When boys are sent to war, they are told that dying for their country will bring great honor to their families. Honor is a lie; the only reason to kill or be killed is for your own damn ideals. There is no honor in death; the body knows this best of all because when you die, you shit yourself.

  There were dark clouds over me. The weather was like a damn prophet telling the tale of a cursed man. Standing within the eye of the storm, the only thing I could think was how long will it last?

  Walking down a road lined with cherry blossoms filled the air with a hint of sweetness. Most places I’ve been in this goddamn world have been drenched in the reek of shit and death, so even the faintest amount of sweetness is rather refreshing. The blossoms also had the effect of making me feel like a damn Rōnin.

  There were plots of land that went on and on covered in wheat; this must have been how the village made all its food. Due to it being stewed in isolation, a place forever forgotten to the endless march of time.

  A stronghold stood to the back of the village, sandwiched between two mountains that also surrounded the town. The fortress was a mix of wood and stone, with five levels; the whole building was styled like a Japanese castle.

  In front of the fortress stood a wall that was built from mountain to mountain. Beyond this wall stood a forest, a forest that felt like it stretched into infinity. The two mountains ran beside the forest.

  It would be one hell of a massacre if an army ever decided to come out of the woodwork.

  Walking through the town felt like being transported to feudal Japan. Hunched-over farmers with sugegasas working the fields on mountainsides. I always found terraced farming to be intriguing. Building upwards instead of outwards, shit’s just interesting.

  There was a strong uneasiness that flowed throughout the town; everyone was just waiting for a shoe to drop. It was rather humid in the town, adding to the discomfort. The dirt roads were silent, and storefronts were shattered. The silence felt like one long breath being kept in by the whole town.

  The bitter memories of all of man’s past began to leak into my mind, making me take a swig from my flask to hush the horrors. Those horrid screams from broken men and the piles of children's corpses fill my closed eyes.

  Wandering around was maddening.

  I felt I was circling the drain, being able to do nothing, and waiting for an event that I knew nothing about. The town was so damn humid my clothes stuck to my skin, creating this second skin.

  The heavy fog that blankets the town adds to the atmosphere of paranoia; being unable to see anything in front of you will do.

  I checked my pistols, knife, and shotgun, making sure each was clean and ready for combat. I just needed to do something, and checking my weapons was like working on a bonsai tree.

  One hundred thirty-six rounds for my two pistols; each magazine can fit seventeen rounds. Eight mags, with only four rounds left.

  A sawed-off double-barrel shotgun with fifty-six shells, but it only ever takes one shell to blow a man's skull clean off.

  I haven’t needed my boomstick yet, but I have a feeling I will.

  It would be real fucking funny if nothing happens.

  I passed by two rōnins on my walk throughout the town. The men kept a firm grip on their tools of death with kimonos and jingasa hats dressing the men. The steel sheaths were made out of cypress wood. Yukata and hanten lined the streets of this town, creating a vibrant mix of color in this bleak land.

  Traditional Japanese culture runs throughout this town as blood in veins. Another thing traditional to Japan was their distrust of outsiders.

  Everywhere I walked, people glared at me.

  I couldn’t blame the bastards.

  Every time I see myself, my first thought is, “That motherfucker is one untrustworthy, worthless son of a bitch.”

  As I was, my mind continued to wander; my ideals drifted to the striking down of slave markets on my way here.

  Freeing.

  Stealing.

  Killing.

  And then vanishing like the man with no name, forever trying to become what monsters would see in their nightmare, so I would no longer need to comment on these horrific fucking acts.

  I want freedom…

  I want freedom…

  John I’m trying my best, oh Brown, I promise I’m doing my best.

  At least I’ve been finding fewer and fewer markets throughout my travels. Whether this means markets are becoming less popular or just better hidden, only time will tell.

  Fifteen Lucky Strikes left.

  When I light my final cig, will that be when the reaper calls?

  My mind was wishing to light one, but I fought off the urge.

  I found myself a pub. I never did run short of booze, but I wanted to quell my hunger.

  This time.

  The worst night of my life started like this, and so did my journey. I wonder if history would repeat itself, or would there be just some rhymes?

  Walking through the town, I found a bar named Shibui Yūgen.

  Entering the waterhole, I found, in spite of the name, the bar looked like a western saloon instead of an izakaya.

  It would make me feel at home if I were a fucking Cowboy or from Texas.

  There was one long counter in the back of the building with a baker's dozen of stools. There were six tables, four on a lower level and two on an inclined platform. The sharp stench of booze filled my nostrils.

  In all, there were about two dozen people in the room.

  Four men played a round of cards.

  Six were celebrating; six others were drinking.

  Five men were making a business deal.

  Two were debating over the king.

  A single man sat in the darkest corner of this bar wearing a roningasa.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  And I took a stool for myself and looked for the bartender.

  The bar's smoky air made it feel like a dream.

  The dim light in the bar didn’t help with the disillusionment.

  “What’s your poison?” The bartender asked.

  “Sake.” I would have preferred bourbon, but anything that went down hard was fine with me. “Why is everyone so tense in this damn town?”

  “I caught that King Alexander was scouting our fort once more. See if it was battle-ready.” The bartender was pouring my drink while talking, “You know, with the rumblings of a new demon war.”

  The sake cup was placed in front of me.

  The drink was as clear as water.

  The brew hit like a .45 to the skull.

  “There was another guy with the King, too. Some bigwig; I think his name was Sir Albert.”

  Sir Albert.

  Shit…

  I haven’t heard that name for a lifetime. All that shit that happened before my death feels like a distant dream, a dream that I woke up from a long time ago.

  I’d had a sense of calmness since that night so many moons ago.

  Seeing all of the evil men made me comfortably numb…

  I felt a pair of eyes on me. It wasn’t an odd feeling in this town, but I couldn’t tell where they were from. Everyone kept their eyes to themselves. There was that man in the corner, but he seemed to be asleep.

  It may be classic paranoia.

  After so many drinks, my mind starts playing with me.

  Tears for Fears started to ring throughout my mind for some fucking reason.

  “In violent times.

  You shouldn't have to sell your soul.

  In black and white.

  They really, really ought to know.” —Shout by Tears for Fears

  What a good song that was banned in England due to the First Gulf War.

  My brain kept trailing back and forth about war.

  It may have been because all of human history has been recorded in my brain, or the mood of war is in the air.

  After the tenth shot of sake, I felt numb enough to said farewell to the tender and started to

  walk out.

  My skull was hit with the sensation that man decided to call déjà vu.

  The man who was in the shade stepped out.

  A blade cased in a sheath was placed upon my shoulder. And a similar voice spoke. This felt like an old dance that had been played out once before. Maybe the bottle was playing tricks on me, but I kept playing along. It was one of the few good memories I had.

  “You reek of slow death and gore. Why would a man like yourself be in a land like this?”

  “For I am the Devil, and I’m here to do the Devil’s work,” I whisper.

  “Then should I kill you and send you back to the pits of hell?”

  The sound of steel clashing with wood rang out. The cold end of a blade was laid bare next to my neck.

  The room fell into an uneasy silence. All eyes were drawn to us, waiting to see if the bar was going to be repainted with a new coat of red.

  “You may kill me, but be ready to fall shortly after.”

  I turned around and pulled my gun out, pointing it inches from his face.

  He smiled.

  I smiled.

  The cold iron was resting on my neck, my gun pointed at his chest.

  The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing between the two of us.

  Life and Death are the same side of a coin.

  He laughed.

  I laughed.

  We replayed our first meeting. A time that was much simpler than these.

  “How has life been, Miyamoto?”

  “It’s been a lot less interesting since your death, V. The kid has been blue, barely eating since you've been gone. Celeste didn’t show much emotion, but I’m sure she felt something,” Miyamoto replied.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I've been drinking a bit more.”

  “I can smell it.”

  “Why must you always make jokes?”

  “I’m just shooting straight, my friend.”

  “Well, we’ve just been aimlessly wandering throughout the country and ended up here.”

  “So, where are the other two?”

  “They’re at a camp we set up in a flower field. An alluring escape in this distorted land filled with brilliant hues. I was about to go back before you arrived.”

  Miyamoto must have read a dictionary while I was gone.

  The two of us left the bar, leaving a group of men both befuddled and one crazy drinking story.

  The walk through town was silent; the only thing to fill the air was the sound of my humming.

  Humming was a new thing I picked up when there's nothing but the wind to create noise. I guess I’m not a fan of the sound of silence. Rows of trees and high grass were the only things we saw walking down that dirt path.

  The grass stood about three feet tall.

  Someone should cut it, I joked to myself.

  After an hour of walking, we ended up at a flower field. The soft wind brought the flowers to life and revealed the smell of the earth. The flowers were a mix of red, blue, and purple. There was a single long, thick tree in the middle of the field. A campsite was set next to the tree.

  The sunlight broke through the dark clouds, lighting up the field. I saw a campfire flickering and smoke rising. A young lady was sitting next to the fire, cooking something. And I heard a dog barking. I took a long swig and walked forward.

  “I found a dead man,” Miyamoto said.

  “What?” The young lady replied.

  I saw a dog running towards me with a kid on its back. When the dog got close enough, the kid jumped up at me and hugged me.

  “I’m sorry, kid, for leaving, but I’m happy you’re alright.”

  “Miyamoto, what the hell is happening over there?” The young lady rang out again. And there she was, good old Celeste.

  “V, I thought you were dead.”

  “It's nice seeing you again, too, Celeste.”

  Seeing everyone once more felt like a good family reunion. Walking through the river of blood and fire to get back here almost felt worth it. Since last I seen these guys, I’ve changed an immense amount, seen things, done things, and grown ever closer to actually becoming the Devil.

  But for just this moment I allowed myself to live within this dream of bliss.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Celeste yelled.

  “I've been doing things that I don’t want to get into with the kid around,” I said.

  The kid was hanging around my neck like a necklace.

  “Kid, you're going to break my neck.”

  The kid jumped off my neck back onto the dog's back.

  “Miyamoto, did you ever give the kid a name?”

  “We started calling her Violet because there was a V in the name, and that was the first word that came to mind.”

  “You know, you could have just left the last part out.”

  “It seems like a thing you would get a kick out of even if it wasn’t true.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Miyamoto.”

  “I don’t, but alcohol causes me to make a joke or two sometimes.”

  “You two are made for each other,” Celeste said.

  “Yeah,” we replied.

  “Got any bears around?

  I'm hungry and want to test out my new weapon.” I said.

  I had forgotten to get something to eat at the bar.

  “We have enough food for everyone, so put your shit away and just help set up,” Celeste replied.

  The smell of smoked fish and meat ran throughout the air. Celeste told Miyamoto and me to set up a tablecloth over a tree stump. The four of us sat around the stump and gave thanks for the meal. We talked, laughed, and exchanged stories about our time apart. I once more felt the warmth of comradeship. Even on the edge of war, people can enjoy themselves.

  The sky deemed itself a darker color by the end of the meal.

  Miyamoto left, going off to sleep. The kid seemed to have the same idea, but she just knocked out on top of the dog she was always on.

  That left Celeste and me to clean up.

  “The kid is no longer around; you can now talk about the gritty details of your journey.”

  “You know, Celeste, you’re still only sixteen. I still count that as a kid.”

  “I’m seventeen now.”

  “Seventeen, and you're wasting the best years of your life with the crazed fools. Plus, you act so mature for your age. Did the beast attack change you, or was it something else?

  “I have always been like this. This bullshit has just hardened me to survive. Also, if I thought I was wasting my life away, I wouldn’t still be here. I've learned a great deal of things over the time I’ve been with the Devils. Now stop dodging my question. What happened during your time away?”

  “Ok… Ok, I’ll tell you my tale.” I went on about what happened after my death.

  Meeting Amaterasu.

  Getting stuck in the middle of a war zone—I toned down the violence on that one.

  I told her about the people I saved in that little village and that old man’s rhapsody. Once again, leaving out the skull I shot clean off and the torture.

  My last great adventure wasn’t a tale I was willing to tell.

  It was a bitter night filled with melancholy and misery.

  I told Celeste I was tired, and she stopped pushing. She understood there was nothing fun about the last tale.

  “V I’m happy you’re still kicking.”

  “Thanks.”

  We finished the cleanup, and I headed to the tree. This tree had a dense, thick green top, great for shade during a hot day. The dog walked over with Violet on his back. Violet opened her mouth and spoke in the faintest of tones.

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  The first words that I ever heard from her, and they're that fucking heartwarming. All my life, I never wished more for a moment to last forever. That single strand of sand falling from that hourglass, a strand I will remember till death does me in.

  The silence of the night took me into a slumber.