The Graduated New Recruits

The gong rang across the field of reed, cheering can be heard from a mile away.

"They are ready.", As the sun crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the mist-shrouded battlefield: the embattled Shogunate Fortress of Akatsuki.

Emerging from the gloom, the fortress appeared as an embodiment of both stoic resilience and otherworldly power. Built upon the bones of an ancient mountain, its ramparts of black iron gleamed with an almost supernatural sheen, etched with wards and sigils that pulsed with faint arcane energy. Towering gates of jade, each carved with the snarling visage of a mythical oni, stood defiantly at the main entrance, promising a test of strength and steel to any who dared approach.

Within the fortress's massive walls, nestled amidst courtyards paved with obsidian, stood the keep itself. A monstrous structure of black stone, it resembled a crouching dragon, its roof bristling with pagoda-like spires that seemed to scrape the ominous clouds above. From its depths, a constant hum of magical energy emanated, a testament to the ancient wards and enchantments that bound the fortress to the very fabric of the realm. One single man stands on top of the balcony of this fortress, staring down the groups of people below.

This is the end of the training to become a High Monk of Onibi. A man stood bathed in the dying embers of sunset, a stark silhouette against the blood-red sky. His white robe, once pristine, was now muddied and singed, bearing the whispers of countless battles waged in the shadows. The golden lotus emblem, once a symbol of enlightenment, was now stained with the rust of spilled blood, its petals tinged with the grim poetry of war.

Beneath the robe, armor of obsidian weave shimmered faintly, etched with runes that pulsed with raw power. It was forged in the heart of a slumbering volcano, tempered in the tears of dragons, and whispered to be nigh-impregnable. Even sunlight seemed to hesitate before touching its cold, unforgiving surface.

His face, hidden under a cowl the color of bleached bone, was a map of ancient battles. A lone, white eye blazed like a burning ember, the other socket a hollow emptiness marked by a jagged scar that ran like a lightning bolt across his brow. It was a wound earned not in some glorious duel, but in the crushing maw of darkness, a constant reminder of the abyss he stared into every day.

This man exuded an aura of power so raw, so tangible, that it felt like a physical weight pressing down on the air itself. Yet, within that power raged a storm of conflict. The calm serenity of a monk wrestling with the primal fury of a warrior, the weight of leadership battling the gnawing hunger for vengeance. Each breath he took seemed to draw in the dying light, each exhale a whispered echo of battles yet to come.

He is Kaizo Onibi, the Shogun of Onibi, a man who walked the razor's edge between wisdom and wrath, a monument to resilience carved from the granite of countless sacrifices. And as he looked down upon the faces of the fledgling monks, his single, burning eye held a question despite saying "They are ready.": Were they really ready to step into the abyss with him?

Today is the day where all the rigorous training are put into the test, the graduates are going to the frontline and use their knowledge in actual combat.

"WE MADE IT!" cheered one of the graduate, the man has black hair with red blonde lining dye along the edges and a cheerful attitude, proceed to wrapped his arm around his best friend's neck, this youngster is Tatsuo Yokoi a talented new recruit and graduate, he was the first to awakened his Armiger abilities in all of these new soldiers, bonded with a Protection-type Benevolent Spirit, Shigeru.

"Hmmm I guess we did", his friend a rather more less enthusiastic fellow with silk white hair responded. This is Shiro Raiku with a Healing-type Benevolent Spirit, Mizuki.

"What's wrong, we made it, now we get to see real action", Tatsuo taps his friend on the back confused to his reaction.

"Carefree as always Tatsuo, we are going to real battles, true combat, this isn't a friendly spar anymore, this is actual danger" Raiku responded.

"Come on, you can't be this much of a pussy cat. We got training and our power unlocked we'll crush whatever come always", optimistically said Tatsuo.

The gong suddenly rang again, it is the time for rest as the sun slowly set down the horizon. Plenty of prepare, plenty of sleep for tomorrow they travel to the frontline.

"See ya Tatsuo." As Raiku vanished down the hall, his silk hair swallowed by the dim lantern light, Tatsuo felt a pang of loneliness. He shuffled back to his room, the worn floorboards groaning under his tired steps. Inside, a soft, golden glow emanated from his futon, casting dancing shadows on the mud walls. Curiosity piqued, he approached and found a neatly folded bundle resting on the straw mattress.

Unfurling the cloth, Tatsuo's breath caught in his throat. Beneath lay his new uniform, pristine white with the golden lotus emblem shimmering like a promise on the breastplate. The light chest piece, crafted from a rare metal known for its featherweight agility, felt reassuringly cool against his palm. But it was the cowl that truly drew his eye. Its stark whiteness seemed to hold the unspoken weight of the battles to come, yet its silken folds promised a comforting anonymity.

Perched on the futon's edge, he traced the elaborate embroidery on his robe with his fingers. With a sigh that carried the ghosts of unvoiced fears, he let them out. Something familiar brushed his fingertips as his hand dipped into his pocket. The frayed edges caught on the fabric as he pulled it out.

It was a picture, once vibrant but now a tapestry of charred edges and faded ink. To anyone else, it would be a meaningless blur, the faces consumed by the flames. But for Tatsuo, it was a portal back to a sun-drenched time. He saw his father, the warrior's grin crinkling his eyes, his mother's hand gently cradling their smiling child. The warmth of that memory, though distant, filled him with a fierce determination.

He traced the outlines of the faces, his lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "I'll make you proud," he whispered, the words echoing in the stillness. The shadows on the wall seemed to flicker in response, as if acknowledging his quiet vow.

With a newfound strength, Tatsuo donned the white robe, the golden lotus blooming against his chest like a beacon of defiance. He slipped on the cowl, its cool silk a stark contrast to the fiery memory tucked against his heart. He was no longer just Tatsuo Yokoi, the cheerful recruit – he was a High Monk of Onibi, ready to face the darkness with the unwavering light of his family's love.

And as he stepped out into the twilight, his eyes, bright with hope, met the setting sun. The shadows danced, but they couldn't extinguish the flame that burned within him. He was ready.

Dawn spilled into the sky like bruised ink, painting the horizon with a promise of another grueling day. Tatsuo bounced out of his futon, the picture tucked close to his chest like a secret, his youthful vigor radiating like summer sun. He practically skipped through the quiet halls, humming a shanty off-key, while Raiku trailed behind, a dark cloud cloaked in his white gown.

"Idiot, stop fidgeting, you'll attract beasts in this woods," Raiku grumbled, Mizuki, the benevolent spirit appeared translucent visibly, shimmering a pale blue protest next to his ear.

"The beasts would love my disposition!" Tatsuo laughed it off, skipping and nearly toppling into a stern-faced High Monk. "Morning, Master Takara! Finally we get to be on the frontline."

"Temper your enthusiasm, young Yokoi," Master Takara rumbled, his white beard catching the first rays of dawn. "The frontlines are not a playground for your exuberance."

Tatsuo saluted smartly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of course, Master. But even the fiercest dragon can appreciate a sunny day before it burns to ashes, no?"

The trek to the front lines was a depressing one. With gnarled branches that resembled skeletal fingers, they marched through old cedar forests. The crunch of dead leaves beneathfoot and the chirping of restless crows were the only sounds to break the eerie silence of the humid air. With his hand hovering around the hilt of his katana, Raiku kept a keen eye out for any indications of any threats.

They arrived at the frontlines at last. A fraying stronghold was defended against an unrelenting stream of walking shaded corpses by a ragged line of High Monks. Guttural roars and clashing steel screamed through the air. Tatsuo's steely resolve took the place of his smile. He gripped his blade, Shigeru, the Spirit of Protection thrumming with anticipation revealed itself in the shape of a terracotta warrior,  Tatsuo turned to Raiku.

"Ready, my grumpy guardian angel?" he said, his voice firm.

Raiku met his gaze, Mizuki burning bright with determination. "Always, my carefree, fearless friend."

Together, they stepped into the inferno, ready to face the darkness with a warrior's heart and a flickering flame of hope. The frontlines awaited, and the tale of Tatsuo and Raiku was just beginning. The gong rang again.