A scream pierced the moonlit night, along with the sound of flesh being rent through by steel.


The voice was cut short by a blade through the throat. Chaos ensued throughout the village; the Yellow Scarves have come! Fires soared up in the air as they razed and looted the village.

"Slash Blast!"

A small group of Scarves exploded into a pile of severed limbs and blood.

"Slash Blast! Power Strike!"

The Scarves threw their heads around to glare at who was fighting back; they saw a scrawny young man with an ancient, rusty sword. At this sight they uttered venomous laughs.

"It's just a mouse with an old knife. Take him!"

They all charged at the lone man.

"Power Strike!"

The first one to reach him was impaled through the chest.


Three others fall, each with two, gaping slashes erupting with blood. A great, burly looking one lunged at him with a great, spear-headed pole axe.

"Dragon Fury!"

The man narrowly deflected his assailant's massive swing; an audible creak was heard as the blow was swept away by the ancestral blade. He was also sent sliding back a few feet. He drew his sword back, and rushed forward with all his might.


The center of the large one's torso was blown out by the thrust; no scream was heard he slumped to the ground, but rather a gurgling sound. Again, the sword groaned from the force of the blow. A large group of Scarves charged forward, with the idea that they could swamp him with a flurry of blows.

"Slash Blast! Power Strike! "

He disposed of the first four of the squad with both attacks, but was quickly beset upon by the remaining bulk.

"Power Guard! Rage! Iron Body!"

His body took the blows with inhuman endurance and he did not bleed as profusely. He began to glow and the force of the blows recoiled off of him. He suddenly sheathed his sword and…


He knocked them all back, sending them flying into a burning house. The flames roared over the screams of the one they consumed greedily. Only the leader was left.

"Bah! They were all weaklings anyway. Come and face your death, young one."

The Scarves' leader assumed an aggressive stance; he bent his knees as if to lunge forward, positioning his spear perpendicular to his body. The young man assumed a null stance; sword sheathed, standing upright. The man leaped towards the swordsman;


Three, blue-white stabbed flew out, grazing the side of the swordsman.


His sword began to glow a bright crimson and slashed down; there was no cry of pain, no sign of suffering. The spearman was torn asunder by the single blow, his body in two halves and his head had transformed into a fine, red mist, punctuated with bits of skull. Unfortunately, his sword could not take the blow either; the sword had fractured in the middle, rendering it unusable.

"… great. I broke my family sword on the skull of a bandit."

He gathered the pieces into the sheath and went to aid his friends and family.