“O ominous bird of ill omen. Bird that does not honor Christ. In the name of St. Secker, I ask: on the day the world ends, where shall the wicked reside? Let the scent of sulfur from eternal hell rise up, and let it fulfill its duty to offer to the evil being that waits with eyes wide open beneath the blazing pit.”
The man murmured before the magpie.
Such ominous words.
Bird of ill omen, bird that does not honor Christ, St. Secker, sulfur, pit, evil being…
Each phrase was more disturbing than the last.
The magpie, having heard those words, stared intently at the ronin, who was completely concealing his presence.
It then slowly opened its beak, revealing a bright red tongue—
“Caw—”
It cried out.
“Oh. You were there.”
A quiet remark.
A statement tinged with a bit of joy, perfectly normal.
Yet in that moment, a chill ran down the ronin’s spine.
Instinct.
It was instinct.
As the dreadful shiver coursed through his spine, the ronin instinctively halted his ritual and threw his body aside. Without any calculation, he simply threw himself to the side.
Swaaaak—!
Just after the ronin made his leap, something sliced through the air where he once stood.
Though it was an incomprehensible void, it left behind a dark, thick line that swept past the spot where the ronin had been. The ground where his feet had been moments ago was marked with several parallel lines, and the trees and leaves nearby were reduced to rags as if clawed by a demon.
Thud thud.
The leaves fell.
The bark fell.
“Insane…”
Had he not followed his instinct…
Had he not thrown himself aside… he would have died.
Certainly, he would have perished due to whatever that strange man swung.
Realizing this fact caused the ronin’s face to turn pale.
Swoosh—
He quickly rose to his feet, drew the sword he carried, and glared at the man who had suddenly attacked him, shouting, “Who are you?!”
Was it because the sword was brand new?
The gleaming metal shone under the moonlight.
The tip of the sword, like a pinpoint, was aimed at the man in a hoodie, and his head was fixed on the man’s form. One foot was positioned back, the other forward, accidentally twisting into a stance that made targeting his vitals difficult.
One hand firmly gripped the sword, while the other hand was relaxed, prepared to switch positions at any moment.
Thus, the ronin remained wary of the man, ready to strike at any time.
And seeing this stance, the man showed no special reaction.
He neither stepped back in fear nor flinched in surprise.
He neither hesitated nor revelled in aggression.
He simply lifted his head slightly.
His face, obscured by a deep hood to the point where only his blue eyes were visible, gazed at the ronin, those blue eyes drawing a line. The blue eyes that created that line slowly began to open wide as if fulfilling their role, gradually rising like a crescent moon becoming full, swelling up.
As they began to swell, the eyes puffed up.
From an oval to a circle.
The circle divided into two.
The divided circles took on distorted oval shapes.
But, just like the moon waxing, the ovals swelled again.
Like a full moon rising.
The eyes, now fully rounded, further expanded and divided once more.
Upwards.
Sideways.
Downwards.
The eyes.
The eyes divide.
The eyes stretch….
“What, what, what….”
Look.
The number of those eyes.
Like a reflection cast in the rippling surface, they wavered.
They trembled, multiplied, and blurred, increasing their count.
One pair becoming two pairs.
Two pairs becoming four pairs.
And so, they increased, covering the entire face in eyes.
Which of these is the true eye?
Which is the phantom, and which is genuine?
“Domine, salva nos, perimus! Domine, salva nos, perimus!”
“Domine, salva nos, perimus! Domine, salva nos, perimus!”
“Domine, salva nos, perimus! Domine, salva nos, perimus!”
The eyes were originally attached to the face.
When the great Creator made man, He fashioned him with two eyes, one nose with two holes, one mouth, and two ears. This likeness was because man was made in the image of the great Creator.
“Domine, salva nos, perimus! Domine, salva nos, perimus!”
“And so I say unto you.”
If there are two eyes, then there is one mouth.
If there are four eyes, there are two mouths.
Every two eyes hold one mouth.
Thus, multiple mouths making sounds is not strange at all.
For this is indeed the proper logic!
“Domine, salva nos, perimus!”
And so, shouting with multiple mouths, they unite their voices and cry out!
“Oh, Lord.”
“Lord, please save us! We are about to die (Domine, salva nos, perimus)!”
Salvation!
Save us, please!
Keep us alive!
Hahaha—!
Hahahahaha—!!
“What a madness…!”
Voices are heard.
Countless voices.
The echoing sound of what seems like a deep cave cries out.
The voice of an old man, the sound of a tuberculosis patient, a voice as if half-choked, hoarse sounds, the voice of a young boy, the voice of an old woman, the voice of a middle-aged woman, the voice of a girl.
All those voices were emanating from that man’s face.
Not sequentially but simultaneously.
As if countless people had their mouths glued to just that one face, sounds emerged from many places on the man’s visage.
Some voices resounded from his forehead.
Some from around his eyes.
Some from where mouths were stuck together.
Some from beneath his chin.
Countless voices.
Sounds from various mouths, all ringing out at once.
Those voices shouted in Latin, bursting into laughter.
Now mocking the ronin.
Thus, the voices carried on!
“Progenies viperarum, quis demonstravit vobis fugere a futura ira?”
“Facite ergo fructum dignum paenitentiae.”
“And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man sitting at the toll booth, named Matthew, and said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And rising, he followed him.”
“Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”
“Repent; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”
“Follow me.”
Hahahaha—!
The man laughed with countless voices, shouting with countless voices, whispering with countless voices. With countless pupils wide open, he stared directly at the ronin, holding a long iron pitchfork, stepping closer with each stride.
Swoosh.
The sound of the sharp pitchfork dragging across the ground echoed.
Leaves split apart, the earth was scraped, a rusted trace remained on the soil.
Leaving red stains, as if covered in blood, allowing the blood to seep from the wounds.
With each step, hoofprints were left, while a bluish shadow trailed behind the man like a mark.
How can that be called a person?
That cannot be defined by human thought.
To dare call that a person is to flirt with blasphemy.
Thus, the ronin, trembling in fear, opened his quivering lips to ask.
“You, who, are you?”
The tip of the sword shook faintly.
The hand gripping the sword quivered, moving with the shaking of his arm.
Achievements built upon vile deeds blurred, and the swordsmanship sharpened by the blood of men dulled, turning into something akin to a club.
As the man approached, the gleaming sword began to rust, and the man’s skin started to dry as if draining moisture. Bruises began to form at the tips of his nails, and spots took their place all over his skin. With every breath, his lungs started to itch, and phlegm lodged in his throat. His nose became filled with snot, making breathing difficult, and when trying to inhale through his mouth, his breaths grew shallower as if his lungs were collapsing.
Thud.
With every footstep, it felt as though his lifespan was being drained away.
Like the moon waxing and waning, yet unlike witnessing the moon’s cycle as it returns to fullness.
Equal fate approached him, as it does to all.
The sword rusts.
The clothing crumbles into dust.
Flesh rots and decays.
Bones darken, becoming earth.
“You are, who, what?”
And thus, it finally arrives.
As the ronin barely opened his mouth to ask the question.
It gazes upon him with countless eyes.
The ronin looks at the man, just as the man gazes back at the ronin.
“I am—”
The man entered the ronin’s vision.
The descending moonlight revealed the man’s outline, casting a shadow at his feet.
That shadow existed but did not take on the form of a person.
Intertwining with the bluish light left in the alley, it created a shape resembling a man riding a bluish horse.
A man riding a bluish horse.
Embracing countless eyes, voices, and presences within one body.
The man opened his mouth and spoke.
“I am—death.”
