Man, Monster and Blades

A tall, lean figure wearing a wide-brimmed black hat,  and a body made of black obsidian, with blades piercing his torso, head, and limbs, limbs that were for the most part blades themselves, in the same color as the rest of his body.

Across the wide field that was once a beautiful stretch of green grass, was now littered with blades like garbage, covered by corpses, and drowned in their blood.

There, Mr. Sharp sat on a mountain of those corpses, head resting on his bladed and blooded palm, which rested on the black orb that was his knee that seemed to hold his upper and lower leg, just like the rest of his limbs. The corpses on which he sat were mangled and full of holes, as if they were trampled by a herd of buffalo, then got rammed by each one by the horns.

Several daggers, swords, and other blades were floating in a circle above Mr. Sharp. A soldier, a survivor was hidden among the bodies of his fallen brethren.  He looked up at the mountain of bodies that acted as a throned for their killer, whose back was turned to him. The soldier took a breath, cold sweat running down his forehead, and ran. A blade, among the many that encircled Mr. Sharp, flew with ungodly speed toward the soldier and stabbed him in the back and through his chest. The blade that killed him flew back to encircle Mr. Sharp once again. Under the hat, the wide U-shaped white glow that was his smile, along with the unnatural maddening crescent-shaped eyes that bore the same white glow faced nothing in particular, though he chuckled....as if he knew.

Then a glimmer caught Mr. Sharp's eye. He turned to find a blade unlike any other far away on the ground among the corpses. Mr. Sharps U shaped smile fell flat, his crescent eyes narrowed and focused.  At the same time, the blades that encircled him fell to join the rest of the blades littered among the bodies.

A  burst of wind gushed away from where Mr. Sharp sat. One moment he was there, the next he stood on the bloody field of grass in front of the blade. It was a gold double-edged sword, with the symbol "E" engraved at its hilt. He stared at it for a moment, head tilting sideways in curiosity. With his left hand, Mr. Sharp slowly reached down to grab the hilt of the blade, but when his knives for fingers wrapped around the it's handle, it wasn't Mr. Sharp who was holding it. It was a young man, dressed in blue robes, eyes widened and mouth gaped. The young man let go of the blade and Mr. Sharp stumbled backward, crescent eyes now round and widened, U-shaped smile now gaped like the young man's. He stared at the sword for a moment, and another moment, and then another moment.... then his round widened eyes turned crescent once again to form a frown and his U-shape mouth was now upside down, forming into a scowl. He went for the blade again, this time with more force and aggression. He grabbed it and slashed it. 

But when he did so he was once again the young man, and no longer on a field of corpses, but on a coastline, with the sun setting below the sea to his left, a cliff to his right. He turned around on instinct, scanning his area with the same gaped expression of when first held the sword. It only widened when he saw the towering castle half hidden by the hills a distance away, its tallest points pierced the clouds as if reaching for the heavens. But the most surreal part was that the castle seemed to be made of purely gold, which reflected the rays of the setting sun onto his eyes as if daring him to keep looking while his eyes watered from doing so. It was like a forbidden fruit, one to look upon and admire, but only from a distance and not too long, or else you'll get burned. Though, oddly enough, the feeling of looking upon this seemingly divine palace felt eerily familiar, nostalgic even.

 After staring for what seemed like an eternity, he finally broke his gaze and began to notice it, the pounding of his heart in his chest, the ringing in his ears, the coolness of his breath, and the wind in his hair...all things he swore he did not have or felt before, yet, now that he did, it somehow just felt...right. Almost as right as the feeling of the sword in his hand. The young man lifts it to his face. There he realized, it was gold, the same kind as the castle. Like the palace, reflected the light of what remained of the sun dipping into the sea. He stared at it, but not in awe and admiration the way he did when he stared at the castle, instead his eyes were soft and relaxed, and even a little smirk formed, like he was seeing an old, old friend. It was cut short however when he saw it, a man staring back at him. Despite the golden tint of it, the reflection shown was as clear as daybreak, and the man who stared back had light brown eyes, olive skin, and a little scar across his right cheek, his expression was a mixture of confusion and disbelief. That seemed to be the least insane part as it seemed to reflect the whirlwind of thoughts and questions flowing through his head that almost made him drop the sword. He kept staring, wanting to look away and stop this madness that going through his mind, but something inside told him to keep looking, to keep searching, but search for what? That, he did not know. His grip on the sword was loosening, and that was when he realized - just dropped the blade. End this confusion and madness. All he had to do was let go. But much like his gaze. He just couldn't seem the pry his hands away from the damn thing. Eventually, he managed to force his gaze away when he noticed it had gotten darker. At the very least his gaze was free now. The sun was now a fourth away down, The last light of the soon-to fade away. 

As if on instinct, the loose grip on his sword tightened, his legs parted to form a stance, his sword raised above head point in front of him. He understood, not in mind,  nor heart either, but in body. He had no idea what the hell was going on, and his emotions were a mixture of none and all, but his body...it knows, it remembers. 

The young man thrust his blade but with grace, form, and purpose. The sand parted from the ground from the force of his strike, and he slashed again. And Mr. Sharp, once again on the bloody field, with sword in hand, and a stance similar to the young man, stared at the sword. His maddening crescent eyes were now round and soft, and stared in awe at the blade, while his mouth was now far less wide, and far more human. He could have dropped the sword, he thought for the second time. A simple action, drop it and go about his way with as usual, he'll leave just after his kill just like any other day, with the exception that perhaps he'll have a strange story along with him. He looked at the blade yet again. This time, there was no doubt what the obvious choice was.

Mr. Sharp thrust his sword,  with grace this time, and he was the young man again on the beautiful coastline once again. The young man slashed, then Mr. Sharp. Back and forth they went, like a dance. Each strike is more graceful yet more powerful than the last and felt more right than the last. Then finally the young man slashed downwards, the sheer force of it made the wind part ways and split a nearby boulder clean in half, and finished his dance. He brings the sword to his face, eyes closed, he breathes in, and slashes downwards, and Mr. Sharp breathes out. His eyes open, rounded and a gentle, soft smile forms across his face.

CLINK!!!

An arrow bounced off Mr. Sharp's head, a soldier, another survivor, bow in hand, was shaking and taking deep breaths while sweat trickled down his forehead while Mr. Sharp's back was to the soldier. There was silence for a brief moment, neither the soldier nor Mr. Sharp made a move. The soldier then slowly reached for his quiver, trying to knock another arrow, only to form a face of dread when he realized his empty. The soldier couldn't see it, but Mr. Sharp's rounded eyes turned back to his crescent shape and his wide, U-shape smile returned, wider than ever. His finger blades slowly loosened and the sword dropped to the ground. He straightened his posture, towering over the soldier, back still to him.

And as quick lightning, Mr. Sharp turned towards the soldier and slashed.