Ansatsu Koroshi lived on modern Earth as a soldier, but it wasn't glory or honors that motivated him, but rather the adrenaline of war, the thrill of killing. Another thing that gave him pleasure was sex with women. If he had to choose two vices, they would be these: killing and women. He was a caged assassin in a modern society full of rules, and the mortality of humankind reminded him that, despite having trained to the absolute limit of body, mind, and spirit, he was still just a man.
At 110 years old, Ansatsu Koroshi lay in his bed in an isolated mansion, far from the society he never truly belonged to. His heart stopped beating, but he knew it wasn't the end. He had lived a life of violence and passion, and now he was ready to face whatever came next.
Darkness closed in around him, and for a moment, Ansatsu Koroshi felt a sense of peace. But soon, the adrenaline began to flow again, and he found himself standing, ready to face the unknown. He smiled, knowing that, no matter what happened, he would always be a warrior, an assassin, a lover of death.
Ansatsu Koroshi, after dying, didn't see the hell he thought he would. Instead, he saw giants saying things he couldn't understand. Over time, he came to realize he had been reborn, a new life. The strange thing was that his name remained the same, but that wasn't as strange as the rest. He seemed to be in ancient Japan, everything very new to him, living in an age of technology. But, as time passed, he grew accustomed to the people who raised him and those around him, leading a peaceful life.
Strange things happened sometimes, reports of demons that roamed the night and ate men. Until that moment, he thought he had gone back in time, but since they were just voices and whispers, he didn't pay much attention. Until, at age 5, he witnessed true terror: his parents killed by the demon himself, a being that looked like a human, but ate human flesh and felt pleasure in the blood of its victims. This was, therefore, an Oni.
At that moment, he stood there, watching the scene, but he felt no fear, nothing. Perhaps a little pain for the death of his parents, who gave their lives in this new world. That night, he survived, not because he had the strength to face that being, for with a simple push, his small body was thrown across the room, hitting the wall, weak and with broken bones. But he didn't cry or falter, he faced the monster without fear, accepting the reality: he was weak, he accepted that there was nothing left to do.
But the monster didn't kill him, it simply said that when he grew up, he would return, for he would have more flesh, and left into the night. With that, he fainted.
After waking up, he discovered that the villagers had rescued him and a village doctor had begun caring for him. Now, he had a purpose, a goal: to strengthen himself to live in this world. He knew that there were some demon slayers, or Hashira, as they were called, but he had his own path. He never liked using weapons or swords to kill someone; it didn't give him the pure thrill of fists. He would cultivate his fighting technique, honed in his past life, to the maximum, and a martial art that trained his body's resistance to the absolute limit.
A week later, and with his body recovered, he began his training. The doctor said he could live with him, but he didn't want to show his training to the old man, otherwise he would stop him. So, he returned to his house, which was clean but still with things destroyed. He decided to fix everything before starting, to get the place organized.
On the second day, he began his training. He dedicated 3 hours to training his fist technique and 1 hour to the martial art itself, as it was too strenuous for such a weak and small body. Through training, he noticed his body recovering faster and possessing greater stamina than in his past life, which made him smile, as he could surpass the limits of his past life.
Ansatsu Koroshi stood in the middle of the room, his small, thin body radiating an intensity that seemed to emanate from within. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deep, and his heart beat with a deadly calm.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and began to move. His fists began to fly, striking the air with a speed and precision that was almost impossible to follow. The blows were short and direct, targeting the pressure points of the human body: the solar plexus, the throat, the eyes.
But it wasn't just the speed and precision that made Ansatsu Koroshi's technique so deadly. It was the way he used his body weight, transferring it to the blows, making them more powerful. It was the way he rotated his hips, generating torque and additional force.
And then, there were the deadly points. Ansatsu Koroshi knew exactly where to strike to cause maximum damage. He targeted the carotid arteries, the lungs, the heart. Each strike was a killing blow.
The technique was raw, chaotic, without form or defined style. It was as if Ansatsu Koroshi was dancing with death, moving with a fluidity that was both beautiful and terrifying.
The blows continued to fly, one after another, each faster and more precise than the last. The air was filled with the sound of fists striking the air, a sound that was both a roar and a whisper.
And then, suddenly, everything stopped. Ansatsu Koroshi stood there, panting, his body covered in sweat.
Ansatsu Koroshi sat on the ground, his body covered in sweat, his muscles still trembling from the exertion of training. The pain was intense, a burn that seemed to consume every fiber of his being. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing, but it was difficult.
His eyes were closed, but he could feel the tension in every part of his body. The muscles in his arms and legs were as hard as stone, the tendons stretched to their limit. He knew that if he wasn't careful, he could seriously injure himself.
But Ansatsu Koroshi was not a man to be consumed by pain. He began to cultivate his spirit, his mind, trying to maintain calm and clarity. He visualized himself as a tranquil lake, without waves or disturbances. His mind began to calm down, to become cooler and more logical.
Ansatsu Koroshi's breathing began to regulate, his heart to beat more slowly. He felt the tension in his muscles begin to lessen, his tendons to relax. The pain was still there, but now it was a controlled pain, a pain he could use to his advantage.
With a clear mind and a relaxed body, Ansatsu Koroshi opened his eyes. They gleamed with a cold intensity, an intensity that was both fascinating and terrifying. He was ready to face any challenge, any enemy.
The combination of fist technique and spirit cultivation had created a unique whole, a cold and calculating messenger of death. Ansatsu Koroshi was now a living weapon, a weapon that could be used to destroy anything that stood in his way.
He stood up, his muscles still trembling slightly, and began to move. His movements were fluid and precise, like those of a cat. He was ready to hunt, ready to kill.