#they freely disappoint and i am left unsatisfied with things

[unregisteredhypercam1]

The universe is within you, but it is not a part of you

[avadescent]

I watched Attack on Titan. I have thoughts.

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“Why did you do it?”

The rim of the teacup is still pressed between his mouth when Armin asks, and as the question settles in the air Levi feels he must give this young recruit credit for his ability to deduce the appropriate timing for things—even things as simple as a single choice. 

In any case, it is a question that’s been asked far too many times now, and Levi is quite content to leave it unanswered as the tea continues to swirl hotly within its container. Still, trained eyes survey Armin’s form to notice that he looks strangely resolute this time, as though he isn’t looking for justification. His hands are folded together on the table, the line of his shoulders pulled back, the crease of his brow bereaved of any hostility. He is an open, curious soldier, despite the intelligence behind the weariness of his eyes, and Levi is forced to notice that if Armin isn’t looking for justification, then why ask him such a question in the first place?

“Captain,” Armin calls, because Levi is no longer drinking his tea. “I was just… curious.”

Levi scoffs, because he knows. It’s painfully obvious. 

“If you’re telling me I wasted that serum on someone suicidal then you can shut up,” is his pithy response, and then he’s pouring himself another cup. Armin frowns, looking almost disappointed, but he sits up straight as though in salute regardless. Levi would raise a brow if he could.

“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t clear enough!” This garners Levi’s attention, though his hand on the teapot doesn’t falter, and in seconds the cup is full again. “I already know why you chose me that day.” Armin lowers his head in humility, his bangs falling over his eyes, dull now with the consequence of curiosity. “But that choice was influenced by your decision to let the Commander die in Shiganshina more so than your preference for me. So I’m not asking about that.”

He pauses for a long moment, his knuckles as white as the sunlight that bounces off his hair. His face is shadowed further by the contrast, and Levi finds himself more willing to be patient in the face of this darkness. 

“There’s enough left for one cup,” Levi says detachedly, tapping on the lid of the teapot. His gaze is unwavering as always, much unlike the shifting storms they reflect. 

“Yes!” Armin hurries to say, because he knows that the captain will take his leave as soon as all the cups are empty. This is a rare chance, after all, and there is no guarantee that he will get it again. His sense of time has never failed him before, and it will continue as such, of that Armin is certain. “I just meant—why me? For your squad? I understand the others, they all graduated as the top ten of our batch. But I’m not—”

He falters on the word special, because he also knows better than anyone else that the word holds no meaning for the man sitting across him, hence the entirety of his spiel will become pointless. 

The question is, however, received accordingly, and Armin holds his breath in terrified anticipation when Levi sets his cup down half-full. Just a moment ago, he received no answer until it was empty. He raises his head in preparation for the coming blow.

“‘I will continue to advocate his strategic value,’” Levi says, and Armin isn’t sure if he looks pensive or displeased. 

“Huh?” he stutters out, confused.

“That’s what Trost’s report on you contained, verbatim,” Levi clarifies, leaning back, and it is then that Armin decides on pensive. “You should know how to gauge your own strategic value as well, then, because I don’t exist to do it for you. As for the selection process, based on how a soldier reacts on the battlefield, I decide whether they are a choice I won’t regret.”

Silence prevails for a long time after that, and as Armin struggles to make sense of Levi’s answer, the last of the tea is poured. 

“You said the same thing that day,” Armin finally says. He looks unsatisfied, though there is no doubt his curiosity has been fulfilled. “You said you wouldn’t regret choosing me, and that I shouldn’t either. You’re always talking about that… you’re always saying that we have to choose the option we’ll least regret, and I wonder sometimes if you say it so you can convince yourself too.”

Armin’s eyes widen when he realizes his mistake. “Sorry, sir!” He scrambles from his chair to thus prostrate himself. “I spoke out of line, I didn’t mean—!”

He squeezes his eyes shut when Levi stands. He tenses further when Levi takes a step, one foot raised in the air. “I’m sorry!” he splutters, trembling greatly. “I won’t pry like that again…!”

“Stand up, you brat,” Levi mutters. “The only face here worth kicking is Eren’s.”

“Wh—” A hiccup steals the remaining syllable, and Armin looks up, his fingers curling into his palm. Regardless of the environment they’re in, and regardless of whether he’s in uniform or not, Captain Levi continues to maintain a dangerous aura about him that distinctly spells impending doom, and no matter how many times Levi has proven himself an ally, no matter how many times Armin catches him tucking a weary smile behind a gelid demeanor, the fear he instills in others will always prove itself an indisputable fact.

“I won’t lie and tell you that I’ve never done anything I regretted,” Levi says, and Armin nearly scrambles back when he kneels to look at him straight. “But all a man needs is to be taught a lesson instead of being given a talking-to, and I’m sure that you’ve learned yours, or else you won’t be sitting there looking like you’ll piss yourself.”

The comment nearly makes Armin laugh, for some strange, inexplicable reason. Perhaps he’s gotten used to Levi’s personality. Perhaps he finds hilarity in the truth.

“Right, sir,” he manages. 

Levi grunts, glaringly unimpressed. “You now carry a burden that other soldiers don’t. I know you have the strength to carry it. And so you’ll learn that,” he scowls there, his index finger lowering to sweep the floor, “You’re on cleaning duty. By yourself. For the rest of the month. Your comrades don’t know a thing about keeping things clean.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tch.” The scowl deepens when Levi has to brush off a layer of dust from his pants, and then he’s glowering in full force again, downing the rest of his tea. “Whether you believe it or not, you were chosen for this squad. So act like it. Top ten doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“Yes, sir!” Armin is standing now, still a few inches shorter, though he’s erect with a distinct pride that Levi has only ever seen in his stature. His eyes shine with the vastness of the sea, eternally youthful in its perspective of the world, and Levi knows how to see things for what they’re worth. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“Granted,” he answers, with a wave of his hand. He turns toward the door and pauses when Armin speaks again.

“To serve under your command is a choice that has never posed room for regret!” Armin smiles then, a wobbly smile that’s still stained with fear, though admiration now curves alongside it. “I can keep an eye on Eren and Mikasa after all, and I can help humanity in ways I never thought I could. Thank you for choosing me.” His body curves into a bow. “I am in your care.”

Levi stares at the boy for a moment, eyes slightly wide with surprise. His countenance simmers into one of disdain before Armin can look up again, and then he’s turning fully, his appearance an embodiment of the uncle who’d left him on his own when he least expected it.

“You are in no one’s care,” Levi snaps. “I’m not meant to take care of any of you.”

“I wasn’t clear enough again, sir,” Armin answers, and Levi is surprised once more to see the grin on the boy’s face when he looks back. “You must have learned how to choose what you’ll least regret through hard experience. I trust I can learn that from you in the battles to come.”

The grin is followed by a perfect salute, his hand over his heart and determination in his voice when he declares, “To be a soldier in your squad… is a choice I won’t regret, sir!”

And Levi recalls then that this is the boy who, by choice, was set to become Erwin’s successor. His brows crease at the reminder, in pensiveness and displeasure both, and then he walks away with a quarter of his cup undrunk.

[shenglingyuan]

title: the sword for which the world would kneel (1/2) (ao3) pairing: akashi seijuro/midorima shintaro summary: The sword was no ordinary sword after all. It was forged with a sword spirit, who would appear in its human form whenever it went to battle, causing havoc and annihilation on the field, never missing a single soul. Its name was Shintaro.

a.k.a. sword boyfriend akamido au...happy akamido day!!!! i will post the second half on midoaka day ohoho (also i really just ran out of time to finish....;_;)

Legend has it that beneath the Akashi estate rests the legendary sword of the Hundred Years War. The sword, said to be wielded by the best swordsman in history, put an end to the long unrest between the human and non-human races. Its blade shines even without a source of light, so sharp that even the wind fears to sweep past by its side. The handful that survived a decisive swing from it have said that the sword seemed to have a mind of its own, passing judgment to its targets despite what its wielder thinks. But of course, this was true. The sword was no ordinary sword after all. It was forged with a sword spirit, who would appear in its human form whenever it went to battle, causing havoc and annihilation on the field, never missing a single soul.

  Its name was Shintaro.

  “Ever since its original owner died, Shintaro has never once woken up,” Seijuro’s father has told him once when he was only eight. He was only a curious boy then, finding himself in the presence of the sword, drawn to the basement where it was kept, pulled by some mysterious force. His father found him just before he was able to land his pudgy hands on the revered blade. “No one has ever been worthy. Not even the best of us.”

  It hasn’t seen the best of us , Akashi’s young but clear mind thought, It hasn’t seen me.

Seijuro was a boy who was raised to be the best and grew up believing so. A lifeless sword not recognizing him? What a dishonor.

His mother told him, owning a legendary sword should be like owning any vicious creature. If one wanted for the vicious creature to recognize them, then one should show that he was more than an ‘owner’. One should show this creature – this sword – care and concern. Treat it like you would treat a friend, and it’ll tame under your hand.

  Seijuro kept this advice to heart. Whenever he had time, he would visit the sword on the basement and talk to it as if he was talking to a person. Even though Seijuro was the son of the clan head, because of his skills and temperament, there really was no one he could call a friend . Talking to the sword was no big deal: it could listen to whatever he had to day, and there was no chance it would say something he would disagree on. In some sense, the sword did become his friend. Seijuro only wondered if the sword considered him as such, too.

  On one occasion, his mother weaved for him an ornament to hang on the hilt of the sword. During those days, her body has grown too weak that she could only accomplish little things.

  “Maybe the sword will appreciate a small token?” she smiled as she put it on Seijuro’s small, rough palms.

  Seijuro eagerly went to the basement and tied it around the hilt. The ornament was made from dark green rayon, and at the end was a white jade shaped like a crescent moon. It was the last thing his mother was able to create before she finally gave in to her illness.

His father told him, after his mother has passed, that the only way to tame a vicious creature was to show it who has the power. Vicious creatures have no sense of tenderness nor warmth, so would a legendary blade made for war. For years, Seijuro trained both his mind and his spirit. There were no trials he did not face, there were no enemies he did not pound in defeat. When he finally came of age, all of the land and all of the races knew to tremble at the sound of his name – Akashi Seijuro.

  As per family tradition, and to acknowledge his skills, his father granted him ownership of Shintaro.

  Yet, the cold blade that laid underneath his own home never seemed to recognize him.

“I place no hope in its awakening,” his father had told him, disappointment leaking from his tongue, “but it’s better to be exposed on the field than grow brittle in its sheath.”

  From then on, Seijuro carried it on his back, never once parting with it even a meter away. He never used it either, for pulling it out of its sheath without it awakening to recognize him first seemed like cheating. It was against Seijuro’s principle. He won more battles, having a mundane sword on his hand as a weapon and a legendary sword on his back as decoration. The sword almost became a part of his body, no one would see Seijuro without it. A part of him believed that if the sword became familiar with him, if it saw how undefeated he was on the battlefield, then maybe it’ll finally give in and awaken. Seijuro’s spirit couldn’t be shaken – I will make this sword mine.

But as heaven would have it, not one who always wins could guarantee he could never get defeated.

  Seijuro was confident he had turn over the plan in his head a hundred times. All the possibilities and impossibilities were accounted for. But they were still overpowered, their numbers diminished into nothingness. Only a quarter remained alive, and by the looks of things, it wouldn’t be for much long.

  As Seijuro looked at the unexpected trump card their enemies brought out, as time seemed to freeze to mock him in his arrogance, as his blood freely flowed from his wounds, his father’s words echoed back in his head: No one has ever been worthy, not even the best of us.

  Seijuro closed his eyes in silent surrender.

  It’s not yet over!

  A strange, deep voice suddenly sounded in his head. Just then, the wind seemed to whistle, as if it was sliced by a very sharp blade. The weight on his back lightened, and the surrounding suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

  Seijuro opened his eyes and got a vague vision of a tall man in flowing robes standing before him, his long dark hair tied up high on his head, swaying with the wind. The dark sky opened up, the crescent moon above shining a light on the sudden stranger that saved his life. He wielded a strangely familiar but unfamiliar sword before him, its blade even shining brighter than the moon. The name slipped off his tongue before his mind had the chance to work: “Shintaro.”

  He never knew if the sword – no, the man – heard him or not, for as soon as he said his name, he strode from the spot he was standing, moving as swiftly and as surely as a storm cloud, and suddenly, the enemies that have been overpowering them were all defeated in a flash. There wasn’t even any clashing of metal swords that rang in the night air, Shintaro moved too fast for them to counteract.

  When the wind had settled, the battlefield had been soaked in their enemies’ blood.

  Seijuro was already standing, quickly recovering from his initial shock. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life. Finally, the legendary sword has awakened. Yet, he still felt unsatisfied. Seijuro knew exactly why – the sword awakened when he was on the brink of death, as if the sword never believed he could survive and took it in its own hands to finish the job he was supposed to do.

  It was a mockery.

  But his remaining men were still kneeling on the ground, praises pouring out of their mouths.

  Finally! The young master has awakened the sword! He saved us! They saved us!

  Shintaro turned to face him then, and only Seijuro could see the knowing glance he threw his way.

  Your men believe that you are their savior, that voice spoke again in his mind, do you really wish to be stubborn right now?

  His eyes widened. The sword could see through his thoughts!

  But he made sense, to his own surprise. If Seijuro questioned the grounds on which the sword was awakened, his own men would see him weak and unworthy. It would bring shame to himself, and if his father knew, even more disgrace would fall upon his head.

  I’m still not worthy of you , he thought.

  The man only made a gesture in response, placing the sword before him to indicate that the battle was over. Another gust of swift cold wind grazed past the field, and in the next moment, the sword flew back to its sheath behind Seijuro, the man nowhere to be seen.

  Seijuro gritted his teeth, a small smile lining his lips. His quest to win the legendary sword has still yet to end.

News of the legendary sword’s awakening spread through all of the races like a plague. In no time at all, the Akashi estate was brimming with guests inside, wanting to land a glance at the sword spirit; the outside hid several spies from the enemies who couldn’t even dream of stepping an inch inside the heavily guarded estate.

  The sword spirit was not a social creature. He secluded himself inside the sword, never appearing in his human form again. But since he had been awakened, naturally, his thoughts were alive once more. And for some reason, the sword’s thoughts and Akashi’s could be connected in some imaginary space.

  “Little boy, how are your wounds?” Shintaro’s voice sounded inside his head. Seijuro jolted in surprise. Having someone in his head would need time to get used to.

  “I am not a little boy,” he answered calmly in his mind.

  The sword didn't reply anymore. Feeling left hanging in the air, Seijuro continued on, “How come you only awaken now?”

  “You needed me, and so I appeared.”

  His words strike Seijuro by surprise. Why did it sound like a sword spirit harbored mortal emotions? A sword spirit was its master's weapon alone. Nothing but an animated object.

  “For someone who hasn't met a sword spirit before, you think you know everything.”

  Seijuro forces himself to calm, keeping negative emotions inside him was detrimental to his recovery. Besides, he remembered that he still had to make himself worthy. Going against this blade whom he wanted to be recognized by was probably not the best idea.

  “Little boy,” the sword spoke again uninvited, “You are my owner now. You can’t just shut me out of your mind.”

  “Then start by calling me by my name.”

  The sword fell into silence, keeping quiet for so long that Seijuro thought it finally went back to sleep once more.

  “It’s not my fault they named me after him ,” Seijuro added, knowing since then the significance of his name and the hope that the family had placed on him to awaken the legendary sword, “But rest assured, this name that I now carry, it wouldn’t be wasted on me.”

The first Akashi Seijuro was a man more known than the Emperor of the land in his time. He was so powerful, so brave, so renowned, that when the Imperial Court collapsed from the inside and he took the opportunity to overthrow the ruling monarch and rule instead, what remained of the country welcomed him with open arms. The victory he brought during the Hundred Years War was forever etched in the hearts of the people. For those that survived that era of great depression, he was a symbol of absolute victory. And alongside him was the legendary sword he had wielded.

  His rule was short, however. They said the power consumed him, made him lose himself. The legends have also said that it was because of this very reason that during a crucial time, the sword spirit that had been with him through thick and thin refused to heed his calls anymore. When the demon enemy raised its weapon against Akashi Seijuro, and when he called for his trusted sword, only silence was the reply that came back. Then came the blow that ended his years of lunacy.

  The present Akashi Seijuro was now leading the clan in his father’s stead, four years after the reawakening of Shintaro. Ever since the day that he appeared in the middle of the battlefield, not once did he show himself again. It didn’t mean, however, that Seijuro was free from him. His quiet mind became a home for two.

  Thankfully, this sword spirit would only speak up about important matters. Once, when one of Seijuro’s men suggested to feign an ambush on the insurgent fire wielder clan that threaten their allies near Aso, Shintaro couldn’t help but scoff, “The fire wielder clan will devour you even before you step an inch within their territory. Little boy, how come you have followers as air-headed as this? Is he truly a warrior of this clan?”

  But of course, Seijuro was the only one to hear this. He agreed though, the hapless plan sounded really foolish. Aso was a vast place lined by chains of active volcanoes. No human lived within a mile of its borders. Only the very few friendly members of the fire wielder clan dare even breathe the air in that place, for the their loyalty to their blood was stronger than any connection in the world. Even if one side were friendly with the humans, as long as they did no harm, the ‘insurgent’ groups would never touch them.

  The case for humans were different, however. One wrong move and their head would either roll on Aso’s slopes or their body would be thrown to the boiling magmas. It didn’t matter how great a fighter one was.

  Seijuro appeased the sword in his mind, then lectured the person before him. Shintaro seemed satisfied, keeping quiet again throughout the whole duration of the meeting, only occasionally making subtle sounds of approval or disapproval.

  The sword’s inputs weren’t useless anyway, and in fact, Seijuro would seriously consider them from time to time. Eventually, the sword ended up as some sort of adviser for him. The rest of the clan acknowledged this, feeling blessed to have a legendary sword guide their ways.

  As for Seijuro, he was still on the edge over the fact that the sword was still not calling him by his name.

  “Why do you insist on calling me ‘little boy’?” he asked the sword while he was meditating in the middle of the Spirit Hall. “I’m already twenty-five.”

  “To me, you would always be that little boy who came to the basement to tell me about your life, not even missing a single day,” the voice suddenly sounded soft and fond, immersed in reminiscing old memories, “You stopped coming after you gave me the jade ornament.”

  The calm that Seijuro had been able to muster from his meditation trembled at the distant memory of his youth. He had never been able to return after he tied the jade ornament around its hilt because on that evening, his mother collapsed. He chose to stay by her side all day and all night since then. She passed on not long after, then his father honed him to the path of greatness. The sleeping sword had once been abandoned until Seijuro came of age.

  “You were just a little boy then,” it continued to speak in his mind, “When I saw you again, I couldn’t recognize you anymore.”

  He knew the sword wasn’t talking about his physical growth. “Loss changes a person.”

  “I would know.”

  Seijuro opened his eyes, suddenly finding an opening to a topic he had never once brought up in these years. “Your original owner, the man whom I share names with, what really happened to him?”

  “Are the things you’ve heard not enough to create a general idea about it?”

  “Those that talk about him now, no one of them was around during his time. And even if they were, no one knew him...no one knew him as much as you did. You were his constant companion. You know about the stories, then. Is it true?”

  “You people put Seijuro on too high of a pedestal he himself wouldn’t dare step on.” Even though it was his own name that slipped out of Shintaro, it sounded very foreign, like a stranger whom he never had the chance to meet, “He’s just like everyone else. A little more intelligent, a little more skilled, yes, but he is still human. He has weaknesses. He could fail. But the world...they looked at him as if his every step was a path created by the gods, and that even a slight mistake was worthy to crush his reputation to pieces. Any human subjected to such tremendous pressure, no matter how great they are, was bound to fall.”

  “They said when he needed you most, you didn’t aide him. If you’re so devoted, how could you do that?”

  Shintaro let out a bitter laugh. “He didn’t bring me to battle on that day.”

  “On such an important battle?”

  Shintaro paused for a while, seemingly gathering his thoughts, then he spoke again, “Around that period, he had already shown signs of...not being himself. Though I had a physical form, I can only do so much. He has already pushed everyone else away, I tried not to oppose him further for fear that he’d be all alone.

  “But the battle with the demons shouldn’t have pushed through, it was an intricately laid trap all along. Seijuro knew of it, but he did not care. I tried to stop him but he did not listen. In his fury, he chained my blade and locked it in the palace. He went on to battle with a mundane sword. The next thing I knew, my spirit seemed to have been plucked with by something...as if my guts were pulled out by an invisible hand. There I knew...Seijuro had perished in the battle.”

  Seijuro recalled the tall figure of Shintaro standing before him that time. He couldn’t help but think, if right now, Shintaro was also in that form, sitting in front of him, those dignified shoulders would be drooping, his straight back would be bent from an invisible weight, and his cold sharp face would be painted with the most melancholic of gray. Absentmindedly, he reached for the sword hung on his back, giving it a tender, assuring pat.

  “There are many stories, they change from tongue to tongue. But it was written in the chronicles that the last words they heard from that man's mouth was the name of his sword. This is an established piece of history.” He had his own speculations too about how deeply their relationship went, but this Seijuro didn't bring it up anymore, “Even in his last breath, it was you he was thinking of. If you want to meet him again, then there’s reincarnation to hope for.”

  Seijuro felt the sword become colder, as if its sorrow manifested itself as ice.

  “With a soul as corrupted as his, there won’t be any chance for reincarnation.”

  And Shintaro was a sword spirit. Spirits such as him that did not undergo the cycle of life and death had no chance either to cross the river to the afterlife. Losing his original owner was one thing; being awakened with the knowledge that it could never return to his wielder was a different torture to an immortal soul like him.

  “Would you have rathered to not be awakened?”

  “I tried really hard,” a bitter laugh reverberated in Seijuro’s mind, “But on a winter’s day over two decades ago, I was stirred up from my slumber.”

  “Over two decades ago…”

  “Don’t overthink too much. You are not Seijuro’s reincarnation. I would recognize his soul no matter what form he takes.”

  “That’s good then,” Seijuro smiled to himself. It meant that when the time came that he’d be finally able to be worthy of the legendary sword, it would be because of who he was and what he had accomplished.

  The Akashi Seijuro of the past was no more than a bitter memory. He would make sure that he - the Akashi Seijuro of the present - would surpass whatever that person was able to accomplish.

During the past half century,  under the rule of a new imperial line, the warriors of the human clan that was led by the Akashis only had one goal: to achieve yet again the peace that the first Akashi Seijuro was able to obtain for the land when he ended the Hundred Years War. Humans dominate the land, but there were also minorities that they had to coexist peacefully with. Though many of the other clans were their allies, insurgents ran in abundance in the territories that weren’t under their jurisdiction yet: the mermaids in Karatsu who wished to have the sole jurisdiction of the Western Sea, the ice people of Sapporo who wished to bar humans from their island because of an incident from a thousand years ago, the mountain creatures of Hida who wanted to be left alone from the entire world, and the fire wielders of Aso who were the most assertive of their desire to dominate instead.

  These insurgent groups, though small, were able to scatter themselves. They were like weeds, sprouting wherever, needing to be controlled. As the Akashis were settled in Kumamoto, this was their area of jurisdiction. The mermaid and fire wielder clans thrive in this territory as well, and there were regular clashes.

  Most of the times, the humans would win. But then, there were times that they wouldn’t.

  Seijuro had to lead another mission: insurgent mermaids were reported to be present in some port towns that weren’t Karatsu.

  “If they have expanded this much, I’m afraid some alliances between the insurgent groups are forming,” Shintaro had said while Seijuro was planning. Not knowing anything else, they needed to get more information first.

  “I was thinking that, too. And it could only be the fire wielders who could be helping them.”

  “If it’s them you’re dealing with...be more cautious.”

  Seijuro waited for Shintaro to add more to his words, but nothing came to his mind. Thinking nothing more of it, he continued devising a main plan and a handful of back-up plans. When night fell, with a few of his elite fighters, they went to observe themselves.

  It was only supposed to be a reconnaissance. But somehow, the enemies got wind of their arrival. The moment they stepped on the borders of the port town, they were ambushed from all sides. It was like that moment in the field again. Despite all his planning, the heavens seemed to be failing Seijuro in purpose.

  For the second time around, Shintaro appeared to save his life and the few others that were able to survive. Seijuro ordered to retreat before anyone else got killed.

  Upon their return, Seijuro suffered humiliation from his own father.

  “You bring nothing but dishonor!” he said, completely disregarding all the victories Seijuro had won for him. He only sat in front of the hall, their people sat on the sides. Seijuro was bent on the center, his forehead touching the floor. “The Akashis have long been trusted with the survival of the human race. The original bearer of your name brought peace to this land. How come you yourself bring death instead?” He pointed at the sword on his back. “If it weren’t for this legendary sword, who knew if you would have come back alive? Are you really even worthy?”

  If this was the olden days, Seijuro would have been lashed in front of everyone, shamed until he had no spirit left. But his father was aging, the times had changed, and despite his words, there wasn’t really anyone else fit to lead them into this wars. The other human clans have already conceded to this fact. If Akashi Seijuro failed, then even more so would the others.

  “Go back to the Memorial Hall and reflect. Ask forgiveness from the souls you have failed. Make sure that when you step out of that place, you’ve carved into your soul what it means to get defeated and that you would know how not to experience it again.”

  Seijuro didn’t know how he was able to bring himself back to his room. The moment from the floor of the main hall to the floor of the Memorial Hall seemed like a quiet blur. When he came to the realization that he was already alone and that Shintaro was calling his attention in his mind, he started to laugh.

  Blood still stained his clothes, a mix of their enemies’ and his comrades’. He didn’t even have a wound, all because Shintaro saved him in time. Without him, would he have been able to escape at all? Without Shintaro, he actually would have been long dead.

  “I’m worthless,” he said quietly, his laughter fading in the empty hall, “I’m nothing without a legendary weapon. I’m nothing without a victory. I’m nothing without my name. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.”

  The weight on his back lightened, soft cold wind swirled around him. Suddenly, he was enveloped between two firm arms on his front, a warm body giving him assurance. Shintaro’s long hair fell over Seijuro’s back. Their faces were only inches apart.

  “You are wrong,” he said again. This time, his voice was low but clear, not anymore echoing inside his mind, stirring his heart anew, “Not everyone define you by your losses and your triumphs, as you should not be. You are Seijuro - the kid who kept a lonely sword company for days without fail, treating it like a human being, like a friend; the teenager determined to be the best version of himself, training both mind and body; the adult that leads his people with all his best, knowing when to pursue or to retreat, having the makings of the greatest fighter and leader in history. This is the Seijuro I know, and you must know him, too.”

  Seijuro started to calm his breath, Shintaro’s words acting like a healing salve to his wounded ego. He became more aware of the arms comforting him, of the fact that for the first time in many years, Shintaro had called him by his name.

  He pushed Shintaro a bit away from him then, yet he still held on to this arms, meeting his emerald eyes. By some inexplicable force, Seijuro reached up, cupping the sides of Shintaro’s face with his own surprisingly steady hands. For so long, he had been drowning in his life as the succeeding chief of the clan and for being a prestigious Akashi. The name Seijuro attached to him since birth became the heavy anchor from which he could not remove himself from. He didn’t know since when, but it felt like he had been holding his breath for far too long. He needed air.

  Seijuro moved forward, landing a hesitant lip over Shintaro’s. To his surprise, Shintaro responded right away, opening his own mouth further, giving his upper lip a light lick. At that point, Seijuro lost all his reservations. He pressed further, weaving his left hand along Shintaro’s hair, his right hand grabbing the back of Shintaro’s neck as he hungrily savored the moment.

  Yet Shintaro didn’t feel like overwhelming at all. His hands that held Seijuro by his waist were firm but gentle, touching him as if he was the most precious treasure in the whole world. His lips were as gentle as the lap of the waves against the shore, ferrying him from the bottom of the boundless ocean.

  Seijuro had never felt so content.

  So this was how it felt like to be saved.

Ever since that moment, Shintaro lived his days in his human form, much to everyone else’s surprise. He would always appear behind Seijuro, walking alongside him, seeming like an Emperor’s advisor. Even Seijuro’s father was speechless at this development and he never dared say a demeaning word again towards Seijuro.

  Shintaro had long harbored a soft affection towards Seijuro. After all, who in the past hundred of years actually took the time to visit a desolate sword in the basement and tell them of the most trivial things? Even when Seijuro grew up and started carrying him on his back, his motivation to train just to be worthy to wield him impressed Shintaro. Though he might be a sword spirit, he still had a heart that could be moved.

  When Shintaro saved him from certain death on that day he finally turned to his human form again, he has no other intention in mind. If Seijuro had died that day, he didn’t know if anyone else could wield him. Half of him wanted to remain dormant, but this other half was effectively convinced by Seijuro that he’s worth waking up for.

  Over the years, Seijuro had proven that he really was worth it.

  The duo that was Akashi Seijuro and the legendary sword Shintaro became a fearsome force in the battlefield in no time. Their names were soon equated with victory. No matter the force, no matter the ability, no matter the strategy, no matter how difficult things would appear to be, the two of them led the clan to win against them every single time. It was no question when they got the nickname “The Miracle Combination”.

“Can you please stop staring?” Seijuro broke through his reverie, a small smile lining his lips, “It is quite distracting.”

  They were holed up in Seijuro’s room, finalizing the troop redistribution they had conjured up together. After almost a decade of battles, Seijuro was almost near his goal of unifying the land under one rule. The mermaids have made a mutually beneficial deal about the jurisdiction on the Western Sea. The mountain creatures finally realized that they would have a higher chance to survive and thrive if they let others interact with them, and the ice people finally let go of their thousand year-old grudge. This was the same goal the previous Seijuro had, except that this present Seijuro addressed it with a much solid plan and a much clearer mind.

  After the complete defeat in the port town, Seijuro and Shintaro came to reorganize their whole strategy. It turned out to be highly effective. They were finally able to subdue the most violent mermaids, and they made peace with those that were willing to create it. Right now, only one clan was left, and then they could celebrate probably another hundred years of peace.

  “If my stare alone can already distract you, then you might have to reconsider fighting in the field,” Shintaro jested, knowing all too well that when it comes to the things that matter, Seijuro would be the last one to get himself shaken by the most trivial things.

  “Being brave now, are we?”

  Shintaro scooted closer to Seijuro and the map they were working on. The territory of the fire wielder clan remained the only one unmarked.

  “What’s wrong?” Seijuro asked, noticing something was off within the short period of silence. “Is there any matter about the fire wielders?”

  “Do you know how us sword spirits come to be?”

  Seijuro thought for a while, juggling in his mind the previous legends he had learned. Though he and Shintaro had been together for years, it was actually a wonder why the topic of the fire wielders never came in between them, nor was his creation.

  “From what I know, the metal is melted at a really high temperature, and once it's heated up enough, an animal sacrifice would be waiting to be slain by the slightly molten sword. There is a certain incantation that must be orated, and however strong the sword spirit is would depend on the intensity of sacrifice and the skill of the smith.”

  “Animal sacrifice, is that how they teach it these days?”

  “Is it more than that?”

  “So much more. The previous Seijuro was my wielder, but my sword smith was from the fire wielder clan. Seijuro was able to have me because of his connection with the fire wielders back then. Only the heat from their magma could create such a high quality sword.”

  “And the matter about the sacrifice?” Somehow, Seijuro already knew the answer even before Shintaro said it, a heavy weight dragging on his heart.

  “The fire wielders...they have a collection of humans especially living to be sacrifices in their life. They are well-cared for, knowing nothing of their eventual fate. When it's their time, they are separated from the other potential sacrifices, being made to believe that they are being sent out on an important mission. Little did they know, they will be melted with the steel in the boiling magma.”

  At this point, Seijuro's arms were already around Shintaro's waist, hugging him tightly in some semblance of comfort. It was a worthless action, he knew. He couldn't even begin to imagine the suffering Shintaro had gone through to be made into a sword spirit.

  “Did he know?”

  “He did. It was a long-standing thorn between us,” Shintaro let out a sigh, patting his head gently, “Anyway, it's not what I was trying to say. The fire wielders are masters of creating swords with spirits. When the old Seijuro fell from power, his alliance with them dissipated, too. They've cut off their connection from outside. Who knows how much they've developed this ancient technique? How much sword spirits would be there? You have to consider this in distributing your troops and where to lead the battle.”

  Seijuro kept his arm around Shintaro, nodding slightly. “You are the only sword spirit in our hand. Could you handle a situation like it when the time comes?”

  A gentle finger lands on Seijuro’s chin, tilting his head up. Eyes that were as green as the fields they fight on met eyes that were as red as the blood that soon soaked them. In this small distance connected by their breaths, a promise of a lifetime was made.

  “As long as I'm around, I will always give you victory.”

  But a god's plan was greater than that of either a human's or a sword spirit's.

[ramblesandmumblesofanerd]

Batman: Arkham Reviews Part 1 - Welcome to The Madhouse!

Warning: Lengthy Post Which Contains Spoilers

So far on this blog we have talked about how awesome comic books can be for one franchise and how damaging movies can be for another. Now, we comic books and movies are the tip of the iceberg for a franchise, there is another popular form of media a franchise can capitalize on: video games. I have adored video games for quite some time, from the interesting stories of the Bioshock trilogy to even the admittedly simplistic indie-horror franchise Five Nights at Freddy’s, which I do want to discuss more about another day (after actually getting passed Night 3). However, amongst the first person shooters, horror games and simulators, there is one series of games that I have adored for the longest of times which was part of a sub-genre once thought impossible; the Batman Arkham trilogy made by Rocksteady studios.

For those not in the know, superhero games, let alone Batman games, were once thought impossible with the exception of some NES and Lego titles. This could have been due to poor gaming mechanics, glitches making the game unplayable, or other unexpected variables occurring behind the scenes which renders the game lackluster depending on who made the game itself. Even more modern games were plagued by this almost curse-like cycle, with titles like Iron Man and Thor taking hits, and even the Batman has had a fair share of bad games, with the most infamous being “Batman: Dark Tomorrow”. This is where Rocksteady Studios comes in, with their 2009 Playstation 3/XBox 360/PC Title, Batman: Arkham Asylum, the first in a series of games that have cemented their spot as the best superhero games of their respective years if not of all time.

Arkham Asylum takes place in the mental institution of the same name, where Batman has taken the Joker after a failed attempt to kill the mayor of Gotham via a bomb. After escorting the clown through the building, he breaks free to reveal that getting captured was part of an elaborate plan to take control of the asylum, and now Batman must fight thugs, super criminals and much more for an entire night to stop the Clown Prince of Crime from throwing Arkham into chaos.

Already we have a promising premise, as fans of the Batman series have never had an in depth look at the institution the Batman rogues gallery has festered in for countless years in numerous iterations. Now, while playing the role of the Dark Knight, players will get a chance to see where the madmen of Gotham go, and it is fittingly abysmal. The building look uncared for and unattended in spite of all the upgrades that have been made. There is also an ominous feeling creeping up on you as you travel down dark hallways and decrepit tunnels, as if the spirits of the many inmates who have died in the asylum within the previous years will spring out from the shadows.

Speaking of the inmates, while there are not as much as one would like, there are plenty of classic villains in this asylum one can expect to encounter. There is about six in total including the Joker and his gal-pal Harley Quinn, who will be taunting you throughout your journey through the looney bin. And while you won’t see either Harvey “Two-Face” Dent or Oswald Cobblepot aka The Penguin until the sequel, you will get other classics like Poison Ivy and Killer Croc. And, of course, there are hundreds of lesser criminals armed to the teeth and ready to defend themselves against the Bat before you encounter the super criminals. From bare fists to blades and guns, these thugs will keep fighting until you knock them out in either a straight up fight or the always satisfying stealth fights.

On the subject of combat, the mechanics for thug fights are very fluid and seamless. Batman will not stop hitting any thug standing until you deliver the finishing blow to the last thug you incapacitate or until he gets hit himself. Thankfully, Rocksteady gave Batman the ability to counter incoming attacks, much like his comic book and film incarnations. If Batman is attacking one thug and another wants to attack him from behind, if the player presses the counter button Batman will block the attack and deal some damage before resuming business as usual. The player can also unlock special moves that allow Batman to gain the upperhand in any fight, such as the ability to throw inmates at each other and critical finishers. There is also the stealth mechanics, which make you feel all the more like the Dark Knight. Batman will be in a sealed room with about five to seven thugs, all armed with either assault or sniper rifles, and it will the be player’s job to take them out as silently as possible without being noticed. The room will be the best defence and offence the player can use, and they can grapple to a nearby ledge or the gargoyles, hide in a floor grate to surprise or hide from thugs or hang them upside down from the aforementioned gargoyles, the possibilities are endless so long as you can be stealthy, as being caught will result in getting shot.

But, the environment is not the only tool Batman can use, as the Caped Crusader is nothing without his sophisticated gadgets. The player starts with the ability to throw one iconic Batarang and walks out at the end of the game with a utility belt practically bursting with all kinds of useful gadgets and upgrades the player will need throughout the game in numerous situations. For example, some of the walls in the asylum are more fragile than others, thus the Explosive Gel Batman picks up early in the game will come in handy for breaking these walls down. There are also doors and electric barriers the cannot be opened or deactivated without passcodes. Enter the Cryptographic Sequencer, a device that hacks into the devices keeping the door shut by having the player move the joysticks to find the right wavelength. This device is especially handy for what I’m going to talk about next; the secrets.

As one can expect, Arkham Asylum on it’s own has its fair share of secrets only the most dedicated of people will find through perseverance, but another Batman villain has ensured that not only will you have to find those secrets but his as well. I am of course referring to the Riddler, a man with an ego the size of Gotham City who wants to somehow prove that he is better than Batman in every respect concerning his intellect. Not only does he hack into Batman’s communicator in his cowl, taunting him from afar, but he has hidden two-hundred and forty secrets throughout Arkham Island, including trophies and riddles for the player to solve. Some are easy to find and require no gadgets while others require a little more thought and effort even with the vague maps the Riddler left around the island to taunt you with. In the end, it is very amusing to hear the smug puzzler go from proud and taunting to bewildered and angry as you solve his riddles, collect trophies and discover secrets all the way to the end.

Speaking of the end, there is one thing that must be discussed that does have spoilers. Since this game has been available for eight years now, I feel I can discuss it freely, but if you do not wish to be spoiled please skip the following bracketed portion now. [ The final boss of the game is the one any fan of Batman has been waiting for; The Dark Knight versus The Clown Prince of Crime. Batman has stopped all of Joker’s plans, which revolved around obtaining a chemical similar to the one Bane uses to become a hulking berserker, but more potent. So, in a final act of insanity, The Joker injects himself with this chemical and becomes a giant, mohawked version of himself, which results in the final battle being very simplistic and formulaic. Avoid Titan Joker’s attacks, fight his thugs, pull Titan Joker back down to attack him, repeat. This is unfortunate because the game has been building up to this encounter in it’s entirety, and the payoff very weak and unsatisfying. Even recognizable YouTubers like JonTron have commented on this finale, saying it is one of the worst boss fights of any video game. Thankfully, future games have made up for this flop of a finale by showing the consequences of Joker’s choice. But that is another post for another day.]

All in all, while not the best in the Rocksteady trilogy, Arkham Asylum is a very impressive game that showed the world it was still possible to do superhero games right. The setting and tone is fitting for the iconic location, giving off a spooky, sombre atmosphere. The roster of villains, while not as large as anticipated, is satisfying with the array of classic villains that is presented, all of whom are portrayed very well, especially the maniacal Joker, played by the always wonderful Mark Hamill from “Batman: The Animated Series”, who plays off Kevin Conroy’s Batman all too well. The combat and stealth mechanics are spot on and make the player feel like they are the Batman, as they can walk out of a room of armed henchmen with minimal injuries if they think fast. The gadgets are impressively useful and do not feel unnecessary, as the player will need them to traverse the game in either the main story or when collecting the secrets of the Asylum, which are always fun to find. And while the ending is a tad disappointing, I cannot say I do not regret playing the overall game one bit, especially when I discovered a sequel was on the way. But again, that is a discussion for another day.

Until then, never stop rambling,

TM