Side Story: Nameless Swordsman

He cut through yet another of the fiends, bisecting it with a clean cut through the head and torso. There was no end to them, not even after days of slaying them without rest. He wasn't tired, only weary from the endless assault from all directions, but that barely hindered him. He was caked in blood, ichor and caked dirt, but his appearance had no impact on him. He wasn't finished, not nearly so. He had to train past his limits and far beyond, else he would never surpass the wall that stood in his way.

"Venom End," he growled, igniting his blade with a toxic green flame that dissolved flesh and bone. With ferocity befitting his appearance, he cut through the ceaseless horde of monsters that swarmed him like ants. His sword severed heads, limbs and torsos as it flew like a savage gale in the wintry dark. This much was nothing compared to what he would face later down the line, so the complaints of his lead like muscles fell on deaf ears.

One would assume that the man was wild and raging from an outside perspective, but in truth he was calmer than gentlest breeze. His head was clear, almost peaceful, as he cut through the horde in a way antithetical to his thoughts. His sword flew with untamed rage while his mind and body moved with grace like a dancer. His focus and peace was so great as to blind him from the burning blue light that flowed around his body and the rapid improvement of his form and footwork with each successful slash and evasive action.

The man didn't notice as one slash became ten, ten slashes became one hundred, one hundred slashes become one thousand and so on as he continued to grow, that wasn't at the forefront of his mind as he cleared the area around him. He didn't notice that his swift movements had grown lighter and lighter as the hours ticked by, his feet leaving no impression in the snow beneath him or on the individual flakes themselves as he became a blur of light that carved through the endless sea of creatures. He didn't care that his reflexes had become precognitive from the numerous strikes he had endured before he adapted, none of this was enough. He needed power and it remained outside of his grasp despite how hard he strained himself and trained.

The man didn't realize that he had completely cleared the horde of monsters until his blade cut through the air and met no resistance from flesh or bone. Startled by the lack of attacks, he surveyed the red and black stained snow around him for any concealed fiends, but his honed senses detected no life in the immediate area. He blinked then sheathed his blade. "Oh..."

He wasn't a man of many words, at least not while his conscious was split between training his magicks, innate skills, learned skills and tapping into his untapped potential. He could tell he had changed, but not beyond the lack of revenge to cloud his thoughts. He was at peace with himself, perfectly so, and nothing here could get close to disrupting that. His body had shed its mechanical components at some point, as evident by the random scraps of metal bent beyond recognition, and a set of bangles that he didn't remember finding hung from his wrists. He wrote that off as a mystery and didn't let it bother him, it wasn't worth the effort.

The man walked through the field of snow, eyes occasionally wandering to take in the beauty he had missed while he had been preoccupied. A faint smile crept along his face, but passed just as quickly when he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He was filthy. His clothing was covered in layers upon layers of crusted blood and filth, while his skin was caked with dried blood and viscera to the point where it looked like a certain person's. His sword's scabbard was sticky with random gunk it had likely acquired around the same time he had reached his current appearance. His hair was matted with oils, blood and twigs, finalizing his ragged appearance.

"A bath would be nice," he thought aloud before closing his eyes and focusing his senses. The land was silent as much as the air was and the smell of fresh snow mingled with the scent of dried blood, but somewhere near was a sealed geyser. Focusing on that, he pinpointed its location and drifted to it like snowflakes in the wind.