Red Death S1

EXT. SOUTHERN RIDGE – NIGHT

Low fog clings to the hills.

Through the mist, glimmers of armor. Shadows move with purpose—silent boots crushing leaves and broken twigs.

Imperial Commander (whispers):

"Form tight. Blades drawn. They're asleep by now."

The first wave emerges from the south ridge—just as predicted. Seventy men. Armored. Coordinated. Moving like one knife.

At the top of the ridge—hidden in bramble and rock—Yamatsuki archers kneel.

Breath held.

Signalman (low):

"Wait... wait…"

A torch is lit—once, twice, then dark again.

TWANG.

A storm of arrows rains down.

Screams echo.

Confusion tears through the enemy ranks. They scatter, trying to find cover—but the narrow ridge offers none.

A few break formation and flee back down the slope.

EXT. FOREST PATH – MOMENTS LATER

Ryu moves like a shadow—low and fast, brushing branches aside.

Kumo follows close behind, panting but keeping pace.

Kumo (whispers):

"Why here? They're not attacking the forest—"

Ryu (cold):

"They will. That ridge was the bait."

He stops suddenly, kneeling behind a tree. Points down a hidden slope.

Ryu:

"Second wave is about fifty. Lighter gear. Flankers."

He gestures to the terrain ahead—twisting roots, a narrow pass, perfect for choking movement.

Kumo (eyes widen):

"You knew they'd split?"

Ryu:

"No empire commits to one path unless they're fools."

(beat)

"They're trying to encircle. Typical."

Kumo draws his blade slowly—hand steady.

Kumo (quiet):

"What do we do?"

Ryu:

"We wait. Hit them where they think they're safe."

EXT. FOREST FLANK – NIGHT

The moonlight barely cuts through the canopy, casting slivers of silver across the forest floor. As the Second Wave Approach.

Ryu crouches low behind a fallen tree. Beside him—Kumo, his breath uneven, knuckles white on his blade.

Behind them: ten Yamatsuki fighters, hidden in the brush. All watching. All waiting.

Ryu raises two fingers. Points toward the path ahead.

From the underbrush, Imperial flankers emerge—cautious, armored in lighter gear, scanning for movement.

Kumo (whispers):

"There's more than we expected…"

Ryu (flat):

"Doesn't matter."

(beat)

"If we let them reach the village line, the whole wall collapses."

The Yamatsuki fighters tense, shifting position.

Kumo still doesn't move. His legs feel locked. His grip unsure.

His eyes flick to Ryu.

And what he sees isn't calm.

It's cold. Predatory. A soul that's done this too many times.

Ryu (low):

"Now."

He leaps.

Like a beast.

He crashes into the enemy line without magic, without mercy—just fists, elbows, steel, and bone.

One soldier swings. Ryu grabs his wrist and shatters it with a twist.

Another charges. Ryu pulls him down by the throat and slams his head against stone—once, twice, until he goes limp.

Kumo freezes—staring.

Even Yamatsuki warriors behind him are shocked.

They've seen battle.

But not this.

Imperial Warrior (terrified):

"W-What is he—?!"

Ryu tears through three men as if their armor's paper. A scream cuts short as he drives a knee into a chestplate, cracking ribs.

Ryu (thinking):

"Can't use magic here. These fools are too close—it'd kill them, too."

His eyes flare—blood-specked and burning.

Yizo (mocking, inside his head):

"Didn't know you cared about human lives."

Ryu doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

He just grabs the next soldier by the face—fingers digging in—and throws him into a tree hard enough to snap bone.

In the chaos, Kumo breathes out. Swallows fear.

One of the Yamatsuki warriors stares, disbelief in his eyes. Then anger.

Yamatsuki Warrior (yelling): "Are we gonna let a stranger defend our clan—while we just stand here?!"

(beat)

"MOVE!"

The other Yamatsuki charge—shame and fury mixing into a war cry. Swords drawn, they join the fight.

Kumo freezes.

His hands tremble. He sees blood. Too much blood.

Corpses begin to pile.

He looks up—and Ryu's eyes meet his.

They are not human eyes.

They are predator's eyes.

Eyes full of death. Kill-intent so strong it feels like a weight.

Kumo (thinking):

"He's not even thinking. He's just… doing."

Time stops.

Kumo's own heartbeat sounds distant.

Then—he clenches his jaw.

A breath. A scream inside him breaks.

Kumo (roars):

"AAAHHH!!"

He surges forward— and Raise his katana staring at Ryu

Ryu Looks at him deep in the eyes and nod.

Kumo Slices a soldier's head clean off.

Another swings—Kumo parries, slashes him across the chest.

Kumo (desperate):

"I'm not weak!"

But then—he slips.

His foot hits blood. He falls beside two corpses—eyes wide, staring at their blank, lifeless faces.

He chokes. Bile in his throat. The smell. The weight of it.

He can't breathe.

Then—a hand grabs his kimono.

Ryu.

Without a word, he lifts Kumo like he weighs nothing and throws him over a log, away from the front line.

Kumo crashes into the brush, coughing.

Ryu (flat, eyes still on the fight):

"Don't die like a fool."

Then he's back at it.

Behind him, the Yamatsuki warriors stare—half in awe, half in horror.

Yamatsuki Warrior (yells): "FOR SHIROGANE!"

They charge.

The tide turns.

Screams fill the forest—steel clashes, bodies fall.

Kumo, kneeling behind the log, watches the chaos. His blade shakes in his grip.

Kumo (thinking):

"I froze again… but he still pulled me back…"

(beat)

"Why?"

Ryu: "We did our job now third wave is left to Hirai, You are free to go back"

EXT. DRIED CREEK PASS – NIGHT

The moon hangs heavy—silver and watching.

The dried creek cuts through rock and root, forming a narrow path barely wide enough for ten men abreast. Perfect for a trap. Or a massacre.

At the far end—Erik. Cloaked in dark steel. Eyes glowing faintly beneath his helmet's shadow.

Behind him: eighty Imperial soldiers. Elite. Disciplined.

At the center of the pass—Hirai.

Calm. Still as stone. His kimono flutters in the wind, his blade drawn, resting lightly in one hand.

Surrounding him: the Ten Blades of Yamatsuki—his finest warriors.

They do not speak.

They do not blink.

They wait.

Erik (calls out):"Shirogane sends its aging chief to greet the Empire? Bold."

Hirai (flat):"No one else needed."

Erik :"You'll fall with your town. Just like the last clan who said no to the throne."

Hirai exhales through his nose.

Then speaks:

Hirai (calm):"You'll wish you brought a second sword."

The wind howls—then dies.

Erik (cold):"Advance."

The eighty move like a tide—crashing forward with terrifying unity.

The creek becomes a war zone.

The first wave hits the Yamatsuki formation—and is immediately cut down.

Hirai doesn't move like a man—he moves like a ghost.

Steel flashes. Swords shatter. Arms fly.

Warrior 1 (shouting):"His blade—!"

Warrior 2 (terrified):"He cut clean through my—"

Hirai spins, ducks, carves upward—one stroke, two men fall.

He doesn't grunt. Doesn't blink.

Just breathes.

A spear flies toward his back—

Without looking, he tilts.

It misses.

Three attackers rush him at once. Hirai steps into them.

One slash—three bodies drop.

The Ten Blades match their leader—silent killers, weaving through the chaos, defending each other's blind spots without speaking.

But it is Hirai they all orbit. The eye of the storm.

Then—a heavy blow.

Marcus steps in.

Their eyes lock across blood-soaked ground.

Erik draws his massive twinblade—each half of the weapon as long as a man's leg.

He swings once.

The ground cracks.

Hirai blocks it, sliding back slightly.

Erik (growls):"Old… but not brittle."

Hirai (calm):"You're strong. But you lack discipline."

They clash.

Steel roars.

Erik swings again—wide and brutal.

Hirai weaves under it, then leaps—his blade glancing off Erik's shoulder armor.

Erik counters with a sweep kick—Hirai flips over it, landing light.

Then they exchange ten strikes in two seconds.

Each one enough to kill a lesser man.

Erik (grinning):"You're not bad for a old man."

Hirai (ice-cold):"I was burying men like you before you was born."

Another flurry.

Erik knocks Hirai back—barely.

Erik (yells):"You're outnumbered! You'll break!"

Hirai steadies his stance.

Hirai (quiet):"Then I'll break the mountain with me."

Suddenly—he steps in.

A blur.

He slides under Erik's swing—drives his blade into Erik's thigh, twisting.

Erik screams, swings down—

Hirai vanishes behind him.

Then—

CRACK!

With his bare hand, Hirai shatters the handle of Erik's weapon.

Erik (staggering):"What… are you…?"

Hirai (low):"A chief. A father. A warrior."

He slashes across Erik's chest. The general stumbles back—armor cracked, bleeding.

Imperial Lieutenant (yelling):"Pull him out! Retreat!"

Yamatsuki warriors press forward.

Erik roars, eyes wild.

Erik:"This isn't over."

Hirai (flat):"It is."

He slams the hilt of his blade into Erik's jaw. The man drops.

The rest scatter.

Only blood remains.

The creek is silent again.

Hirai stands over the fallen general—breathing deep, but steady.

One of his warriors approaches.

Yamatsuki Elite (awestruck):"Chief… you were…"

Hirai (gruff):"Tired."

(beat)

"Report to Ryu. Tell him the creek is ours."