Maybe, one day, he'd understand. For now, he just knew.
Death is finite. You live, you die, you live, you die, it is all just a cycle. Nobody even bothered disposing of his body, and now it did not need to be disposed of: he was in it again, he was roaming, and he was fighting. Grave robbers? He fought them, and they stood no chance. His return had rejuvenated him, made him stronger than he thought possible. He had broken through everything that held him back, and he was stronger than everything and everyone he knew. Everyone he knew knew it.
Sometimes, you just want to take a break. Sometimes, you just want to put your head down and forget about everything. Shinbatsu was not in that position. All Shinbatsu wanted to do right now was serve. Dodge, block, clap, the man was on the ground. Spring, lunge, grapple, smack, the second no longer knew his name. Dodge, weave, punch, one had accidentally murdered the other and the first was on the floor breathless. Shinbatsu grabbed him by his hair and dragged him across the cemetery until his hair was ripped out, and then he dragged him by the arm and that was pulled out in the process. He hung him off the cliff by one ankle, questioned him, no response. He lifted him by his privates and made him forget he had anything to protect. Whatever. He killed the man.
Food processing is a thing in some countries, but not in Wind. Shinbatsu sat at a local butcher shop and watched as the man behind the counter handled the meat. He must have thought of himself as a real man. Yeah, cut that cow, Shinbatsu thought. Hit it! Hit it again! You are such a hot-shot. Wait, was he a zombie? He stopped to think about it. He was a zombie, wasn't he? Yeah, he was. Zombies ate brains. Shinbatsu was behind the butcher, tearing his skull open. Wait, no he wasn't. He was still behind the counter, blinking his eyes at the man handling his meat. Was he a zombie? Of course not! Why would he ever think that? He got up to leave, but then he remembered that he had not yet picked up his meat. He waited for it.
Now now, dead people everywhere. Why was it always so difficult? He was stronger, stronger, so much stronger! The boundaries had been broken-- there was no fear, no limit, no inhibition, it was just him, the world, and his (dead) enemies. He sat down to write his book, but his focus did not last long. He was alive. He was alive! Everyone had told him he was dead, but he was alive! Wait, nobody had told him he was dead. He had just died. It had just happened, and everybody had neglected to bring him back. Shinbatsu frowned. The truth was that nobody cared. The truth was that he was the strongest man in the universe. The truth was that he was the strongest man in the universe and not only did nobody care, but nobody even knew it.
He was awesome.
Death is finite. You live, you die, you live, you die, it is all just a cycle. Nobody even bothered disposing of his body, and now it did not need to be disposed of: he was in it again, he was roaming, and he was fighting. Grave robbers? He fought them, and they stood no chance. His return had rejuvenated him, made him stronger than he thought possible. He had broken through everything that held him back, and he was stronger than everything and everyone he knew. Everyone he knew knew it.
Sometimes, you just want to take a break. Sometimes, you just want to put your head down and forget about everything. Shinbatsu was not in that position. All Shinbatsu wanted to do right now was serve. Dodge, block, clap, the man was on the ground. Spring, lunge, grapple, smack, the second no longer knew his name. Dodge, weave, punch, one had accidentally murdered the other and the first was on the floor breathless. Shinbatsu grabbed him by his hair and dragged him across the cemetery until his hair was ripped out, and then he dragged him by the arm and that was pulled out in the process. He hung him off the cliff by one ankle, questioned him, no response. He lifted him by his privates and made him forget he had anything to protect. Whatever. He killed the man.
Food processing is a thing in some countries, but not in Wind. Shinbatsu sat at a local butcher shop and watched as the man behind the counter handled the meat. He must have thought of himself as a real man. Yeah, cut that cow, Shinbatsu thought. Hit it! Hit it again! You are such a hot-shot. Wait, was he a zombie? He stopped to think about it. He was a zombie, wasn't he? Yeah, he was. Zombies ate brains. Shinbatsu was behind the butcher, tearing his skull open. Wait, no he wasn't. He was still behind the counter, blinking his eyes at the man handling his meat. Was he a zombie? Of course not! Why would he ever think that? He got up to leave, but then he remembered that he had not yet picked up his meat. He waited for it.
Now now, dead people everywhere. Why was it always so difficult? He was stronger, stronger, so much stronger! The boundaries had been broken-- there was no fear, no limit, no inhibition, it was just him, the world, and his (dead) enemies. He sat down to write his book, but his focus did not last long. He was alive. He was alive! Everyone had told him he was dead, but he was alive! Wait, nobody had told him he was dead. He had just died. It had just happened, and everybody had neglected to bring him back. Shinbatsu frowned. The truth was that nobody cared. The truth was that he was the strongest man in the universe. The truth was that he was the strongest man in the universe and not only did nobody care, but nobody even knew it.
He was awesome.