Consciousness was rather a loose term for Kyoske Isane. There seemed to be times when she could grasp at it, however it slipped through her fingers enough that she wondered perhaps if the moments weren’t dreams. At first there had been pain on her rare returns to consciousness, pain that had seared through her nerves like fire. Then the pain had left her suddenly, as though drained from her being.

The samurai’s eyes finally and slowly blinked open. The sunlight dappling through the opening of the tent stabbed at her eyes. Her body ached and she felt rather weak, her muscles having suffered from inactivity. She lifted her hand to rub across her face. That must have been some drinking she’d done. She must have been downing sake by the pitcher to reach this kind of state. Wouldn’t have been the first time, she mused internally.

Her form was gaze lolled to her side and she froze, sleep and drowsiness fleeing her as she caught sight of her shoulder. There was a rather nasty looking scar upon her skin now, one that brought it all flooding back. Daiyo. Their fight. The feeling of foul magic arcing through her body. The icy pain of her blade sinking deeply into her shoulder, twisted about while the assassin had an expression of barely contained glee. Finally, the flight Daiyo had made immediately after suffering injuries that would kill most men.

She moved her shoulder experimentally. There was some pain but nothing overly different from the aches of the rest of her body. The samurai pressed her hand against the scar as she slowly sat up, her hair falling messy and loose around her head. Miraculous. Such a wound could cripple most. How long had she been out that it could have healed like this? Isane frowned and looked down at herself. Her only current attire were cloth wrappings for decency’s sake. She looked around for her clothes, feeling a slight chill as she moved from under the cover of soft fabric her futon had provided.

It was in that moment the flap of the tent was pushed open. In walked Momo, a rather tired expression on her normally bright face. She was carrying a basket of fruit however once her eyes fell upon Isane awake it was promptly dropped. The few little settlements upon some of the pink fruits were obliterated by the earth shattering impact as their fruits smashed into the ground, those who clung to life crushed as the fruit rolled from the basket and onto the floor.

“Momo-sa- ack!”

Isane dry and scratchy voice was cut off as Momo threw herself at the samurai, wrapping her arms around the warrior woman. The woman’s arms were tight around her, squeezing Isane quite uncomfortably given her aches and pains. The samurai could soon hear little sobs coming from her retainer, moist tears dripped upon her bare skin. Isane smiled softly and wrapped her arms around Momo, simply content to sit like this for a while.

This closeness, the feeling of holding her retainer. The sensation of running her fingers through her hair, the swells of her breasts pressing against her own. It was something Isane felt like she hadn’t had for days. Perhaps it really had been days. She ran a calloused hand along the soft pink floral pattern of Momo’s kimono, just content with feeling her. This wasn’t some state of unconsciousness, this was reality.

Those few new miserable souls trapped in the fabric of Momo’s kimono were pressed into Isane’s flesh, either popping under the pressure or sinking into the bare skin. As her monolithic fingers traced over the kimono they wiped clean a number, the people becoming mere dirt beneath her fingernails. There were in reality many more than just two people involved in this moment, though neither woman knew that. All they cared about right now was drinking in the presence of the other.

After a while, a long while, Momo finally disentangled herself from her samurai mistress. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, smiling in rapturous joy as she knelt before Isane. For herself Isane rubbed the sleep from around her eyes, flicking bits of sand she picked from the corners away. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands for a few moments before returning her attention to Momo.

“I should get knocked unconscious more often if it gets me a waking reception like that.” Isane joked with a grin.

Her retainer managed a breathless chuckle. “You don’t need to go that far for my attention.”

“Maybe not. Can’t honestly say I’d be in any hurry to get stabbed again.” Isane remarked, touching her shoulder again.

For some reason Momo winced as she looked at the scar. Odd, usually she liked the scars. The samurai shrugged it off and grabbed one of the fallen pieces of fruit nearby. She bit into it ravenously, juices running down her chin. She paid no mind to the bits of dirt upon it, the splotches of people crushed out by simple movements. The samurai was far too hungry to worry about such insignificant details really.

“How long was I out?” Isane inquired between bites.

Momo licked her lips, her fingers curling into the fabric of her kimono. “Uhhh… about four days now.”

Isane’s eyes narrowed and she paused in her chewing. She looked at Momo like she had grown a second head as she swallowed her mouthful. Four days? Impossible. There was no way she could possibly have this kind of recovery in a mere four day span. It was inconceivable. Isane was many things but she was still only mortal last she had checked. Daiyo hadn’t attacked either? Her foul magic certainly would have had her ready for round two rather quickly. Killing her was no easy feat. She’d stabbed her in the heart once and that foul stone on her body simply moved to fill the gap. Isane was no Daiyo however.

“Momo-san. Did something happen that healed me from that wound?” Isane asked.

The retainer squirmed in her place, swallowing slightly. “Well. The thing is…” She started slowly.

“Momo-san.” The samurai said, her tone reproachful. It was a rare tone, one that enforced their differences of servant and master.

A wince crossed Momo’s face and she averted her eyes away from Isane. “Ryoko-sama. She healed you.”

Isane frowned immediately, touching her new scar. “That fucking fox… what did she want in return? Did she make you do some humiliating task? Agree to some foul pact? Tell me Momo-san. I’m going to ram my sword up her furry…”

It wasn’t that Isane was angered by Ryoko healing her. The absolute last thing she wanted was to be rendered crippled and useless. However, nothing was ever free with Nine-Tails. She expected a price with anything she did. The goddess was so very powerful but also very childish and petty with that power at times. From the way Momo was trembling she could only assume it had been something completely awful.

A hand cupped Momo’s cheek, lifting her gaze up to meet that of her samurai mistress. Isane ran her thumb over her retainer’s full lips, smiling encouragingly at her. “Momo-san. It’s alright. You know you can tell me anything. No matter what humiliation she forced upon you I won’t think less of you.” She said.

Momo swallowed hard. “It wasn’t me she wanted something from. I-It was you she wanted something from.”

Isane lifted a brow. “What could she have wanted from me?”

There was a long pause that followed that before Momo managed to gather what courage she had. “Y-your… your sword, Kyoske-sama.”

_________________________________________________________________

The procession had traveled long and hard to reach their goal. Now they stood at the foot of the great monument, shrouded in its long shadow. Ryo Seshio held up his gauntleted fist, signaling a halt to the armed party. Most were ill equipped ashigaru though there were five other samurai with him to lead the group. Of the samurai he was the only one mounted, the mark of a greater samurai.

Though the snarling black demon mask of his helmet hid it, Ryo’s expression was fairly nervous. Seeing the structure in the distance was one thing, being right next to it was another. It was a monolithic, towering thing that stretched far up into the heavens. From the distance it had looked to be a simple tent, one that he himself might own. Up close it was a white monument that stretched on forever. His own home city wouldn’t even come close to filling the space within he suspected.

“Ryo-sama. Your orders?”

The mounted samurai looked down at his second briefly before looking up at the tent. The gap at the bottom was very generous, something they could easily march right under. However only a fool charged in without knowing what it was they were dealing with. He hadn’t believed the stories refugee’s had told of walking gods. Beings who could wipe away entire settlements with a single step. It seemed so very fantastical but now, standing in the shadow of this tent and having felt the earlier tremors he could only imagine the beings within could be gods.

“Gather five of the men. Get them ready to move in. See what’s inside and report back, nothing more.” Seshio commanded, his hands tightening around the reigns of his horse.

Soon enough six men were moving towards the opening slowly, clearly intimidated by the structure alone let along whatever could be inside. They had not seen Momo enter, having come around from around the side of the tent only recently. Perhaps if they had the procession would have simply fled, reporting back to their lord of goddesses. As it was there was no such luck for them. No sooner had the men crossed the threshold than the sky rumbled with the sound of thunder.

“WHAT!?”

The word itself was impossible to decipher. They weren’t words so much as a great crack of noise that rang at the ears of the men. The sound echoed around Seshio’s helmet, drawing a wince from him. Others in the main group clutched at their ears, crying out in pain. The scouting group halted in their advance. Even with the distance between them, Seshio could see his second pointing at something beyond his own sight.

Then the tremors came. They shook at the ground, the sound of cracking earth filling the ears of those around him. The scouting group started running back to the main group as the tremors grew more pronounced, passing back under the threshold of the tent. Seshio’s horse bucked and finally reared up, drawing a cry of surprise from the samurai as he was thrown from the beast and onto the ground. He groaned, his men helping him to his feet just in time to watch the tent flap open.

There she was. Wild dark hair about a face twisted in fury. Her form was wrapped in cloth wrappings around her breasts and waist for modesty’s sake. Scars adorned her tanned flesh, marking her past battles to the onlooker. Seshio’s eyes shot wide as he looked up at her, frozen as her enormity immediately set in. This was her. The god the refugees had spoken of, she who could annihilate towns and armies with a step.

The scouting group was making progress back however that progress meant pretty much nothing. A shadow was cast over them as the woman’s foot came up and immediately smashed down in her walking stride. A single step. Six men extinguished under the bare flesh of her peachy sole, obliterated under the seemingly divine wrath from above. She was angered; angered they had dared to intrude upon her domain.

Seshio saw many of his men run, others fell to their knees. The cried out to the goddess, begging for her wrath to be spared from them. Seshio was still paralyzed, gazing up at the creature that towered above him. Compared to her they didn’t even measure up. If he and his remaining men stacked each other up on each other’s shoulders they wouldn’t even reach halfway up her smallest toe.

Her foot came up again, this time its shadow being cast over the entire group. Those that had tried to flee found their pathetic strides were absolutely nothing compared to hers. Seshio fell back, staring up at his new sky. Far, far above him was her sole. It was calloused and worn at from many days of travel. Dirt gathered from her previous steps rained down, heralding her step. Dirt clumps the size of boulders crushed men into nothing, pasting them under them. The sole hovered above them all for what seemed like forever.

Then it finally slammed down. There was no noise, not even a ringing in Seshio’s ears. Her foot came down abruptly, crushing most all beneath it. Some lucky few however, managed to survive, the slight creases in her foot proving a kind of safe harbor. One of those lucky few was Seshio. The step itself rattled at his bones, indeed he could bet a few shattered from the aftershock of the impact. He was struck deaf by the noise unable to see much of anything. The smell of sweat was heavy upon the air he now breathed, left behind from the woman’s exertions and time spent sick.

Then, just like that. Light flooded back. Seshio squinted, looking up at the sky. He was alive. He chuckled, and then laughed a laugh he himself would never hear. He touched his armor, trying to make sure he was in one piece before crying out as he tried to lift his left arm. It had been shattered in the aftershock. Regardless, he, Ryo Seshio had survived under the step of a goddess.

He blinked as the world went dark again and looked up just in time to see another sky, this one made of white cotton. He had just enough time to scream as the underside of Momo’s tabi got yet another stain added to its threads.

___________________________________________________________________

“My sword. You gave her my sword.”

Isane was pacing about their campsite, completely oblivious to the lives snuffed out under her steps. She was looking around for her prized weapon, as though hoping what her retainer had just told her was not true. She moved to the set of her weapons aside, looking through them for it. They were scattered around her uncaringly, her movements frantic as she looked for the sword she so prized.

Momo hurried after her mistress, standing helplessly off to the side of the whole affair. She looked like she didn’t know what to do, what to say in the face of this. Isane let out a cry of anguish as she found indeed that her sword was well and truly gone. It had been taken away by Ryoko. The mark of what she was, a samurai, was gone. The weapon had passed through the hands of her family since the founding of their house. The Kyoske family treasure was beyond her grasp.

She pounded a fist upon the ground, making a noise halfway between a scream and a groan. She sat like that, doubled over for the longest time. Momo shuffled uncomfortably. The movements of her tabi clad feet ground to paste the horse that had fled the obliteration of his master, the beast joining the crushed samurai upon the underside of her unfeeling socks. She cleared her throat slightly, drawing the gaze of Isane.

“Why Momo-san… why would you do that?” Isane asked quietly, her voice sounding so very small.

Momo let out a little whimper. “I-I wanted you healed. I knew that if you had survived you never would have recovered. A-at least this way you can still be a warrior, you can still fulfill you ambition.” She said hesitantly.

A little bitter chuckle came from Isane. “Better to not have use of one of my arms than… this. What is a samurai without her sword? Damn it Momo-san…” She said, shaking her head with her gaze still to the ground.

The retainer swallowed hard as she dared to approach her fallen mistress. She tried to place a consoling hand upon her shoulder only to have the samurai shove her away with a growl. Momo let out a squeak of surprise and fell onto her backside, staring up fearfully at her enraged mistress.

“Don’t fucking touch me! Not after you-.” Isane choked, the corners of her eyes glinting faintly with tears. “Just go. Get out of my sight.”

Momo rose and tried to approach the samurai. “Please, Kyoske-sama, I just- ah!”

The sharp sound of skin upon skin sounded out. Momo ended up on the ground again, holding her slightly reddened cheek in shock. Isane stood over her, expression shifting to a stony mask. “I said get out of my sight. Now!” She roared.

Her retainer looked on the verge of tears as she scrambled to her feet and started running off towards the shoreline. Isane could hear her sobs start as she ran, the sounds stabbing at her heart. She felt positively wretched, her sword was gone, her retainer had given it away. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel now. She felt rage, sorrow, betrayal, and guilt and they all mixed together in her gut in a confusing manner. Her throat clenched up and she could feel the sting of tears trying to come to her eyes no matter how she fought it.

Isane sat down, running her fingers through her dark hair. Everything hurt and her head was swimming. The shock of waking up days later after a battle and losing her most prized possession was too much too fast. Had she much food within her belly she’d likely throw up on the spot.

“Well now. That was certainly dramatic.”

That voice… it immediately flared hatred as the strongest emotion in her. Her eyes narrowed immediately as they looked across the small lake. Standing there, dressed in her green robes with a cruel smirk upon her lips was Daiyo. Isane’s hand went to the naginata on the ground at her side, fingers curling tightly around the shaft of the bladed spear. The assassin had her arms out wide, as though daring Isane to try something against her.

“Daiyo. For once, you have good timing. Slicing your poisonous head from your shoulders will bring me no small amount of pleasure.” Isane spat as she rose, spear in hand.

With that said she started to move forward until a pitiful squeak sounded out. It halted her in her tracks as she looked to the side, eyes widening. Standing there, a blade to her neck and in the firm hold of another woman, was Momo. The woman hold in the blade to the retainer’s neck glared at Isane with more hate and venom than anyone she had ever seen. Indeed it looked as though it was taking great restraint to avoid killing her hostage.

“Ah yes. You haven’t been introduced. I would like you to meet Rika. I believe you have met before. Or rather, you destroyed her entire village, slaughtered her family, and ravaged her country.” Daiyo stated, inspecting her nails in an unconcerned manner.

Wait… what?