The mountain’s entrance steadily narrowed into a long tunnel, and Gin went on in a relatively straight direction for several minutes. The cave mouth had been very great and gaped open nearly four or five times his height. However, the further he went, the narrower it became. Eventually, he could sense the cold walls of the mountain closing in about him, though it never became so tight that he could reach the walls or the ceiling. The gradient did not seem to change, or if it did, it was impossible to tell. Sunrise occurred just as he had entered the tunnel, and the warm light of morning flooded the tunnel behind him. Yet this only aided him so much, and the deeper he went, the darker it became. Eventually, he whispered a quiet sutra, and his magatama began to emit a bright, pale light.
After some time, Gintaro could tell that the tunnel was nearing its end, for it suddenly ceased and gave way to a much larger chamber. Cool air pressed against his face. Gintaro approached the edge of the tunnel carefully, with one hand on his sword’s hilt. A few feet beyond the tunnel’s end, there seemed to be a ledge, and beyond that, nothing.
Gin tested the ledge with one foot, then focused his energies to emit a more powerful light, several times brighter than before. What he saw astounded him.
The inside of the mountain had been almost completely hollowed out, making it the single largest cavern he had ever been in. Before him, there was an immense open expanse. It was so large that he could scarcely see to the far side. Above him was an even greater area, which might have gone all the way to the summit of the mountain. Below him were depths incalculable.
This was the largest contained space, or room, he had ever been in, or ever conceived, and even the light from his magatama seemed to be eaten up by the vastness of it. The air seemed at once fresh and deathly still. The slightest movement of gravel underfoot seemed to reverberate about the stone walls and then disappear into the oblivion above and below.
He then noticed that the ledge he stood on was not merely a ledge, but a small landing within a spiraling stairway that ran up and down the sides of the walls of the inner cone. To his right, it ran upwards, and it continued down towards his left. The stairs seemed sturdy and well-crafted, but there was nothing to keep him from falling off the edge and into the abyss below.
Gintaro remembered the words of the ancient monk and took the leftward path, down the spiraling stone staircase into darkness.
Now that he had gotten a lay of the land, he lessened the intensity of his magatama’s light and focused on taking one step at a time down the stairway. The path was not particularly treacherous, but dust and stone could betray his balance. At times, there were cracks and divots on the stone stairway, but for being so old, they were in quite remarkable condition.
He descended the monotonous stairway step by step. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, for every step seemed to be the same as the one before. The height of the step, the angle of it on the wall, the slow spiral downwards, even the cadence of his foot hitting the stairs seemed to be the same. Minutes may have turned into hours, and still the darkness surrounded him. Occasionally, he would glance into the abyss, but would see the very same thing as before, absolutely nothing.
A gradual drowsiness began to overtake him. He did not feel particularly tired, but the slow, methodical descent seemed to be lulling him into a stupor. He would try to stop, pause, and continue at a different speed than before. But before he knew it, he had returned to the same methodical pace, and what was more concerning to him was that he forgot how long he had been doing it.
He pulled the silver bell from underneath the armor and let it hang outwardly like his magatama. The faint but crisp jangle of the bell seemed to give him some clarity and kept the haze from overcoming him completely.
The stairway continued its seemingly never-ending descent, and the darkness was ever prevailing, but the air gradually seemed to change, albeit faintly. Even for being such a massive cavern, Gintaro was surprised that the air inside was as fresh as it was. Then, all of a sudden, he began to smell something else.
It was nothing that he could easily describe, for it had no comparison. It was as if he had gone back to the world before humans had inhabited it and held his face near the fresh earth. It was not pungent at first but subtle. It had neither a wholesome quality nor an unwholesome quality; it simply was. But with each passing minute, it began to grow stronger.
“Perhaps I am nearing the bottom,” Gintaro thought, and this gave him renewed vigor.
At that moment, he noticed another change. Much like the tunnel far above that he had used to enter the mountain, he began to pass many other such tunnels, leading away from the central cavern. These did have a decidedly unwholesome feel to them, and therefore Gintaro did not stop nor set one foot within them. He knew that this had been an abode of the Akuma in ancient days, and it was said that his hosts inhabited many vast caverns under the mountain. Though these were said to have been cleansed, he did not want to change fate or stir up some other enemy that had lain dormant. Nor did he have the will to take one step from the path he now trod, not knowing how much longer it would take.
Another minute turned into another hour. He did not know how long he had gone. Still, he continued, though hunger and fatigue were beginning to gnaw at him. His legs were finally beginning to burn with weariness when he felt something strange. He stopped and glanced around. Nothing was any different than before, but he could feel as if something were coming towards him. The bell on his chest jangled slightly as the air about him swirled suddenly. Gintaro jumped back just as a giant mouth emerged from below and slammed into the wall at the point where he had just stood.
Gintaro landed on his back and by the time he had his sword drawn, the monstrous visage had disappeared, leaving only a faint cloud of dust in its wake.
What did he see? He could not be sure. Sharp teeth, a devilish maw, horns like sabers, a serpent-like head, though it was large enough to swallow him whole. But what stuck with him the most were the two red eyes, the brightest things he had seen since he entered the mountain, besides his magatama.
Then a strange voice called out to him, though he did not seem to hear the voice audibly, but in the recesses of his mind.
“Gintaro!”
The swordsman was for a moment stunned, not expecting to hear his name at a time like this.
He rose to his feet and grasped his longsword firmly. “How do you know me?” was all he could bring himself to say. His words seemed to echo off the cold walls of the great cavern and then disappear.
“I know a great many things,” came the voice again. It was a voice of power but also of menace, and an unknown dread began to fill his heart. “Even though I am trapped here, my power extends for quite a distance. I felt you riding up the mountain. I heard your words with the foolish monk. I smelled you as you entered my halls. And I know you, Gintaro. I know your weaknesses. You should not have come.”
“If you know all, then we need not speak,” answered Gintaro, trying to force the intrusive voice from his thoughts. “Or give up the sword, and we need not fight.”
At this, the earth began to rumble, and Gintaro threw himself towards the wall of the stairway to steady himself.
The serpent was apparently laughing at his last words, and the mountain shook with its vile mirth.
“I shall never part with this little trinket,” replied the great beast, still rumbling with pleasure. “It has brought me my occasional meal for the last several hundred years.”
As the quaking began to cease, Gintaro carefully moved to the edge of the stairs and peered downwards. There was still abject darkness, but he could just perceive a distant coiling, like a ball of worms in a bowl.
“Gintaro!” The words came again and seemed to sear his mind like a lightning bolt. “If you must die, then do so quickly. I shall enjoy breaking your bones and tearing your flesh.”
The swordsman backed away from the edge. He looked to his left. The stairway continued to spiral downwards. He knew he would be easy prey for the great serpent, and it might take him quite some time to reach the bottom.
He recounted his master’s words, “The first strike must be your best. Do what your enemy least expects, and it might be over with just that.”
“Least expects…” Gin mouthed.
“Come!” boomed Orochi.
Gintaro backed all the way up to the stone wall, then, like a spring, he ran forward, jumped from the edge, and fell into darkness.
As he fell, he saw the red gleaming eyes not far below the stairway from where he had leapt. The serpent has obviously been preparing for another strike. This provided him with momentary relief, for he had made a wise decision to jump. However, this feeling was fleeting, as he continued to fall for what seemed like minutes, and his stomach felt like it would come out through his throat. He also had little control in the air, and the shining scales of the Orochi became more identifiable with each passing moment; he could do little to position himself.
He landed hard upon the silver scales of the beast and immediately rolled to try to mitigate the force of the fall. The armor of the Tengu seemed to help with this, for though he was momentarily stunned by pain, he did not break any bones or sustain any significant injury. The surface of the serpent’s scales aided him somewhat, for though they were hard, they were also supple to allow for movement. A layer of moss grew on one side of the skin, and from that sprang spine-like foliage such as cypresses and cryptomeria.
Gintaro attempted to stand but felt the ground move about him, as if he were standing in a strong, flowing river in spring. His eyes darted about wildly, trying to take in the behemoth in whose domain he now stood. The Orochi was massive. Its thick bulk was smooth and muscular. It was nearly two times as broad as he was tall, at its most robust parts. But even at its neck, there was enough room to swallow him whole. The body of the Orochi writhed and slithered constantly; it never ceased moving, and Gintaro found himself running simply to avoid being crushed or pulled underneath its mass. Its head, he could not yet see, though a pair of glowing eyes was gradually descending from far above.
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“Fool!” the monster had called after Gin had jumped. Now the beast once again began to rumble with delight.
Gintaro took his sword and tested the hide of the monster. His sword merely glanced off the silver-plated scales though he put great power into the blow. This he had anticipated. However, he had seen a possible opening in the defenses of the beast. He had seen it in that first instance where the Orochi had attacked. The problem was that the opening was behind the monster’s head.
The swordsman stopped moving as much as he could and kept his eyes on the glowing orbs hovering above him. He readied his blade and awaited the strike.
“Now, Gintaro, you shall die!” the Orochi called, and in an instant its ugly maw burst into his vision.
The swordsman was ready for this, and with a quick hop to the right, and an explosive push with his leg off the edge of Orochi’s own body, Gintaro simultaneously dodged the incoming jaws and was able to counterattack with a downward thrust of his sword.
The Orochi let loose a scream as its great head was removed from its body. Great spurts of black blood shot into the air, covering the immediate vicinity in acidic ooze. Gintaro backed away but could not help but feel his heart rise in his chest. “I did it!” he whispered. “I did it!”
Yet the movement of the Orochi signified otherwise; in fact, the writhing only increased, nearly tossing Gintaro onto his back.
“Impossible!” he cried, but just as he did so, he saw many more eyes rise and hover over him threateningly.
“Quite interesting,” the monster hissed, pain evident in its voice. “Perhaps you are more than what you seem. Only one other has cut off one of my eight heads before, and it took me four hundred years to grow it back. Do you want to know who?
The swordsman was doing his best to collect himself, half-unbelieving what he was seeing.
“Eight heads?” Gin thought to himself in desperate panic. “It cannot be!”
The Orochi continued, “I shall tell you, for you too will end up like him. Where did the Chisatsu go after he left me to guard the Sword of the Emperor?”
Gintaro scarcely had time to answer, for his mind was whirring with ways in which to escape the next assault. “It is said he cast himself into a deep place,” he managed to answer, trying to buy himself time. “And he was never seen again.”
“What deep place?” the Orochi persisted, the eyes glowing brighter and brighter by the moment.
“This place. You must have slew him.”
“I did. I ate him. Sword and all.”
The following barrage came faster than before, but this time there were seven other heads to contend with. Gin could not plan an offensive; he merely jumped, ran, and scrambled for his life. Several times, he felt the jaws nearly close in about him, but he moved in such a way that he narrowly escaped each time.
Yet the onslaught did not cease. Each time a head lunged inwards, another was rearing back, readying to strike again. At times, multiple heads came down at once, and if it were not for the sturdy armor of the Tengu and the consecrated swords he bore, the swordsman would have been pierced through by the monster’s deadly teeth.
“How can I overcome this?” Gintaro thought to himself, as he twisted, dodged and parried for his life.
The vile laughter of the Orochi echoed in his mind, growing ever louder and more confident by the moment.
After several minutes of bitter struggle, Gintaro finally afforded a moment of respite, or so he thought. As he gasped for air, an improbable but overwhelming force sent him flying so that he struck the outer wall with a clash. Gin blinked his eyes, only to see the shimmering gleam of the Orochi’s tail lift and fall and then disappear into the mass of twisting scales.
“Do you not see? Can you not understand?” bellowed the monster. “I cannot be defeated! I am eternal!”
Gintaro inhaled and felt the searing pain of a broken rib on his right side. Blood trickled down his nose and from his lip. His vision was blurry, and his mind hazy. Yet he pushed himself to his feet and held out his sword in defiance.
“There is only one who is eternal, and you are not he,” Gin growled.
This seemed to incite the monster, and one of its heads came flying towards him, mouth agape and eyes gleaming with rage.
Gin could see the head coming towards him and made to dodge, but at that moment, his legs would not work. He was stuck where he stood, and every second that passed, he grew more certain of his doom.
“Come on!” he screamed inside of himself. “Move you fool! Move!”
He held out his left hand as if to somehow block the oncoming jaws of death that barreled towards him.
He did not stop the head, for that would have been impossible. But he did seem to push it down somehow.
The head of Orochi suddenly crashed into the ground below, kicking up dirt, stone, and refuse in its wake.
Gin did not lose a second. Suddenly, his legs were light as a feather, and he sprinted forth, jumped high, and then brought his longsword down upon the second head of the beast. The sharp edge of the consecrated katana did its fell work and severed the mighty head with one stroke.
This time, when the Orochi screamed, it could be heard audibly, and the vibrations seemed to shake the cavern to the core.
Gin’s mind raced as he sought to figure out what had just happened. Did he cause the head to falter, or was it an errant move by the monster?
“How could I?” he wondered. “It cannot have been me.” He then glanced down at his arm, which he had held out as a futile final barrier. The armor of the Tengu had taken on a faint ethereal glow, much like it had when they fought it on the foothills of Osoroshi. “That’s it!” he cried. He suddenly remembered the power that the Tengu once had over them. He recalled the heaviness that it had summoned that nearly bound them to the earth. He had always thought that such a power resided in the Tengu itself, but now he wondered if that power was imbued in the armor instead.
The Orochi, however, was fully enraged and did not give Gintaro much time to think. Again, it came after him, this time more fiercely than before. The swordsman continued to mount a defense, waiting once again for the right moment to strike. He knew that one false move on his part would be his doom. He had to be careful, for Yuki’s sake.
Eventually, the Orochi overextended once again. Gintaro, judging that the time was ripe, waited until the last moment and then thrust out his arm once again. He felt power surge through his body, and like last time, an unseen heaviness fell upon the great yomi. The head of the Orochi fell, but this time the beast anticipated it. The creature strained with all its might to resist the heaviness, but Gin was lightning fast, and by the time it recovered, it was too late. Gintaro had stabbed his sword into the side of the neck where there were no plated scales and then tore the muscles both up and down. Blood spewed forth from the wound, and the head retracted upwards suddenly. The combined force of Gin’s attack and the movement of the Orochi split the head from its body, sending it flying back into the darkness.
Gintaro was exhausted, but a renewed energy flooded his veins. Not only had he been able to injure the great beast, but now he had a method in which to destroy it. He wiped the black blood from his sword and readied for the next barrage.
Yet the Orochi was not yet without its tricks, and sensing that this man was a true warrior, it let loose its next attack with not just the remaining heads, but eight deadly tails as well. Wave after wave came upon Gintaro, just as he was beginning to gain momentum. One edge of a tail caught him yet again and flung him backwards. He slammed into the wall and momentarily lost grip on his long sword. One of the Orochi’s heads rushed in to take advantage, but Gintaro managed to unsheathe his short sword and thrust it into one of its eyes.
The beast reeled back, and this gave Gintaro enough time to collect his other sword. Now, he bore both blades and twirled them around in readiness. Pain, hunger, exhaustion, all threatened to overwhelm him, but he merely pushed them aside.
“Come at me!” he cried, as strange bloodlust began to consume his mind.
The Orochi then became quiet and did not speak to his enemy. The beast was being pushed further than it had in an age, and it was now bending all of its wicked hate on the man standing before it. One wrong move and Gintaro would be finished, but the man was clinging to a glimmer of hope, and such a thing had not occurred before the mighty yomi in many uncounted days. As such, fear began to grip the heart of the Orochi, driving it into a madness similar to his enemy’s. This was a battle now of equals, and it could go either way. The mountain trembled as the two clashed once again, and it would not cease until it was all finished.
Nō awoke in a cold sweat. His first thought was, “Sensei!” and he instantly sat up and looked around. It was as he had feared, his teacher had gone on without him. He knew too well the workings of his teacher’s mind, and he had done his best to stay awake so that he could follow behind at a distance. But the warm fire within the Forgotten Temple, and the protection from all wind and outside noises lulled him to a deep sleep. It was something he had gone without for so long, and he could not resist it.
He cursed himself for his weakness and stood up and hastily gathered his things. The old monk, still sitting where they had found him a day previous, was still sleeping, or so he thought, but as he made his way for the exit, the old man spoke.
“Wait,” was his command, and he said it so clearly and imperatively that Nō obeyed.
“I must go!” the young monk cried; frustration evident in his voice. “My teacher is out there!”
“If your teacher left you behind, one would assume that it was because he did not want you to follow.”
“I don’t care, I…” Nō stammered on.
“It is not to be taken as an insult,” the old man continued. “It should be seen as a wise concern. He does not want to involve you in this.”
Nō turned around, and both of his fists were clenched. “I am his student! I must help him! Even if it costs me my life!”
“You cannot help him,” said a new, strange voice. The voice seemed to come from behind Nō, towards the entrance of the temple. The voice was odd, for it was at once calm and unfettered, but also contained absolute certainty and unfathomable power.
The young monk whirled around. What he saw astounded him. Standing in the threshold of the door was a man of indeterminable age. This man was dressed in the weathered grey kimono of a wandering samurai, and he bore two black swords upon his waist. Upon his head was an aged cone hat, and on his feet, the well-worn boots of a traveler.
Nō’s first inclination was one of scorn. “Who are you?” he said.
The figure stepped forward so that he was more visible in the remnant of the firelight.
“My name is Nakoto Jinsai.”
Nō’s mouth gaped open. “Nakoto Jinsai?” he repeated. “Then you’re…”
“Yes, I am Gintaro’s former teacher.” He said this dryly, as if unconcerned or deeming it of little importance.
“But… you’re…” the youth began.
“I am not dead, if that’s what you mean. But that is a long tale indeed.”
Nō was stunned. He did not know what to say.
The old monk in the corner of the room interrupted them. “So then are you the one who has come to relieve me of this post?”
The itinerant smiled and removed his hat. He had long, thick black hair, streaked with white, and it was wild and unkempt. “I am. Though this post will be unmanned soon after I succeed you. If my student fails to destroy the Orochi, then there will be no further challengers. The legend of the Orochi and the Sword of the Emperor is known to a select few now, and if Gintaro dies, there will be even fewer. This place will have no further visitors and thus no further purpose. And if Gintaro somehow prevails, then the Orochi will be finished, and once again this place shall not be needed. So, go, my dear friend, for you have served the All-Kami and the Order well. Live your life now as you choose.”
A great smile crossed the old man’s face. “Ah. It has been so long since I desired to hear those words. My commission is finally finished. Yet now that it comes to it, I think I might as well remain here. I have nowhere else to go, and my legs would not take me far.”
The itinerant smiled, and there was a proud twinkle in his eyes. “Very well. Do as you wish, as you are free.” He then directed his face back to Nō, who found that it was stern and cold. “As for this one. You shall not interfere in my apprentice’s great trial. For this is a day long-awaited. Either Gintaro rises to the task, or he fails. I have done enough for him, and he has done enough for himself. Now we must see what the All-kami wills. The outcome of this day, though, will shape the future that will be.”
“Then…” whispered Nō, “I cannot help him?”
Nakoto eyed him dubiously. “No. There is nothing you can do right now. But there is an important task you might agree to if you are bold enough.”
The young man fell to the floor and bowed. “Anything! If you are my teacher’s teacher, then I shall follow your instructions in his stead.”
Nakoto clicked his tongue. “Enough! Get up! First listen to what I tell you, and then you may decide.”
