Dense, acrid smoke threw itself across a battlefield, carrying the stench of charred corpses and spilled guts.
Two silhouettes could be seen clashing within the carnage, flickering against the burning remains.
One silhouette, tall and old, with a once-handsome face split in half by grotesque wounds, a tandem of white and black in his hair, and a brown, wavering gaze that yet pierced the man standing before him, stood tall.
His opponent was younger. His hair was burnt and disheveled, and dark pools of void filled his eyelids. He was probably no older than thirty. His sleeves were gone, his clothes were rags, and his body was washed in wounds.
The old man was smiling.
Despite the pain, despite the smell, despite the blood soaking what was left of his clothes.
He opened his mouth to speak.
"It makes me proud to see you follow my style's core," he said whimsically, "even as you walk a different path."
His smile faltered for a moment.
"But it also saddens me to see that it is drenched in blood."
The old man faced down, hiding his expression from the young man.
Complete lies.
I couldn't stop myself from smiling.
I was ecstatic.
My worst student had gone from the bottom to the top in only five years under my guidance. He was truly on a different level of talent despite his laziness.
The Changing Style - the style I had so vehemently created - was brought to another level by him with ease.
The methods, however, were of questionable theme.
Drenching your hands in the blood of everyone the same, allies or enemies alike.
Challenging everyone who had the strength to oppose him, without exception:
Masters of various styles.
Living legends.
Myths in the flesh.
He brought the Changing Path and fabricated a new name for it.
"Bleugh!"
Haha...
Basking in the ecstasy almost made me forget that I was facing the same prodigious monster that had managed to eclipse me in only five years. He was currently beating me down to a pulp, and the only thing bridging our gap in battle was my experience.
I spat out a clot of blood and forced myself back into a stance through the fatigue and pain that covered me.
My vision was blurring and unreliable, so I tried to rely on my style to see through his movements, although focusing proved to be a hard task.
Predictions rushed through my mind.
Do I change my sense of self? Do I brace?
Or-
"Wait!"
He looked at me and grinned.
"Gramps," he said, "you have to stop being way too soft..."
He detonated his arm in a spray of bloody mist and vanished shortly after. The corpses around his former position, now slick with his blood, began to glow with a faint, subtle light.
I won't fall for this. I shifted my sense of self into that of a panther and vanished from my previous spot with blinding speed.
Predicting where my student had decided to vanish to, I appeared in front of him with my blade ready to strike.
My blade flew upwards, aiming at his jaw with the intent of splitting his jaw open. It flew with a sizzling sound and-
It struck, but it felt hollow.
A flesh decoy.
This felt expected, as I knew my student well. His methods were not honorable nor respectable.
I shifted my form and kicked the floor, aiming to dash forwards to get away as fast as possible.
I landed ten meters ahead, landing amidst corpses littered on the ground.
Something felt off.
The decoy exploded behind me in a thick mask of blood.
My student was not surprised; he knew I wouldn't fall this easily...
But why was he grinning?
He stood a few meters behind me, holding his hand up with his palm facing me.
The realization came way too late; maybe fatigue had hit me harder than expected.
"Gotcha."
I couldn't help but allow a fleeting smile to creep onto my face.
"Oh, you didn't."
I wanted to laugh; I wanted to cry.
It was brilliant.
It all felt like a blur. The blood came first and surrounded me in a rushing spree.
Then arrived the pain. His dangerous blood hit as hard as ever.
The ground beneath me shuddered. Corpses detonated left and right before me.
The blood erupted, not as rain, but as a dense crimson mist. I twisted, trying to shift my lungs to filter it.
I sensed it too late.
The mist was choking me, my vision was covered in blood, and I felt weaker.
A whistle cut the mist.
I needed to heal myself; letting my "vessel" die wasn't to my taste.
I attempted to dash away, but he had me pinned, and my body couldn't move fast enough.
I screamed out - or at least tried to, as blood filled my throat.
Quickly dispelling any attempts at healing, I moved all of my focus into rearrangement. My heart slid to the side; a few arteries moved.
It was all useless.
Ah, well...
The blade erupted from my back in a torrent of deep, dark blood.
I didn't like this era anyway.
Multiple of my internal organs were damaged, and so I was helpless.
And yet, I still felt exalted.
A surge of dark joy was filling my mind.
Switching tactics after failing to minimize the damage further, I dropped every single drop of chi that remained onto healing myself.
"I know all of your tricks, gramps."
A crimson trace followed after the blade; he was going to damage my soul.
Losing my body was one thing, but losing my soul was another. I couldn't return from soul damage.
I let go of all healing techniques, but it still wasn't fast enough to do the job, and so...
Abandoning my pride to ensure my soul's survival, I grasped an innovation of my student's evolved style, and chi surged through my spine towards my skull.
I blew my left hemisphere up.
The pain erased any attempts at thinking.
Darkness was starting to swallow me. Through the shrinking tunnel, I saw
It wasn't satisfaction.
It wasn't triumph.
My student was looking at me with disappointment - as if the master he came to surpass had broken too easily.
Fractions of a second felt like hours, and seconds felt like days.
And...
I died.
My consciousness sank into my soul.