Demon Slasher Okukimaru

Across the hills where crows take flight,

Where battle smokes blot out the light,

There walks a name the demons dread—

A blade that drinks, a path of red.

They call him Okukimaru, born

With no known clan, no vow, no sworn.

He does not fight for peace or fame—

Just blood and steel, the clash, the flame.

His eyes, they say, are ringed with blue,

Like whirlpools dragging men in two.

His teeth are sharp—some whisper low

That demon blood in him must flow.

But no one knows from whence he came,

No village left to bear his name.

He wanders through the demon lines

With scars that shift like haunted signs.

You strike him down, he stands anew,

With wounds still fresh but strength still true.

A sword through chest, a shattered bone—

He shrugs them off and walks alone.

No general has yet held the field

Once Okukimaru’s wrath is sealed.

He dives into a thousand spears

And leaves behind their blood and fears.

Some peasants cheer and shout his praise—

A Hero risen in these days!

But he just walks, his blade still warm,

A calm eye in the devil's storm.

He doesn’t pause for thanks or song,

For right and wrong mean nothing long.

His goal is clear, and carved in hate:

The Demon Shogun seals his fate.

That lord of horrors rules the land,

With burning eyes and iron hand.

To him, Okukimaru swears

The end of all his cruel affairs.

Yet even if that battle’s won,

And darkness dies beneath the sun—

He won’t then rest, or lay his blade,

For peace is not the path he’s made.

No, once the demon crown is cracked,

And hell retreats, and night is sacked,

He’ll turn his gaze, still sharp and cold,

To seek another tale retold.

For Okukimaru lives for war,

And if no monsters rise once more,

Then gods or men may feel his steel—

Whatever bleeds, whatever kneels.

So pray you never cross his path,

Unless you’re made to taste his wrath.

For not all saviors serve the light—

Some are just drawn to endless fight.