The last remaining Kounai warrior had been fighting for hours now. All his brethren had fallen, and there was no one else to provide him with any support. It was just him.

The enemy came from all sides, all around him. They continued to swarm about him, attempting to suffocate and overpower him with their numbers. The barbarians underestimated the fight left in this one man, for he was able to throw them off and continue coating the earth with their heathen blood.

He fought with all he had because this was his homeland. Every slash and stab against the foreigners, he did for every father, brother, son, and friend of his fellow Kounai. He understood he was fighting a losing battle. He understood that he was outnumbered perhaps a few hundred thousand to one. But the odds didn’t matter. The fact of the matter was, he was fighting for principle.

But one can only endure for so long. After so many hours on the battlefield, after vigilantly defending his homeland against these sickly invaders, he was beginning to tire. It didn’t help that he never had a second to cleanse his katana of his enemies’ blood. Now his blade began to feel heavier with each stroke. His arms began to feel the weight of the world, for everything truly rested on the outcome of his two muscular hands.

With the last few drops of energy within him, he was able to create a perimeter around him of which the countless barbarian troops would not dare enter. Every now and then, one brave and foolish soul would pass into the circumference of his blade, and with a quick whoosh, there was another body drifting among the sea of red.

Unfortunately for him, the enemy started thinking and came at him two, three, four at a time. He, being one man, could not withstand this onslaught forever. With a final prayer, he took another group of men down with him as he finally drifted off to an eternal peace. At least that’s what he hoped for.

He fell unceremoniously to the floor with a big splash, sending up a wave of blood up at his assailants. After for what seemed like an eternity, he contented himself with just lying on the ground, thinking that the victorious heathens would let him die on the battlefield through nature’s whim. He steadied his breath and focused his thoughts on once again joining his friends and family as he departed this cruel wretched world that no longer held anything for him. He was ready.

His attackers had other ideas than to leave the last living Kounai warrior die peacefully. This was the man responsible for so many deaths. This lone character was such a pain in their asses that they refused to let him die a calm and peaceful death. Oh no, he would be subjected to the one of the worst tortures their heathen culture had.

They watched as he slowly steadied his breathing. They allowed him to fall into a false sense of closure before striking. Seeing that his chest finally fell and rose in a relaxed pattern, they brought out the utensils.

One by one, going as slow as they could to inflict as much pain possible, his attackers stuck thin long needles straight into his heart. With each orifice being only millimeters apart, his twisted conquerors relished in his anguished screams that traveled for miles in every direction. Even as the final Kounai warrior was at death’s doorsteps, he would never be allowed to go quietly. For him, in the hands of his worst enemies, he would face a slow torturous death, done just to draw out his pain for the longest period of time possible. This was the cruel and unkind fate that befell the last of the Kounai.

07.13.08, 2.00-2.26am