My Blood Wizard System
He tells me stories between rounds (how he once cooked for an emperor who tried to pay him in severed heads, how my mom was a shrine maiden who laughed at gods and made the best miso soup in three prefectures).
Every time I land a hit that actually makes him grunt, he looks so proud I almost cry (almost, because tears evaporate at 2,000 °C).
At dusk he finally calls it.
I’m sweating embers, armor humming like it’s purring, arms shaking from holding back more power than I’ve ever touched.
Kōjin shrinks to human size (still eight feet tall, but trying) and slings an arm around my shoulders.
Kōjin (quiet):