Soul of a Samurai

Kyojin stood frozen, his breath shallow, his vision locked on the unmoving body of his mother. The white-masked man who had taken her life stood above her, his sword still dripping red against the snowy ground.

Then, Kyojin finally felt it.

The rage.

It didn't come like a sudden explosion.

It crawled.

It boiled beneath his skin, spreading like a slow-burning fire, creeping into his very bones. His fingers trembled. His throat clenched. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

The world became silent.

Only his own heartbeat and the howling wind remained.

Then, he noticed them.

Not just one.

Eight.

Eight white-masked men standing in the chaos. Some walked over the fallen, indifferent to the lives they had stolen. Others whispered to one another, but none of them seemed concerned.

None of them cared.

Something inside Kyojin shattered.

And then, he inhaled.

—

The world responded.

Chakra—blue particles—surged toward him in a violent current, drawn into him like an endless tide.

It came from everywhere.

From the air.

From the earth.

From the corpses that littered the streets.

It was too much.

Too fast.

His body screamed in protest, his muscles tensing to the point of tearing apart. A sharp pain burned through his chest, as if his ribs would snap under the pressure. His veins bulged. His skin felt like it was being peeled from his flesh.

But he refused to stop.

He forced the chakra outward, shaping it. Molding it. Forging it.

It wrapped around him like a second skin—no, a suit of armor.

—

A dark blue behemoth formed over his body, made purely of chakra.

Jagged edges ran along its structure, almost skeletal in design, shaped like an exoskeleton of pure destruction. Spikes protruded from his shoulders and forearms, radiating a deep glow. His hands, now larger and clawed, pulsed with raw energy.

His face, once bare, was covered in a helmet-like structure, leaving only his glowing red eyes visible.

It resembled a Susanoo, but unlike the legendary spectral warriors of the Uchiha, this was not a summoned construct.

It was a part of him.

His rage made manifest.

Kyojin clenched his fists, his breath ragged. His body was screaming at him to stop.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

He reached for his wooden sword.

The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt—

The blade roared to life.

Chakra enveloped the wood, turning it into something sharper than steel, something that could carve through the earth itself.

But it was too much.

His body convulsed. Blood spilled from his lips, splattering against the inside of his helmet.

He could barely hold himself together.

But his eyes lifted back to the masked men.

They had noticed him now.

They turned.

They rushed him.

—

Kyojin didn't hesitate.

He took a single step forward.

The ground shattered beneath him.

A massive crack split through the battlefield, snow and stone exploding in every direction.

The first masked man reached him, blade flashing.

Kyojin swung down.

His chakra-infused sword met the assassin's steel.

For a brief second, there was resistance.

Then, there was nothing.

The white-masked man was split in half, his body tearing apart in a spray of red. The force of the attack carved a deep crater into the ground, splitting the earth like a fault line.

The others hesitated.

Kyojin didn't.

He vanished.

To them, it must have looked like he disappeared into thin air.

But in truth, he had moved too fast for them to see.

In an instant, he was behind three of them.

By the time they realized—

They were already dead.

Their bodies fell to the ground in a heap, severed into pieces before they could even react.

The last four assassins had seen enough.

They leapt back, forming a line.

Then, they raised their hands—weaving signs.

—

Kyojin moved.

Too slow.

He cut down two, but the last two finished.

"Katon: Gōka Messhitsu!"

"Fūton: Shinkū Tatsumaki!"

—

Fire and wind collided.

A massive tornado of flames erupted, engulfing the entire area.

Everything was swallowed in an instant. Buildings. Streets. Bodies.

The heat was unbearable. The roar of the inferno drowned out the screams of those who hadn't escaped.

But Kyojin stood unmoving.

The flames licked at his form, but his chakra armor held firm.

He could feel the immense heat. He could feel the world around him burning.

But he remained untouched.

Still, his body had reached its limit.

His armor began to crack.

The dark blue glow flickered. The spikes on his forearms crumbled.

His breath came in ragged gasps. Blood dripped freely from his nose, from his mouth.

His body was failing.

But still—

He lifted his sword one last time.

—

Kyojin poured every last ounce of chakra into his wooden blade.

The air around him trembled.

The ground cracked.

He could feel himself dying.

His insides felt like they were ripping apart, his very soul threatening to collapse.

But he didn't stop.

He roared.

And then—

He swung down.

The world broke.

—

A massive shockwave exploded outward, turning everything into dust.

The very earth split apart, buildings disintegrated, and anything caught within the radius was erased.

The last two assassins?

Gone.

The battlefield, once filled with fire and smoke, had been reduced to a crater of nothingness.

And at its center—

Kyojin stood, his sword buried in the earth.

His body trembled.

His vision blurred.

His breath slowed.

And as the last embers of rage flickered from his soul—

He collapsed.

The last thing he saw before darkness took him—

Was destruction...