And so the bell had tolled (Solo Plot)

The Mission:

As he walked up a set of barren stone stairs, he approached a battered gate to a broken village. He stepped along the path in search of some sign of the very existence of the power he sought and it didn't take long. The first building he approached seemed to have a long and deep gash in the front side. Along the gash were several spots of dried blood. His fingers softly, curiously, gently, trailed along the scarred concrete. A frown had placed itself softly upon his gentle pale face. These people who once lived here, whether they were the guilty party or the party who was simply maimed for sport, had clearly suffered a grand tragedy. He walked into the mostly in tact building in order to find the entire back wall splatted with dried blood. The sight almost made him shiver. What an act of brutality this had been. Who had been the one to come to this village before him? Who had been the monster who slayed those who called this place home? Had the people who lived here even seen it coming? Did that matter? No. This had been a bloodbath and a gruesome one at that.

He stepped out from the first building. He could practically hear the screams of sufferers past. He could hear the agony in this empty village. Someone had torn both people and architecture apart as though neither were anything that truly mattered. He could feel a faint fear in himself. If he continued to sought this power, was this how it would end? Would he, in the end, be nothing short of a monster himself if his hands laid upon this fabled weapon? Would his heart, mind, and soul turn to nothing but blood thirst? He had practically broke out into a cold sweat by now as he continued to travel from building to building. There was not a single place left untouched by the walking tragedy that had once come through. There was no evidence that anyone had survived. How bad did he really wish to seek a power like this? A power that seemed to eat not only those before it, but those behind it as well? The wind screamed as it whipped about through this empty hell. He covered his own ears and for a moment, he shook. He cowered. He was afraid of phantoms that weren't even there anymore.

He took in a shallow breath. Was this what power did to people? Could he end up no different from the woman who had escaped from the prison? Was he to end up a psychopath just the same if this was the road he walked on? The thoughts almost brought tears to his eyes. The panic was suffocating. He tightly closed both his hands. His nails dug slightly into his palms the pain not enough to pull him from the nightmare he had locked himself in. One where he lost himself. One where power didn't pave his way, but instead consumed it. He took in shallow breaths trying to calm himself down. He tapped his fingers on his own bleeding palms.

Reaching the center of the village he came to a fountain that had been cut in two. He fell to his knees holding his own head. What was he even doing here? Why had he come? It had nearly all faded away and he had shut his eyes covering them with his hands as thought he were a small child terrified of seeing what laid in front of him and for a moment, he simply stayed. His breathing remained shallow. It thundered. It thundered again. He didn't move.

Within moments, as though the world knew he needed some sort of reprieve, as though a sign from destiny itself, a cold rain came. Drip. Drip. Drip. It began to pour. He felt his breathing level as the cold act of nature graced what parts of his skin remained bare. He kept his eyes closed, but his hands had come to instead rest on his knees. The world had moved on from this tragedy, but it had not been forgotten. That meant there was a lesson to be learned. Another deep, slow, deliberate breath. There was definitely power and fear in this blade. There was terror in the very presence it could bring. That was clear. Power. This was a case it had been used to bring disaster, but that wasn't the only thing it had done. It had also brought forth this new world. This was part of the myriad of mistakes and occurrences and graces that brought forth change. Change was what Ryojin sought. This blade had brought it for others. He was still unsure if it was a power he could hold in his own hands, but he knew it was a power worth aiming for. Even if it turned out the blade wasn't meant for him, the path to get to it was one of many he needed to walk along. He needed to experience it for himself and to judge if it were something worth chasing after. He stood up, he looked to the rain falling upon his soft features, and he sighed. With the rain came his conviction. After one hand sign, the rain instead became snow, and he began his trek back home.