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Somewhere in England, 1850

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.

In the fields just outside the edge of the forest, Obata sat, his sword across his lap, as he waited. The air was heavy, hot, and sticky, as dampness clung to everything. The grass remained motionless in the field as no wind stirred. No animals could be heard. Just silence. Obata closed his eyes, listening, as he sat in the long grass, waiting. And there. He heard it. The subtle shift in things, as the world reacted to the presence of the dark spirit. Obata spoke aloud, opening his eyes with renewed vigor.

"I am here, dark spirit. Come out, so that I may face you, and reclaim what you have stolen from me."

Obata rose, clutching his sword. As he did, a sudden shimmer crossed his eyes, and a flash of red filled his vision. And then he remembered. The Mu-Onna's gaze was like lightening. Without hesitation, he threw himself down to the ground as lightening passed overhead, bright and powerful, and impacted the ground behind him, exploding with the force of the sun, sending him flying. Obata rolled instinctively, and came up back to his feet, his eyes scanning the field around him.

"I will not be defeated so easily dark spirit! I will not rest until I have reclaimed my soul and my honour!"

At the edge of the woods, the grass suddenly flattened as something heavy set landed in it, and Obata saw the telltale shimmer of the Mu-Onna. He stood to his full height, keeping his sword at the ready as the grass parted towards him. Bracing himself, Obata stood his ground, waiting. The grass parted until it was merely a few feet away from him, and with an almost supernatural movement, Obata raised his sword as he saw the shimmer move. His blade clashed with thin air, sending sparks out, and the familiar feeling returned to him, as the great force of the blow nearly threatened to stagger him off his feet. But he was prepared for this, and parried the blow, moving elegantly out of the way to slash the air as the Mu-Onna moved as well.

Obata took the first initiative now, and lashed out at the air, having his blade deflected, but came up with a swing of his fist. He impacted something, as pain suddenly shot up his hand. It felt like he had just punched a stone wall with all his strength, and it did not budge. A blow found itself upside his head, as his helmet was smashed like paper and he was sent reeling back onto the ground. Obata rolled once more, his memory of seeing the fallen Samurai killed in this way. He needed an edge that the Mu-Onna had too many over him. Grasping dirt in his injured hand, he stood and lashed out with it, spreading dust out in front of him, and suddenly, the Mu-Onna became something.

It had the stature of a man, but much taller, and broader. It shimmered now, the dust clinging to its body, giving Obata the power of sight. With renewed strength, Obata charged head on, and caught the telltale movement of an arm. Images replayed in his mind of what could possibly be playing out, and Obata sidestepped the uppercut of the Mu-Onna's blade, and brought his sword down on it. A great roar sounded out that shook the trees, and green splashed in the early light of dawn. A hand, and a gauntlet sporting a massive blade on its wrist fell to the ground, and was now purely visible. Obata had no time to react to this, and slashed once more with his sword, and cut into the midsection of the Mu-Onna, and with another roar, the dark spirit fell to its knees.

The shimmering field of the Mu-Onna suddenly faded, and before him, nothing became something. A creature, taller than any man he had ever seen, with skin that looked tough like that of a reptile. Adorned in dark silver armour, and wearing many bones and trappings. The Mu-Onna stared at him with eyes of black across its silver face, and roared, before Obata instinctively lashed out with all his strength. The cut was clean as it traveled through the neck of the creature, and it fell, the green blood it sported draining out onto the grassy field.

A feeling washed over him, as his heart was beating fast, as he stared at the scene before him. Had he done it? The Mu-Onna did not move, not an inch. He stood over the fallen dark spirit, taking it all in. But something was wrong. As he looked over the toughened hide, across the backside, Obata did not see any scars. Where a blade from his master should have broken through, there was nothing. Then..... that meant..... this was a different Mu-Onna.......

As confusion washed over him, the sound of something traveled through the air and Obata was knocked down. As he suddenly panicked, confusion overtaking him, he felt constricted and trapped, and suddenly saw that he was bound, in a net. And it was closing! Drawing his blade up, he jammed it against the net, and watched, in utter shock as his blade snapped as it constricted even further. Legitimate fear suddenly overtook him, a feeling he had not ever felt before. As the net closed around him, his eyes found his gaze on the cross dangling from his neck across his armour. And then he knew.

Mustering himself, he fought against the rapidly contracting net, and reached behind his back, his fingers clutched around the hilt of his weapon. The net contracted further and Obata was pinned. Suddenly, the net dug into his armour, and began to cut through it like it was nothing. In pain, Obata pulled on the hilt of his weapon, and felt release. The modified sword that he had constructed himself out of the Mu-Onna's blade cut though the net like nothing.

Fighting and scrambling his way out of the net, Obata rolled as he saw a shimmer in the air out of the corner of his eye, and saw dirt strike up where he once lay. As bits of his ruined armour fell off of him, he came to a low crouch with his Mu-Onna sword raised, and what he saw sent shivers down his spine.

Standing before him, a shimmer suddenly dissipated, and another Mu-Onna stood before him. Clad in similar armour, yet different markings and trappings, a nearly meter long blade extended from the gauntlet on its wrist. To his shock, beside the Mu-Onna, ANOTHER shimmer broke the air, and two stood before him. Deep, guttural laughter sounded out from their silver smooth faces, as Obata stood and looked into the eyes of the dark spirits. A clicking sound could be heard as the second drew its own wrist blade, and the two split apart, slowly circling him in the grass.

Obata crouched down low, staring up at the dark spirits. In all of his life, fear had taken a back seat. The way of a Samurai did not allow for such things. In all of his travels, all of his battles with warriors of every kind, he had never felt fear. But as these two dark spirits stood tall over him, their strength and devilish ways threatened to overpower him. He looked down at the cross dangling from his neck, and found the holes on his armour. No. He did not come this far just to fail now. Not for one Mu-Onna. Not for two. Clutching his modified sword, and the handle of his first sword, he lashed out.

"NO!!!!!"

Obata's blade struck one of the Mu-Onna's as its own wicked blade was coming down at him, and Obata struggled to stand as he fought against the overpowering strength of this dark spirit. Lashing out with his broken blade, he managed to cut into the side of the creature, and used his chance as it roared in pain, as more green blood splashed the foggy air. Ducking and side stepping out of the way as it lashed out, Obata felt a lance of pain shoot up his arm, as the other Mu-Onna struck him. The blade cut clean through his armour and flesh, deep into his shoulder, spraying his own blood into the air. Obata twisted himself forcefully, pulling himself off the blade as the Mu-Onna came up with one of its heavy handed fists. Obata lashed out, and sent his own blade into the fist of the creature as it struck, sending another shower of green up. It roared in pain, and Obata stepped back, retreating into the field.

The two Mu-Onna circled him, like predators, ignoring their wounds. Obata clutched barely onto his broken sword, as blood ran down his arm in large rivulets. He shook his head in defiance. No. He would not die today. Not again. One Mu-Onna, the larger of the two, gripped its injured hand, before it extended a second blade from another gauntlet on its wrist. It stood tall now, holding both blades out, challenging him. The second Mu-Onna suddenly disappeared from view into a mere shimmer. Obata spoke through clenched teeth.

"You will not have me dark spirits. I am already dead. And I will not rest until I have reclaimed what is mine. It is you who should fear the man who has nothing!"

Laughter sounded out to him, from other men, all around him. Dropping his sword hilt, Obata clutched his modified sword with his one good hand firmly. Crying out, he charged head on towards the large Mu-Onna with his blade raised, likewise, the Mu-Onna roared and charged, closing the gap in large powerful strides. Obata was hit with another weight, as another net enclosed itself around him, and he found himself suddenly on the ground as the first Mu-Onna charged him. Slicing through the net and struggling to stand as he tripped and fell, he was too slow, as he found a blade plunged into his leg. Obata lashed out with all his strength and clashed with the second blade of the Mu-Onna, but was quickly being overpowered by it from this poor angle. As he strained with the blade bearing down on him, the Mu-Onna pulled its other out of his leg, and raised it.

Before his eyes, he saw his death coming. He had failed, again. He looked into the eyes of the Mu-Onna in defiance.

"Do your worst, warrior of bad blood!"

The Mu-Onna roared, and prepared to plunge it's blade down on him, as it raised its arm up high, and suddenly gave him his opening as the pressure eased off his blade arm. Obata reacted through years of instinct, as he used the opposing force of the blade on his own and slid it upwards as the Mu-Onna brought its weight down in its swing. The blade impacted dead center into the midsection of the creature, and Obata pushed with all his might. The blade dug deeper, and the Mu-Onna roared and collapsed on top of him. Obata lay there, pinned under the monster. His strength was drained, and he felt tired. But he had to keep going.

Struggling to pull himself out from under the fallen creature, Obata watched as the second approached, with its own blades drawn. He would fight to the death even if he was stuck like this. He spat on the dirt as the second approached, fully visible once more.

"I have killed two of you today. And I will not bow to you!"

From a distance, Obata saw a flash of red in the corner of his eye, and saw the three eyed gaze of yet another Mu-Onna. But this time, its gaze swept over the back of the approaching Mu-Onna. Obata closed his eyes and covered his head, and a blast like thunder rolled over him, a wave of heat and light that sent him flying.

Obata lay on his back, looking up at the sky. Things were different now. He felt light. Like a feather on the wind. The grass was cool in the heat around him, and the earth beckoned to him with its soft touch. Maybe, finally, he had reclaimed his soul. Reclaimed his honour. As he lay there, looking up at the sky, a shimmer appeared on the edge of his vision, lanced in red. Obata looked over, and saw the shimmer of another Mu-Onna. It stood over the fallen one, but its gaze was kept on him, even if its back was to him. Obata gripped the dirt. Not while he still held breath.

Pushing himself up, he staggered to his feet. His modified blade, still remained intact, stained with green blood, as it lay in the dirt. Obata picked it up with his good arm, and trained it on the Mu-Onna. The red light flashed, tracking him with its gaze. The shimmer of the Mu-Onna shifted, and he knew, that it was watching him. He took one step forward, staggering.

"Not....while I still.......stand......spirit."

Another step forward, as likewise, the Mu-Onna moved towards him. It appeared to him now, just like all the others. As its cloak of nothingness faded, Obata's eyes traveled upwards. Strong, powerful legs, the colour of dark ash etched with lighter tones of grey. Wide hips wrapped in armouring of sorts, like the other ones. A thin waistline outlined with the strength of one who was a warrior. The figure of a female. An Onna-bugeisha. Obata staggered, as he looked into the eyes of the Mu-Onna's silver, smooth face. It watched him, and then, bowed to him.

Obata's grip on his sword weakened as he lurched forwards, before falling onto the grass in front of it. The world went black as the darkest night, as he vaguely felt himself being moved.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The winds traveled over the grasslands in long winding pathways through the grass, as Obata stepped along the old road. The air, and smell, and feel of it all, was like a story book to him now. So serene, and calm. As he walked down the path, the shattered remnants of his armour clinked, barely hanging on by scraps. It was funny to him in a way. This old, beaten and scarred armour was who he once was. And on board Izanami's ship, he hung it up, like so many of the trophies she was fond of. But it wasn't a trophy to him. It was that last piece of home he'd once been familiar with. And now, as he walked the old roads, nearing the small quiet village it led to, he realized, even wearing this old suit, how out of place he must have been. Regardless, he pressed on.

The sounds and sights of small village life greeted him, a foreign lifetime away, as people bustled about and did their daily activities. Some would glance at him. His ruined armour. The stump of an arm. The lone blade in its sheath. Who was this man, to be walking these roads, and in such a state? Some of the glances were curious. Some were fearful. But as Obata walked, and took everything in, there was one who watched without fear, or even curiosity. And eventually, he had enough of Obata's presence. From the roadside, he called.

"You there! Why are you here? If you seek trouble, you will have it!"

Obata turned, facing the man down the road as suddenly the air of the small bustling community changed. Before him stood a man, clad in the gear of something familiar. Obata spoke calmly, suddenly aware of how long it had been since he'd ever held a true conversation in his own language.

"I seek no trouble. I am merely travelling through these parts. The sights are beautiful, something I do not wish to forget."

The man clad in armour stepped forward.

"You carry a blade old man, and wear the armour of a decorated warrior. Armour which you did not take care of. No warrior would ever let such fine craftsmanship go to waste. You may be travelling through, and you may be enjoying the sights. But you are here for trouble."

The man drew his sword. Obata watched calmly as he took another step closer.

"I assure you, I am only passing through. If you so wish, I can turn around and leave, now. I mean no harm."

The warrior drew closer now.

"I will tell you when you may leave, vagrant. Not one step you shall take any further."

Obata watched the village as suddenly people were scarce to be seen. The story told it all. The man before him was heavy handed in his judgment and actions. This village lived in his iron grip. His protection, assigned to him by his master. He would not step down. Obata drew his own sword, and watched briefly, as the man's eyes widened from under his mask.

The fight started quickly, as the warrior approached, overeager at first. By all appearances, Obata was just an old man with a strange sword in his off hand. But as the dance of blades commenced, Obata found himself partaking in it with ease. There was no worry, no strain. Not even a challenge. And the warrior could see it. Blades clashed again and again, and Obata moved as if he really were partaking in a dance, while the warrior tried again and again, to no avail. And as Obata brought his sword down, it broke clean through the sword of the Samurai, the metal of the gods more than a match for the foe he faced, and Obata kicked him to his knees.

Almost on instinct, he approached the fallen man as he was standing back up and overcoming his shock, before Obata knocked him down again with a swift kick to his legs. As the man fell, Obata bared down on him, bringing his blade down for the kill. And suddenly, he was awake. Obata stopped, inches away from the warrior's neck. He stood over him, as a still crept over the village. Obata looked into the eyes of the warrior, who were open wide in shock. How could he have done that? He had almost slain this man, like it was just business. He shook his head, his hand shaking as he sheathed his sword. Obata quickly stalked off, leaving the warrior and the village in stunned silence as he went, like a ghost on the wind.

By the time Obata neared Izanami's craft, the sun was low on the horizon. He traveled through the fields, and the ancient trees, as the light dimmed, and eventually he found the clearing. The ship was cloaked, but by this point, his eyes could see the shimmer, just barely. As he broke into the clearing, Izanami stepped out down the ramp, greeting him. Before she could say anything, Obata pushed past her in silence, entering the ship. Izanami looked out to the forest beyond, scanning the area. This was something new to her. What had happened to Obata?

It wouldn't be long now until the sun vanished under the hills, and Obata sat on the extended ramp quietly, admiring these last few rays of sunshine. Izanami stepped down the ramp, coming to a stop beside him as always. The alien warrior sat down next to Obata, watching the land out beyond.

"What troubles you?"

Obata watched the last rays of the sun peak as it slunk over the mountains.

"This place. It is my home, and yet I do not belong here any longer. I met a warrior, like me, I mean, like I was. I clashed blades with him like it was child's play, and when I beat him, I nearly killed him. Aimed to take his head off, like a trophy. I do not take trophies. I am learning what you have to teach but it does not feel right."

Izanami simply looked out to the land beyond, as the light began to fade.

"The way of my kind is that of yours Obata. It is hard fought, claimed in victory and blood. I teach you nothing. What you have is something unique for your species. I have never seen one with the will or the skill to match one of us as evenly as you. You are closer to us than you know. Perhaps I am not teaching you, but merely helping you find who you really are. A true warrior, a hunter. One of my kind. One who I would be proud to call clan brother."

Izanami placed one of her ashen coloured hands on Obata's shoulder for emphasis. Obata watched the final rays of light disappear, as the land was etched in darkness. This was unexpected. More words had been said now than Obata had ever spoken with Izanami. He never knew she held such respect for him. He didn't know what to say, other than to divert things.

"Did you find anything in your search?"

Izanami was quiet for a moment, before speaking once more.

"No."

"Thank you, Izanami. You are a good teacher. A good master. I am happy to call you my ally, and friend. You live up to your name, and without you, I would have nothing. I am proud to call you master."

Izanami looked out to the darkening fields beyond on the edge of the forest.

"Will you miss your home, Obata? Do you not wish to cling to it, knowing that you may die out here, with me one day?"

"My home is where the battle is. My grave is where I fall. So long as I am here to do battle, then I will always have a home. But I will remember where I came from. One must never stray too far from the path they once walked on."

Izanami stood up now, reaching a hand out to Obata.

"Come with me. We will walk your so called path before we depart."

Obata reached out and was pulled up to his feet with ease, as Izanami stepped off into the dim fields. The walk was short, but for Obata, it held a special serenity to it, especially in Izanami's presence. The grass blowing through the wind, the very last stubborn rays of light over the mountains, and the ancient twisted trees that blew their leaves gently on the wind. This indeed was his home, a place he would not forget. But he was not meant for it anymore. Izanami stopped, on the edge of the forest, turning back to Obata.

"Your world is not unlike my own some days. You should appreciate what you have here."

Obata nodded.

"I do, and I always will. No matter how far we go from here."

Izanami shifted.

"I enjoy your company Obata. But I must ask a favor of you."

"I will oblige, whatever you ask of me."

"I am an exile. Sworn in service until the day I am slain, to hunt those who would break our rules. I will never see my home world again, and I will never see my people again. It is, an existence in solitude. And now that you are here, that solitude is broken. I would ask that you provide companionship."

Obata was about to let something slip when he realized what she meant.

"But we are not of the same make! You and I, we are different."

Izanami shook her head.

"If you were my kin I would call you clan brother."

Obata paused. He had sworn that he would do whatever Izanami asked. And he intended to remain faithful. Obata simply nodded.

"I will do as you ask."

Izanami took a step closer to Obata, standing a solid foot above him.

"You and I are equals. Warriors. You are not bound by anything to do this."

Obata simply nodded.

"Lead and I will follow."

Obata, even though he was bound by his word, was, if anything, hesitant. By now, he knew Izanami was no spirit, and she was no Mu-Onna. She was a Yautja. And she was not human. She was cold, like any warrior, and the thought of sharing something on an intimate level with her had never crossed his mind before. It was, truly, something outlandish to him, even after all he'd seen. He had always thought that over time, they had shared the bond of comrades. But now, she had asked for something more. Which was why, things were awkward it first. Obata just didn't know what to think, or how to act. And Izanami caught on.

Which was why, Obata was now sitting on the quiet edge of the forest in near darkness, in the gentle grass as it swayed. Izanami had decided, that rather than force anything, she would simply show him that she was more than just a warrior. She had started slowly, unstrapping bits and pieces of her armour from her legs and arms. Indeed, she bore a striking resemblance to his own people, that only became more obvious as a piece of armour was removed here, another piece unstrapped over there. And slowly, as Izanami shed her armour that Obata had always seen her clad in, it was like something else emerged. Skin the colour of choking ash, a natural toughened hide unique to Izanami's species, which bore the scars of a lifetime of hunts, yet the grace of a woman, carved in wiry muscles that only hid her own inhuman strength.

Eventually, all Izanami had left was her token mask and the trappings across her body, small bones in necklaces, and a crisscross netting of sorts across her entire form. The light faded, and suddenly, Obata saw things in a new light as his eyes became lost in the darkness of the night around him. Izanami, a name she had taken to a now old, distant memory of Obata's, truly reminded him of the goddess of creation. Like a lotus flower, only making itself known when the time was right, and showing a stark, short lived beauty that only a handful would ever come to know. She was right. She was his Daimyo, his teacher, his ally, his friend. But she was more. She was a true warrior. And so was he. They were equals.

Obata stood up in the dark, unafraid, and no longer hesitant. So long as they were brother and sister in battle, what Izanami was did not matter. And with some sense of excitement, Obata slid his hand forward, to no protest, only to the shudder of contact that was more than just the result from the rigors of combat. Izanami's skin was tough, but had a smooth quality to it, matching the ashen tone across her form. Obata smiled, knowing that she could see it in the dark. Among the various trappings, Obata felt the telltale feel of the old cross he had once worn, as he slid one of his hands up Izanami's neck. He stared up to her masked face, as he ran a hand through the long hair like spines that hung from her head.

"Thank you, for this peace, Izanami."

Obata felt along the contours of the mask, and pulled the plugs out, listening to the hiss that slowly dissipated on the wind, as he pulled her mask off without resistance. Only once, had he ever seen her face. During a battle on a far off world, it had been knocked off. It was then that he truly understood what she was. Her face held all the features of the very first of her kind he had done battle with, albeit, somewhat different. A forehead, thick as iron. Yellow, predatory eyes that were accustomed to tracking prey. And the token maw filled with sharp teeth, encased by four opposable mandibles. In Izanami's case, these were less pronounced, and encased her mouth more completely.

Izanami's steady breathing was more noticeable now without her mask, and jumped when Obata stood as tall as he could to reach her. An attempt that would have failed had she not leaned down. Obata felt the four of her opposable mouth parts press against his lips, and he simply stood as he was, letting her long spine like hair drape over him. Admittedly, he was not experienced in such ways, and so he was awkward. Whether or not Izanami could tell, he didn't know, as she made her presence overbearing on him, and he was forced down back onto the ground, with Izanami following.

In the quiet of the night and the desolate valley around them, Obata spent the night with Izanami in the field, and explored her, as she did to him. It was simple, almost clumsy, like learning how to handle a different blade for the first time. But it was fulfilling, for both Obata and Izanami. Simple touch and closeness would suffice for now, as each of them explored each other's bodies, both foreign and alien to one another in more ways than one. And eventually, the two fell into the gentle embrace of sleep, still entwined. And when the morning sun dawned on the two, and they woke, the day was brand new. Now, they were both something else.

Obata took one last look at the site before him, as the grass swayed in the wind, and far off, the distant rumble of a storm could be heard on the wind. Sitting at the foot of a tree, sat his old, crumbling armour. This last bastion of the world and life he once had. In some way, every crack and broken plate, shattered or cut from blows, was his old life. And now that the armour was nearly broken, he was ready to shed what remained of it. Obata took one final look at the scene, almost as if it were a grave. He walked up to his old, shattered armour, and tucked a piece of paper into the ruined helmet that sat atop it, before he began walking off into the fields beyond. As the great storms traveled on the wind, black clouds, befitting of an angry god, Obata stared up at the two moons in the sky. Almost like his home, so far away now, in an ocean that reached farther than he ever would have imagined or known.

Obata slid his mask on, and stalked through the fields, clutching his blade in its sheath as Izanami uncloaked herself and stood before him. The two had long since gone beyond words, and knew each other inside and out. She simply nodded to him. Izanami, Goddess of Creation, and Obata Yoshimoto, the Nothing Man.

Now was the time of the hunt.

A true test and defining moment of a warrior.

A true warrior, a Predator.