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The Evil Magistrate advanced.
This would be their last showdown. It was all or nothing. His feelings mattered naught, this was about more than just feelings. It didn’t care if a world without the Steel Samurai sometimes felt like more than he could bear.
It was a necessary sacrifice, or so his mentor had said. And why would he have any reason to doubt him? (The Magistrate ignored the dreadful feeling inside of him as he thought this.)
“Steel.”
“Magistrate.”
By the torn look on the Samurai’s face, it was clear he had never wanted it to come this far either. But that didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did.
The Steel Samurai knew the Evil Magistrate, perhaps better than any other. He knew all too well the suffering that laid beneath his rival’s, now enemy’s, eyes.
And he felt now that nothing would ever pain him more than the feeling of drawing his sword against the one he once called his friend.
The Steel Samurai advanced.
Neither of them could tell how much time had passed.
Only that the longer the battle went on, the more their twin resolves weakened.
The Steel Samurai, and the Evil Magistrate.
At a glance, it might seem like they could be no further apart in person, in soul.
But the way their souls danced that night was not witnessed by anyone, not even by a glance.
A dance; a battle of wills, in which each party wished the other success, but could not afford to lose.
Perhaps they were fated for this day.
Perhaps it was never meant to be, of course it wasn’t, the Samurai thought, as the man who knew him like no other raised his blade once again, a devastated resolve in his eyes unlike any he’d seen before.
Of course it was never meant to be, it was ridiculous to ever think it had been, the Magistrate thought, as he watched the man he’d so foolishly revealed his innermost thoughts to, raise his blade in turn, an impossible sadness in his eyes.
The Magistrate ignored this. There was no time to unpack what that meant.
The Samurai felt fond. He felt oh so fond of the Magistrate, something he could not ever hope to articulate.
Especially not now, as their blades clashed once more, in what felt like the culmination of their journey. Journey, singular, as it felt like the more life went on, the more their lives seemed to be intertwined, as if bound together by some otherworldly force.
The Steel Samurai likened it to fate.
The Evil Magistrate didn’t let him think about it enough to come to any sort of conclusion, except for one.
That either the Steel Samurai would be his end, or that he himself would see to the end of the Steel Samurai.
He wasn’t wrong in the end, on either stake.
And in the end, it would stay true that no one would ever know what truly went down that day, save the man who orchestrated it, and one disillusioned Ronin who’s luster had long worn out.
And maybe one day, a Princess clothed in not just pink, but the reds that the Steel Samurai was said to have favored.
Just maybe, something good could come out of this tragedy, the Pink Princess thought for the first time. Looking at her love, who’s glimmer was now barely visible in the moonlight, she smiled. It was nothing if not bittersweet, but..
Just maybe.