_Eshwar_

A tragedy...
An abrupt departure...
Death...
And rebirth.

Pain, rage, struggle, and blood honed a sword.
A sword sharp enough to sever through reality and reveal what lies beyond.

It unveiled something,
Or rather, someone, incomprehensible and unprecedented....
A being who seems to weave the threads of fate.

Does he truly exist, or is he merely a manifestation of another's will?
If he does exist, what purpose does he serve?
Is there really a purpose, or is it just another will imposed upon him?
If it is another's will, can he defy it?
Can he turn his sword against his creator,
A being who literally writes his reality?

Or will he be consumed by the abyss from which his power flows,
Forever lost in the shifting void of his own making?

The Blind Swordsman.

In a luxurious conference hall marred with a ghastly aura. Among the 28 people present, 12 had their heads lowered while 15 others warily gazed at the man standing with his broadsword raised above his head, in the middle of the table.

Among them, the Emperor and the Dukes Of Darkness felt strange intuitive emotions rising up within their hearts and stomach as their gazes remained stuck on the pair of eyes centred behind him.

With no words spoken, they watched as the man's sword leaned forward and fell, cutting through the winds that seemed have stopped blowing.

Before the broadsword's tip touched the table top, the sword was stopped but the force it carried behind it came crashing down, pushing off most of the lighter materials placed on the table, faultlessly.

Without aiming at anything or anyone, the man continued to dance with his swords.

His dance was lucid, elegantly fluid, and

Cruelty