Descent of the Blade

侍 The malleable blade twisted with ease as it sought its descent into his heart. The warrior lay on his knees, his hands gripping the dirt as tiny specks found solace in jaded whorls of his finger tips creating benign traceries within. The cold from the shiny edge spread its wings into his warmth guiding rays of crimson on their outward journey. The first drop fell creating a surreal crown of dust and blood akin to a loving pair of hands reaching out to embrace a loved one.

Outside the battle cried out for more sacrifice, its insatiable hunger echoing the emptiness for which this very campaign was forged. Ominous winds whispered words into the Daimyo banners flying high. The men watched brethren fall to the tumultuous clash of metal and the flesh of selfless heroes as the flames of combat on foot, engulfed everything in its path.

Hadn't this been a recurring dream? Glory written in the silky dust of the battlegrounds by a thousand men clad in armor shining in the caressing rays of the sun as their eyes locked and hymns of victory echoed for innumerable generations to chant. Death was honor bestowed as the annals of Bushi had once promised.

Image: A rare 'Gendai Mumai' Iaito of Shinogi-zukuri construction, from Nihonto Antiques