Chapter Text
Wolf raised the Gracious Gift of Tears, but hesitated for a slight second. Something in the back of his mind told him not to… Isshin, his teacher. The same feeling that overcame him when he prepared to deliver the final deathblow on the Great Shinobi Owl returned.
“Do it!” Isshin commanded. He didn’t see himself striking, but he felt the resistance of the odachi cutting through flesh and bone, and blood sprayed from the Sword Saint’s neck, covering the silvergrass in a shade of brilliant crimson. The Ashina patriarch wheezed, a horrid breathy sound that Wolf knew from the hundreds of necks he’d cut. Once, it had made him feel something stir in his stomach. Now, he felt… satisfied. No… he felt almost happy, in some strange way.
“Thank you… Sekiro…” Isshin sputtered, collapsing to the ground as his reborn body began to fade into nothingness. “Farewell…” The shinobi managed. And with that, the storm silenced. Wolf sheathed the Gracious Gift of Tears, feeling a strange emptiness settle in. The thrill of battle subsided, and all that was left to him was a melancholy. Blood had been spilt… but he had done it. As Ashina burned, he’d managed to slay both Genichiro and Isshin. He should have felt satisfaction. But memories plagued him. The Demon of Hatred, begging him to cut him down. Jinzaemon, dying as the shamisen music faded. All those people, dead… Emma would likely be too. Everything… burning. The flames of the outskirts matching the flames that simmered behind his eyes… Buddha had a sense of irony.
His mind returned to the task at hand. Following the scent of sakura mixed with blood, he came upon Kuro, lying in the dirt, slowly bleeding from the wound Genichiro had carved. His face was scrunched up in pain. His eyes flickered, somewhere between life and death.
“...Wolf… where are you…?” He asked. Without hesitation, Wolf kneeled down beside his lord. The boy… afflicted with this curse. Wolf almost felt sick. The Dragonrot had likely begun to spread, no doubt thanks to his deaths to the Sword Saint. No one so young deserved to be cursed in this way. Kuro’s opinion it had been to end the bloodline via the Immortal Severance, and Wolf agreed. But… he hadn’t fully covered the instructions of his lord. Thanks to Emma, he’d found the memory of the Owl. From there, he had obtained the blossoms required to perform a Purification. All that there was now… was to commit the final act in service of his lord.
“I am at your side.” He said simply, lifting Kuro up slightly, bringing him to a position to consume the dragon’s tears. Reaching to the pouch, he pulled out the mixture. The petals of the Everblossom, mixed with the Divine Dragon’s very essence. All it needed now… was someone to pass the bloodline onto.
“Take the Dragon Tears.” He commanded simply, bringing his prosthetic hand to Kuro’s lips. Despite the delirium clear in his eyes, Kuro opened his mouth slightly, allowing the mixture to slip through. In an instant, Wolf felt the power surge into him. Kuro likely felt it too, given the stricken expression that grew onto his face. Then, he dozed off. Wolf set him down lightly, trying his best to ignore the feeling of the last connection to the Dragon’s Blood now swirling within his veins. It was time. Reaching back, his flesh hand gripped the red Mortal Blade, slowly drawing it from its sheath. Those possessing the Dragon’s Heritage were unkillable. Their wounds healed. And yet… the Mortal Blades could pierce them. If the Open Gate could wound Kuro and even kill Takeru, then the Black Mortal Blade’s crimson twin could do the same… all that remained now was the shadow of something almost akin to guilt.
Silently, he looked at the Gracious Gift of Tears. The blade, which had served him, was now to be the weapon to save Kuro. The Dragon Heritage made his lord into a target, and a great asset to any who held his leash. Now, though… his lord would be free to be a child, to grow as he should have. To learn, live, and love in a way the curse of immortality had forbidden him from doing so.
All that was left to do now, was to sever the last binds of the Dragon’s Blood.
“I hereby condemn the last immortal.” He declared solemnly, before bringing the Gracious Gift of Tears to his neck. Looking down, he saw Kuro’s face. The boy was sleeping softly. Perhaps it was best… that he didn’t see the fate of his shinobi. Seeing Kuro rest so peacefully bade him to remember the dreams his lord had shared. That tea shop he’d discussed over those sweet ohagi. He could recount the light that had appeared in his lord’s eyes when he’d brought rice from the Divine Child. And he’d even shared a couple, with Wolf, before he’d departed to the Divine Realm. He could recall the sweet taste… though it was tainted by the aftertaste of one of Senpou’s candies.
He realised that his hands had an ever-faint tremble. Steeling himself, he remembered faces; The Sculptor, tinkering away with his prosthetic. Inosuke Nogami and his mother from Hirata. Kotaro, likely now safeguarding the Divine Child and tending to the spirits. Emma, who helped him survive and even cure Dragonrot. Isshin recounting his fight with Tomoe, and the laughter as he recounted battles as if they were simple anecdotes. Genichiro, putting the Open Gate to his neck. The plethora of both savage expressions and fear within the eyes of the soldiers he fought and slew. He felt regret. He’d failed so many, and then what? He would not be atoned for saving a few people and letting their fate end happily. No. He’d long accepted the weight of his karma. He would go to the depths of Naraka, and there he would suffer. For how long, he could not say nor tell, but suffer he would. And when the burden of his karma was gone… life would return, and Wolf would be reborn, as Samsara dictated.
“May you live on, and embrace what it means to be human…” He addressed Kuro, before steeling himself for the strike. He pulled the blade away.
Perhaps, in another life, they would meet again.
He struck against his neck with full force, and everything turned pitch black. The darkness of death took him. And this time, there would be no reprieve.