_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.

"Isn't that right?" It questioned, gazing back at that shadowy figure behind itself.

It was none other than Ken, who had somehow manoeuvred to leap high enough to reach it after getting away from that barrage of those truck sized crimson nails.

Consequently, from the right ends of his abdomen, his entire right leg had vanished, with his left arm, while his darkened blood poured out of him, profusely.

The sword in his grip devoured light to let out a strange white shine that glimmered in a cold glint before the sword flickered down at the shadow.

"Vertica-cough srlash!" He exclaimed, coughed put blood.

A thin vertical arc immediately manifested right at the shadow's face,

Stepping to the side, it turned to evade the slash by a hair's breadth as the sword art's threaded slash soon uncoiled from the arc,

To millions