RESET

[nightburst]

TITLE: RESET
FANDOM: Sengoku BASARA
CHARACTERS: Mouri Motonari, Chousokabe Motochika
WARNINGS: Character death, gore.
WORD COUNT: 6,038
CHAPTERS: 1/1
SUMMARY: There were many timelines in which they died and many where they killed each other; there was never a timeline where Chousokabe Motochika and Mouri Motonari could get along.




[ TAKE ONE ]

The board is fresh, the players new. So much potential, such roiling energy eagerly waiting to be unleashed. There’s nothing to do but watch and see where their passion takes them; to see whose destinies intertwine, and what those ties create. What happens next is anyone’s guess. What happens next may forever alter all future outcomes.

There is clashing by the Seto Inland Sea.

These players have set their fate in motion, and there is no stopping it.

[ TAKE SEVEN ]

The count is four to Mouri and three to Chousokabe. There is little in the way of any meaningful verbal exchanges between the two. Each blow delivered is its own kind of communication, but the only thing being communicated is the mutual desire to emerge the victor. Fire meets fire, casting a vivid glow on the churning waters of ocean that surrounds them. Mouri kills Chousokabe for the fifth time and spends the rest of the evening conducting himself as if what happened here hardly mattered.

It didn’t, to him.

When the sun dips fully below the horizon, the world resets.

[ TAKE NINE ]

Chousokabe roars as he swings his mighty anchor; it collides with Mouri’s head, his skull fracturing upon impact. The death score is now an even five to five. Chousokabe celebrates his victory with the men, drinking greedily and laughing heartily, knowing that his fallen men can rest easy knowing their Aniki has avenged them.

The world resets as Chousokabe closes his one eye for the night.

[ TAKE TEN ]

Mouri and Chousokabe don’t kill each other this time.

Chousokabe is felled by Date Masamune, and Mouri succumbs to the might of the Takeda forces.

Azure and crimson face off beneath a rising half-moon. The world resets before they clash.

[ TAKE FOURTEEN ]

Oda Nobunaga attempts to seize the board. Mouri and Chousokabe cannot fight amongst themselves while they are defending their homes from this greater threat.

When the Devil King is slain, Chousokabe and his men return to their base, exhausted but proud to have lived another day. They grin ear to ear for having protected what is theirs. This night will surely be a good one.

-- Mouri has planned two steps ahead; a group of his pawns have been lying here in wait, anticipating Chousokabe’s arrival. They ambush the weakened forces, killing them all in a hail of arrows. Chousokabe never even sees the coldly calculating face of the man who orchestrated his demise.

The world resets as pirate blood spills.

[ TAKE FIFTEEN ]

Mouri is not the only one with an ace up his sleeve. He never is.

A tall, four-legged machine snaps a wounded Mouri’s command baton in half, and just as quickly snaps his spine as it crushes him beneath its massive foot. The robot’s sheer power has rendered moot all of Mouri’s scheming and plotting in a matter of seconds.

If anything proves Chousokabe’s inventions are more than mere toys, it’s this.

Chousokabe’s mechanical behemoth stomps forward, leaving bloody footprints behind. The world resets.

[ TAKE SIXTEEN ]

Sixteen timelines later, they are no closer to an understanding than when they began. They die trying to kill one another; both drown at the pitch-black bottom of the Seto Inland Sea. Mouri’s men look on with anxiety, unable to speak. Chousokabe’s men shout for their Aniki, voices unheard.

The board is flipped. The world changes.

[ TAKE SEVENTEEN ]

When reality is overwritten, brand new players enter the arena. Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s strength and Takenaka Hanbei’s cunning make the Toyotomi a force to be reckoned with.

Mouri exchanges his command baton for curved blades that connect to form a deadly ring, and his power over fire is exchanged for a command over light. Motochika, on the other hand, remains largely the same.

They have a common enemy in the Toyotomi, but it does not unite them. They are, instead, annihilated.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi takes control of the board and the world resets to its new beginning point.

[ TAKE NINETEEN ]

Chousokabe feels for the first time that he’s getting some meaningful insight into the mind of Mouri Motonari.

And Mouri’s mind is a cold, horrible place.

It’s not devoid of emotion. He can see that there’s anger (directed entirely towards him). There’s defensiveness. There’s a sense of wounded pride. Turns out Mouri is a human being after all.

But mostly there’s a hollowness to him. Friends might fill that void. Mouri doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who has any. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who wants any.

Chousokabe kills Mouri and thinks it’s a damn shame. What a wasted life.

The world resets.

[ TAKE TWENTY ]

Chousokabe Motochika is a worthless cretin who has no right whatsoever to judge any aspect of Mouri Motonari’s life.

He cuts Chousokabe down and all but spits on his corpse.

The world resets.

[ TAKE TWENTY-ONE ]

Chousokabe wonders why Mouri is the way he is. Was he always so detached and uncaring? Was there ever a Mouri capable of empathy? Compassion? And if there were, does he still exist somewhere inside of him, if only as a mere shadow of what once was?

Doesn’t Mouri ever feel regret? Doesn’t he ever feel lonely?

How could anyone be happy living the way he does?

Chousokabe can say for sure that Mouri is not a happy person.

He says it, and the last thing he sees is the whirl of Mouri’s blades before they saw into his body.

The world resets.

[ TAKE TWENTY-TWO ]

Takenaka Hanbei has seen through his facade. Akechi Mitsuhide has seen through his facade.

Mouri cannot accept it when Chousokabe sees through his facade.

But Chousokabe is not seeing through his facade so much as he’s shattering it into tiny pieces simply by being present. Mouri cannot pretend to be calm or composed in front of Chousokabe Motochika and his damnable pity. Mouri cannot control his temper now, and that makes him vulnerable.

He’s shouting louder than he can ever remember, lunging at Chousokabe when heavy steel slams into his ribs with blunt, brutal force. He can hear his bones cracking, splitting, snapping --

His vision goes dark before he even hits the ground. Chousokabe swings his anchor back over his shoulder. He sighs.

The world resets.

[ TAKE TWENTY-THREE ]

His way of life is not painful.

He isn’t lonely.

He wants to be alone.

That is his happiness.

Chousokabe is dead, but Mouri tells him anyway because Chousokabe is wrong, and he has no right, no right whatsoever --

One of his men asks if he's alright, and Mouri kills him too.

The world resets.

[ TAKE TWENTY-FOUR ]

Mouri’s men don’t seem to know how to react to his death. He’s their leader, and he terrifies them. He rules well, and they know they are his pawns, and it’s all right, but it’s not.

He keeps the peace, they’re loyal to him, and they feel some kind of relief when they watch the pirate kill him because now they might be more certain they’ll live to see another day.

Chousokabe shakes his head. He would hate for his men to feel the way these guys do.

The world resets.

[ TAKE TWENTY-NINE ]

Mouri does not understand Chousokabe, and he does not care. Chousokabe is not worth thinking about.

Chousokabe understands Mouri enough to say that he does not understand Mouri at all. His eyes are cold and empty. He views his men not as brothers, but as pieces on a game board to be utilized and discarded as need be. His contentment is what anyone else would call misery. There’s enough room in his heart for the sun, yet no place for his fellow human beings.

They fight, they die, they do not understand, and the world is revised.

[ TAKE THIRTY ]

In this new world, a sorrowful shadow is cast over the board. Many of the players are swept away, and their loss is keenly felt.

The once overlooked Tokugawa Ieyasu is given new life, a new role, and has grown up strong and brave. Ishida Mitsunari is introduced in the absence of Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Takenaka Hanbei, and is filled with hatred and despair in equal measure.

In this revised world, there is a mutual grudge between Mouri Motonari and Chousokabe Motochika, an inevitable outcome of the hostility that has accumulated over the course of the previous timelines. Yet with the status quo so shaken and the future so uncertain, they have ostensibly found themselves on the same side.

Mouri has changed since the last major reset, an older and wiser man. His facade has settled in well, indistinguishable from the rest of him. Perhaps it has become his true self, and now he is ice all the way through. Chousokabe has changed, too. He came home to find that the men he held dear were slaughtered while his back was turned, and he’s never felt pain so great, or guilt this raw.

It’s not his fault.

It sure as hell feels like it is.

He does not shoulder the blame alone.

Tokugawa Ieyasu is the one who snuffed out their lives and planted his own goddamn flag above the corpses he left behind.

How could Tokugawa Ieyasu have become so wicked? Why would that hopeful young man with so much heart and promise leave such betrayal in his wake?

Why indeed, thinks Mouri, as he watches Chousokabe strike out on the warpath, leaving no doubt as to why he deserves the title of the one and only Sea Devil.

And "why" is what Chousokabe asks himself as he turns away from Tokugawa’s unmoving body. Their shared memories replay in his head over and over and over.

Chousokabe Motochika still breathes, but Mouri has killed him nonetheless.

The world resets to its new beginning point.

[ TAKE THIRTY-ONE ]

The Western Army’s key players rendezvous for one last time before the battle of Sekigahara. It will be Ishida, not Chousokabe, who ultimately takes Tokugawa’s life. It won’t come as a surprise to Chousokabe. He knows how deeply Ishida’s hatred runs. But those events have not yet come to pass.

In the here and now, Chousokabe and Mouri must tolerate each other’s presence. As soon as all this is over, their feud will pick up where it left off.

Mouri feels a pounding ache in his head whenever Chousokabe is near him. It escalates until he feels like his skull is going to split open, bone and brain matter spilling out onto the ground. Black dots fade in and out at the edges of his vision.

Got a headache from thinking too hard, eh, Mouri?

Chousokabe’s voice. Distant, distorted, as if heard from underwater. Mouri looks up, glaring ferociously.

You.

He’s not sure if he’s speaking aloud.

( Heavy impact, a blow to the skull, a burst of white-hot pain and then darkness. )

You did this.

Mouri's vision cuts out, and he never learns if the west triumphs over the east.

The world resets.

[ TAKE THIRTY-TWO ]

Mouri offers a truce. Mouri is also a slimy son of a bitch. Chousokabe decides to meet with Mouri in person before he makes the decision to accept or deny it, and is on the offensive as he breaches Mouri’s territory. Some things are better communicated with weapons than with words; if this is a trap he’s walking into, some “clever” scheme of Mouri’s, he’s more than prepared to fire back with everything he’s got.

And through the striking of steel against steel, the truth will come to light.

Chousokabe is at last convinced of Mouri’s honesty. They stand across from one another, their fighting having come to an end. They collect themselves, and it is quiet.

Staring Mouri down tugs at a memory, one that Chousokabe can feel but can’t recall with clarity. It’s right there in front of him, just out of reach. The hazy image of a younger Mouri, an angrier Mouri, in a place like this but not quite. A voice he recognizes as his own speaking words he’s never said. Has he?

Isn’t this painful? Aren’t you lonely?

Chousokabe doubts Mouri will ever willingly abandon this empty way of life. He’ll never seek the companionship of another out of want or need. Chousokabe has known Mouri for far too long to hold his breath expecting anything else from him. Was there ever a time he’d hoped his foe could change for the better?

If there was, when did he finally give up that hope?

“Is now the time to be reminiscing, Chousokabe?”

Mouri’s voice is so measured you could almost miss the condescension in it. Chousokabe’s mind snaps back to the present.

They’ve said all that needs to be said. Chousokabe takes his leave, and feels the phantom sensation of whirling blades tearing into his skin.

The world resets.

[ TAKE THIRTY-SIX ]

It’s taken the past six timelines for everything to fall into place for Mouri. He doesn’t realize the trial and error he’s gone through up to this point -- if this happens, then this too will follow, but this x must not be allowed until y occurs, so on and so forth -- but it’s imprinted on his subconscious mind, as is the feeling, no, the knowledge that this is the run he has been waiting for.

When the time is right, he betrays the Western Army, attacking its very heart. Otani is driven to rage on behalf of Ishida, his precious Achilles heel. Mouri is impassive as he hears out Otani’s rage, as he ends Otani’s miserable life, as he watches his body and the palanquin carrying it clatter unceremoniously to the floor.

One down, two to go.

Ishida howls with grief and outrage. Mouri wonders what they expected when they let a snake into their home. Is it not their own fault for ignoring their suspicions and lending him their trust? Mouri will give this puppet commander credit for one thing: correctly concluding where this bloodbath is heading. But there is nothing Ishida can do about it, and he dies unable to have helped Otani or Chousokabe.

Two down, one to go.

Mouri arrives in Shikoku. He feels the drive to continue onward; the determination to execute these carefully laid plans; anticipation of a Chugoku guaranteed absolute peace and a country securely under his control. Yet Chousokabe is not so important a man that Mouri feels the need to rush towards their inevitable confrontation. That would be a kindness, and Chousokabe Motochika is a creature unworthy of such consideration.

The fortress is too dark for Mouri’s liking, and he supposes that makes it a suitable grave for a pirate. Or several hundred. Chousokabe’s soldiers are loyal. They will fight to the last man. Mouri, too, will fight to the last man. His own or Chousokabe’s. It matters not.

Chousokabe’s men are appalled by him and all that he’s done, and they don’t even know the half of it. They don’t understand how the blood on his hands and the cruelty of betrayal don’t gnaw at his conscience, or how could he, how dare he kill their captain’s newest friend.

( Both the same breed of idiot, Mouri thinks. )

He regards those men as if they are but insects. He sees no individual faces staring back at him. He sees obstacles to be surmounted, sacrificial pawns. Killing them is effortless. Mouri avoids Chousokabe’s childish traps with similar ease. Neither manpower nor machine can halt Mouri’s progress. Everything falls before the child of the sun, just as it should.

He lays waste to the final contraption standing in his way, and from the smoke and flaming wreckage emerges Chousokabe himself, his anchor slung over his shoulder.

One to go.

Chousokabe regards Mouri with nothing less than absolute disgust, as if he did not think Mouri could sink any lower than he already has.

( For a pirate to think he has any right to judge anyone else’s morality... How hypocritical. )

What Chousokabe does not know is that Mouri can go lower still.

Chousokabe will be dead before the sun sets. No matter what happens next, that will not change. So there is no need for Mouri to tell Chousokabe the truth about Shikoku. It is unnecessary. Optional.

But Mouri Motonari knows no mercy. He will twist the knife and pour salt into the wound, because it’s high time Chousokabe Motochika found out how senseless Tokugawa’s death was. Mouri and Otani may have set the events in motion, but Chousokabe’s decision to raise his weapon and embrace his self-righteous rage was his alone, was it not?

He has no one to blame but himself.

Mouri draws upon the power of the great sun and delivers his final blow.

Chousokabe dies a broken man.

Mouri’s eyes linger on his slain foe’s charred body.

For the briefest of instances their surroundings warp; Chousokabe’s body still lies before him, but his wounds are different, and he has bled out so much more. He has fallen by the sea. The foamy ocean waves are lapping his body, blood and water mingling together. Mouri can feel the hot sun on his back. He can see the vivid blue of the sky that surrounds them, so bright and clear against the carnage that has taken place beneath it.

He blinks hard. It disappears. He is standing in the chilly darkness of Chousokabe’s fortress. He never left.

It was a vision. Of something... else. Somewhere else. Why would he see such a thing?

He cannot let himself be distracted by a -- hallucination? No. He must focus on what happens next. There is no one left to stand in his way. All that he has worked for has come to fruition.

Mouri tries to forget the vision as he exits the fortress, neatly bypassing the corpses strewn across the floor.

Then, those corpses are outside, dead on a beach, surrounded by curious seabirds that take to the sky at the sight of Mouri’s now halting approach.

He shakes his head to dispel the vision and does not stop moving until he is outside once more. He steps into the sunlight, partially blinded by the sudden brightness, and spots Chousokabe’s blurry silhouette standing across from him.

“Vanish beneath the rays of the great sun, apparition!” Mouri commands.

When his eyes adjust completely, he finds himself alone once more. Are these strange visions Chousokabe’s final act of defiance? If so, how pitiful. Mouri refuses to let them unsettle him -- rather, to acknowledge that they have already.

Images superimposed from alternate realities continue to flicker in and out of sight as the world resets.

[ TAKE THIRTY-SEVEN ]

For some reason, when Chousokabe removes the flag bearing Tokugawa’s crest from a pile of his men’s bodies, he is consumed with doubt. He’s holding the evidence of Tokugawa’s crime right here in his hands, but deep inside, he is not convinced of Ieyasu’s guilt. The kind of man who could do a thing like this is not the kind of man Ieyasu could ever be.

The more he thinks on it, the more certain he becomes. This is someone else’s ruse, and somewhere out there is the real perpetrator. He vows that he will find them.

On his own, Chousokabe does not discover the full truth, though he comes close.

And he is only going to get closer.

The world resets.

[ TAKE THIRTY-EIGHT ]

Had he any remaining suspicions about Ieyasu, they would have melted away the moment he looked him in the eye. Ieyasu’s heart has not been tarnished, only his reputation, and that will be set to rights the minute Chousokabe finds the bastard responsible for all of this suffering and ends him. With Sayaka’s invaluable help, that day comes sooner than expected.

Ishida Mitsunari. Otani Yoshitsugu. Mouri Motonari.

Mouri Motonari.

Snippets of a conversation Chousokabe’s never had whisper in his ears.

He is not surprised by Mouri’s involvement. If anything, he was expecting this to be the case. A man who can’t even treat his own soldiers right will offer no mercy to anyone else’s.

Ieyasu objects to one name on the list of guilty parties; he is convinced of Ishida’s innocence. Chousokabe resolves to ascertain the truth for himself. Before long, he is standing at the gates of Osaka Castle, the moon above bright and round.

He meets Otani first.

Otani Yoshitsugu is corrupted to the bone. There is no saving him, no redeeming him, not that Chousokabe came here with the intent of making better men out of the monsters who slaughtered his comrades. Otani admits his guilt without one shred of remorse, only regretting that he could not ensnare Chousokabe as he so wished to do. Chousokabe brings down his blazing anchor and Otani’s misery ends.

Chousokabe confronts Ishida.

Ishida Mitsunari fights like a demon in the name of a dead man Chousokabe never particularly liked, and in vengeful fury he cries out for Ieyasu’s blood. Even so, he is not corrupted -- not beyond repair. His only crime is trusting Otani, and if a man can’t trust his own friends, then what can he trust?

When he learns the truth, Ishida tosses his sword to Chousokabe and offers up his life without hesitation. Had Chousokabe held any remaining doubt as to Ishida’s innocence, it would have shattered then and there.

Chousokabe spares Ishida because he deserves mercy. Someday, he hopes Ishida will understand.

There is only one thing left to do now.

Chousokabe must kill Mouri.

Mouri Motonari, who masterminded the tragedy in Shikoku, who manipulates others for his own gain, who does not care how many lives he ruins so long as he gets what he wants, who will stab you in the back and then pour salt into the wound without batting an eye.

Mouri Motonari, who knows no mercy.

Mouri Motonari, who is not above consequences.

It’s about time he faced them.

Soft shades of pink and lavender make up the morning sky when Chousokabe arrives in Itsukushima, the sun not yet fully risen. Chousokabe wishes he could outrace it. Mouri doesn’t deserve to see his precious sun one last time before he dies. Not when Chousokabe never got the chance to say his final goodbyes to all his slain men. It isn’t right and it isn’t fair. If life were fair, he wouldn’t even be here right now.

If there is no fairness, then Chousokabe will make sure there is at least justice. He charges forth, but not before he hears the muffled, cranking noises of machinery hard at work and the cool, damp air of his fortress brush against his skin. Heh. Now’s not the time for reminiscing...

The “children of the sun” are no match for Chousokabe. He plows through the first wave of men and makes it to the grand Torii gate with ease. The ante is upped when Mouri’s Solar Nexus and its lethal rays come into play, but the risk of burning alive or worse does not shake his resolve. It’s really a neat contraption Mouri’s got here. Chousokabe thinks he’ll take it for himself.

He just barely dodges one of the beams. His fluttering jacket sleeve gets caught in its path and is badly singed. The smell of burning fabric evokes a memory so vivid he can almost see it playing out in front of him. No, not almost. He can. He stands across from Mouri Motonari, a ball of white light coalescing above Mouri’s head. Mouri extends his hand as if issuing a command, Chousokabe sees the light beam surge towards him with blistering speed, and then -- nothing.

But that has never happened. Has it?

He’s broken out of his thoughts when the mirror-focused beam comes for him again. Chousokabe attacks the nearby camp and seizes the first Solar Nexus.

What the hell was that daydream about?

He can’t get it out of his head by the time he reaches the camp controlling the second Solar Nexus. Soon, that one too is his and...

He hears an exchange echoing in the back of his head.

Th-then, who did it?!

Making it look like Tokugawa work... That battle was entirely planned by me!

His voice. Mouri’s voice.

Why was Chousokabe so confident of Ieyasu’s innocence? Why didn’t that flag amidst the corpses shake his faith? Why didn’t he take the bait, this time?

...This time?

Where did that thought come from?

Chousokabe’s grip on his anchor tightens. The gears in his head begin turning.

He may not be the “genius” Mouri is, but that doesn’t make him an idiot.

Mouri’s men are rushing towards him now. Chousokabe has gone far enough. They cannot permit him to advance any further. The gears do not stop even as Chousokabe throws himself into the fight. Mouri’s men cannot so much as touch him, but Chousokabe can feel razor-sharp blades digging into him all the same, and he can hear himself asking:

Isn’t this painful? Aren’t you lonely?

Don’t you regret anything?

Chousokabe takes out a whole row of soldiers with one broad swing of his anchor. They’re knocked back, they collapse, they bleed, and Chousokabe remembers turning away from Ieyasu after he struck him down, blinded by rage.

But that never happened. Did it?

He reaches the third Solar Nexus. It falls into Chousokabe’s hands as easily as the first two. Being a pirate means that snatching up what doesn’t belong to him is his specialty. He wonders if Mouri’s starting to get frustrated yet, or if he’s managed to keep his cool. He wants to see that smug bastard lose his composure and act like a human being for once.

-- He remembers when the Western Army reconvened, how he found Mouri clutching his head, knuckles white. Chousokabe had said something smart, and Mouri had not been amused.

You, he had snarled, swaying unsteadily, struggling to keep his gaze on Chousokabe; his hand had twitched for his ringblade, lying out of reach in the dirt below him.

You did this.

Chousokabe hadn’t done a damn thing to Mouri (he had thought, and was suddenly no longer certain) but the next thing he knew, Mouri was on the ground, and if he was dead or alive, well, Chousokabe wasn’t sure of that either.

And that? That, too, did not happen, none of it, but if that’s true, why does he remember it so vividly now? He can still smell the air of that night. It had been cold, tolerably so, because he could just conjure up a fire to warm himself up when it got too bitter out. He had been impatient for the morning to come. He had wanted to kill Ieyasu so badly. He wanted vengeance. No quarter for the man who broke his trust and destroyed all he held dear.

That memory is like a bad dream he’s awoken from.

No. That’s not it. It’s like a memory that becomes a nightmare so it’s never forgotten. So he never forgets what he wanted to do to Ieyasu.

But none of that ever happened.

Had it?

Has his grief finally driven him to madness?

Or could it be that maybe, this is because...

...

There’s only one person who can confirm his suspicions.

Chousokabe rallies his men; they take the fourth Solar Nexus.

And Chousokabe confronts Mouri at last.

Mouri stands with an air of regality, encircled by the ringblade he holds aloft with one hand. He offers Chousokabe nothing more than an aside glance.

“Can’t even look me in the eye after what you’ve done?” asks Chousokabe, sauntering forward. One hand is in his pocket, the other holding the anchor balanced over his shoulder.

“You are but a pest,” Mouri replies, staring at something interesting in the distance. “Unworthy of my attention.”

Chousokabe laughs. There's no humor in it.

It’s time for Chousokabe to test his theory. If he’s wrong about this, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care what Mouri thinks of him -- and he’s going to put him in the ground one way or another.

“Say, Mouri..." he begins, slowly and casually. “Remember when you had my men killed, and made Ieyasu take the fall?”

He takes another step forward. Mouri glances in his direction.

“I do not,” Mouri says.

“No? How about when how you screwed over everyone in the Western Army and then came to my fortress to gloat?”

“You sound delusional.”

“Maybe,” Chousokabe says, “but I don’t think I’m wrong.”

“Imbeciles like yourself are always foolishly confident.”

Chousokabe lets that roll right off his back.

“How 'bout this, then..." He steps forward again, and Mouri swings his ringblade; Chousokabe parries it with his anchor. “You ever get a headache from thinking too hard, Mouri?"

Mouri says nothing, but for an instant, he freezes. Chousokabe keeps up his conversational tone.

“I remember you blamed me for that “headache”."

“You are talking nonsense."

“Thought it was strange, but now I’m starting to think I know why.”

“Your inane chatter is -- ”

“I killed you, didn’t I? In some past life, I killed you.”

“That is absurd,” Mouri says.

“And you've killed me,” Chousokabe continues. “Do you remember what I asked you, once? ‘Isn’t this painful? Aren’t you lonely? Don’t you regret --’ ”

Mouri’s hackles rise. He inhales sharply, and this is when Chousokabe knows his suspicions have been confirmed.

“Well?”

“What of it?” Mouri asks after a brief pause. He speaks with composure, but Chousokabe would guess it's forced. Mouri's ringblade is still scraping against Chousokabe’s anchor. “If we have clashed in previous lives, it means nothing in the present.”

Chousokabe has never hated anyone more than he hates Mouri now.

“Oh, yeah? You sure about that? 'Cause see, you’ve killed my men three times over at the very least.” Chousokabe punctuates that thought by breaking the contact between the anchor and ringblade, then lunging at Mouri. Mouri sidesteps quickly, swinging his ringblade around himself once more. He jumps backwards, putting some distance between then.

“So you damn well better believe it matters to me," Chousokabe continues. "You've got a few lifetime's worth of my men's blood on your hands. I’m gonna make you pay for all of it.” He stabs the anchor right into the ground.

“And what of your own sins?” Mouri asks, narrowing his eyes. “Did I not spell them out clearly enough for you last time?”

“I remember.” He does, now, with such clarity it hurts. “I’m making up for the blood on my hands too. I’m learning from my mistakes. Too bad you’ll never do the same.”

“This is useless, Chousokabe. Killing me in the past has accomplished nothing, and it will accomplish nothing now. We will return to this same song and dance soon enough.”

How many times has it been? How many times have they fought to the death? For every scene Chousokabe remembers in full there are so many more bits and pieces of fragmented memories floating through his head. A flash of green, a drop of red, the glint of metal in the sun. Fresh air, stinging pain. The calls of seabirds, the cries of soldiers. The impenetrable darkness that lies deep beneath the waves.

They have done this so many times, haven’t they?

He will not let that break his resolve. What happened in the past matters. What will happen now matters. Even if he‘s the only one who remembers, and even if he forgets -- it matters.

“I owe my men revenge. I’ll kill you as many times as you’ve ruined the lives of everybody around you.”

“...Hmph." Mouri swings his ringblade over his head and out in front of him in a fluid motion. “Then will you have this pointless death-match commence, and stop wasting my time?”

“If it’s so pointless, Mouri, how about you drop your ringblade and give up?"

“Allowing myself to die at your hands even once more is unacceptable."

“Heh...” Chousokabe yanks his anchor back out from the wood floor it was buried in and brandishes it at Mouri. It’s burning. “I thought you said what happened in the past didn’t matter. Have a change of heart?”

He sees a flicker of irritation cross Mouri’s face.

“Or have you got no heart left to change?”

Mouri makes the first move, his ringblade cutting through the air; Chousokabe makes a shield of his anchor.

“When'd you get rid of it, huh? When you were still a kid?”

Chousokabe pushes hard against Mouri, who stumbles backwards; Mouri dodges Chousokabe’s anchor as it comes thundering down.

“I have never been burdened with anything like a heart.”

“Ever wondered what it feels like to have one?"

Sparks fly as the weapons collide again, and again, and again.

“Absolutely not."

The sound of clanging, screeching metal fills their ears.

“Not once in all these lifetimes?"

“Enough of these moronic questions!”

Flames and solar rays light up the battlefield.

“If you never got angry, Mouri, I’d have a hard time believing you’re even human.”

No loneliness for lack of friends. No pain from isolation. No problem whatsoever with living a life divorced from emotion. What kind of human being can live like that? Thrive like that? Does Mouri thrive, or does he merely exist? Chousokabe’s never understood how he could stand it. Many timelines ago, he held out the vaguest hope that all wasn't lost. Mouri could still turn things around. But if Mouri ever had the capacity to be a normal human being, he must have suppressed it to the point of its destruction.

Chousokabe hates Mouri Motonari. He hates him and he pities him.

So many wasted lives he’s lived.

“I do not care what you think,” Mouri snarls. “You are wasting your breath!”

He doesn’t care, he says, yet his voice raises to a shout.

But Chousokabe is wasting his breath.

There is no getting through to Mouri Motonari.

There is nothing left to say.

“Burn to death, Chousokabe Motochika!”

The divine light gathers above Mouri’s head again; it comes crashing to earth all at once in a brilliant beam. For a moment it’s impossible to see anything. When the light fades, Mouri fully expects to find Chousokabe’s body lying before him, a perfect repeat of before.

Except Chousokabe is not there.

Mouri whirls around, and the sharp tip of Chousokabe’s anchor rakes across his neck. There’s no joy in Chousokabe’s face, only grim resignation.

“Rot in every hell there is, Mouri Motonari."

He drives the anchor into Mouri's neck and it's over.

Chousokabe leaves Mouri's body for his remaining soldiers to take care of, assuming they'll bother. He wonders if they ever truly respected Mouri, or if they stayed loyal out of mere fear.

Chousokabe’s own fallen men have been avenged, in part. He doesn’t know how many times Mouri has killed them, and he might never remember. He’s going to do his best to try.

He won’t forget what happened today. He’ll carry these memories with him into the next life, whenever it may come. He owes everyone that much. He will never again kill Ieyasu. He will never again be a pawn in Mouri’s games. The great Sea Devil of the West swears it.

Chousokabe and his men retire to their ship and spend the evening with Ieyasu. They swap tales that may or may not be true, they drink, they laugh, they reminisce. Chousokabe doesn’t ask if Ieyasu remembers the things he does. Not yet. He’ll wait until night has come and the men have all passed out. That conversation is for the two of them alone. They talk about Ishida for a little while. Neither of them know what he’s going to do now. There’s still hope for that guy yet, Chousokabe says. Ieyasu agrees.

There’s hope for most people, Chousokabe believes. Even if they lose their course, they can still be steered in the right direction. Before they know it, they’ll have landed safely ashore.

They just have to be willing to acknowledge when they’ve gone adrift.

The sun allows the moon to take its place. The stars above the sea come out. The ship bobs on the gentle waves.

For now, the world continues on.

[ ??? ]

The Gamemaster watches the conclusion play out with satisfaction.

However, he wonders what would have changed had he stepped onto the board himself.

Next time, he decides. He’ll let this timeline rest for a while.

Somewhere, the lathe of destiny turns slowly toward the next reset.