No Path but the Void

The cavern was silent save for the faint drip of water echoing through the vast expanse. Zami sat against a jagged wall, the dim glow of bioluminescent fungi casting flickering light across his features. His katana rested across his knees, and his hand absently traced the white symbols etched into the blade.

Beside him lay his dagger, a weapon forged from the rib of a toxic beast he had slain centuries ago. Its jagged edge gleamed faintly, a testament to his tireless refinement of the craft.

He stared at the weapons, his silver eyes heavy with fatigue. The endless cycle of death and revival, of fighting and surviving, clawed at his mind. It had been years—centuries—since he last felt anything close to peace.

"Why do you continue?"

The voice slithered through his thoughts, low and guttural. The creature within him, the one that had invaded his body all those years ago, stirred.

Zami didn't respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, letting it rest against the cool stone.

"Because I have no choice," he finally muttered.

The creature's laugh echoed in his mind. "You have the strength to leave this place. Yet you stay, hunting, training, repeating the same patterns. Are you seeking purpose? Or are you afraid of what lies beyond?"

The words struck a nerve. Zami clenched his fists, his breath quickening. The repetitive nature of his existence—the endless battles, the constant revival—it all weighed on him like an unyielding chain.

"Enough," he whispered, his voice trembling.

The creature fell silent, its presence receding.

Zami exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet. The sound of approaching creatures broke through his turmoil, drawing his focus.

They came in numbers—six, maybe seven—skittering across the cavern floor. Their distorted forms glistened in the dim light, each unique in its grotesque design.

Zami drew his dagger first, its familiar weight grounding him. The creatures spread out, surrounding him.

The first lunged, and Zami sidestepped, slashing upward with the dagger. *Spinal Fang*, a technique he'd honed over centuries, severed the creature's spine in one fluid motion. It collapsed, writhing before going still.

Another beast came at him from the side, but Zami was ready. He hurled the dagger, the weapon spinning through the air before lodging itself in the creature's eye—a perfect execution of *Venomous Flight*.

As the others closed in, Zami unsheathed his katana. The white symbols flared briefly as he moved into *Pierce*, the blade breaking the sound barrier as it thrust through two creatures at once.

The remaining beasts hesitated, but Zami didn't give them a chance to regroup. He shifted into *Multiple Slashes*, his movements precise and unrelenting. Each strike flowed into the next, cutting down the creatures in rapid succession.

The final beast attempted to flee, but Zami wasn't done. He retrieved his dagger, hurling it once more. The blade struck true, ending the creature before it could escape.

As the echoes of the battle faded, Zami stood amidst the carnage, his breath steady. He sheathed his katana and retrieved his dagger, wiping it clean on his cloak.

But the weight of the fight lingered. He sank to his knees, his weapons falling to the ground beside him. For a moment, the stoic mask he wore cracked. His hands trembled, his breathing ragged.

"How many times..." he whispered to himself. "How many times must I repeat this?"

The silence offered no answers. Only the faint glow of the fungi and the distant sound of dripping water remained.

Zami closed his eyes, willing himself to calm. He couldn't break—not here, not now. He picked up his weapons, his resolve hardening once more.

As he moved deeper into the colony, one thought lingered in his mind: *What would Juro have done in his place?*