Hellhound IV

As I stare upon the void left by Hades' attack, I'm left discomforted by my lack of comprehension.

My focus during the fight was intense yet my recollection of his movements is fragmentary and blurred.

I vaguely understand what he did but even a faint mimicry of it is impossible for me. Let alone grasping the entirety of the technique. I couldn't scratch the surface of attempting that.

It was too perfect, too intense. Supreme, sublime, words lose meaning in the face of such excellence.

…It wasDivinein every sense of the word.

Beyond that, imagining myself on the receiving end of such an attack… every thought ends solely in my death.

To block that?

It's impossible. I'd be scattered to the winds, as with everything else the attack touched. I'm doubtful my soul would even survive such a thing. Absolute Death is the only way to describe that strike.

To dodge it?

Unthinkable. How do you dodge an attack without gaps, tells, and with speed beyond comprehension? Space itself barely resisted being shattered, light was captured before it could escape. To dodge what even light couldn't… isn't that absurd?

To parry it?

To do that I need to movebeyondperfection. My movements must be so sublime that they have surpassed what I can only comprehend as perfect. How many existences could claim that level of skill? Less than a dozen? Fewer than five even?

To overpower it?

I can't imagine a version of myself that possesses the sheer power for such a feat. Even if I were to hone my current skills to their limit and build my strength for decades, I would be overpowered instantly.

All I can imagine is my death, death, deathdeath-

I let out a shaky breath and clench my fists. This is different than when I met Chrom Cruach.

If I were to describe the difference… Chrom resembles an endless well of power, a monster whose limits can't be seen. Yet with simple raw power, a limit must exist. I might not be able to see it but Iknowit exists.

Chrom is hardly Ophis; his power isn't infinite otherwise he would be the infinity dragon instead of her.

I can imagine a future where I'm stronger than the Crescent Circle Dragon simply by imagining myself reaching similar heights. It's a logical progression in comparison to Hades.

Despite a fairly reasonable assumption that Hades is weaker than Chrom in raw strength, I can't see myself defeating his skill. I'm left paralyzed in the face of something I can't comprehend.

And it excites me.

To learn that strike and equal Hades… No not even that, tocreatesomething so beautiful and surpass any version of myself that I can imagine…

I shiver at the thought and feel my heart race.

Staring at the void, I will my sword into existence.

After witnessing that level of technique and control, the titanic weapon is an eyesore, and I exert my will. With sweat beading on my brow, the sword begins to shrink.

My vision starts to blur after I've condensed the sword to half its size but I continue pushing harder.

I finally compress the manifested sword down to merely dozens of feet long. Still far too large for my liking but if I pushed any further I would pass out.

I point the sword into the void and focus on the image of Hades burned into my mind. I'm not trying to capture the essence, all I attempt is to have some semblance of that perfection manifested in my thrust.

The strength of his stance, the set of his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze, and the sharp, precise movement of his arms.

I breathe out slowly, letting my body settle into something similar.

Imagine how I would normally thrust my sword and shave away all that's unnecessary…

I draw upon my Touki and let it pour out around me indiscriminately. The image of Hades in my mind ignites my fighting spirit, my Touki roaring intensely in response.

The sword shrinks again becoming more solid as I keep my breathing steady and focus on controlling every twitch and shift of my body.

The sword intent flakes off the manifested sword like falling petals, the weapon becoming brighter and sharper with each fading spark of energy.

I thrust.

Both sword and energy move as one; purposefully and violently exploding forward, as I feel the muscles in my arms rip to shreds. My Touki becomes so intense that blood vessels burst across my body, my skin cracking, and my teeth aching from my manic grin.

One thought echoes within my mind,surpass yourself.

The sword shatters and my consciousness swims but the energy carves through the void, a thin silver line piercing through the air before being erased by the vestiges of Hades' divinity.

There are no reality-defying effects manifested or trembling of space but I still grin at the force behind the thrust.

It's powerful, it's new.

It's wonderful.

As I heal, I shift my body and imagine the same thing but as a slash-

"Oi! How dare you use such a half-assed shell of a weapon!" A cantankerous voice yells, cutting through the warm haze of my happiness and interrupting my inspiration.

I turn and frown at a rapidly approaching… blacksmith? No not even that, a mere shade of a blacksmith. The most defined things about his soul are his forging clothes, his hands, the tools he carries, and his eyes. The rest is transparent, barely held there by the parts that assert themselves strongly.

He looks out of breath and flustered as he points to the still dissipating fragments of my sword, "You… hah… can't ruin such a beautiful essence with… hah… the forgings of an amateur! What kind of swordsman has such lacking pride, to wield something so brutish?!"

"Who are you to judge my weapon?" I growl at him indignantly.

This sword has slain a dragon! How dare he call it half-assed.

He gets right in my face and glares at me, "Pull it out again. I'll show you how lacking it is."

I glare back and manifest the sword, hardly bothering to limit the pressure emitted by the blade.

His form flickers under the rampaging sword intent but he snorts and pulls out a small hammer, before lightly tapping the manifested blade.

There's a thunderous crack and fissures climb the length of the sword before it shatters once more.

I blink uncomprehendingly as he frowns deeply, "How can you understand the essence of a sword so completely but not the structure? It's backward, all of it is backward!"

His sharp eyes narrow and examine my hands, arms, and shoulders, "Hmph, at least you aren't all thin and willowy like some swordsmen. You've got strong hands and proper muscles for the forging ahead."

He grips my wrist firmly and starts dragging me back to Izanami's palace, "Come! I have so much work to do because of you."

I dig my heels in and easily halt his advance, "Hey, I don't even know who you are, you crazy bastard! Can't you see I'm busy here?"

He turns and his coal-colored eyes flicker brightly as he stares me down, "I'm Muramasa, you half-baked swordsman. Now take responsibility for inspiring me for the first time in centuries."

His face becomes more defined as he continues, "You will be my hands and help me accomplish the final goal of my existence."

I frown feeling the conviction behind his words, "What do I get out of this? I refuse to be dragged around by a mere shade because they feel 'inspired'. You pulled me away frommyinspiration."

Muramasa's grip on my wrist tightens further, "I will forge my final sword, tailor-made for you. It will be the sword that finally surpasses the creations of my rival and enters the realm of the gods. The greatest katana ever forged by mortal hands."

I find myself wrapped up in the passion in his voice, except…

"I use an Odachi though," I say with a wry grin.

His face shifts to disgust and a shiver runs down his body, "You mean that perfect essence I witnessed is from one of those crude hunks of iron, crafted only by bladesmiths with no taste?"

"Exactly that," I taunt with a raised brow.

He takes a calming breath, "No, I can work with this. I can swallow my pride for my life's work."

"Now, come with me, kid. I'll need to examine that sword more before I can complete my final work. I'll also need your help with the forging." He says, gesturing to his transparent form. "My soul wouldn't withstand the process of creating the sword. I'll need you to swing the hammer and control the heat."

I blink in shock, "...I know the basics of forging but I wouldn't call myself a master craftsman."

"Don't worry, I'll teach you. It might take a few decades but we'll get it done." He says confidently.

I shake my head and dig my heels in, "I'm not spending decades here to learn how to forge weapons. I have better things to do than humor the ramblings of a tattered old ghost."

Before Muramasa can respond, Izanami clears her throat getting our attention. She has her arms folded neatly and a delicate smile on her face.

"You two… It's wonderful that you've finally met." Izanami remarks softly, "I had hoped you would have met the last time Ibaraki was in my domain."

Her eyes crinkle fondly as she glances at Muramasa, "If this one ever left his workshop perhaps you would have."

Muramasa grumbles under his breath, an ethereal blush defining the transparent outline of his cheeks. "Well, you know I'm busy, My Lady."

I raise an eyebrow at the shift in his demeanor while Izanami laughs softly.

She waves him off, "Of course, of course. I'm already pleased that the two of you are getting along. I think you'll be good for each other."

We both scoff, then glare at each other briefly before looking away. Izanami just giggles at our byplay.

"You two will have time to deepen your friendship while you work together." She decides, clapping happily despite the fact I haven't agreed to anything.

"Uh, Izanami…" I protest, only to cut myself off as I think about this more.

Is there any reason to refuse this opportunity? I need a sword that suits me anyway and would be able to learn a new skill. The only problem is the time it would take.

Maybe it doesn't have to take as long as Muramasa thinks.

"Yeah, you know what, let's do it." I grin at Muramasa, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Let's make the greatest sword this world has ever seen!"

Muramasa shakes out of my embrace and glances at me warily, "I'm not sure what changed your mind but you're underestimating how difficult this will be. However, I accept your determination and look forward to working with you."

Izanami claps happily, "Wonderful! I'm glad the two of you are getting along."

Muramasa smiles bashfully and coughs into his fist, "Well, someone you hold in high regard must be worth getting to know, Lady Izanami. We should get started immediately though, while inspiration is burning brightly."

Izanami nods, eyes gleaming excitedly, "Of course, let me help you two!"

As she says this we're swallowed by a portal and find ourselves outside what can only be Muramasa's forge and residence.

I shake off the chill of Izanami's divinity and glance at Muramasa, "After you."

He nods and leads me inside, muttering a gruff 'welcome to my forge' under his breath as we enter.

Upon entering I'm hit with a sight that I completely expected and one that throws me for a loop.

First, the entire space is more than simply spartan in its decoration. It is devoid of any comfort, and filled with only tools, materials, and equipment used for forging. Save piles of weapons that are the result of his practice.

Second, sticking out like a sore thumb are the piles of books that fill the spaces not already occupied by weapons. Books of many different styles and clearly from different periods are thrown into haphazard piles.

Curious, I grab one random book from the nearest pile of books, sitting next to a pile of discarded swords, and immediately my eye twitches in frustration as I flip through it.

The book is the musings of Kamiizumi Nobutsuna on the art of swordsmanship during his time in Yomi. The sum of his life experience learning the way of the sword, then refined in his death after meeting the spirits of other legendary swordsmen.

I pick up another book from the pile and let out a low growl. It's a similar journal to Kamiizumi's but from another swordsman of lesser renown.

These are all the books that were missing from the other residences! Not the life stories of the honored dead that used to reside here in the palace, but the records of their techniques, their battle experience, the true records of their lives.

The damn books that I actually could have learned from!

"Why do you have all of these here?" I ask Muramasa slowly, reigning in my anger at my wasted time.

"Ah, those?" Muramasa responds looking embarrassed, "I hit a wall in my understanding of the sword and how to create the perfect weapon centuries ago. There's only so perfect a vessel that I can create even with the greatest materials, ideal conditions, and the proper mindset."

He sighs and looks around at the piles of weapons, "I can create the structure, a weapon that in theory should be perfect. I can even infuse it with the spirit of a grandmaster of their craft, the breath of life that comes from a craftsman's pride."

His eyes burn with startling intensity as he looks into my eyes, "But that is not enough to reach the realm of the gods."

"I had to shift my focus. I had to understand swordsmanship from the perspective of a warrior. The use of the weapon I'm trying to create had to be understood beyond the practical knowledge a blacksmith has." He gestures to the books in front of me and then over to a different pile, lying beside a pile of polearms.

"I had to understand the various weapons a sword could run up against. To learn how a sword could be used against them all. How a sword could fail or succeed." He sighs, running his hand over the crown of his head.

He tiredly gestures to another pile, "Individual battles weren't enough either. So I began to look into warfare as a whole. How does a sword fulfill its role in the greater story of a war? From the smallest skirmish to the largest battles; how can one weapon turn the tide?"

I listen to his explanation feeling my anger at missing out turn into awe. This man an entire lifetime refining his craft. Then after dying, he continued to chase his goal. He saw his lack of progress and rather than despairing decided to learn anything and everything to take another step forward.

"What is a sword to you Ibaraki?" He asks suddenly, his eyes bright and his expression earnest. He gives no hint of anything but a genuine desire to hear my answer.

I don't have to think of my answer, it comes instantly, "It's a tool to cut, specialized in cutting down humans."

Muramasa's brow furrows and he nods, "Explain that please."

I tilt my head, making an uncertain noise as I frown, "Well, a sword isn't special, not really. It's a blade, the same as a knife, axe, or saber just in a different shape. At its core, it's a cutting implement or curved swords at least. Sharp, unfeeling metal but the sword isn't indiscriminate."

My disciple has his interpretation, once centered around heroism and defending the innocent but that could never be my answer.

I hum excitedly as I feel my words resonate with my innermost understanding, "But it isn't the best tool for a lot of situations, right? An axe is far better for felling trees, a mace for crushing armor, a spear for infantry or hunting, and a bow is far better at a range of course."

"Yet when two humans face off against each other in combat, the first weapon that comes to mind is the sword. It is the weapon that embodies the idea of killing another person in battle and a duel." I smile and shake my head.

"Still, however, a sword is just a tool. It might be the best for when humans are killing humans, but the sword holds no innate hatred for humanity. Weapons are blind to things like that." I finish explaining my thoughts and Muramasa lets out an excited burst of laughter.

"Good, good, a fresh perspective!" He shakes his head with a wide smile, "I disagree with you on parts but I like your interpretation."

"You forget that truly great weapons and those with exceptional owners develop egos. A sword can hold hatred for humanity should it be wielded by a soul stained with that hatred, or crafted by one." Muramasa says mirthlessly.

"During my life, I thought that the ideal sword must hold that hatred. How else would it excel at slaughter? Hence why my blades turned demonic, each thirsting for blood." He sighs again and turns his expression back into a smile.

"The materials can also cause such effects to seep into the weapon. As can the structure! What would a flamberge crafted from metal mined in the deepest pits of hell be but an implement of torture?" Muramasa's eyes sparkle despite the dark topic. "Such a weapon would be designed for pain, not death. Its structure would be designed for torture and its materials steeped in an aura of torture since their formation."

I listen to him continue with wide eyes as he gushes about his passion, pushing back with my ideas at times. We talk for hours, getting to know each other's perspectives and slowly understanding each other.

Eventually, we head to the heart of his forge to begin the actual work. The plan is that I will show my skill in the forge and he will correct what he deems insufficient until we can craft the sword he envisions.

I'm hopeful it won't take long. I still have to train Tobio after all.