Pain. A lot of pain. No that was an understatement. A sea of pain. All my skin was already gone from a mixture of extreme fire and ice. I could feel the variety of acids burning into my exposed muscles, corroding and even aging them away in some areas. I stare up at the source of my pain, a great multicolored serpentine head with a disturbing smile stretched across.

Drip. Drip. The pain intensifies.

Is this really how my life is going to end? Sect master. Sword master. Slayer of the Deity Beasts. All of these titles are worthless to me now, in a situation so terrible even I can not escape it. I had taken on the task of slaying each of the 4 Deity Beasts to prevent the extinction of mankind. Each one had given me a profound and extremely powerful technique, but it all came to naught when I came to face the last opponent.

My thoughts are muddled by in the horrid pain as I look up at the Chaos Dragon. My life seems to flash before my eyes...

I love swordsmanship. When I was young I would watch the students practice in my Father's dojo, observing the technique and learning the fundamentals. My mother had passed away when I was too young to remember, from a disease apparently. Father was a mellow man that never smiled after her death. He fed me, trained me and taught me that the sword was no simple blade, but a way of life and the very soul.

When I was around 15 years old my father was getting weak from age and a rival dojo challenged him in a duel to the death. I don't know why he accepted, but he did. The last time I saw him he said something to me. That was also the last time I cried.

"Fang, our way of swordsmanship is an old one. Our souls and life are dedicated to the sword and one day, we will become the sword."

After he died, I was kicked out of my home as the dojo was taken over. The only thing I had was a steel sword and the clothes on my back as I departed the city. The years passed and I experienced countless adventures and had honed my skill with the sword to the peak.

I could walk through waterfalls with nary a drop of water on me. I could slice lesser dragons apart with apparent ease. My inner energy was refined to the utmost purity and could produce earth-shattering force. I had created a sword style sect in the name of my father to honor him, our ancient swordsmanship was taught there. Now, it all seemed so far away.

My body was being degraded and I had not died yet because of the inner energy supporting me at my core. That damned dragon was taking pleasure in my suffering, perhaps as revenge for all of the holes I pierced into its wings.

The pain roars over me in waves and I am pissed off. Does it think it can kill me so easily? I began my preparations.

The energy at my core frantically rushed up to my head as I directed it, the efforts of 80 years of mastery gathered like a raging river, converging at a point on my forehead. What was left of my soul and life was forcibly converted into energy and gathered at that point, giving extreme destructive power.

The Chaos Dragon opened its mouth to devour me as the jaws drew closer. What perfect timing.

The converged energy fired out of my forehead along with the last of my life, a suicide attack. It pierced through the top of that gaping mouth and out the top of its head. The scales I could not penetrate were only meant to protect against the outside.

Its eyes confused, the damn thing flopped down onto me. I'm pretty sure my pain receptors broke.

My eyes closed for the last time. I could feel my conscience fading away before I was abruptly pulled back as a pyrotechnics display went off in my fucking soul. A rainbow orb shape had flown from the dragon into my soul, combining with it. There was no pain or intrusion, only a sharp feeling. In a matter of fact, that was the sharpest feeling I have ever felt. So sharp that it could cut apart the earth and the heavens. Then the feeling began changing my soul, shaping it into the image of a sword and becoming one with me. I am sharp. I can cut apart the earth and heavens.

Wow. I had literally become one with the sword. Then everything went black.

...

...

*Crack!*

Pain erupted onto my back from the presumed whip. Are dead people supposed to feel pain? Aren't we supposed to have an eternal rest? Could death be for masochists?

I opened my eyes to see a blazing, fiery world.

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I wasn't happy with the old story so I decided to redo it. Do you like the change? Please comment below.