**Chapter 8: Trial by Blood**
The training hall smelled of iron and smoke. The floor was scarred with deep gouges, the walls cracked from centuries of use. Rain from the shattered windows cast long streaks across the ground.
Renzou stood at the center, sword in hand, crimson eyes glinting. "You think you can control Eryndor," he said flatly. "You cannot. Not yet."
Aiki tightened his grip on the Spirit Edge. "Then teach me."
Renzou tilted his head. "No. You *won't survive* if I do it gently."
Enji, Sen, and Sakura leaned against the wall, uneasy. "Brutal?" Enji asked quietly. "Because I'm pretty sure he means *brutal*."
Renzou's grin was cold. "You have one day. One day to push it past its limit. Or it will push *you* past yours."
---
The first swing of the Spirit Edge sent a shockwave through the hall. Eryndor pulsed violently, golden light clashing with red streaks flickering along Aiki's arms.
"Feel it!" Renzou barked. "Not with your hands. With your blood!"
Aiki staggered, the blade biting at his palms, leaving shallow gashes that burned with heat. Golden sparks danced along the cuts, feeding the sword's hunger.
"Too slow!" Renzou shouted, slashing a strike so fast it shredded a wall behind him. The debris sprayed like shrapnel.
Sen muttered, "Yeah… that's not friendly advice."
"Focus!" Renzou snapped. "Eryndor reacts to your fear. Let it see you hesitate, and it will drown you in your own power. Now!"
Aiki gritted his teeth. He swung the Spirit Edge in a wide arc. The air tore apart, wind and sparks colliding in a shower of golden light. But a pulse of red surged back, burning through his arm, cutting into his flesh.
"Not bad," Renzou said, stepping closer. "But you almost lost yourself. Look at the blood. Your fear is tasty to it. You must *embrace* it, or it will feast on you."
---
Hours passed. Sweat, blood, and magic ran together, soaking Aiki's clothes. Every swing tore more into the floor, every movement left his muscles screaming.
Sakura whispered, "He's… really testing him."
Enji groaned. "And my job is just to watch? I could be playing cards instead."
"You *would* be watching if you were brave enough," Sen muttered, arms crossed.
Aiki's vision blurred. Eryndor's golden glow turned crimson, tendrils of power lashing out like living fire. Shadows on the walls stretched, twisting into grotesque shapes—mocking him, daring him to falter.
> "Enough," Renzou said, voice cutting through the chaos. "Show me control. Show me dominance. Or you die here. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Aiki gasped. "I understand."
He raised the Spirit Edge again. This time, he whispered, "I am in control. Not you."
Eryndor roared in response, the hall trembling, shards of wood and stone flying. The blade's light collided with the red tendrils of its own hunger, sparks turning to fire, fire to molten streaks across the floor.
Blood ran freely down Aiki's arms, but he ignored it. The pain was fuel. The scream of the sword became a rhythm he could follow.
Renzou watched quietly, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his scarred face. "Finally… you *might* survive this."
---
By nightfall, the hall was a crater of scorched stone and shattered wood. Aiki collapsed, Spirit Edge clattering beside him. Every inch of his body ached, blood dripping from dozens of cuts.
Renzou knelt beside him. "You've done well. For a mortal."
Aiki coughed, tasting iron. "Did… I control it?"
Renzou's crimson eyes softened for the first time. "For a moment. That's enough to survive. Next time… you'll need to maintain it. For hours. For days. And each time, the blade will hunger more."
Sakura rushed forward, hands trembling. "You're insane! Look at him! He's bleeding everywhere!"
"I told you," Renzou said quietly, standing, sword on shoulder. "Control *blood*, control *soul*. Only then can a warrior live."
Aiki lay still, gold and crimson light flickering along his wounds. Pain burned in every nerve, but a small smile crept across his face.
> "Then… bring it on," he whispered.
Because he knew now: the Spirit Edge was alive, thirsty, and only he could master it.
And next time, the Blood-Eyed Samurai—or anyone else—would not get the satisfaction of seeing him fail.