Ronin's Revenge

The next few hours were a bit of blur for Ryoma. The only thing he surmised for certain was that he was alive; after all, he could still feel a throbbing ache in his muscles, and it seemed reasonable to believe that such pain didn’t exist in the afterlife. Thus, the tangibility of his pain must have meant he still resided in the world of the living. Of course, the world of the living donned a slightly different meaning, he supposed, given the entrance of Orochi and its devious band of oni. Indeed, the world may have been irrevocably altered for the worst.

Ryoma, however, spent little time in his fugue state pondering such maladies. The past hour or so of his life was drastic, sure, but, perhaps due to the fact that such a tremendous undertaking had occurred, the samurai barely had the energy to contemplate the moment at hand. And that was only in his fleeting moments of consciousness. For the most part, he merely drifted downstream while out as cold as the water carrying him.

But Ryoma did have moments of lucidity along the ride. When taking stock of his environment, he looked up to the sky. Actually, that was about the only thing he could view while floating on his back. But he distinctly noticed the lack of color painting the night; not so long ago, Orochi’s poison tortured him with vibrant hallucinations, yet now, he noticed only darkness. And it certainly was dark; aside from the occasional flash of the firefly, a brisk nothingness graced the half-dead warrior’s journey. He had drifted far from the torches alight in the imperial palace’s courtyard, from his former life.

The main concern for Ryoma was the selcouth variation in pace with which he floated by and down the river. During the first portion of his travels, the gentle rhythm of the water tenderly moved him along, as though he were being caressed by a lover (although, he could only fantasize about the comparison, not knowing of the sensation himself). However, at a certain point in his journey, the speed at which he drifted increased rapidly. Furthermore, the collar of his shirt tightened around the front of his neck, ever so slightly constricting his airway. Though groggy, he could still discern that he was being dragged along.

With what little capacity for thought Ryoma possessed at that given moment, he pondered what could possibly have him by the scruff of the neck. Was it perhaps a branch that had fallen into the river alongside him? It certainly could’ve snagged his shirt as it floated in tangent to him, but that didn’t account for the increased movement speed he was experiencing. That only left an animal as an explanation. However, that failed to add up as well; if an animal had ensnared him, surely it would have begun eating him upon contact, or at the very least, would’ve chomped into his arm for easier access of dragging him away. Nothing quite lined up just right.

And so, Ryoma accepted that he couldn’t quite fathom the nature of his situation. Rather, he continued to fade in and out of consciousness while he was swiftly carried off to some unknown destination. Before long, though, he felt his body being dragged to the river bank. Then, a voice tried telling him something, but he still felt too foggy to acknowledge just what they said. He then felt the mysterious stranger begin pulling on his legs, so with a slowly returning willpower, he urged his muscles to move. Shambling at first, the samurai eventually took somewhat capable strides.

Step after step, Ryoma found his way to some sort of structure. More words from the stranger, followed by the duo entering the building. That proved to be too much for him, however, as he collapsed on the floor. A different voice came to him in his stupor next but he was still too far removed from his senses to discern what was being said or by whom. Instead, his body betrayed him and he slept once more.

Ryoma did wake up halfway a handful of times prior to fully recovering. Though dark, his eyes adjusted to a lantern’s light beside him. More pressingly, there was someone else in the room. It appeared to be a girl or woman, and she was hovering over him in fact. A damp sensation came about the wound on his neck and he winced in pain. Both sensations, he realized, surely meant he was regaining his perception, a step in the right direction as far as he was concerned. The girl said something, but he was still too weary to understand it, especially after enduring the sharp pain from the bite now radiating into his skull. The samurai succumbed to slumber yet again.