The sun was barely beginning to cut swaths in the dusky sky of dawn when he opened his eyes, looking carefully at the world that surrounded him. Even after all these years of exile both enforced and self-imposed, the world was still frighteningly fresh to him. He stared at the ground, weed-ridden and overgrown with spilling plants from the forest that loomed dangerously to the west.
Slowly, with a sure hand, he reached out to his weapon, always on his right hand side, always ready for battle that seemed to never come. It had been millennia since he had last drawn a weapon, and he had sworn never to use it again. But his unease was clouding his sense of duty to his oath. He grasped the thing firmly, and brought it in front of his face, staring at a single point of focus.
It was an enormous sword he held, seven feet long from tip to tassel, and sharpened on the stones of hell. It would never break, and its master, similarly, could never be broken. Balancing the blade on his fingers, he closed his eyes, slowly sinking into awareness. Only understanding will save you now, he thought to himself.
He had felt the shaking, and the breaking, of the world when Sensui had torn open the tunnel into the demon world. It had not disturbed him in the least. Sensui's dealings had nothing to do with his turf in this human land. Demons did not scare him. The most powerful were also the most intelligent, and the most intelligent had heard rumor and round of the strange zone in the human lands where spirit energy drained away, where those who utilized the energy of the soul were left unarmed. He had sealed off his terrain from the spirit energy of the world and intrusion. Invisible on any map the spirit world administration would make, and dreaded myth among the demons, it had been this way for years. Life created its own energy: that was enough to sustain him and his environment.
The break Sensui caused, however, had disturbed something primeval, he realized. Spirit energy had been streaming from cracks in the dull face of the earth for a time now. An older power was coming up from the hells of the underworld to meet him.
I know your name, he thought to himself. Your purpose is still my mystery.
He opened his eyes again, calmer now. He was no guardian, and yet he loved the life of the world too much to flee the coming danger.
So, my old friend, we meet. He could remember the days of danger, and the final battle which had kept the fragile hope of the world alive. Yet he had seen his future, and always, there was a voice. Your sword is your life, and your life is your destiny.
There was a cold finality about that statement. He stared resolutely at the ground. There was one more piece of this puzzle that had yet to reveal itself.
There had been two who had defied and defiled the tradition of the spirit realm. There had been two warriors who had cast their honor to the dust and bled with their enemy as they locked him in the eternal prison.
Koenma, you are needed once again.