Ti is a river that never flows backward — unless the will of a true sovereign bends the natural order of the universe.
Musashi Miyamoto. Sasaki Kojiro.
Two nas that crossed through the ages. Immortal legends carved into the bones of the world. n whose mastery of the sword outlived empires, whose legacy echoes even in the winds.
But like all that draws breath… they too, died.
Musashi, the invincible wandering warrior.Kojiro, the prodigy of the Tsuba-Gaeshi.
They lived in pursuit of each other. Two poles destined to collide. But life — fleeting, cruel — denied them that privilege.
The promised duel, the one that would shake the very heavens, never ca to pass.
Musashi passed first. He died in the Witch's Realm, under the silent care of Alice Scarlet. He was buried beneath a blooming sakura tree, and there, a temple was built. Not just for prayers… but for longing.
Kojiro, in turn, wandered across every corner of the world. Humans, elves, dragons, youkai... He learned from them all. Lived more fiercely than anyone. But in the end, even for him, the breath of life ceased.
Almost at the sa ti...
As if fate still tried to unite what it couldn't in life.
And then, their souls awakened.
They were called.
They could've moved on to Paradise. Rested among the stars, surrounded by eternal songs.
But there was sothing inside their chests — a silent scream, a blade never sheathed.
The will to fight.
Heaven did not want them.
Or perhaps... they were the ones who refused it.
In the mont they were to choose the path of light...
They drew their swords.
And so, they walked downward.
To Hell.
Not for punishnt. Not for damnation.
But because only in Hell could they continue to wield their blades.
Only there, in the land where souls burn and ti bleeds, could their duel soday happen.
"Okay… that was unexpected."Dante muttered, lounging back on his obsidian throne, eyes half-lidded as he watched the two floating souls before him — both radiating energy, spiraling like twin hurricanes on the brink of collision.
Even in their ethereal state, the tension between them was undeniable. As if all of Hell was holding its breath.
Musashi was the first to break the silence — with the subtlety of a drunken thunderclap:
"HEY, YOU SON OF A BITCH! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?! FOLLOWING TO HELL NOW, IS THAT IT?!"
His soul quaked with fury. "YOU DISAPPEAR FOR YEARS INTO DINSIONAL RIFTS TO TRAIN, NEVER MANAGE TO SURPASS , AND THEN DIE OF OLD AGE? WHERE THE HELL'S YOUR HONOR, KOJIRO?!"
Sasaki Kojiro, wearing that eternal, sarcastic smile, spun in the air and snapped back with equal heat:
"LOOK WHO'S TALKING, YOU KIMONO-RIPPED NEANDERTHAL!"He pointed at Musashi like an offended sumo judge. "SURPASS YOU? HA! YOU CAN'T EVEN OPEN A DINSIONAL PORTAL WITH YOUR SWORD! YOU'RE ON THE SA LEVEL AS A FISHMONGER WITH CATARACTS!"
Musashi lunged at him with an incoherent war cry, and the two began to exchange… spiritual blows? Explosions of pure will tore through the infernal space, while Dante simply watched, sipping from a goblet of black wine.
"Yeah… definitely rare souls."Dante muttered to himself, resting his chin on his hand as the two spirits erupted in unfiltered rivalry before his throne."And people say Hell is boring."
Ethereal sparks between Musashi and Kojiro lit up the shadowed hall. The air crackled with tension, even though — technically — souls didn't have fists to throw punches. But who needed fists when your very existence pulsed like a blade?
That was when the hall's great door opened silently.
Alice entered, her calm steps echoing against the floor black as pitch. She wore a crimson dress that danced like blood in motion. Her eyes imdiately caught sight of the spectacle.
She arched an eyebrow.
"These two ended up here?" she asked, like soone finding two wild animals fighting in her living room.
"In Heaven, they wouldn't have weapons... would they?" Dante replied with a faint smile, still not taking his eyes off the floating chaos in front of him.
Alice crossed her arms, watching as Musashi called Kojiro "chinless" and Kojiro fired back with "dojo scarecrow."
"Fair point," she murmured. "Up there, it's all light and harmony… no chance to duel with blades."
A soft chuckle slipped from her lips.
"Honestly, it makes sense they're here."
anwhile, the two samurai — now incandescent souls — kept bickering over who was stronger, whether the reverse strike was more elegant than the two-sword style, and who would've won if they'd had the ti.
Dante simply took another sip of his dark wine and comnted, almost offhandedly:
"Perhaps… we should give them what they never had. A duel. But first..." He looked at Alice.
"Let's make them worthy of Hell."
She smiled to the side.
"Turn them into demons, then?"
Dante nodded slowly. "Generals. Rivals. Blades that shall never rest."
The argunt between Musashi and Kojiro was now escalating like fire through dry straw.
"YOU COULDN'T EVEN STOP A DRAGON WITH ONE STRIKE, YOU MISERABLE EXCU—"
"AND YOU CAN'T FRY AN EGG WITHOUT CRACKING THE FLOOR, YOU WALKING DISASTER!"
Dante raised one hand, as serene as a judge presiding over a courtroom where the accused were screaming themselves hoarse.
And silence fell.
Not out of respect. But by command. His presence thickened in the chamber like an invisible tide, smothering every sound except his own voice.
"Enough."
The two souls froze. Still shimring in the air, but no longer trading insults.
"You two." Dante spoke calmly, his golden eyes fixed on them. "You trained for decades. Died as legends. Your souls rejected paradise. You ca to … by your own will."
Musashi and Kojiro exchanged glances, like two brothers just caught fighting over the last piece of bread.
Dante stepped down from his throne, descending the obsidian stairs with a presence that made Hell itself seem small in comparison.
"I see two restless souls. Unsatisfied with the story life wrote for them. You want more. You want blood. Blades. Eternity." He stopped before them. "I can give you that."
Musashi narrowed his ethereal gaze.
Kojiro hovered, curious.
Dante then opened his arms.
"Co to . Beco demons under my banner. Beco my Generals. Hell shall be your eternal battlefield… and perhaps, one day, you will finally have the duel you've longed for."
The silence was so heavy that even the flas on the walls refused to flicker.
Musashi looked at Kojiro.The rivalry that had kept them from embracing in life now shimred like a silent pact.
"Work for you?" Musashi crossed his illusory arms. "Does that include swords, food, and eternal fighting?"
"It includes all of that," Dante replied. "And more."
Kojiro grinned.
"So basically, we get to live as warriors until the end of ti? Honestly… better than any sappy paradise with out-of-tune harps."
Musashi sighed.
"Bah. I'd even agree to beco a demon if it ans I finally get to slice you in half."
"You can try," Kojiro replied, smug as ever.
"Then it's settled."Dante extended his hands."Co, and be reborn."
They approached, and at Dante's touch, their essences were engulfed in black flas.
Alice watched with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, the demonic energy rising around the two like storms gaining form.
The ground trembled.
Forbidden runes carved themselves into the floor beneath the souls, and an explosion of power reshaped the two n into sothing new — sothing that had never existed before.
Horns rose from their heads.Their traditional clothes were replaced by elegant demonic armor — crimson and black — forged directly from infernal might.And their swords?Evolved. Alive. Thirsty.
Musashi looked at himself and grinned with sadistic pleasure.
Kojiro spun his new blade, and the dinsion around them warped just from the motion.
"Heh… now we're talking," Musashi said. "Now let's see if you can keep up, Kojiro."
"You really think this changes anything?" Kojiro replied with a calm smile. "Now I'm even faster."
Dante returned to his throne, sitting down with a satisfied sigh.
"Let the training begin."
Alice stepped closer, sitting on the arm of his throne.
"You just gave unlimited power to two homicidal maniacs with swords and centuries of pent-up rivalry."
"Yes," Dante said, with a half-smile. "Genius, isn't it?"
And so, in the heart of Hell, under the watchful gaze of the Infernal King himself, two of the greatest swordsn Earth had ever known — now reborn as demons — clashed for the very first ti.
A thousand years later.
The sound of blades echoes through the Void Mountains, a region of Hell where reality itself hesitates to exist. The ground, made of black rock and fused bones, trembles as if fearing each impact. Crimson fissures scar the earth like living wounds, and from the cloudless sky, red lightning falls like the whips of an angry god.
The air here is not made to be breathed.It is made to be endured.And today, it vibrates with the sound of war.
Two demons face each other.
Musashi Miyamoto, now a legend rewritten in darkness, charges like a conscious storm. His skin is marked by living tattoos—infernal inscriptions that move like serpents of fla beneath his flesh. His hair, once rely black, now glows with ember-like crimson streaks.His eyes? Demon slits, sharp as blades, capable of cutting through souls with a single glance.
In his hands, two cursed katanas:Shura, the blade of slaughter, forged in the cauldron where traitors' souls are lted.Enma, the sword of judgnt, bathed in the flas that burn regret.
Every movent he makes is like a lightning strike in human form—brutal, unpredictable, unstoppable.
Opposite him stands Sasaki Kojiro, the blue specter.
Serene in posture but absolutely lethal, Kojiro is the embodint of elegant abyss. His silver hair now glows with dark-blue highlights, like moonlight on a shadowed lake.His eyes? Deep, slightly distant, as if they forever live one second into the future.
He wields Shinkirō, the illusion blade, a sword that bends reality itself. Each thrust distorts the air, creating phantasmal duplicates, false futures, strikes impossible to predict.
They exchange no words.A thousand years of battle have spoken more than any dialogue ever could.
When they move, Hell holds its breath.
The first strike rips space.The second bends ti.The third makes the ground scream.
The surrounding mountains, already mutilated by centuries of combat, collapse like sandcastles before their power. The echoes of their blades reach distant infernal realms, and even the mightiest demonic generals watch… in silence.
Musashi strikes with fury. Each cut is an ancestral scream, a thirst for surpassing limits. He spins in the air, his swords tracing infernal circles, and the world around him seems to vanish—leaving only him, the enemy, and the duel.
Kojiro, in contrast, glides across the field like a ghost. Each motion is gracefully cruel, a dance between petals and blades. When he counterattacks, his sword spawns multiple illusions of itself, each so real it deceives even Hell.
They clash in the air—blades colliding—and the impact sends gravitational waves that split the infernal clouds in two.
Musashi grins, sweating flas.
Kojiro smiles too, with that familiar gleam in his eyes—the sa smile he's always had before a kill.
They live for this.
There is no more pride.There is no more honor.There is no more humanity.
There is only the duel.
And in this mont... all of Hell understands:
These two do not fight to win.They fight to not forget who they are.
And even a thousand years later, no one dares to interrupt.
Not even the other generals.Not even the primordial demons.Not even Dante, who watches from the heights of his tower, a chalice in hand and an intrigued smile on his lips.
For even the King of Hell knows:Interrupting a duel between Musashi and Kojiro... is committing a sin that even Hell itself would not know how to punish.
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