Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 405: The Bake-kujira

Chapter 405: The Bake-kujira

Fire erupted from the maw of the Bake-kujira, a torrent of flames that swept across the shoreline, incinerating everything in its path. The flames swallowed hundreds of boats and samurai and fishermen, turning the night into day for those on land. The fishermen who had fought so valiantly moments before were reduced to ash in an instant.

All who cried were silenced by the fury of the ghost whale.

Only the four disciples of Miyamoto Musashi and some fifty men were able to escape. A majority were back on land. Blasted, escaped, whatever means it took.

Land was better than water for the samurai. While far from one another, the five great samurai could coordinate.

And yet, as if its fire was not enough, the Bake-kujira’s very presence seemed to bring with it death in another form—a sickness, a plague. Those who survived the fire and swam in the waters began to cough, their skin paling, their eyes bloodshot.

For those on land, it was the same.

The disease spread rapidly, like a dark wind blowing across the battlefield. Fishermen fell to their knees, clutching their chests as the life drained from their bodies. Even the strongest samurai felt the weight of the creature’s curse bearing down on them.

Miyamoto Mikinosuke dropped to one knee. He coughed blood. His fingers trembled. The plague was relentless and it struck without mercy.

The fish could not pursue. The sea of birds could. Their eerie chirps echoed and pierced the ears of the sick and the dove down. The people of Matsue, even the great samurai of Miyamoto Musashi, were losing hope. Soon, Matsue would fall beneath the ghost whale’s unholy wrath.

And then, through the storm, through the chaos, came a sound.

A single, sharp, slicing sound that cut through the wisps of fire, the monster birds, and the screams of the dying.

A whisper:

"Tsubame Gaeshi."

Every single bird that dared to intrude onto the shoreline dropped dead. Tens of thousands of bird corpses were cleaved cleanly in two by an impossibly swift strike.

Emerging from the sand, touching the thin waters where once there had been a mass of birds coming, was a lone blue oni—a lone samurai.

The lone samurai’s hair was long and dark, tied in a half top-knot and the rest down his back. His kimono was black and his hand rested on the hilt of a nodachi, the large great sword gleaming a bright shade of blue. The sash wrapping around his shoulder to his waist proudly kept masks of all kinds: noh masks, ferocious red demon masks, kitsune masks, and kabuki masks.

His bright blue eyes were fixed upon the Bake-kujira with a gaze that spoke of death.

He walked on the water, his steps not creating a single ripple. As he walked, he slashed his blade and the remaining fire on the land and waters ceased. Rain returned to fall on them. It did not stop the sickness, so many fled, dying.

While this lone samurai faced off against the Bake-kujira.

Such a small thing compared to the massive skeleton whale. Hardly an eye, hardly a bone, and yet for a moment, the creature seemed to pause, as if recognizing something in this lone figure.

The whale recognized and hated.

With a bellowing roar, the Bake-kujira attacked.

It swung one of its massive, skeletal fins down upon the samurai, a blow that would have crushed an entire village. The samurai was faster. He vanished from sight, reappearing directly eye-level with the very same fin while it was yet to fall.

Tsubame Gaeshi.

The first slash came upward and sliced into the whale’s right fin. The second followed immediately after, a downward cut that met the first, and the final blow cleaved horizontally, severing the massive fin clean from the creature’s skeletal frame.

His blade was so small. He was so small. It did not make sense.

Logic did not dictate this samurai.

The Bake-kujira howled in rage, thrashing violently, and the fin fell away into the water with a resounding splash. Massive waves crashing into the shore. The sea boiled with the creature’s fury.

The samurai did not falter.

Again, he disappeared and reappeared. Disappeared and reappeared. The Bake-kujira turned itself over. Away from the five disciples, away from the remaining survivors.

The Bake-kujira tracked the lone samurai down away from the shoreline. Now, the samurai stood on the water’s surface, his feet barely making a ripple.

The lone samurai was waiting.

The Bake-kujira chased after him.

"H-he’s bringing it away from the village!" Yoemon yelled. "That’s good! R-right?"

The lone samurai bounced back further and further away. His speed was a blur to everyone else. Yet the more he moved, the slower he became.

The monstrous whale’s skull stopped all together, its hollow eye sockets locking onto the demon samurai with a burning hatred. The water around its ribs boiled and the fish swarmed back inside the whale’s bones. The Bake-kujira began to glow fiercely, its giant body shimmering with an unholy light. Its ribcage expanded as it drew in a deep, unnatural breath. All the oxygen in the atmosphere dissipated, as though the world itself were holding its breath.

The creature’s mouth opened, the hollow void of its eyes and mouth glowing red-hot. Flames crackled in the depths of the Bake-kujira’s gaping maw, a bright, hellish inferno that swirled and churned.

And then, fire.

The lone samurai loosened his grip on his blade, the long, deadly sword known as Monohoshizao, or "The Drying Pole." The blade, nearly as tall as himself, was pure blue.

It was useless here.

The blue oni of the samurai had only one chance to stop it. He donned the dark blue mask of Fujin, pulled out a metal fan, and cited the name of the wind god as he struck back.

The clash of the greats could not be described. Only the aftermath could. There were no winners, only losers. Only survivors. Only those who lived to tell the tale and those who were responsible for continuing to pursue the death of the Bake-Kujira.