Me no own...

He stood in the middle of the storm, a lone figure, plains below his feet. Vermillion hair tossed about in the wind, as the rain poured down.

Unlike most people, he welcomed it, the cleansing rain, just washing all over him. The silence before the storm, just him out there, on the hill, posture straight and almost triumphant.


Slain bodies mottled the ground below him, all his work of art.

One warrior, two souls, one 'Hitokiri Battousai', the legendary swordmaster. Another, the normal man, longing to be free, of a never-ending cycle.

He brought death.

The rain brought life.

Before the week would be over, hundreds more would join those sleeping on the ground.

Death is the brother of Sleep. Is he not?

One hand ran down his blade, washed clean by the rain. His finger flinched as the katana drew blood.

Even the sword will turn upon its master.

The stealth killer, but when need be, the lone murderer. It was a dance with death, every time his blade was drawn.

The bringer of blood, dancing with death, not like a traditional dance, but more of a fast paced tango, a term he would not learn of anytime soon. Why did he kill? Because sensei taught him to. What was he doing thinking of such philosophical stuff?

A warrior kills to survive.

They have all given their lives for a worthy cause. Their blood mingling with the soil. They would all return to the earth and more will take their place...

So what do you think?