The Brown Dirt Road

The Yakuza have their orders. Weapons drawn, they surround the lone man, smugly enjoying their confidence in the matter at hand. They gaze sharply with dark intentions at the man. His ragged straw hat casts a partial shadow over His emotionless face. His plain, loose fitting clothes suggest a life of modesty. What is a lowly peasant even doing with swords like those? Such a waste!
The boss, his arms folded, looks upon the scene intently. This shouldn't be very difficult. Odd... Not but a moment ago, the sun seemed to be setting. Just as it was about to complete its ritual of sinking beneath the depths of the landscape, it has suddenly stopped just short. The man and the gangsters pause, preparing for battle. The sun pauses with them. It was a very windy day. Now, the wind is dead. The dusky summer air grows thick with a stagnant humidity.
The first four raise their weapons, yelling fiercely, they charge at the man. His hands slowly creep to His sword. They slash wildly, He moves with slow finesse, dodging the blades by only a few centimeters. The gangsters cut nothing more than a blurry trail, and they stumble forward in surprise. He crouches ever so slightly. Quickly, there! He draws with blinding speed! A flash from the steel's reflection, He slashes about the backs of the clumsy attackers before they can move to block. He stands upright, His sword lowered. The overzealous attackers drop their weapons in horror. The boss is taken aback. The four shakily look to the man. As if acting on a queue, blood sprays chaotically from their torsos, and their bodies slide apart. The clean-cut fragments thud to the ground. The wind starts up again.
All at once, the gangsters run at the man screaming loudly. Blades swinging from all directions. He crouches, no trace of any expression. He swipes His sword upwards at an angle, spinning to the left, whipping a great behemoth of a cut through the crowd, creating a high-pitched howling "Whoosh," while His after-image trails closely behind. An ocean of blood bursts out from the masses of opened flesh into the air, creating a bloody downpour as the defeated fall to their knees. Clean-cut pieces of torsos, heads, and arms litter the brown dirt road.
He turns to the next section, their terror-stricken faces reflecting off of His blood coated blade. To say the least, the remainder is a bit disheartened. The man looks up, revealing His eyes. Dull, without shine, staring out into nothingness. His eyes are filled to the brim with ash. Ash from a mighty blaze, indeed, a fire that had burned all in it's path to the ground without mercy or compassion. The shaky gangsters drop their weapons, scattering in every direction. The sun finally resumes it's business, and continues to set again.

"COWARDS! COME BACK AND FINISH HIM!" Yells the boss.

The man now walks calmly to the boss. Ah, the boss is not so supreme now, is he? See how profusely he sweats! The boss widens his eyes, his weight on his heels. The boss throws his hands up, walking backwards fearfully.

"WH-WH-WAIT! I... I CAN GIVE YOU MONEY! DON'T YOU WANT TO BE RICH? PLEASE! JUST D-DON'T KILL ME!"

The man stops in front of the boss. This boss is the controller of nothing now. The ashes disappear from the man's eyes, and sentience begins to shine in His face. He looks at the boss.

"You will leave this land, all of you. If there are any others left in your gang, tell them. You will be their one and only warning. From now on, if I see any of your gang, I will kill them without hesitation. You have two days to leave before I see out your gathering places. Do not forget, and tell the others, I will kill every last one of them. Now, I want you to run for your life, as fast as you can. Go to them, and hurry, before I decide to kill you."

No living thing runs faster than when its life is in danger. The boss fades into the night's shadows. An ominous breeze rolls through the grass, rustling the trees. The wind would have kicked up dust from the brown dirt road, but now the dirt and blood have mixed into a thick, muddy concoction. He flicks some of the blood off His sword, pulls out an old rag, and slowly wipes the blade. Quietly, He guides the sword back into its sheath. He takes a deep breath. He exhales.

His clothes remain spotless, completely free of blood. He looks up at the stars. Night is so nice and peaceful. He moves on to the town ahead, down the brown dirt road... Should be a place to stay there.

~End of segment.