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There was something about the sight of fresh blood on snow that delighted him - perhaps because he felt as though he was looking at his reflection. Although this time, it was not only the accents of his fur and clothes that colored him crimson.

It was unlike Ashura to relish a messy kill. The blood and dirt soiling his fur would normally have elicited a scowl, but not this time. Not lately at all, in fact. Instead, he grinned with satisfaction. This was not how the walker normally behaved; however, this was the first time that he had felt like his old self in a very long time.

His life used to be simpler, back when he only had to worry about himself. He could live every day like the past several: train to kill and kill to train. All for the sake of mastering his art. Back when he had the luxury of freedom, training an apprentice seemed so easy. If Ashura's foolish master could have honed his skills and trained him to be the technical killer that he is now, surely he could have accomplished the same by training his son, Genichiro. Yet Genichiro, with all the raw talent and potential of his father, was a waste of time, effort, and genetics. The child was hedonistic, defiant, and undisciplined. It was more than purewalker nature; he was a bad seed regardless of species. He was not worthy of being the successor to his father's legacy.

He deserved to die.

Though Genichiro was able to contest Ashura on physical prowess alone, he was no match for his father, and Ashura did not flinch as he struck down his firstborn son. He did not feel a twinge of sorrow, and the only regret he felt was the regret of investment. He had spent years of his life spent instructing that impetuous child - years of life wasted.

Years of life he needed to make up with his own training.

In the past, he sought out other purewalkers like himself for duels, believing that they were the only ones against which he could measure his skills. He would return to that quest once again, but, for now, anyone would do. It did not matter who they were, how much experience they had, if they would put up a fight or simply scream. He did not care.

He tilted head back to greet the snow as it began to fall once again, before he continued forward to hunt for his next opponent. So far, he had experienced great success. He had not grown too rusty. His moves were still swift and sharp, his technique remained precise, and he did not hesitate. He defeated every opponent with ease, starting with Genichiro.

He was perfect.

His ears pricked at the sound of movement ahead, easily discernible given the silence around him. Snow crunched lightly under hooves - another victim? He was in the mood for another fight, even if it was not a challenge. How could a non-walker Soquili be a challenge anyway?

He looked over his shoulder at his latest kill, a frightened mare who could only run and scream. She did not even try to defend herself from him. He scoffed. The non-walkers had no fight in them, and Ashura regarded them as little more than cattle - good only for food. They only had self-preservation instincts, unlike the walkers with their innate drive to kill. It was that instinct that separated them, and that instinct that made purewalkers the only true test of Ashura's abilities.

No matter, he loved fresh meat, and he certainly would not spare a Soquili because they were not a challenge to fight.

The mare came into view, pale and... different. She seemed as confident as himself, and composed, unfazed by the face of evil unlike others of her kind. His tails swayed with mild interest. He had encountered bold Soquili before, but they still regarded him with fear. Not this one. There was something different about her. He could not put his paw on it, but, at the same time, it mattered little. She was not a walker.

He continued toward her, head high, blood fresh on his fur and blade.

His interest was apparent on his face. He never understood the non-walker's need to fight, especially to defend others or futility attempt to wipe evil from the face of the land, both of which seemed to be this mare's intentions. It was amazing; his presence had silenced every creature in the vicinity, yet here was a challenger to protect the good from the wicked. She reminded him of his master, as sanctimonious as she was bold, and the very sight of her irritated him.

"Obviously," he stated plainly. He smiled slightly as she braced herself. Of course, she was too righteous to initiate the inevitable. "But you know that." He stopped, only a pace or two separating them. "You know what I am. You know what I do. You still came to challenge me." He was curious, too. Perhaps she could help him understand this odd behavior of non-walkers. Her scars were apparent, and the bandages on her wings stained with old, disgusting blood told him that this was not her first duel. She must have been successful enough in her battles to live as long as she had. "Why?"

Irritation rapidly swelled, and a mad laugh erupted from his chest expressing his rage. She could have told him that she wished to exact revenge for the one he had killed and he would have been satisfied. Instead, she lectured him on evil, darkness, light, and redemption. It was difficult for Ashura to believe so many of these priggish fools roamed these lands, and that they were all so eager to interfere with his very existence. Before he could even open his eyes, someone else took it upon himself to rectify him. From then, he continued to encounter others with similar aims, as was the case here.

Why did they believe they needed to fashion him in a way that suited their world? This world was as much his as it was theirs, and yet they could not let him be. They were selfish, more selfish than he — and the worst part was that they were dishonest about it. He did not dictate how others should live their lives; he did not demand that others change. He abided by the laws of nature that this girl intended to defy. The weak perish, and the strong survive. That is evolution, and he was merely expediting the process while on his mission to be the greatest killer in this godforsaken world.

"Your mission is stupid." He practically snarled the sentence, fire evident in his eyes.

He moved like lighting, incredibly powerful and swift. His blade only added to that image, the cold light of the moon flashing off its length as it cut through the air, soaring at the Angeni before him.

Perhaps she was right, and they were not so different. They both walked the paths determined by their births. He could not fault her for foolhardy mission; however, he would not allow her or those like her to prevent him from becoming who he was meant to be.

Her counter came as a surprise. Though it was clear that she would be a more capable opponent than what he expected of most non-skinwalkers, he did not expect her to rival his speed... or his strength.

He had never absorbed a full kick of a Soquili. Purewalkers did not fight this way. They were sharp, favoring rending flesh rather than injuring through blunt force. The Soquili that he had killed up until now were also nowhere near as ferocious as purewalkers, and never posed much of a challenge for Ashura. He would have to adapt this mare, and immediately. There was no time for thought in a duel, only action and reaction.

Pain was an invention of the mind, and he had learned to focus on the fight rather than the noise from his nerves. He could remain numb to injuries that did not cripple him, at least for now.

Her words succeeded the pain, and he released a short, rough laugh. He could not speak well with the hilt of his blade in his mouth, nor did he desire to do so. The duel would determine who would be pitied... no, it would not. He could not pity anyone. The slain were not meant to survive, and the world would continue to turn without them. That was reality, and it was evident that this mare needed a reminder of that cruel truth.

The power of her kick threw him off balance, but he did not withstand the blow. That would only increase the force of the attack. Instead, he flowed with her, maintaining his momentum, redirecting it as he pivoted around to face her again. The movement was smooth, and followed into a new slash to which the Angeni would need to respond.

As he retaliated, he saw the blood dripping down her side. It appears as though she knew how to numb herself to pain during combat as well. Perhaps this was a lesson for him, to not underestimate his opponents, even if they were not skinwalkers. Still, the fight had only just begun, and, just as she had revealed that she was no ordinary Soquili, he would demonstrate that he was far more formidable than the ordinary skinwalker.

She backed off, intending to widen the space between them. Had he been able, he would have smiled. The Angeni was not accustomed to defending herself against a sword. It was uncommon for Soquili to wield weapons, as it took an incredible amount of time to master - time that Ashura had invested in his craft. While he, too, was not as accustomed to fighting an opponent such as herself, he seemed to be adapting faster. Even after absorbing her counter, he was answering with his own. Right now, he controlled the fight, his offense crisp and controlled.

He did not need to finish his previous swing, instead pushing off his paws towards the mare. Thrust attacks were rather difficult to execute; however, he had perfected the technique. The steel whistled through the air, aimed directly at his foe.

Suddenly, the world went white. The Elder summoned a blinding white light that illuminated everything in front of her, enveloping the skinwalker. Although it did not cause him external injury, it seared what he would call his soul. His insides burned, and he was in intense agony. The white walker screamed something feral, dropping his sword.

Blind and burning, he staggered backwards.

There was nothing he could do now. He had never faced an attack like this. He had never faced an opponent like this.

She was greater than any foe he had faced -- she was greater than he. All that time he trained, he fixated on killing pure skinwalkers like himself. Until now, he believed they were the best fighters in the land due to their bloodthirsty nature.

While the light continued to smolder his insides, he opened his eyes. Although his vision was still incredibly blurred, he made out the figure of the Elder Angeni before him. He understood a truth of life as he fell to the ground:

The skinwalkers he had obsessed over were only decent fighters due to practice. Their bloodlust ensured that most of them fought regularly. Similar to Ashura, skinwalkers trained to kill in their own way.

However, they were not the only beings who were adept fighters. Great fighters roamed in the land because they trained to fight as well, and this Angeni was one of them.

The kitsune's vision faded to black, his eyes rolling back into his head as he lost consciousness. If he survived this, he would wake a changed skinwalker, with a new path. No longer would he focus solely on kiling skinwalkers. In order to be greatest killer in the land, he would have to be able to kill every foe, regardless of who they were.

And he would do so...