. The Rider’s head turned slowly, dangerously vehement as the horse grunted in the direction of the Priest, anger in its snort. It did not take long for the Priest to realize just what the Rider had come for. “….Please sir, the Yasomagatsu Hinotachi is a sacred sword! It must remain here!” and still the Rider moved forward just a little bit more, ignoring the plea. “I beseech you sir, please do no—“, a scrape of metal, a flash of black steel defying even the very sunlight upon its surface, and the Priest fell backwards, staggering off the stone steps and rolling down the lawn, spewing a bright trail of crimson high into the air from an open wound along his neck.

“The Sword goes, where I go.” the horse snorted in response, casting a serpentine glare towards the dying Priest while the land of the holy sanctum drank of spilled innocence. And with the Rider and beast returning from whence it came, resuming stance with the fleet of Samurai in their thunderous reign over the land, the first droplets of rain began to fall as lightning flashed overhead. There as the dark clouds billowed over the lands, shadowing the altar, where there once was a magnificent blade, there now was emptiness. And in the skies above, the hailing droplets of water turned crimson….

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