_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.

His now-demonic eyes were wide open, as if to devour everything at sight,

It seemed lost and lifeless at the same time.

There read traces of maddened rage within his eyes.

A purgatory rage that had been gnawing at him from within.

Ken raised the manifested sword's grip over his head while the sword's tip aimed at the ground as he brought his other hand close to that manifested sword, a bit over the grip and traced it, as if unsheathing it.

A glossy touch that shone to resemble an eerie white glow began to carve onto that pure black energy made sword.

His palm was grazed against, drawing darkened blood, yet he didn't seem to even notice it as he soon pointed that manifestation of a sword, at that personification of his.

He flicked his hand to get off most of that dripping blood while his firm sword radiated an indomitable pressure on its own.

Swordsmanship