The door creaked open, as the sound of rainfall outside could be heard as it shuttered to a close. In its wake, stepped a man clad in a large overcoat. The man stepped into an old shop, the air of paper greeting him, as hundreds of books lay stacked about in a haphazard manner. From behind a counter, a middle aged man approached, his face contorting to one of surprise when he gazed on the guest in his humble abode. The man approached the overcoat clad stranger, reaching out a hand.

"My god. It's really you isn't it?"

Obata nodded, reaching out a hand and grasping the man's firmly. He smiled.

"Yes Doctor. I have come to give my last will and testament to you on this day. It has been many years since I've seen you. I am surprised that you still hold residence here."

The middle aged man gestured, trying to pull Obata along to the quiet parts of his shop.

"Come, sit down, please, make yourself comfortable. I'll fetch some paper."

Obata obliged, sitting down at an old table in the back, sighing as he did. The doctor came back in a hurried manner with stacks of paper. Obata held a hand out as the doctor sat down with him.

"Doctor, if you would be so kind, I would wish to write on my own, in my homeland's language."

The doctor quietly nodded.

"Thank you. I will tell you my tale as I write."

The doctor handed Obata what he would need to write. Obata nodded, eyeing up the doctor.

"This has been a long time coming old friend. For your patience with me on my journey, I will share everything with you today before I depart."

The doctor poured himself water from a kettle and handed it to Obata, pouring himself some as well.

"Take it my friend. Surely, you will need it to tell your tale."

Obata nodded.

"Thank you. Where to begin? I am Obata Yoshimoto. My former life, was that of a warrior. A Samurai. A life well lived and fought, until I met my end. I am the Man of a Thousand Swords, more commonly known as the Nothing Man. I will tell you my tale, of how I fought my greatest battle long ago, before I go to fight my greatest battle today. I will tell you of the invisible demon, Mu-Onna, and the terrible wrath I faced so long ago. This is the story of my life, and my death."

—————————————————

Obata looked out to the fog shrouded world around him, clutching his sword at hand in its sheath. He, and other Samurai, along with his Master himself, traveled the fog shrouded roads. Their purpose here today was to slay a demon, of immense power, one who had been terrorizing the land for months now. Obata's Daimyo, normally a calculating man, had been driven so far that he himself would enter the field of battle today, in the hopes of expelling the scourge from his land.

At first, everything began with disappearances. Small village warriors would go missing in the night or the day. And then, their bodies were discovered. Hanging from trees, stripped of their weapons, clothing, and skin. At first, rival lords were the subject of doubt, or wandering bands of vagrants, out to intimidate and frighten. Villages fell under waves of fear, and eventually, what was thought to be the work of vagrants soon gave rise to the Demon, a Mu-Onna. The woods held whispers some said, while all around there was nothing to be seen. Warriors would disappear, and were finally discovered, all of them killed and displayed in the same manner, with no marks of any sort left behind.

Which was why today it was going to end. Obata would fight alongside his Master to vanquish the evil in his land, a tale to be told in legends no doubt. The group had now traveled beyond the small village that was currently being terrorized, and were hoping to draw the demon out by their presence. So far, it only claimed warriors, but it taunted others, whispered to them from nowhere, spoke to them, told them to seek the strongest. The Mu-Onna would have the strongest today.

It was not long before the group of warriors discovered a sign. From up high in the ancient bamboo forest, tied to a rope, hung a body. Obata's master and the rest of the warriors looked on high to the scene. The bamboo was neither bent nor broken, and there wasn't so much as a trace of any tracks or marks. The frightened words of the commoners must be true then. This really was a Mu-Onna. A dark spirit, supposedly made of nothing. But this dark spirit really did act like it was made of nothing.

A still set over the forest, and suddenly a coldness washed over the warriors. A small river gurgled nearby in the silence. The birds were silent. And in the damp, yet unworldly heat, a feeling befell all, as they were being watched. The silence was broken, as Obata's master drew his sword, and looked out into the damp fog. Likewise, 12 other men drew their swords, waiting and ready. The Mu-Onna was here.

——————————————————--

"A Mu-Onna?"

"Yes. I have no reason to lie to you my friend. What I fought was real. More real than you could ever know."

Obata's longtime friend, Doctor Peter Cane, poured more water into Obata's empty tea cup.


"I'm afraid I'm having a little trouble digesting this all my friend. Your culture, has always been... fascinating to me. But unless I was there myself to see with my own eyes, I'm not sure what you say is accurate. You say men were hanged from trees, with no skin to be found?"

"That is correct Doctor. Every word I say is truth. I lay witness to the slaughter of 12 noble men, and eventually, even my own master."

Dr. Peter's face had washed over with a look of confusion, perhaps even doubt at Obata's words. Obata had long since ignored this. His friend, above all others was intrigued by the otherworldly, and although he was for a time, a Doctor, his profession had long since changed hands, to that of a simple record keeper. But even in such a job the old Doctor still found himself drawn to things unknown. And Obata had always been a mystery to him. The Nothing Man, Master of a Thousand Swords.

Obata took a long drink from his tea, before scrolling down the parchment once more. He looked up to his longtime friend.


"Doctor, if you did not believe what I have told you so far, you will have a hard time believing this."

————————————————-

Obata's ears rung like the bells of a great temple, as he shook his head, and stood, unsteady on his feet. He staggered as he clutched his first sword, and at last his vision came back to him completely. Before him lay his Master and 10 other Samurai, all coming back to their feet. But a few feet away from him, sat the remains of one man. There was nothing left but a small crater and smoke, and charred bits of armour. It was like he had been struck by thunder on the spot from some angry god.

From all around them, the forest was filled with whispers, echoes of men, many men, from all over. And then there was laughter. The remaining Samurai stood tall as the forest around them swayed in the wind, as the voices of the fallen taunted them. Obata's Master raised his sword in defiance, showing that he was not afraid. As one, the remaining 11 Samurai raised their swords as well. And then, the laughter ceased. The forest went silent on the wind, as the small river gurgled on by as normal.

Another unease crept over the warriors, as all that remained was the still of the forest, and the ashen crater of the one who had been claimed. The silence was almost deafening, as all sat, waiting, for something. And then, one of the men began shouting. And then, Obata saw it. Three red eyes, glaring at one of the men, right over his chest. And, like another thunder strike, Obata was sent sprawling to the forest floor as a wave of fire washed over him, and Bamboo splintered from the shockwaves. The same ringing filled his ears as he stood once more, to see the dirt spray up earth a few meters from him. As he looked on, trying to get steady on his feet, he saw the charred remains of another warrior, and then heard a scream.

Another warrior charged towards seemingly nothing, and to Obata's astonishment, began sparring with thin air. Steel sung in the air as it clashed, and the warrior was knocked down, and then, as the air blurred ever so slightly, the warrior clutched his chest, as he was gutted by nothing, and then, lay still. Other warriors were coming to their feet now, and saw the spectacle before them. But Obata saw something else. Blood, outlined on something, a wicked curved blade, floating in thin air. Before he could say anything, Obata's master charged head on, which prompted the other Samurai who were standing to charge as well, uttering their cries of war, as they charged head on towards the dark spirit.

—————————————

Obata paused in his writing, looking up to the doctor, who was clutching his cup, looking wide eyed.

"I have known you for some time my friend, and I have not known you to tell a lie. But this..... this seems to be utter nonsense."

Obata nodded.

"As I knew it would. Even to me, I admit, I could not believe what I was seeing Doctor. Men being struck by lightning, and turning to ash, while being cut down by nothing. But I have proof. This Mu-Onna is not a ghost. And it is not made of nothing. It is real."

Obata stood up from his chair, and let the overcoat he wore slide down, as he hung it up on the chair behind him. Sliding his kimono aside to reveal his chest, the Doctor looked upon a scar across his chest. Obata sat once more, taking a long drink from his tea, before turning to the doctor.

"I know this Mu-Onna is real, because I was cut by its blade. I was slain by its blade, as was every man out in the woods that day."

Obata reached into the confines of his old coat, and pulled something out, rather long, wrapped up in cloth.

"I have never shown this to anyone Doctor, not until today."

Obata handed the cloth over to his friend, and Peter took it, with some hesitation, some expression of fear showing on his face for what he would find. Obata nodded.

"Unwrap it, Doctor."

The Doctor began to slowly unwrap the old worn cloth, his hands shuttering.

"By the lord......"

In his hands, sat a blade, seemingly broken, coated in old dried blood. It was wicked in its design, every curve and notch designed to cut through flesh with ease. With shaking hands, the Doctor touched the blade, and tried to pick it up, but recoiled when the sharp edges dug into his flesh. He looked up, an expression of shock on his face, as Obata simply watched.

"This blade, Doctor, is unlike any I have ever seen. It does not dull, and it is impervious to anything you throw at it, be it over an anvil, or in the flames of the hottest forge. This blade killed 9 of the best Samurai I have ever known, and was responsible for killing me."

The Doctor shook his head in disbelief.

"This blade, is... is cursed. I should not be handling it, nor should you my friend. You should give it to a priest, so that they may cleanse it of the evil inside of it."

Obata reached out and took the blade in his hands, wrapping it up carefully. He shook his head.

"No Doctor. I will return this blade to its rightful owner. To kill this Mu-Onna, you must use a part of it to do so. There is a reason people call me The Man of a Thousand Swords Doctor. I have travelled the world, for over 20 years, learning of all the fighting styles and weaponry I could. I have studied dueling, the art of using a claymore, the east and their curved swords and dexterous styles, the weight and heft of a mace, the precise strikes of pikes and spears, and many others. I sought to find some way of learning how this blade was used, and I found nothing in my travels across this wide world."

The Doctor shook his head.

"But, why?"

Obata smiled.

"I am the Nothing Man Doctor. I died the day my master died. I am not a Ronin, nor am I a Samurai any longer. When I died, on that day, 20 years ago, I was set free. I realized, that this Mu-Onna was beyond me. And, one day, if I were to return, I would need to know more than just the way of the Samurai. I would need to learn the ways of all the warriors who came before me, not just from my own home, but from other parts of this wide world. To fight and reclaim my lost soul, I would need to know every battle that man has ever fought."

The Doctor watched Obata silently for some time.

"Is this why you are here today? Is this why you're telling me this? You think you're already dead?"

Obata simply smiled.

"Don't worry yourself over it my friend. God cannot help me. I tell you this now, because in order to reclaim my soul, I know, in my heart, that I will need to die in battle once more."

Obata picked up the parchment once more.

——————————————————--

One by one, every warrior who faced the dark spirit fell in battle, overcome by great powerful blows, or being effortlessly ripped apart by the blades of dark spirit. And now, Obata stood, with his sword drawn, as his master did battle with the Mu-Onna. He was holding his own, but he needed aid. Obata would die for his master if need be. Charging into the fight with his sword raised, he clashed against nothing as he stood his guard over his master, protecting him. The air shimmered slightly in the wake of the Mu-Onna's movements, and Obata could see when it was going to strike.

He blocked powerful blows that nearly knocked him to his feet, and slashed at thin air every time, while beside him, his master fought with the dark spirit as well. It was fighting the two of them at the same time and still holding them off. Obata shuddered as something powerful impacted his chest, knocking the wind out of him as he was sent flying back to the forest floor. Standing up once more to see his master fighting with every ounce of strength and precision he could muster, Obata watched as a splash of green lanced in the air, spattering the forest floor as the Mu-Onna roared, a roar with such ferocity that it seemed to shake the very air around them, in the splinters of the bamboo forest they were fighting in.

That lance of green inspired Obata, as he realized that whatever that green liquid was, it came from the Mu-Onna. If nothing could bleed, and feel pain, then that meant one could kill nothing. Clutching his sword, Obata stood once more, and charged head on towards the dark spirit. His sword lowered towards the shimmer, he charged at full speed, when suddenly, his master had a great blow set across him, sending him sprawling into the bushes. Obata yelled his war cry and was about to hit the blur, when in a flash of motion, sparks flew from his blade as it was cut clean through and snapped like it was toy.

Pain suddenly made itself aware to him as he looked down, at his chest, to see his armour broken and splintered, as a blade rested in his chest. Like a mere child, he was lifted off the ground and held there. Through the shimmer of the Mu-Onna, he could make out his master standing once more, but felt that the dark spirits eyes were on him. He choked up blood, smiling.

"You bleed as I do, dark spirit. And you will die here with me today."

Obata reached out to whatever he could grab a hold of, and pulled himself closer, impaling himself further along the blade, as he slashed his own broken blade at whatever he could, cutting into something and enticing another roar, just as Obata's Master plunged his sword into the center of the Mu-Onna. Obata was lifted higher as it screamed in pain, and then he was suddenly thrown, far through the air, and sent sprawling into the bushes. Obata landed on an incline and rolled through dirt and trees, sliding down to the river nearby.

His vision was fading, but in the distance, the scream of a man could be heard, his master. And then, everything went black.

——————————————————

Obata finished writing things down on the parchment, coming to a close on his tale, finishing the last few bits. He looked up to the Doctor, who was watching him intently.

"I know not how I survived being run through twice, but I have my ideas Doctor. And I have two very real scars to show for them."

Obata handed the final piece of parchment to his friend. Peter took it, looking over the writing.

"Thank you, my friend. All these years, I had never imagined that...... that you would come upon such evil. God must have been with you on that day."

Obata shook his head.

"I mean no disrespect friend, but I do not believe he was. I believe, I was kept alive through the power of the Mu-Onna. I looked into its eyes, as it stared into mine. I lost my soul to it. But I am kept alive by its blood. When my Master ran the spirit through, green ran along the edges of his sword, and into my wound where his own blade had struck me. I floated downstream until I was found by villagers and taken care of, but my recovery was quick. Too quick, for a man who should be dead."

Peter simply nodded and smiled.

"Perhaps, that in itself was a miracle. Maybe God wasn't done with you just yet my friend. Maybe he believes you are the one to vanquish the demon back to the pits of hell it crawled from."

Obata simply nodded.

"Perhaps so. But I know, I will finish what I did not have the strength to do back then. These hot years come rarely for my homeland, but I have my connections, and I hear that once more, the sun shines brightly on my homeland. The Mu-Onna will return. And this time, I will face it, as a true warrior. I will reclaim my soul and avenge my Master. And then, I may die in peace."

Doctor Peter simply nodded. He'd known Obata for a long time. And if he knew one thing, he knew that when the man was set on something, it would take mountains to stop him. Obata stood up, and began untying one of the swords around his side. The smaller, secondary one. He pulled it away from him, scabbard and all, and held it out to Peter.

"Here my friend. This is for you. For all the years that you have helped me and counseled me on my travels. This sword was granted to me by my Daimyo. It is no longer fit to rest in my hands, as it belongs to that of a true teacher. My master was a good man, and a teacher. You hold more honour in your teachings than I ever will, and you honour my master's name."

Doctor Peter reached out, but shrunk back.

"No, I couldn't. You need that sword!"

Obata shook his head.

"I have the teachings of many of the weapons created by men and their gods with me. And I have the one true weapon at my side that will defeat the Mu-Onna. This sword will fare better in your hands than mine."

Reluctantly, the Doctor took it, carefully, like he was handling a newborn child, before he stood up. He extended his hand, and Obata took it, shaking it with the familiarity he had long since come to know of the English people. The Doctor took a necklace off his neck bearing a cross, and wrapped it around Obata's hand.

"This is for you my friend. May god light your way in your hour of darkness. I have faith in you. HE, has faith in you."

Obata bowed silently.


"Thank you my friend. If and when I do see him, I will put a good word in for him for you. I wish you good fortunes in life Dr. Peter."

Obata bowed once more, as did Peter, before Obata grabbed his coat, and slid it on. He sighed, looking over the Doctor's home once more. This man had been good to him. When Obata first arrived, he had known little of the English language, and their ways. But one day, he bumped into the Doctor, and they fast became friends. Eventually, as Obata began to build up a reputation across the land in his travels and his strange quest, the Doctor became a true friend, advising him on passages to take and people to talk to. But he was a curious man, and no doubt, the tales of Obata intrigued him.

And today, Obata had made peace. He had tied up all loose ends, and was ready to depart, back to his homeland. With one final look and a farewell to his longtime friend, Obata pushed past the old rickety door and out into the rain, stepping out to reclaim his soul and avenge his master.

—————————————————--

The trip back to Obata's homeland was long, like all of his journeys over these past years. But a calm descended on him, as he stepped foot back into his world, among his people. He was an outcast, a Ronin. One who failed to commit to his master's death. But he knew, in his heart, that he was more than that. And so he bore the looks of passerby, the whispers of those who called themselves warriors. The path to reclaiming who he was would not be easy.

And, true to things, searching for nothing was a troublesome task. Obata traveled through all corners of his land, but rejoiced as he felt waves of heat weigh down on him in his travels. The Mu-Onna would come. And sooner or later, word of passerby would catch his ears, if he remained vigilant. It was a harrowing thing, to come back home. Over 20 years, people and places had changed. Times were changing, and as Obata strode among the commoners and warriors alike, he felt like he was a relic from another time. But none the less, it was good to be home.

The smell of the crisp air in the mountains, the lush fields of rice, green and bright and alive. The Bamboo forests that grew from the earth to touch the sky if they could, and the blooming of trees and other plants. In his travels, it gave Obata time to think. What might he do if he were alive again, and he came from his battle victorious? What if the Mu-Onna never came back? What if another had already vanquished it? He shook his head. Impossible. His old master was the best swordsman he ever knew. And when he recovered, he made his way back to the old bamboo forest.

It was a scene he wouldn't forget. No one had dared to go into the woods after Obata and his Master along with the other warriors had stepped in, and never returned. The scene was just like he remembered it. Every warrior had remained where they had fallen. And, through a trail of blood and the bright green that came from the Mu-Onna, Obata was led to his master. There, amongst the bamboo, lay his fallen Master, desecrated. His armour was battered, and broken. His helmet lay on the forest floor, discarded. The Mu-Onna had taken his head. It was the hardest work he had ever done. Obata gathered the remnants of the fallen warriors, and given them the proper ceremonies before laying them to rest. Why he did not commit seppuku then and there was not known to him.

But in its place, was the burning desire to stand up, and continue fighting. And Obata did. But, as the hot season ended, there was no sign of the Mu-Onna, anywhere. It was then that he realized it must come with the seasons. And slowly, Obata began to realize that if he were to still be here, and face the Mu-Onna when it returned, he would need to be stronger. He would need to be faster. And he would need to be sharper of mind. Perhaps his old friend was right. Maybe there was a god looking out for him back then, and now. And for the next 20 years, Obata would study all that he could on weapons and fighting styles. He hired himself out as a sword for sale, and slowly, began to make a name for himself as he learned.

The Samurai without a home or master, the Nothing Man, who had the knowledge of a thousand swords and fighting styles. And now, the Nothing Man was home. And he was going to reclaim Something of his.

Obata traveled the roads for weeks, and eventually, the words and whispers found him. The frightened tales of warlords, doing deeds most inhuman, to mark their coming. But Obata knew, the instant he heard the tales. The Mu-Onna was here. And just like before, more warriors were answering the call, and learning firsthand that this was no mere warlord or his men. And slowly, Obata tracked down the trail and the wake the Mu-Onna left with it. Until at last, he caught up with it. Before him at the bottom of a valley, lay a quiet village, steeped in fear. Obata was ready.

—————————————--

Almost like history repeating itself, a thick blanket of fog descended upon the village in the early morning light of the sun. Obata performed the adorning of his armour like a ritual. Strapping on every piece, making peace with himself every step of the way. At last, finishing up, he stood, and looked down at both holes in the armour over his chest. That would not happen today. Obata sheathed his sword, before sliding his second, more hidden weapon onto his backside. He would return the Mu-Onna its weapon in kind when the time was right. Without a word to any of the villagers, he rose, and headed out into the fog of the early morning. Several miles of field lay before him and the nearest forest. But Obata knew the Mu-Onna would be there. And he would be there to greet it when it came from its hidden lair today.

Obata's eyes shot open as something burned, and he reached out, gripping whatever he could get a hold of. Images of a strange place assaulted his eyes, a dark and metal place, with curves that were not natural. It looked like a place of hell, and it felt like hell, as he screamed out in pain from the burning. As he looked, the Mu-Onna from before had him pinned, and had some devilish device in its hands, which it was using on him. Obata strained, but found his limbs bound. But as he watched, the skin on his shoulder began to close, even though the sensation of pure fire burned him. He strained against his bonds, until, finally, the fire stopped.

Obata lay on whatever it was he was supported on, something cold, of steel and iron, as he gazed at the Mu-Onna before him. He was awake now, and distinguished more. This Mu-Onna..... was different. It was female. Clearly so. But its armour was of a different make, and it wore different trappings than those before it. A net crisscrossed its entire body that was exposed. And it wore armour, not unlike the first Mu-Onna, but it was etched in splashes, lines, and handprints in bright green. The blood of its own kind. Obata tried to raise a hand up, forming an unsteady "why" on his mouth, when it held a hand up to him. A voice came from it, spoken through the voice of another man, an echo. Except, part of it was his own voice....

"Warrior. Ronin."

It pointed to itself, then to Obata.

"Honourable. Skilled. Valuable."

Obata shook his head.

"Your words are hollow to me spirit! I will not be swayed with tricks!"

The Onna-bugeisha Mu-Onna nodded its silver clad face, the odd protrusions coming from the back of its head swaying as it stood. It stalked off elsewhere, leaving Obata alone. But he was not alone for long, before the ashen skinned spirit came back. In its gauntleted hands, it held two skulls. Very large ones. Inhuman ones. It held them both up to Obata, and played his voice back to him.

"Warrior of Bad-Blood!"

And suddenly, things clicked. Those two skulls came from the ones he fought. And the Onna-bugeisha Mu-Onna called itself a Ronin. It had no master. Obata spoke, if somewhat cautiously.

"You are without warlord?"

The spirit tossed the two skulls aside carelessly, nodding. Obata was beginning to understand.

"Bad Blood warriors. Different clan? Different house?"

Another nod. Obata watched the ashen skinned spirit. This one was different. It had an air of something else to it. In some strange, twisted way, it could almost be considered a goddess of war. It was befit with feminine nature, but covered under layers of steel and iron, and showed the strength of many men to match.

"What are you? You are not a Mu-Onna."

The spirit paced around him, before playing another voice, of a woman this time.

"Foreigner!"

Obata nodded.

"You are, a traveler? But from where?"

The spirit played a sound, something Obata had come to recognize over his many years of travel. The sound of ocean waves.

"You come from across the sea?"

Another nod.

"Why have you come to this land? My homeland?"

"Bad Blood Warriors."

Obata thought he understood. These Mu-Onna, were foreigners. Travelers. And like his own people, they had houses, clans. And this one, seemed to be hunting its own kin. Obata rested his head down on the cold plate of metal he rested on.

"Why..... did you help me?"

The spirit tilted its head.

"Honourable Warrior. Skilled. Fragile."

"My mission, my honour, was already restored. I am free to die now."

The Spirit shook its head. It brought its wrist up, before tapping on it, and Obata found the constraints holding him down freed. He leaned up, as the spirit stepped past him, and he looked to where it traveled. As if by magic, the plate he rested on began to sink, and Obata stood quickly, when suddenly, one of the walls in front of the spirit began opening. What met Obata's eyes, stunned him into silence.

Amidst a great black void, filled with tiny points of light like the stars in the night sky, sat a great blue and green ball. Obata, with some measure of anxiety, stepped up alongside the spirit, no longer believing this one to be out to hurt him. But his eyes couldn't leave the scene. It was, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. And, with a wave of its hand, the spirit altered the image, and Obata felt a sense of dizziness as they traveled down, down and down, and were looking at the fields of his homeland from above.

The spirit pointed to a scene. A crater. She then pointed to the skulls laying in the room, and held up three clawed fingers. That must have been the Mu-Onna he had fought with. The image shifted, and traveled over the great forest, until it rested in the center. At first, it looked like there was nothing. But the image suddenly changed, and in the forest, sat something. Something that bore the signs of evil. He pointed to it.

"Boat. The Mu-Onna came on that boat?"

The tall spirit that stood beside him nodded her head, and held up two fingers.

"Two more?"

The voices sounded out once more.

"Warlords."

Obata looked at the strange boat, as it glimmered in the strange shade of steel and iron it was forged from.

"You're hiring me. Like a swordsman?"

The tall spirit turned, looking down upon Obata. It nodded its head. Once more, a voice spoke. It was a simple word, but to Obata as he looked himself over, he realized that the spirit was right. He needed to visit an armoury.


——————————————--

Obata had no idea how much time had passed up here, on this strange boat. But the spirit had a forge aboard, something incredible to him. A forge on board a boat. Obata hadn't moved very far since the spirit had gone deeper into the bowls of this strange place, and he did not feel comfortable around this place. So he stayed by the great window, and stared at the great blue ball outside. From time to time, the spirit would come back, and give him a piece of armour that greatly resembled his old ruined gear. Eventually, all that remained was the once pristine mask that adorned Obata's face.

And, eventually, that too arrived. It was shaped and forged into a masterful imitation of what he once wore, and fit onto his outfit with perfection. But he soon learned that it was more than just a mask. Strange lenses were built into it, like windows that filled his eyes with strange images or colours. The spirit showed him how to change these windows, before leaving once more. Obata inspected his armour, and realized that it was forged from the same material as his modified sword. An unbreakable suit forged by an ashen spirit. Surely, he must be dreaming. Dead even. But Obata checked the cross around his neck from his old friend. There was no God for him to speak to yet.

As Obata passed the time in quiet meditation, looking at the enormous, beautiful ball outside the window, eventually, the ashen spirit returned. In her wake she carried three weapons, which he had painfully attempted to try and explain to her. The first was an elongated blade, like his old broken sword. The second was a shorter blade for close quarters. And the third was a claymore. Obata, in his travels, had most enjoyed the claymore. In many ways, the tactics of those known as the Scots were akin to the way of the Samurai, and praised those with strength and bravery to match. If Obata was going to fight one of these terrible Mu-Onna warlords, he would need an edge.

And, as a sign of trust, the ashen spirit had provided for him. No, this was not a Mu-Onna. This spirit seemed like the creator Goddess herself, Izanami. Obata found himself counting all that this spirit had given him, without asking for anything in return. And at last, when the last pieces of his gear had been given to him, Obata bowed to his knees, thanking the spirit for all she had provided. The spirit did not respond to this, but he did not care. His gratitude was known, and for that, he would serve gladly.

Whether it be hours, days, or even weeks, the time came and Obata and the ashen spirit were ready. The two warlord Mu-Onna would be vanquished, and Obata could claim true victory.

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Obata would once again be mesmerized by the ashen spirit's sea vessel, at the raw speed of which it traveled. He had watched as it fell, like a stone from the heavens, until the very land he called home, looked like home once more. It was incredible. But now was not the time to bask on such things.

Obata stepped through the forest, listening to the sounds of it breathing as he walked. He had never seen things like this before. The mask of which he was given, made him see in the dark, like a cat. He could tread the forest with ease, and knew exactly where everything was, clear as day. But, for the time being, he was alone now. He knew where he was heading, but his ally was staying behind, tracking him. He did not fear to tread alone. He was blessed with new life, and powerful new tools. He had overcome two Mu-Onna before. He would do it again.

As he traveled, a still came over the forest, more so than even on the darkest night. He must be getting close to the sky boat. As if something were answering his thoughts, he froze as the glare of a Mu-Onna's gaze found him. Obata did not reach for any of his swords, but stood tall, waiting. As the gaze traveled over him, the three red eyes blinked out, and not a few meters away from him, fallen leaves were thrown into the air as the Mu-Onna landed nearby.

The magic of the mask he wore showed it completely, and Obata's hand strayed near his claymore, as a breath welled up inside him. The Mu-Onna before him bore the scars of numerous cuts from blades, and the telltale wound of impalement. This..... was his true enemy. Obata drew his claymore, slinging the sword over his shoulder, as like a ritual, the Mu-Onna before him drew its own wrist blade. Obata spoke, as he circled it in the darkness of the forest.

"This is my fight spirit. Go now, and leave me to reclaim my soul. You walk your own path now."

Obata could not see the spirit that had been trailing him, but he knew she had been watching, and would hear him. This was his fight, and his alone. Circling the Mu-Onna, Obata spoke once more as they circled each other.

"I remember you, dark spirit. I have slain two of your brothers. And I will slay you. I am Obata Yoshimoto, the Nothing Man. After tonight, I will be something once more!"

Obata charged forwards, as the Mu-Onna roared its own challenge to Obata, and the two began the dance of clashing blades.

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In the distance, the Yautja watched as the Human she had allied with began to fight one of the older Hunters. There was something commendable about this one, a stoic stubbornness, a will in his bones that went beyond his frail form, and it showed as the Human clashed blades with the older Hunter. He was outmatched in strength, but not in skill. She wished that she could remain to watch, but she had her own priorities. The rogue clan she was hunting had outran their fate for long enough.

Taking one last look at the Human as he swung his large weapon about in heavy handed clashes with the blades of the older hunter, the Yautja looked onwards and started moving once more towards her own objective. The elder clan leader. With great strides she traveled among the forest with ease in leaps and bounds, and, finally, found the ship that these hunters called home. De-cloaking herself, she leaped from the trees to the ground below, landing just outside the landing ramp of the ship, which was extended. She drew her own wrist blades, and stood, waiting.

To answer her call, the clan elder stepped forth, clad in full armour and bearing the trophies of his own kin across his armour. He roared a challenge, extending his bladed staff out. She was no fool. This clan fit the description of rogue by all means. She feinted accepting his offer by withdrawing her own wrist blades and reaching for one of her tools, when she rolled instinctively as the elder sent a bladed disk hurling at her. Coming up to her feet, she charged the elder, bringing her blades to bare once more. She closed the gaps in between them an dove forwards onto the elder, knocking him down as his disc returned, flying right over them and lodging itself in the hull of the ship. That was close. She could feel it as it clipped the ends of her dreadlock like spines.

The Elder was faster on the draw, and came up with a punch to her mask, knocking her aside, giving him the edge to pin her. Clashing her wrist blades against the glaive that was coming down at her, she lashed out with a kick that sent the elder stumbling back, giving her time to flip onto her feet. The two charged at each other once more, roaring their challenges at one another in a clash that could be heard for miles.

Obata looked into the eyes of the Mu-Onna, as he held its wrist blade at bay. He was trembling, struggling to hold his guard as he was losing ground. His wounds may have been healed, but it seemed like his exhaustion was not. Pushing with all his strength, he managed to slip away from the Mu-Onna, staggering back onto his feet. His breaths were heavy and ragged now. Obata circled the Mu-Onna, as it clicked and hissed, laughing at him with its own voice. Obata then realized what it was. This armour, although forged of the gods, was heavy, built for a warrior of strength and endurance. Built for a god. And he was not a god.

Obata suddenly dropped his claymore, sticking it into the ground before him. The Mu-Onna's head tilted, as the two continued to circle one another. Obata began unstrapping bits of armour from himself.

"This armour, was built for your kind, dark spirit. These weapons, were built for your kind. But I am not your kind. And I do not need what your kind has to offer."

Obata relinquished his swords, and unstrapped the last bits of armour from himself, before removing the mask that adorned his face. The darkness greeted his eyes once more, as the Mu-Onna shimmered, barely visible once more. Obata drew the modified blade that had remained with him the whole time.

"I do not need your magic to see where you are spirit. And I have something to return to you."

Obata raised the blade and charged at the shimmer. He was knocked off his feet by a powerful punch that sent him flying. Obata recovered, whipping dirt up into the air, causing the Mu-Onna to shimmer. He lashed out, only to have his blade parried, and caught the motion of another heavy handed blow coming his way. Obata expertly knocked the fist aside, and sent his blade up once more, spraying rivulets of green blood into the night.

Obata was kicked off his feet, and before him, the Mu-Onna chose to become visible. It briefly clutched the wound he had inflicted, before it reached up to its silver face, and began blowing steam. With a click, suddenly, the Mu-Onna tossed the smooth face place aside, and revealed its true face. Something belonging to a true dark spirit, a mouth wrapped in four claw like appendages, which spread as it watched him from amber eyes. It raised its gauntleted arm up, tapping on it briefly, before it slid the wrist blade away, and spread its arms out wide, laughing at him. It was amused by all this.....

Obata took careful steps toward his opponent this time, and ducked as a powerful punch came his way. He swung his blade upwards, and caught the Mu-Onna as its second tree trunk like fist came around, splashing more green into the night. But he was taken off guard when the Mu-Onna didn't even flinch, and picked him up by the neck. He was lifted off his feet without effort, and suspended in the air, as the Mu-Onna raised a hand to him, waving a finger at him. Grabbing his blade hand, Obata heard, and felt a snap in his arm as he was promptly thrown through the air and landed against a tree. He winced in pain as he tried to move his arm, which was now dislocated. As he weakly stood once more, clutching at his blade in his off hand, the Mu-Onna strode over to him, kicking him upside the head. Teeth were knocked out at he slumped against the ground, but was quickly pulled up by his hair.

Looking into the eyes of the Mu-Onna as it leaned down on him, he heard the sound of a blade extending as it laughed at him. Obata's blade was laying just out of reach. Struggling to reach far enough to grab it as he was held in place by his hair, the Mu-Onna brought its blade down. Holding his broken arm up out of instinct, the blade passed clean through, and sent a spike of pain through Obata. But in those critical seconds he gained the leverage he needed. In one swoop he sent his blade deep into the knees of the Mu-Onna, in which it too howled in pain, falling to the forest floor. As it dropped, Obata looked into its real eyes.

"For my master."

The moment lasted an eternity, as his blade traveled in one clean arc, into the neck of the Mu-Onna. Flesh and bone split apart for the blade, as it passed clean through, and in a sudden silence, the Mu-Onna fell backwards. The thump on the fallen leaves and forest floor echoed a finality to things for Obata. His quest, his goal, was finally over. His soul was his own. He slumped against the tree, and looked over to what was left of his arm, which was bleeding profusely. He didn't have much time left. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembered the spirit. She had her own battle to fight. Obata shook his head. Maybe not. He still had a favor to repay.

Obata looked down to the green blood that spilled forth from the Mu-Onna, and remembered long ago how he had managed to survive from mortal wounds, an impossible feat of luck. Or... perhaps more. Obata looked at the cross dangling from his neck. Perhaps Peter was right. Struggling to stand, he inched his way over to the fallen Mu-Onna, when he heard a distinct sound. He looked over to the source, the gauntlet on the wrist of the fallen spirit. Red images, something he couldn't understand, moved and changed shape. But they were getting smaller as time wore on. Perhaps he could use that gauntlet for something. Obata looked unsteadily at his own arm.

He'd just be taking what he lost is all.

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The female ducked around a wall as a searing lance of plasma passed her, exploding on the interiors of the ship. She was riddled with cuts, as was the elder that pursued her, but neither seemed willing to budge. Her own plasma caster leaned around the corner and fired a bolt, which the elder was slower to dodge in his heavier armour. The bolt seared his flesh as it passed, causing him to roar and charge the corner she had taken cover behind.

As she crouched low and attempted to evade the charge, the elder's plan came into place, as his caster locked on to her. The weapon fired, and as she dashed to avoid the ensnaring net, but it found its target, and tripped her. Struggling to re-orient herself, she cut through the net before it enclosed around her too much, but was promptly pinned, when the elder casually jammed and impaled her shoulder on his glaive. She clutched at her shoulder, as the elder leaned down on her. It spoke to her, for the first time, in the tongue of their people.

"You have failed, Hunter. Concede defeat and your death will be that of an honoured warrior. Quick and painless."

The female hissed, lashing out with her feet. She pulled the elder to his knees and wrapped her legs around his neck. The elder's wrist blade extended and she grabbed his arm with her free hand. She didn't have much power left, but the Elder was close enough that he couldn't dodge her shot. Unfortunately, the two had the same idea. The three signature dots of each one's casters focused on their targets, and a heated struggle ensued, trying to overtake one another.

One moment later, the hull of the starship was torn apart as an explosion rocked the hull, and both Yautja were flung off each other as the ship buckled and strained, folding in on itself as fire spread through the hull quickly. The female was the first to recover, but struggled with the glaive still embedded into her shoulder. From the wreckage of the ship she heard the sound of the elder recovering, and attempted to dislodge the weapon, but it was no use. She scanned the area with her caster, looking for the first sign of movement, and her weapon halted on a figure as it emerged from the smoke.

The Human male strode forwards, no longer clad in the armour she had crafted for his protection, with part of his formal garb underneath wrapped around a missing arm, dripping both his own blood and smeared in the green of her own kin. Clutching the blade she had found him with, he stepped into the hazy wreckage, and spotted the female, hurrying over to her. The warrior formed an expression on his alien face, his mouth upturned and a spark in his eyes as he holstered his blade, and gripped the hilt of the glaive in her shoulder.

"I repay my debt to you spirit. Come, free yourself and we may finish this!"

The female gripped the hilt as well, close to the warriors own hand, and slowly, the two pulled the weapon out together. The female let out a roar as the weapon slid free, finally. The Human warrior bowed, turning as the elder barreled into him, smashing him upside the jaw and knocking him into the air. The warrior did not move from the wreckage he lay in. The female's caster found its sights on the elder as it turned to face her, and let loose with the remaining power that it had. The blast impacted dead center, searing through his thick armour like butter and then detonating.

The Elder flew back into the wreckage, and lay still. The female rose to her feet, extending her blade. The Elder lay in a crumpled heap among the wreckage. Bending down, she rolled him over, to see the dead gaze in his eyes. The deed was done then. Looking down to the gauntlet on his wrist, she checked the computer as it counted down. Looking back to the Human, who was still, she weighed her options. There wasn't time to do or carry both in her state. Leaving the elder were he lay, she strode through the wreckage, over to the fallen Human. Picking him up and throwing him over her shoulder. It was a shame. This elder would have made a mark on her collection. But a warrior's life was more valuable than a trophy of accomplishment. And this Human had earned his life.

Stepping through the wreckage, the female made her way through the ruins of the starship to the outside world, before setting off on a dead sprint through the alien forest. Behind her, as the timer counted down and reached the final mark, the power cells of the ship began to overload, encasing the ship in swaths of energy, until they could no longer contain it. In a bright flash of light and rolling thunder, the ship winked out of existence along with several acres of forest as the energy came to its peak, expanded like a great star, and then dissipated. It was over.
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Obata, once more, stood at the great window, looking down at the enormous blue-green ball. Looking over to his arm, which was now sealed, a painful procedure which seared him just as before. Obata looked up to the spirit as it stood beside him.

"You should have left me in the wreckage, spirit. My life has come to a close. My soul is my own, my master avenged. I will forever be a Ronin to my people."

The breathing, followed by the odd undertones of clicking as the female watched him.

"You show me my home, in a new way of which I have never seen it before. I could not go back down there as the man I am now. I started my journey with the intentions of finishing it, as a warrior."

The female watched Obata, musing on things. She was a Hunter, and in her time, she had hunted her fair share of Humans. Never before had she met one with such mettle. Truly, a unique member of his species. But he was right. She was versed in some of these alien's customs. And he would not find anything of value if he returned to his own world. What he had accomplished here would not be met ever again for him on his world. But perhaps.... As a Ronin he called himself. A sell sword. She tilted her head, going through the various recordings in his language.

Obata turned as his own voice greeted him, echoing his question, asked some time ago. He stared at the mask of the spirit before him. He thought he understood.

"You would hire me once more?"

The spirit nodded her head. Obata turned, looking down at his home below.

"What would you have me do?"

The Female spoke, from her own voice in the Human's native language.

"Hunt."

"Other Mu-Onna?"

The female nodded. Obata nodded his head, before turning to face her. He set himself down on his knees, bowing.

"I am yours to command. You are my master and I will serve until I am slain or you choose that you have need of me no longer. I will follow you into any battle, no matter the odds. I will do you proud, spirit."

The spirit shook her head.

"You, are free. True warrior."

Obata rose to his feet.

"If that is the case, spirit, then I will fight beside you as an ally. What may I call you?"

The Female thought about things. Technically, she had no name. She was very much like him. She had dishonored herself, ages past, and was now attempting to reclaim her place in servitude, dispatching Rogue clans of Bad Bloods. But, there was one that stuck out in particular in recent events.

"Izanami."

Obata simply nodded, extending a hand out, as a friend did with him so long ago.

"Goddess of Creation, Izanami, I am Obata Yoshimoto. It will be my honour to fight alongside you as a warrior."

Izanami looked at the gesture, before eventually extending her own hand, grasping Obata's tightly, as he shook hers.
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                                                                                          1 Year Later



Obata sat on the cold metallic floor, staring out to his home down below. It had been one year since he'd left. And as he sat on the floor, and stared out the window into the cold reaches of space that his home world lay in, cradled preciously by the great sun, his thoughts wandered. In one year, he had traveled so far beyond the reaches of mortal men, he could scarcely believe what his eyes had seen. And now, as he stared at his home world, at the seemingly insignificant landmass he had once tread upon, he seemed so small.

His whole life, was spent, on that one landmass, or exploring out beyond it. All the struggle, all the trials, his entire life, as far away and as triumphant as it once seemed, was nothing compared to what he had seen in one year out here on Izanami's sky boat. Obata chuckled. How much of a fool he still was. He had long ago shed his simple demeanor, and been taught by Izanami in the way of her kin. But, still, he found himself coming back here. Coming back to old sayings and notions.

In a way, he'd simply grown up as a person, it seemed. Gone now from being a warrior alone, to something else. But what it was, he didn't know. He remembered his old name, from his travels down on that small little world. The Nothing Man. Maybe that's who he was now. Maybe he wasn't a warrior, or an alien, or a hired swordsman, or even..... a friend. He was nothing, yet everything all together. His thoughts strayed as he heard Izanami's footsteps through the deck of her craft. Obata turned his head upwards to find her standing beside him, as she looked out to his home down below. She spoke in her own language, something Obata still had some troubles learning, but he was making fair progress. He understood her at least, even if her method of communication was just a bit different than his.

"You enjoy the sight of your home?"

Obata nodded, if hesitantly.

"It brings me joy to see it again. But, I feel like an outsider. As if I shouldn't be here. I have many sights in my eyes that do not belong to the eyes of mortal men. Why did you bring me here?"

Izanami sat down beside Obata, something rare for her to do. She brought a clawed hand up to her mask, pointing to the green handprint across it, a blood mark.

"This forever marks me as a shamed warrior. I cannot return to my home world. I live my life in exile, but remain in service, reclaiming my honour piece by piece, with every rogue hunter I slay. You are a shamed warrior. But you can return to your home at any time. There is business to be had during the hunting season on your world. There are always clans that disobey. While I scan for craft, you can walk, among your people, and enjoy what I cannot."

Obata nodded.

"Thank you. You teach me new things every day."

Obata suddenly found himself looking down at the cross around his neck. How funny. All this time, it had remained intact. It seemed like so long ago that his friend had given it to him. Obata looked up to Izanami, before he removed the chain from around his neck.

"I would like you to have something of mine. It was given to me, by a friend. A teacher. He taught me well when I needed him. But now, you are my teacher. You may insist that I do not call you master, but whether or not you accept it, you ARE my Daimyo. I will follow you to wherever your battles lead. I will die for you if necessary. And I will strive to be the best that I can be under your tutelage."

Izanami grasped the cross and the chain as Obata handed it to her, before he bowed. Izanami looked at the small, simple symbol, bowing her head. She stood up in silence, before walking off once more. She was often few for words. But Obata had long since picked up on her signals. She was grateful to be certain. But, now it was time to move. Obata remained in place as the shutters began to close, watching his home until the last sliver was closed. It was time to return now.
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