Tatsuo sluggishly moved to the right, as his opponent swung his sword down towards him. The next move was easy enough to predict; his opponent would bring his sword up and try a horizontal slash. Tatsuo quickly dropped to the muddy ground, feeling the sword pass by only a few inches above his head. He looked up - his opponent's midsection was now completely exposed. Keeping his left arm close to his side, he gripped his own sword with his right and sprung up quickly, thrusting forward as he went. The man was not wearing any armor, so the blade easily pierced his flesh. Not bothering to look up, Tatsuo quickly withdrew his sword, and spun around, ready for the next would-be assassin. He was surprised to find no one; his eyes met with only a field of corpses. Realizing that the battle was coming to a close, he closed his eyes and sighed.

Dawn slowly spread across the battlefield. The sky had been set afire with orange, scorching the sea as it lapped gently on the dark-brown shore. The bulky wooden boats perched upon the edge of the shore, completely unmoving against the swaying sea. Tatsuo opened his eyes now; it was nearly impossible to see the ground due to the fallen soldiers that littered the earth. There was a mix of red, white, and dark blue - the uniforms of the soldiers - and it was almost impossible to tell where one man ended and another began. Every now and then, a soldier wearing red and white, the same colors Tatsuo bore, jutted out from the mess, standing in defiance of the ground. They too looked around, trying to find more of the enemy. Slowly, they began to raise their hands, holding their swords tightly, crying towards the heavens in pure belligerence.

Tatsuo turned back towards the sea. He kept his left arm close to his side; his right lightly held his sword, the tip of which sank into the mud below. Tatsuo stood in a very small clearing, where the mud could be seen. He was surrounded by death. He had created the clearing, the forest of bodies beyond. He stared at it with blank eyes, as if he was not looking at it at all. His sword continued to sink lower in the ground, his grip loosening by the second.

Before he knew it, Tatsuo dropped to his knees. The mud was cold against his skin, as it seeped through his pants. His right hand sunk next, his fingers becoming immersed in the soil. Tatsuo looked forward, forward to where the sky met the ocean. It looked so close. Tatsuo believed that if he were to simply walk forward, sidestep the bodies, and swim for a little ways, he could somehow reach that intersection. He could reach it, and then he could step into the sky, and walk around as he did on the ground. Tatsuo believed this for a moment, then he let his right arm slip further down into the mud. His sword, now merely accompanying his hand, slid down as well, mixing dirt with blood on the blade.

"Tatsuo! Tatsuo!" A far away voice called.

Tatsuo was only vaguely aware of it. "My goddess...have you come for me?" He said softly to himself.

"Tatsuo!" The voice repeated. It got louder, and now Tatsuo could hear someone kicking his way to him. Tatsuo looked up. He beheld a man, of an average build, and a very short, hardened face. His hair had come undone, and fell haplessly across his brow. He loosely wore the white gi and large red pants. Tatsuo knew him - he was Noriyuki, an acquaintance, a fellow soldier, a comrade.

"Tatsuo!" Noriyuki said, slightly short of breath yet grinning widely. "I'll be damned. You're still alive. It seems the fates have been kind to you today."

Tatsuo stood up slowly now, casually taking his sword as he rose. "The fates favor you as well."

Noriyuki laughed. "I'm far too stubborn to die today. I have yet to experience some of the finer pleasures of life." He grinned again, raising his sword; it was hard for Tatsuo to tell where his hand stopped and the blade began. "I cannot wait to hear the songs they will sing about this victory! It will be glorious, will it not?"

Tatsuo smiled weakly. He kept his left arm close to his side; his took his right hand and fidgeted with his sword. "Hey Noriyuki, by any chance do you know what became of Kenji? He was a fine fellow I met on the journey here."

Noriyuki shook his head. "Haven't seen him."

"What about Makoto?"

"I don't know."

"Have you seen Junichi?"

"I haven't really seen anyone since the battle ended, save you. During the battle...you know...it's impossible to keep track of anyone."

Tatsuo looked a bit disappointed, as his head sunk down.

Noriyuki's smile returned. "I do know however what became of Kojiro. We fought alongside for a while. But he fell to a spear. That fool."

"So Kojiro has fallen. Huh, he was so confident before the battle. I remember him saying he'd be the first to clear the shore."

Noriyuki laughed, putting his arm around Tatsuo, who winced lightly. "Do not worry my friend. They have died the best death possible. We shall rot away our lives in some old cottage in the country, while they have ascended to the heavens, in the name of our emperor. They should be feeling sorry for us. But we will miss them all the same. I'll tell you what. After we finish here, we will retrieve our supplies from the boats, then make our way along the shore and set up camp. And then, against the evening sky, we will drink in the name of our fallen comrades. We will drink - one for each, and we shall drink until we are stupid." Noriyuki surveyed the landscape. "And from the looks of it, we shall be quite stupid."

Tatsuo smiled weakly again.

Noriyuki looked up the shore. "We will not have to go far. The enemy has withdrawn to protect their lines. Another contingent is coming from the mainland; a fine set of warriors I hear. We'll meet up with them, then continue onward. We will continue to blaze through the infidels' territory as we have done today. It is a very fine time to be alive, is it not?"

"Sure." Tatsuo said weakly.

Noriyuki slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Are you still asleep this morning? Have you yet to wake? Look about you! You stand where the weak have fallen. Look alive! We'll get the spirits in you, and you'll be atop the tables in song!"

Tatsuo nodded slightly. "If you say so."

"You depress me. These fellows about you are more alive. We'll liven you up yet." Noriyuki withdrew himself, making his way up the cluttered slope. He joined the other soldiers in their current task; they trudged heavily through the terrain, finding any movement on the ground and piercing it with their swords. It was not an act of cruelty or mercy; it was simply an act of completion. They poked the ground indiscriminately, stabbing the dark blue, as well as the white and red. Tatsuo laughed to himself over the scene.

Suddenly, his mind wandered. Without warning, it left him, and returned to the mainland. Tatsuo recalled a bar in his hometown he used to frequent. It was really a shabby, broken kind of place. The wood was getting old and warped, and seemed to decay before one's eyes. The interior was modestly large, with very small tables and chairs arraigned haphazardly. The bar was off to the left, with dozens of clay bottles, some decorated, positioned on the shelves on the wall behind. On a windy day, the dust would blow in through the wood, creating a fine, dirty haze and hardening the taste of the drinks. Tatsuo was particularly fond of the night. On nights when the moon was full and the sky clear, the moonlight would seep into the bar, giving the place an ethereal glow.

His favorite table was one that was out of the way, in the back. He was a soldier; and while he did enjoy the company of the other soldiers and even called them friends, he was different. He was a soldier because it was all he could be. He had no talent for farming, and no head for politics. But he was not a soldier by heart. Where his comrades seemed to enjoy the battles, he merely participated because he had to. He had no taste for violence. Sometimes, he even found himself pitying those he had killed. It was an embarrassing thought for a soldier such as himself. Tatsuo figured he was safest if he consumed his drinks alone, where no slips of the tongue could betray him.

The men would crowd around the tables en masse, getting louder as the night wore on. Occasionally, their swords would emerge, and they would wave them around much like they did on the battlefield. Tatsuo always noticed them, the way the sword seemed to be a natural part of their arm, as if it had always been there.

Tatsuo remembered the waitress - the owner's daughter - a modest girl named Yuko. She was thin and pale; she had long black hair that she tried to tie behind her, but continually fell in front of her face. She moved timidly, as if the air could crush her if mistreated. She served drinks to the men, and they always insulted her for being so plain. She would smile, keeping her head down, as she wove through the tables, trying to avoid the insults and cups that sailed through the air. Despite the soldier's insults, Tatsuo thought her to be beautiful, but relegated himself to admire her from afar. On the nights of the full moon, her pale skin seemed to absorb she moonlight, giving her a glow. Tatsuo often believed that she merged with the bar on these nights; if the bar were to somehow collapse, Yuko would simply disappear.

Whenever Yuko brought him his drinks, he made it a point to thank her politely. He kept his eyes focused on her; she always kept her head down. She would look up - Tatsuo was the only one she would look directly at - and their eyes would meet for a moment, before she turned away, back towards the bar. Tatsuo tried to engage her in conversation once, but she shyly fled away, citing work as an excuse. Tatsuo was far too afraid to confront her, unlike the other soldiers who, despite their low opinion of her, were never afraid to force their affections on her after a few rounds.

Tatsuo was quickly dragged back to the battlefield. A cold wind bit him sharply, a surprise from the warmth of the rising sun that bathed the shore. He wondered why just now he should think of that dusty old bar. There were much finer places to drink to be sure. Tatsuo had to admit that a large part of the old haunt's allure was Yuko; her presence gave him a strange sort of warmth that contented him. However, he also visited the bar on days he knew Yuko would not be there. Perhaps in that old rotting frame, he had found a place where he could find comfort. Tatsuo wished he could go just now; it would be night, and Yuko would appear before his eyes in the mist. She would smile at him, and...

But, what was he thinking? There was no time for that sort of thing now. Tatsuo looked down at his small clearing of mud, and the clutter ahead and behind. Suddenly, more than anything else, he wanted - he needed - to move.

Tatsuo's comrades were now making their way down the shore, back towards the boats. Tatsuo watched them for a moment, frozen. His sword slid out of his fingers, hitting the pulpy ground like a single heartbeat. He turned around slowly, facing up the shore. Up the slope, and a little ways off, there was a small forest. The trees stood still against the icy breeze, seeming to defy heavens wishes. The leaves and branches huddled together, blocking the new sunlight from entering.

Tatsuo began to make his way up the slope. It was hard not to kick a randomly strewn arm, leg, or head along the way. Tatsuo apologized in his head for his rudeness.

He struggled uphill, dragging his feet, and slightly hunched over. His left arm remained at his side, as it had since the conclusion of the battle. His journey became harder with each step; he finally resigned himself to his fate. He found another small clearing on the ground, a few more feet uphill and to his right. He pushed forward, kicking more corpses now, but he no longer cared. Tatsuo stumbled into the mud, relieved. Finally, the pain in his left side became too much to ignore. He could feel the warmth trickle over his left hand, glide down his arm, and join the mud below.

Tatsuo dropped to his knees abruptly. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, before opening them again. From his knees, the forest just beyond the slope could no longer been seen. He wished he could look backwards, view the sea and sky once more, but he lacked the energy for this simple task. Instead, he pitched forward, now falling on his left side, which pained him greatly. He felt his head sink into the mud, chilling his skull. Tatsuo closed his eyes once more. Now, he could see the dusty bar again. He was outside this time, looking in. Yuko stood in the doorway. She smiled, letting her hair fall down her back and about the sides of her had. She held out her hand. Lying upon the ground, Tatsuo smiled, extending his right arm out as far as he could, before it too fell into the mud.