Here he is, a dog cast before great works of art. There is beauty and insight both within this simulated reality, but he is meant for neither. Hitoshi Inoue is a blade, beaten into shape for one purpose. A gentle cloth wraps around his right hand. It offers him power. He knows the price. He'll need every ounce of power he can muster if he is to be enough when they force this woman upon ground he understands.[break]
His cloth pierces him, hooks into his veins and drinks deep of what lays beneath the skin. It drinks of Hitoshi greedily, finding the taste of dog blood to be to its liking. Blood draws his Kartana out from their pokeballs. One floats on either side of him, ready for what comes next.[break]
"Whatever you say, boss."[break]
Blade in hand, he charges against the monstrosities that lurk behind the woman.[break]
What's the point?

A man whistles, a dog obeys.[break]
"Do you come in peac-" Their foe's right arm is gone before the question is asked. His own blood spilling across the ground is his answer. There's something mad in the dog's eyes as he rushes to obey the command. Muramasa drinks deep of the blood offered. Simulated blood does not seem to agree with the honedge, who partakes of familiar stock instead.[break]
Pokemon fly out, but it is for vengeance they fight rather than to defend anything. Even within a simulated realm, where nothing matters, they fight like the fate of their very soul depends upon what happens here. They have that in common with the beast's dog.[break]
Why am I swinging this sword?

The order is given. He obeys. When he sees this creature, he doesn't see a threat - not even a target. Tempestuous as this walking storm might be, the dog would much prefer he be an ally.[break]
That's not his choice, not his call. He has to obey. He has to fight. Slaughter. Once more, he puts himself in harm's way. Were it not for his Kartana playing the part of sword and shield alike, he would fall here.[break]
"Why're we even doing this?" He finally brings himself to ask in a shaky voice. "People talk about going in here all the time. It doesn't sound like anything changes. We're just playing the same tape over and over."

Passing strange, the things almost dying does to a dog. He heaves a lung full of good, fresh air in the sterile reality to which they return. His Pokemon recall themselves to their pokeballs, leaving only the cursed blade at his side.[break]
"And if..." Visions of red flash through his mind. Dead Pokemon look at him under Dewford with empty eyes. Their trainers are too young for this. They're not yakuza or rockets. They don't know the score. They're not in the know.[break]
"...we don't find anything..." A girl lies dead at his feet. His choice. Only his choice. A tool with one purpose. That's all he is. All he can be. A thing that brings death.[break]
"...what did those folks die for?" He feels the black despair that comes with loss. A field of gardevoir taught him that as they grieved. Wading through all this simulated death has overfilled a container fit to burst. He looks at nothing in particular, least of all the hand that holds his handle.