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He scoffed as his feet slid against the damp sand of the shore. Fixing his footing, he watched carefully as the samurai in front of him cut through the air with his blade. He touched his cheek. Warmth trickled down the pads of his fingertips, blood staining his hand. He clenched his jaw. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his tone dark as he got ready to engage in another fight with this brilliantly skilled samurai who looked an awful lot like an old friend he held dear in a past life. The red streak in the samurai’s hair was telling of his lineage. It made the Wanderer jerk with uneasiness— the way the two of them looked so similar, yet so different all the same. Even the way they acted was enough to bring a sense of familiarity into the puppet’s joints. He hesitated for a moment. So did the samurai, who did not appear to be as affected by this situation as he was. His lips were pursed tightly into a thin line, and a calm expression adorned his face. How in the world had the Wanderer ended up here? Standing face to face with Niwa’s descendant, crossing blades with him and exchanging blows until the samurai was able to land a clean hit to his cheek. He was fully prepared to have the descendants of the Raiden Gokaden take their revenge on him if they so pleased, yet when faced with his inevitable fate he had been awaiting, he decided to respond with equal fervor. His eye twitched as he held eye contact. Fuck, they looked so much alike. It was almost as if Niwa had returned. His lips trembled as he pursed them together, and he clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palms, though he felt no pain whatsoever. He was beyond the point of feeling pain. After all, he was a puppet. He did not feel pain… or so he wanted to believe. At this moment, all the pain from the past returned. He tried so hard to convince himself that he was over it by now, that it was all water under the bridge; just a series of events that were to be tossed aside just like he was. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a burning sensation in his chest where a heart should be. He did not have a heart. What was this feeling? Staring at the samurai, he felt the burning worsen. His whole chest illuminated with a fire that could burn through even his most magnificently crafted joints. It spread to his stomach, where a churning formed, leaving him completely vulnerable. He gritted his teeth, averting his gaze as he clenched his fists harder… before he finally let go. He let out a strained sigh as he ducked his head and turned, staring out at the tide as it rolled in slowly. The waves lapped at his feet. Compared to the raging storm on the other side of the island, this side was serene, quiet. Gray clouds covered the sky as a harsh wind blew around the tassels hanging from his hat. He looked up at the sky, a small feeling of sorrow filling his empty chest. He wasn’t aware he could still feel sorrow. He thought that emotion was long gone from his person, left to waste in that burning house in the middle of nowhere like his past self. How many years has it been since then? Four hundred and something? (He stopped counting when he reached one-hundred-and-fifty-seven.) He grew bored of the numbers; of continuously counting the days, the minutes, the seconds— like some psycho with a lifetime prison sentence. He considered that thought. Perhaps he was psycho. Hundreds of years of anger and vengeance on the mind was enough to make anyone lose their sanity. He suppressed a smirk as he thought about that witch. Psycho? He scoffed softly. Yeah, he wasn’t psycho in the slightest in comparison to how she turned out. And look where that got her. He almost forgot the samurai was here until he heard the clink of his blade sliding into its scabbard. The soft voice of the white haired man entered his ears, sounding so melodic in comparison to Niwa’s more husky tone. “For someone who looked as if they were about to finish me off mere moments ago, you sure do look solemn.” It sounded to him as if the samurai was mocking him. That was hardly the case. “May I ask why you stopped so suddenly?” To that question, he did not reply. Instead, a whisper left his lips as he refused to meet the samurai’s curious gaze. “I agreed to settle things between myself and the descendants of the Raiden Gokaden a while ago. You turned your blade on me, so I accepted the fight.” It was silent for a moment. “I am quite surprised,” the samurai spoke. “After speaking with the Traveler about the matter of my family, they encouraged me to find closure. It’s amusing. I am not one to mull over past grievances, yet here I stand before you, brandishing my sword in a test to see if you would accept my duel.” “What are you hoping to gain?” Came Wanderer’s response, his tone bitter as he waited for a further explanation. The samurai let out a quiet sigh and took a few steps forward, keeping a reasonable distance between himself and the Wanderer. “I am not one to turn my blade against anyone without reason. I stand to gain nothing, aside from maybe a few answers…” His eye twitched again, yet he didn’t reply. He stood silently, watching as the waves enveloped his sandals before drawing back, leaving a lone seashell laying at his feet. He did not lean down to pick it up. The samurai did. He picked it up with a delicateness that reflected itself in his swordsmanship. Gentle, yet precise. “You do not wish to finish what you started?” “I don’t care about the past. If you truly want to get revenge on me, then do so. I won’t run.” He crossed his arms over his chest and let out a sigh. “It’s inevitable, after all. I accepted my fate a long time ago.” The samurai hummed thoughtfully. “I see. Then, I have no reason to turn my blade on you again.” He could hardly mask his shock. He looked over at the samurai with an incredulous expression. “What?” “I have no reason, because you aren’t looking to harm anyone anymore. Therefore, I won’t purposely seek out violence where it isn’t needed. Unnecessary violence is what caused this whole ordeal, isn’t it?” He looked away, even as the samurai’s lips twitched up into a smile. Damn him for being right! He huffed, a subtle pout on his lips. In this moment, he resembled a cat that was just scolded for its bad behavior. “Aren’t you contradicting yourself?” He glanced at the samurai out of the corner of his eye. His constant need to stir up trouble bubbled to the surface as a small smirk settled on his thin lips. “You said you don’t want unnecessary violence, yet you turned your sword on me. How hypocritical.” The samurai faltered for a second. “Well, I…” “Well, that’s that. We’re done here.” He began walking off, his chin held high as he picked up his bag of belongings and fished out his notebook. Now, he could forget about that interaction. He could forget about how similar the samurai looked to Niwa, too. He flipped through his notebook, searching for the page he left off on before he engaged in battle with the samurai. His eyes roamed over the paragraphs upon paragraphs of research, yet he could not seem to focus on the words. His mind was racing as he kept being drawn back to thoughts of the samurai, like a fishing line reeling in a particularly stubborn catch. A call drew him out of his stupor. His steps came to a halt as he glanced over his shoulder, seeing the samurai hurry towards him with a look of curiosity. Conflicting emotions brewed deep within his crimson irises. “What is it? I’m busy.” “Here.” The samurai placed the seashell in his hand. “Keep this.” His eyes flickered between the man and the seashell. “I don’t need that. What am I going to do with it?” The samurai simply smiled, albeit a bit strained. “I don’t need to fight you, and this will symbolize the momentary peace between us.” “Hmph. You mortals always want to put value in useless things.” He dropped the seashell to the ground. He didn’t need it. It was worthless to him. A frown made its way to the samurai’s lips. He picked the seashell up once more and sighed. “Alright then. Farewell, vagrant wanderer.” With a final goodbye, the samurai took off in the opposite direction, tracing the pattern of the wind as he went. The Wanderer stared after him, watching his back until he was but a speck in the distance. He looked down at where the seashell had dented the sand. His brows furrowed together as he clenched his fingers around his notebook. How useless. He turned and continued, leaving the events of the last hour to wash away with the rolling tide. He passed every thought pertaining to the samurai to the back of his mind. It was all worthless to think about. The samurai was tied to a figure of his past, and therefore by extension, should be left in the past as well. However, he couldn’t stop the nagging feeling in his chest as he kept walking. The burning sensation returned to his chest, and he found his stomach churning with it. He ducked his head, letting out a shaky breath as he clutched his notebook in clenched fists.
I didn’t even get his name.