You're tense, Anonzo Sato. Conflicted thoughts swirl and seep their way through your mind. Your hands, wrapped in the protective gauntlets of your well-worn armor, tremble on the reins of your steed, Kiko.

You have your orders. Ascertain the location of the Bandits, remnants from the thwarted Mongolian invasion, and return with the information. It's taken you a few weeks, but you've found them, squatting in the squalor of a conquered homestead, stationed in their tents and encampments.

But something otherworldly is afoot, beyond simple banditry. The shimmering glint of whatever swirls between the poles of the Torii gate makes that abundantly clear.

You counted a dozen during your watch, which means you're outnumbered. They're remnants of the Mongolian invasion fleet, so they're roughly equally as armored. They've been busy, so their camp is somewhat fortified.

Return to your lord, and impart your findings. Haste is of the utmost importance. The faster you act, the quicker the wary party rides to enact righteous justice. It's simple, obvious, and the only answer now.

So why do you hesitate?

Kiko, your chestnut brown mare with black socks, nudges you with her snout. Her intelligent, curious eyes observe you from under her tousled blonde mane. She has always been a perceptive creature, seemingly far more clever than most of her behooved peers.

They've done something to the Torii gate, and likely the local shrine. The bandits are traversing it, and are capturing the local spirits. How? Why? It's vile. Profane. Cruel.

Your gaze can't help but slip back towards their camp, viewed through a gaze of growing fury.

It's a homestead, nestled in the hills. Or, it was. Likely the attendants of whatever nearby shrine they've ransacked to commit this atrocity. The fate of the owners is unknown, but they've usurped the building for storage and sleeping... you weren't optimistic for their chances. Several 'Ger', their Mongol-style tents, pepper the area around it. Sharpened logs cover most of the line surrounding their encampment, but there's gaps, their work unfinished. Near the back of the camp, closer to the forest and hills from the small clearing, is the Torii gate.

Wait. The trees. You didn't notice until now. They haven't cut any of the local flora, as the nearby woods are untouched; they must be pulling their lumber supply from the portal. Your blood boils. They continue to sully everything they touch, as if capturing the very creatures was not enough, they must defile the very home they drag them from? Foul invaders.

You counted roughly a dozen, shifting through the gate as they come and go. Last you counted... eight in the main camp, four inside the Torii.

You squeeze the reins tighter, slowly petting Kiko's snout.

"...If I was to make a foolish decision. One born of anger in the face of injustice... would you make it with me, Kiko?" You whisper quietly to her. This was not a decision you could make alone.

She chuffs in your face, hot breath moving your hair. She presses further into your hand.

They were capturing the local spirits. If you were right... Kirin, holy spirits of benevolence, whose arrival is said to impart the direct appearance of a new ruler.

And they had one... potentially more, in an iron cage, possibly through the Torii.

And it saw you, Sato. This is why you hesitate.

It pawed at the bars of its containment with its hoof, looking right at you. Staring.

It asked for your help.

Your teeth grit hard enough to chip, as you pull forward every ounce of your courage.

The choice is made.

Your hands untie the string that keeps your Menpo -- your mask -- from your belt, sliding it from its hold and tying its string around your head, nestling it secure. The comfort of its visage emboldens you. Your helmet, untied from your hip, promptly follows, sliding overtop your head, secured. Only your eyes, glaring harshly and roiling with fury, are exposed.

Taking grasp of your saddle, you put your foot into the stirrup, and swing yourself up and onto Kiko's back. She paws the ground, impatient. She was a mare of action, sharing your desire to do something. She was a War-Horse after all.

Your hand finds its way to the handle of your blade, sitting in its sheath. Your grip tightens on it, your other hand wrapping the reins around your arm several times, holding them tightly, pulling the lead taut.

With a firm kick, you spur Kiko to face the interlopers camp, her hooves tearing up dirt as she spins. She's a War-Horse. You're a Warrior.

The part that comes next, is deeply familiar to you both.

On the back of Kiko, her hooves carve the grass below as she vaults the log you were tucked behind moments prior, storming downhill towards their camp. The wind whips past you as her mane flows, picking up a terrible speed. Leant forward, slightly lifted to counterbalance and match her powerful movements, you draw your blade, holding the steel aloft in the air.

You could not stand by and allow this disgusting act to defile the lands you called home. Who could, in the face of such vile behavior?

There's a large gap in the side of their stake-wall, unfinished. They likely hadn't been settled here for very long -- and you would ensure it stayed that way. Your grip on your blade, on the reins, turns your knuckles white as Kiko huffs loudly, matching the tugs of her lead to steer her. Nearing the wall, Kiko's powerful haunches launch herself through the gap with little hesitation, fully in the air as she soars over half-constructed walls.

Kiko lands with a thud, hooves stomping and sliding into a turn as you reposition, spotting your first adversaries. A dozen feet away, startled by the clamor of hoofbeats and the abrupt arrival of a mounted rider, stand two bandits pulling themselves from a crate brimming with alcohol. They are clad in an assortment of pilfered, local armor, and makeshift protective gear of their own make.

This only adds to your fury. You will give their confusion no chance to find understanding.

They barely have time to shout as the sturdy, muscled barrel of Kiko crashes into one, crushing him underfoot in a muffled scream, sturdy hooves stamping the life from him. The other stumbles back to reach for his weapon, away from Kiko -- but as he fumbles for a blade, you lean off the side of your loyal steed -- driving the edge of your blade across his exposed neck, leaving him grasping at the crimson that stains his chest and spurts from his new cut.

He slowly slides down the front of the tent, turning it's near-white covering a sickly red. Kiko stomps, nickering impatiently.

Six left, on this side.

A grisly count, but you've little choice about it. You're already deeply outnumbered, and losing track could be fatal.

Your eyes flicker to the Torii in the distance -- right as another of them starts to emerge from one of the several Ger they've erected just up ahead, holding one of their sabers in a tight grip. His head is on a swivel, face twisted in upset, looking around and shouting in concern. His language is foreign to you, but the intent is obvious enough.

Your attention renewed, a kick spurs Kiko forward. Neighing loudly and charging the lone Bandit as you cling to the saddle. By the time he's figured your direction, quickly turning to face you and trying to take a lowered stance, his desperate swing comes far too late -- your own bloodied sword has cleaved across his underdressed chest, adding his blood to the fresh stains and throwing him backwards to the ground.

He lands with a heavy thud, clutching at his injury. Gasping and shouting unintelligibly between labored breaths is all he can manage before Kiko's hoof completes the ordeal, descending with a definitive crunch.

Five left, on this side.

It's only been a few moments, but the exertion and adrenaline has you and Kiko huffing loudly, your own breath hissing out of your mask.

But there's no time to rest, Sato. Distant shouting draws the ear, the voices of several shouting in a foreign, confused cacophony. Kiko's own ears flicker, head turning to the same sound that alerts you. It's coming from other side of the house they've commandeered, on the other side of the camp. Must be the others you counted, rousing from their own stations. The element of surprise has been lost, but it served it's purpose.

Kiko stirs, pacing over the blood-stained grass, turning towards the emerging voices. You brace yourself, inhaling slowly, tightening your hold on the wet blade. Just as you're about to urge her on, a flicker at the edge of your vision catches your attention.

It's the metal cage holding the kami they've captured—the Kirin, mere feet away. It gazes at you, Anonzo Sato, with wide, brilliantly orange eyes, just as it did before. It's a magnificent creature, which makes it all the more exasperating that it's confined behind man-made bars. It blinks, and you feel its gaze piercing through you. Its expression remains unchanged, yet it extends a hoof through the bars, pointing. Could it be--?

You whirl around, turning your furious gaze to match Kiko's, towards the encroaching shouts.

A trio of the remnant offenders emerge from the other side of the stolen home, two bearing swords and one with a bow. Since you'd caught them off guard, they were only partially armored, likely disrobed for comfort like the ones you ambushed earlier. That may be your saving grace against their numbers.

The bow is a threat, and not one you can afford to waste even a single moment against. You're a large target with Kiko, and they have distance.

You spur Kiko forward, leaning low, trying to make your form smaller. You and Kiko are both armored, to some degree -- hopefully enough to protect from their arrows, or at the least, to lessen their blow. Kiko launches towards them, making a loud, angry whinny.

The two swordsmen match your charge, shouting something in their language; just as an arrow whizzes past your head, thwapping into the thick material of the Ger behind you, still stained by it's owner.

Powerful hooves pummel the ground below as you race forward, using the stirrups to lean off the saddle.

You reach the first swordsman -- with a cocky shout, he sidesteps your charge, rearing back to slice at Kiko as she passes. Unfortunately, he'd been expecting Kiko to try and give you room to swing. But Kiko had no such intentions -- you pull her reins taut, as she digs her hooves in, sliding and turning on the spot -- it was a flashy maneuver the pair of you had spent months perfecting, and the results show. The swordsman eyes widen, as the only part of Kiko he meets is her hooves. Backed by powerful legs, the sudden spring-like kick caves in his skull and bends his helmet, the bandits body flinging into a crumpled pile on the ground a few feet away.

Another shout of anger, and yet another arrow flies by, barely missing your leg before embedding itself in a distant fortification. You've hardly even a moment to process the near miss as Kiko shakes her head, suddenly rearing up and backpedaling several paces. The unprompted maneuver nearly throws you off her front, your chest colliding with the back of her neck, just as Kiko narrowly evades the furious slash of the last swordsman. You grip tightly to the saddle, your legs squeezed so firmly together that they begin to sting.

"Good, Kiko!" You praise, pushing past the sudden disorientation, and re-orientating yourself on her back.

Shifting your weight, you position your blade high above Kiko, nudging her sides with your heel. She responds by rearing up again, causing the swordsman to stagger backwards as she thrusts her forelegs into the air. You take advantage of his retreat, Kiko landing on all fours and closing the distance. Leaning forward and practically hanging from her, your blade sparks as it meets the second swordsman's, batting his next attempt of harm upon your mount aside. It's not your sword that he needs to watch out for, but the ground behind him, as he trips back over a loose pile of pilfered supplies. A fatal mistake that leaves him at the mercy of Kiko's hooves, as she does what she's trained to do. The crunches are meaty, and wet, before his warbling is cut short.

Three left, on --

-- An arrow pierces Kiko's shoulder, penetrating the protective padding encircling her barrel. A sharp whinny of agony escapes her as she bucks, catching you off-guard—your grip on the reins slackens. Despite your efforts to cling on, you're dislodged from her back, cascading into a rolling fall.

You crash into the dirt forcefully, the impact expelling the air from your lungs. Colliding with the back of several boxes, the ground offers little cushioning for your fall. The rush of adrenaline provides some relief, but the sharp pain radiating up your side suggests you've likely bruised something.

With blurred vision and labored breaths, you force yourself upright, leaning on one of the boxes for support. Several targets remain in your reckless assault -- three to be exact -- and you cannot afford to let that archer continue harassing Kiko. Despite her panic and pain, her frantic kicking and spinning make her a difficult target, a fact underscored as the archer's next arrow misses it's mark, and thuds into the house.

No time for pain, Sato. Act, now!

Your lungs burn as you gulp down air, mustering your breath. With scant time for a battle cry, you force out a strained shout anyway, vaulting over the boxes with labored breaths, your hands tightly clutching your sword as you charge at the startled archer.

Your sudden aggression puts panic in his movements as he fumbles an arrow, shouting something worried in his native tongue. You're closing far faster than he was ready for.

He succeeds in notching an arrow, you continue your charge, angling your body low in a gamble. He anticipates a sidestep, uncertain of the direction, his gaze shifting rapidly as he draws the bowstring.

It's a split-second decision — his hasty shot flies prematurely, even before you have to evade, the draw too weak. The arrowhead skims off your shoulder armor, twirling to the ground behind you, disappearing into the grass.

He holds a hand up, backpedaling with a panicked shout -- you split his raised hand with a brutal downward strike all the way to the elbow, before it carries through, burying deep into his shoulder. His screams only stop when you wrench the blade out, his shoulder parted from his chest -- and slam the pointed edge through his middle, gutting him with a savage twist of your sword.

With your foot, you pry the bloodied blade from his torso, stumbling back several feet. You hunch over, leaning on your knees, panting as he slumps to the side, blood dribbling from his mouth.

Two left, on this side.

And, still four on the other... your eyes widen. Footsteps, dangerously close and closing still, tear you from your count. Instinctively, you dive to the side, rolling hard on the ground. A heavy club slams into the dirt where you had just been standing, sending chunks of earth flying. You chastise yourself under your breath as you twist to your feet -- for all you know, all six could be on this side. You couldn't afford to lose focus now.

The pilfered club, a Kanabo likely taken from inside the raided homestead, is hefted back up and over a mighty shoulder -- a sizable bandit with a full head of height towers over you, half-dressed with a bare chest. Despite his lack of armor, the sneer on his face diminishes any confidence that might stem from such. He's well-muscled to match his stature, and wields the weapon with ease, like it were nothing. With its weight, his power, and the metal studs that brace the club, that's going to hurt if you let him hit you, armor or not. If not outright kill you, considering the monster of a man holding it.

Kiko whinnies, visibly distressed by the arrow protruding from her side. She attempts to bite at the shaft of the arrow, her head thrashing in discomfort. For the moment, she remains at a safe distance as the last bandit on this side dashes past her, racing towards the Torii gate.

Focus, Sato. If he's getting the others, then time is short. The rest might return through that Torii gate at any moment.

Clutching your blade firmly with both hands, you broaden your stance, your sandals digging into the earth. With the tip of your sword aimed straight ahead, you fix your gaze on the brute, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

The sneer seems glued to his twisted face, the oversized bandit taking wide, brash steps towards you. He's underdressed... but getting into range with him is risky. You'll have to play this careful, and find your openings.

He draws back, unleashing a broad, unexpectedly swift swing -- you duck low and scramble back, the club sweeping overhead. Keeping low, you plan to use his recovery as an opening, as you have with the others. But right as you're about to lunge forward, his rebound swing comes flaring past, forcing you to shuffle backwards again, taking to a neutral standing. He's purposely keeping you warded away.

The brute says something to you in Mongolian, but you're not versed, nor do you care to be. His meaning is obvious enough. It's a taunt, given the way he points at you, and drags his thumb across his throat, smiling. He's confident, and compared to you, still fresh to this battle; a fact he's well aware of, and intends to abuse. A flicker of thought crosses you, wondering how many others he's faced down while he's been trapped in your homelands, to inspire such a brimming cockiness.

The brute approaches, hardly giving you a chance to even catch your breath and keeping you on the defensive. His flailing swings with the club are fast, matched only by his speed on the backswing. You find yourself constantly retreating to dodge his blows, nearly sprinting backward as he pursues, brandishing the club with reckless abandon, catching it and whipping it back around.

You make an unfortunate miss-step as he closes in, stumbling back on one of the felled bandit's weapons, losing your footing -- an ironically similar mistake to that of one of the earlier bandits. Your eyes widen, well aware of the fate that waits you if you so much as hesitate, but you can't return to your feet in time before he closes in. You instinctively curl up, drawing your arms in tightly, just as the club strikes. A piercing pain shoots through your arm and chest. With gritted teeth, you do your best to absorb the impact with your forearms, yet the force sends you reeling backward, sprawling on the ground. A dull, throbbing pain suggests your bones may be fractured -- though you desperately hope such isn't the case.

He's not stopping, Sato. He's laughing, approaching slowly. He knows he has the advantage.

Get up, Sato.

Groaning, doing your best to ignore the pain, you try to push off the ground, to quickly rise to your feet -- right as a boot slams into your torso, hurtling you backwards.

You collide with a hard, metallic object, a sharp pain racing up your spine, eliciting a loud wince from you. Despite the protection of your armor, the impact is painful. Reaching back with your hand, you search for the cause, and grasp a solid iron bar -- it's part of the cage containing the creature, the Kirin.

But that doesn't matter right now -- the Bandit doesn't intend to let you rest for even a second. The brute is raising the club overhead, ready to cave your skull in. You don't have time to think, Sato.

Ignore the pain -- MOVE!

A low groan escalates into a fervent yell as you dodge to the side, just as the brute's club crashes down onto the cage's top. A dreadful sound erupts as the studded wood collides with metal, the roof and bars warping from the impact. Inside, the Kirin barely acknowledges the fresh dent in its enclosure, cocking its head curiously. It slowly steps to the far end of its confinement, pressing against the bars at the opposite side.

The club is stuck, wedged in the twisted metal of the bandit's own making. The brute's face contorts with effort as he attempts to pull it free, his forceful tugs unsuccessful. This is your chance. Your jaw clenches -- the grip on your blade is steady, and so is your resolve.

You leap forward, propelling yourself upward and swinging your blade in a savage arc. His chest is exposed, his weapon trapped; there is no finer opportunity. Your blade carves across his chest, drawing a pained, surprised shout from the brute. Crimson blossoms from the fresh wound on his torso as he buckles to one knee.

Before you can contemplate a follow-up, he's abandoned the club and left it protruding from the cage. His lips twist into a snarl, anger fueling a sudden bare-handed assault. Your overcommitment was meant to guarantee a deep strike, yet it wasn't as sufficient as you'd hoped; he seizes your sword-bearing wrist, twisting it's lethal edge out of the way, before he hammers your side with a robust punch -- the same flank that had just endured the club's impact.

It feels like all the air in your body just got expelled by the blow, a shock of splintering pain leaving you breathless, unable to gasp for any more. Deep pulses of numbing pain seep through you -- it's all you can do to curl up and twist away. His fist slams into your side, again and again, finding yourself subjected to a savage, vengeful pummeling. His grip holds your wrist at a painful angle, and the seeping waves of sharpness in your side forcefully compels you to drop your sword.

Your armor is sparing you from the worst of this brutes sheer strength, absorbing his blows as his clenched knuckles slam into your chest-piece. But you're disarmed, blade to the grass -- the Kirin glancing between the two of you from inside the cage.

You can't stay like this, Sato -- you need to break this grapple. But he's a monstrous grip, and the hail of blows just don't stop, stifling your breathing. You need to break his focus, go for something that'll buckle him, shatter his unending assault, anything. Thinking is hard -- but you don't need to be creative.

Fed up with the agonizing deadlock, your body reacts instinctively. You hoist your leg and drive your foot into his knee. The Brute clenches his teeth and emits a hiss of pain as his leg gives way, loosening his hold on you. Your kick propels you backward, granting a brief respite and the distance you desperately need.

However, his respite is brief. As he rubs his leg, his glare shifts back to you, leveraging the cage to aid his strained ascent. You feel your back and side protest under the ongoing strain, yet you dismiss it, rising to your feet. Complaints can wait. Your hands rake through the soft earth, disoriented, as you stand with a clenched fist full of dirt.

With both hands raised and poised, you wait in eager anticipation. Disarmed, your sword lies close, yet you dare not glance its way -- not until another opening is won.

He's already got his own hands raised, the sneer giving way to an infuriated scowl. He inches towards you carefully, scanning you with furrowed brow. The brute can't afford his own chance to free the club, either. You'll have to force your opportunity with naut but what you were born with.

Your breathing is shallow and uneven as you struggle to regain your bearings, yet you push through. This time, you take the initiative -- you launch forwards, faking an exaggerated strike with your right; as he reaches to catch it, you swiftly retract and fling your clenched left hand out, throwing the grasped dirt into his surprised face. The brute recoils as the bloodied muck gets in his eyes, shouting and clawing his face. He lashes out wildly, blinded -- but you stay back, not ready to close in just yet. It's the opportunity you've been waiting for.

You glance down, then around, and your gaze meets that of the Kirin, still bound within its iron cage. It gazes beyond you and gestures with a hoof. Your eyes track the motion, uncovering a familiar, stained sword.

By the time he's smeared the dirt from his vision, scowling, the first thing the brute see's is the pointed edge of your sword. One hand gripping the handle, the others palm pressed to it's pommel, you thrust forward in a sharp stab and drive it straight through his neck. The steel buries itself in fleshy crimson as you crash down upon the brute, topping you both over, anchored by the blade.

He gurgles, grasping at you as his back slams on the bloodied dirt below. You descend upon him, the blade planting firmly in the ground beneath, keeping you both rooted. The brute starts wildly battering at you, slamming your sides, arms, anything within reach with his clenched fists, each threatening to crack bone with wild, frenetic strength -- you have no choice but to weather this barrage, as digging in with your heels and wrenching your blade free is the only action you can muster.

It spills a tide of viscous red as it's pulled free, slicing across his neck on exit.

As you stagger back and away, you wince as pain pulses through your trembling fingers. The brute's movements slow to a sputtering cough, his body twitching. He lies sprawled on the ground, your sword now free of his flesh. You pant heavily, hunched over and leaning on your knees for support, your chest heaving with quick, heavy breaths that burn your already ablaze lungs.

That's... seven? No... five.

Five left.

Thinking is hard. Moving is harder. You have sustained a severe beating, and your vision is blurring at the edges.

Your arms ache, your chest throbs, your stomach and sides in no better condition. Part of you wonders just how much more you can take, if this rash decision of yours demands any more from you. You can hear the brute gurgling his last a few feet from you. A grim reminder that pulls you from the pain... you don't have time to waste, Sato. There's more. Get up. Move. Not if you can -- you must.

You push yourself up to stand tall, readjusting your grip on the blade. You trudge slowly around the fallen brute, your weapon hanging loosely by your side, its tip nearly scraping against the path below.

The camp is clear, for the moment. Those remaining are either patrolling or beyond the portal. You have a brief respite before they might return. It's time to tend to yourself, the Kirin, and your mount.

First, attend to your steed, for she shares in the pain. She's huffing, pacing in circles around the now deserted camp, agitated by her injury. You step into her path, hand uplifted to soothe her as you draw near.

She whinnies at you, shaking her head. You'd offer her comforting words, if they'd come out as anything more than a pained wheeze. You place your free hand to her snout, patting her. Silently thanking her. The touch calms her for the moment, but she's clearly unhappy with her new protrusion.

You gently press a palm against her flesh, surrounding the arrow protruding from her body. Your other hand lets go of your weapon, allowing it to clatter to the ground as you grasp the arrow's shaft near the wound.

Kiko butts your head softly with her snout in acknowledgement. In one fell swoop, you yank it free.

She flinches, making a distressed nicker, but eventually calms under more patting, and more assurance.

Neither of you had time to handle properly tending to the injury just yet. With every moment that passes, the risk that more might pile through the gate grows steadily. Your eyes flicker to the house, central to their encampment. There might even be some inside, sleeping.

Breathing is a little easier, now that you're not being battered around. Thinking, too, is a little easier. Now that Kiko no longer protrudes an arrow, your focus should be... the captured Kami.

It watches you approach, tilting its head. This close, it's far easier to get a proper look at it, even through the bars that contain it.

It's a small creature, likely... two and a half feet tall, roughly. It comes up to your thigh, just above your knees. Though that doesn't include the horn that juts from it's head. Rich orange eyes stare at you, though the creature bears an... unbothered expression, eyes half-lidded. As with your small knowledge of Kirin, you know they're supposedly a mix of deer, and dragon... yet looking at it now, something about that description seems amiss.

It more closely resembles a diminutive version of Kiko, a blend of horse and dragon. Its body is cloaked in ochre fur, complemented by yellow-green scales adorning its back, hooves, and snout, anchored at the base of a deep-red horn. A luxuriant, soft, almost pinkish-red mane encircles its head, draping over its chest like a lion's mane. Its tail and the hind 'knees' are also adorned with copious tufts of fur in the same hue.

As you draw near, the Kirin promptly emerges from the rear corner of its enclosure, advancing towards the bars nearest to you. It halts adjacent to the indentation left by the brute, club still jutting out of it's ill meeting. It fixes its gaze upon you, Sato.

Struggling, you kneel to offer a respectful bow. This creature is revered as holy, and still, you know you must clarify your intentions, even if your actions have been speaking for you already.
"Allow me to free you, Kirin," you whisper. Speaking is difficult, your lungs still painfully irritated.

As you look up, it stares back, its head tilted slightly. Then, as your gaze meets, it paws at the bars with its hoof once more.

A creature of few words, indeed, but you don't hesitate. The door to the cage, already damaged by the blow from the club, is merely jammed. Bracing your foot for leverage and gripping firmly, you give a strong chain of hard tugs. Without the threat of closing assault, you're able to spend a moment forcing it. You're greeted to the result of the cage door opening with a piercing screech of metal against metal. The cage door, loosed from it's hinges, makes a 'whump' sound in the dirt as it topples.

You huff, standing back. The Kirin surveys its newfound freedom, simply walking out of the cage.

It was free... but not safe. Until the bandits were dealt with on the other side, more of these creatures might be engangered, as with whatever other number of local spirits they might be trying to capture. You should --

The Kirin nudges against your legs, causing you to freeze and your eyes to widen. As you slowly look down, you find it pressing against your leg, much like a cat would to display affection. It stares up at you, remaining entirely silent. Its expression seems unamused, or perhaps bored? You begin to wonder if they are just not very expressive creatures, considering it's kept the same face despite the numerous violent acts it just bore witness to. Maybe they show their feelings more through physical acts?

It paws at your leg, prompting you to kneel attentively despite the pain. You silently wince, not wanting to upset it with a sudden noise. Now at eye level with the creature, it leans in and licks your nose -- or rather, the nose of your Menpo. Despite that, the gesture's intent remains clear. Affection. A thanks?

Now you're certain they are creatures of benevolence. That, and you've made the correct choice, Sato.

Your attention shifts to a series of distant shouts, with the Kirin shying behind you. You spin around, standing, positioning yourself between it and the bandits who slowly emerge from the Torii gate, their figures materializing from a shimmer as they pass through. Kiko is close, matching your movements as she hovers nearby, striking the ground with a hoof.

Right. Five more.

Unlike those you had just battled, these warriors were neither relaxed, surprised nor celebratory. They were fully armored and equally armed, vestiges of the Mongolian Invasion, clad in scaled iron and leather with thick cloth akin to your own lacquered metal. The central figure is distinguished by an additional plume of red fur on his helmet, appearing to be the leader, if the way the other four look to him is anything to go by.

Two of the remaining four wield curved sabers and bear small shields. The third brandishes a large, greatsword-like curved blade -- a Dadao, by your recollection. The final two flanking the group were equipped with shortbows, already fitting new arrows to the string.

The situation is grim, Sato. You are completely outmatched, your body aching from the recent skirmish. Kiko is injured, and you've a freed Kirin to protect. Maybe... you can buy said Kirin the right moment to escape. Take on as many as you can in a valiant stand, giving it a chance to flee. That would be the right, honorable thing to do here.

With resolve hardening your heart, you're on the verge of looking back at the Kirin, to urge it to flee. You're prepared to hold your ground here, to fight for every second you can.

Instead, a strange warmth surges up your spine, commanding you to look ahead; your head turns, not of your own volition, to the bandits.

The leader, with his sword resting on his shoulder, shouts commands to his fellows. In his other hand, he holds... it's another Kirin. This one lies motionless, its white fur, vivid ginger mane, and bright green scales resembling those of the Kirin behind you.

He dangles it in the air by its scruff, laughing as its hooves flail, before he levels his sword towards you in a challenge. A dare. He knows as well as you do, how slim your chances of survival here are.

Kiko chuffs, growing more agitated with every moment. Red still seeps down her shoulder, staining the padding she bears around the wound.

Heat creeps up your back, seeping into your chest. Your body becomes engulfed in warmth, the dull aches of pain fading, overtaken by a novel sensation.

You feel... angry.

No, not you, Sato. You're disturbed by their mistreatment, of course, but this is different. This is new. This... this is rage. A deep, vengeful hatred. And it doesn't belong to you.

The touch of the first, ochre-colored Kirin against the back of your leg sends a wave of heat through you. This isn't your anger; it's the Kirin's. And it's incandescent with fury.

Your blood doesn't merely simmer, Sato -- it seethes, roiling, boiling with rage. Your teeth clench so tightly they feel like they might shatter into pieces, your clutch on your sword so firm, you fear the hilt may fracture and splinter.

The expressionless Kirin is feeding its latent, true feelings into you, Sato. Using you as a Vessel for its fury. This is how it speaks, not with words, not through expressions, but through emotion.

The words of the Bandit leader are harder to hear, as sweat dribbles down your forehead, your temple. There's a crackling in your ears, and the heat flowing across you is unbearable, as... flames, flicker into your view. It burns, Sato. The Kirin's rage has given manifest, seeping across your armor, your flesh, in a swirling storm of red-blue fire.

You have no words for them, as their words find little purchase on you. The rest of the camp seems to... fade away, out of focus. The bandits are glancing between each-other, hesitating. The leaders sword falters, lowering as his mouth stops moving.

You raise your sword to your side, the deep blue flames flickering from your forearms, as their embers twist to a bright red. Your entire body, your sword, crackles and twists with a flowing, fiery fury. Your pain is dulled. Your thoughts are clear.

Even if you could understand the words the bandits utter, their impact on you would be minimal. The surroundings of the camp blur into obscurity, your vision being focused by the fire that dances on the edges of your vision. The bandits exchange wary looks, uncertainty's worrisome grasp taking hold of them. The leader's pointed sword falters, his speech slowing, his eyes widening.

With a measured motion, you lift your burning blade, the deep blue flames licking your forearms, shifting to a vibrant red on their ends. Your form and weapon alike are enveloped in the dance of a flowing, fiery fury of another. The pain from the burning recedes, and your mind sharpens.

It's not a yell, nor a shout that escapes your lips, but a primal, gutteral roar as you surge ahead, enveloped in a cascading torrent of flames, charging directly at them, covering untold meters in mere seconds. Regardless of the distance you cover or the speed at which you cover it, the presence of the Kirin remains close, almost as if it's a part of you. You're moving with a swiftness that surpasses any previous experience you've ever had, even outpacing the times you've ridden upon Kiko.

The two swordsmen, coerced forward by their leader, advance to confront you with faltering courage. However, their shields are quickly proven to be no match for your blazing sword, which melts through them as you slice, severing their shield-bearing arms and leaving them vulnerable to your fiery onslaught, their screams unheard over the raging, crackling fire that fills your ears. Their fur-lined armor ignites with each hit, rendering even a glancing blow deadly.

Your strikes are brutal, their blood hissing and sizzling as it meets the heated metal, their wounds cauterizing in the instant they are inflicted.

The leader shouts something, attempting to use the captured white-furred Kirin as a makeshift, living shield. By presenting it towards you as an obstacle, he inadvertently exposes his forearm. You adopt a low stance and slice upward, cleanly cutting through his gauntlet and catching the Kirin. Flames from your body leap forward and envelop the creature as you hold it close, seemingly shielding it from the risk of further harm.

Recoiling, the leader grasps his severed limb and yells in pain, while the two archers with shortbows, overcome by panic, retreat through the Torii gate. The blood on your blade hisses in response to the intense heat, creating a horrid smell.

The leader, with his remaining arm, attempts a desperate swing but is swiftly cut across the chest, the blade slicing through his armor as if it were butter.

As his body, now still and ablaze, collapses to the ground, you advance towards the gate, your steps leaving behind a trail of embers on the grass. Concentration becomes more challenging as the intensity of the flames that dance around you swell, engulfing both you and the Kirin in your grasp in a roiling inferno, their light intense and alive with crackles and flickers.

You step through the shimmering wall underneath the Torii gate, urged forward by the latent desires of the Kirin. You're no longer in control, it feels like. Like every urge, every motion, is spurred onward by the Kirin that envelops you.

The sensation of crossing through domains is barely registered -- akin to passing through a thin veil of water.

Your awareness of the surroundings slowly continues to dwindle... but you can make out a forested village with quaint, round houses nestled into the hills and trees.

In the village center, as the bandits retreat there to regroup, you spot additional iron cages, holding several more Kirin, each a different hue.
There's also a human girl, too. She appears young, possibly one of the villagers who resided here before the bandits invaded.

The anger being fed through you, surging within you grows, making your thoughts even more elusive. Time itself seems to blur, with your body acting almost entirely independently, as if your mind is detached from the actions the Kirin is forcing you to take.

You fell them. Cut them down. The remnant bandits stood no chance, as the arrows they embedded in your chest smolder.

You're uncertain of the sequence or method -- only that they have ceased to move. That they burn.

Your gaze settles on this side of the gate. It's not a Torii here; rather, it appears as though branches and vines have intertwined, forming that same shimmering veil through more natural means.

Beyond, more figures become visible, stirred from the disturbance. Nearly a dozen, all armed like the others. Possibly another patrol or a returning raid. But it doesn't matter. A sense of resolution decision seeps through you.

You find that your sword ascends, gripped tightly and ablaze with a brilliant orange glow, as you come to a halt before the gate. Flames from your very being gather around the blade, and with a swift motion, you slice through the gate's border.

The gate splits, igniting into flames, its swirling veil twisting and warping until it vanishes, the encroaching figures on the other side fading from view. Until the only thing you see through what little is left of the twisted vines, is the forest just beyond it.

The sword falls from your grasp, quietly clattering onto the ground beneath.

The flames are dissipating. The heat, the burning... the warmth is departing. The anger is subsiding. You feel whole. Satisfied. Content. No. That's how the Kirin feels.

You, Sato... you feel cold.

You collapse as the pain, unabated, surges back in an overwhelming wave, racking your body. It's so sudden, so fast, and hits so hard, not even a noise escapes you.

You don't even feel yourself collapse against the ground, Sato; unconsciousness claims you long before that.

Author's Note