Ghostblade

The Slayers are the swordsmen doomed with the Ghost Arm. They each resist their curse in their own way, but in the end, they all meet the same fate: death. But sometimes, a miracle happens to a dying Slayer. The Ghostman Syndrome. A ghost would enter his body while it's in stasis between life and death, sharing the body with his own soul. Those who got caught up in such a bizarre twist of destiny become neither alive nor dead. Their body would turn ash gray with their Ghost Arm looking just as faded. They look as ghastly as a ghost, with no trace of life left in them. But still they would go on, swinging their swords. They're called the Ghostblades. The Ghostblade is a unique sort of Slayer that crosses the boundary between humans and the spirits. Creating a mortal bond with a warrior ghost moments before his death, the pale Ghostblade is a ghastly duo, weaving the Slayer's own deadly slashes with the ghosts' own attacks. I roamed the world for a long time. I swung my sword, just to release my aimless anger. I never bothered to look at those I cut down. I felt no remorse, either. A sharp scream, and then blood would splatter. The coppery smell of fresh hatred would fill the air as I mete out deadly punishment. I would leave the battlefield, leaving the enemies in death throes, their dying curses stabbing at my back like ice picks. Yaksha. How long has it been since I was last called that? I never showed mercy, no matter how desperately my enemies begged. I was so cruel and so apathetic. I moved from one battlefield to another, shedding blood to become the greatest of all swordsmen in the world. This man standing before me reminds me of myself when I was called the Yaksha... in life. But the subtle shaking of the tip of his sword... The last ounce of conscience left in him must still be fighting him. But it won't last long... - Yaksha's Monologue I see no boundary between good and evil. I only cut down those who get in my way. Dead men are evil; living men are good. The Rakshasa lives to destroy the world. Even if it makes me evil, I'll wear my mask and walk the path of the Rakshasa. - Rakshasa- I am watching someone. The one that was once called the Yaksha. The Yaksha is standing on the Pao hills. He is waiting for someone. It was surely someone's scheme. Thousands of ghosts surround him. Clearly not who he is waiting for. Now I see. They are the Tao family's... Like always, the Yaksha cut through the ghosts. As expected from the Yaksha. Watching his swordplay, I remembered a forgotten style. Yes, I once had battles like that. But he could not last long. Strength in numbers. On a mountain of corpses, the exhausted Yaksha falls too. From his heavy breath I can instinctly tell that these are his last. Even as his breath grew weaker he hears someone approaching and turns his head. It was the one he was waiting for, shouting something as he's coming. ""... Master! ...Master Mohan!"" So you're here, my pupil. You were a slave but also so talented. Maybe even more than Yashin... This is the end. I thought I had a satisfying life with my life on the blade for my whole life. But not being able to watch you grow And having the duel with you I dreamt of is so regrettable. Ah... is this how it ends. He turns his head and looks the sky. The cracked moon shines on the Yaksha. ""... No."" The scenery flowing in through the crevices of consciousness grows dimmer Only the last uttered word carves itself clearly in the mind. ... A dream. No... a memory. He stared at the swordsman who had become an emotionless fiend. One truly worthy of being called the fiend incarnate. As my memory returned thousands of swordplay came into mind And as he learns these he's becoming a fiend. How strange. ""Let's continue."" As I aimed my blade at him, he too unsheathed his. I could finally smile after for so long. This man would surely be able to fulfill my desires." Mohan is the Ghostface wearing half a mask.