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Shigatsudzuku | Death Follows (Jigoku)

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Since leaving the mountains he called home, he'd made it a point to hunt smart. Selecting his prey carefully, no group too large, and yet none too small either. Though he still mostly looked like a man, he certainly no longer ate by one. And thanks to his journey taking him off road for a long while, he had yet to find a decent meal in a few days. Even now, in the peaking heat of one of the seasons hottest days yet, he stalked the roads once more in search of a suitable target. He'd prefer a small group of traveling traders, for they often carried less than merchants, and the evidence of his sins were easier to hide that way. Then again, the hungrier he got, the less picky he was.

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and took a quick harsh sniff. A brief moment later, he took and longer, deeper sniff and exhaled as his lips curled into a sadistic grin beneath the garb masking his lower face. His narrowed, discolored eyes shaded beneath the wide brim of his bamboo rice field hat. Black garb that covered the majority of his arms even, excluding the four fingers and completing it's connecting to the limbs via a sleeve for the thump, and a golden ring affixed on each middle finger. A black haori and matching hakama draped over him, concealing much of his lean, muscular build. With a pair of swords worn in likeliness to traditional Samurai, he would've been a rather imposing figure at 6'10" had he not been by himself. Eerie hair of a blood red color, matching the whites of his discolored eyes and the skin of his exposed fingers, cascaded from beneath his hat in a beautiful mess of thick, unkempt curls. It was hard to tell it the color was naturally his own, or if he'd dyed it that way using actual blood. Either way, to the nose sensitive, he wreaked of iron. He wreaked of dried blood.

Finally, his eyes caught sight of them in the distance. A small travelling party. A wagon drawn by a pair of horses. Considering the carrying of cargo, it couldn't have held more than 3-5 people. Or perhaps the smell was so strong not because of the returning heat in the spring season or because he was so hungry. Perhaps it was a passenger carrying wagon in which held maybe more like a dozen or so people on board. Regardless, it was clear as day to him that two figures sat behind the horses. Men, one holding the reigns, the other holding a firearm of some sort. At a rather sluggish pace, the awkwardly tall swordsman paced down the center of the road. Biding his energy while also actively stalking his prey. As they drew nearer, the horses failed to slow down at all, the driver certain that whomever this vagrant was, he'd move out of the way. As their uncertainty grew, they began to shout for him to move out of their way. Silence found them however, when he suddenly stopped walking and blatantly stood in their path. 

Slowly his right hand reached for the handle of the longer of two blades he carried. Gripping the handle he peered from the shadow cast by his hat at the men. A few more men jumped off of the wagon, and the sounds of a crying baby shortly followed. He could hear the young mother trying her damnedest to hush the baby as she choked down her tears. The men that exited the wagon harbored weapons, farmers tools really. The man with the firearm dismounted the wagon as well, the driver remaining in control of the horses and urging them to remain calm. In a swift effortless motion of fluid grace, they would all see the light reflecting down the length of his Odachi from its tip. The resounding shhnk that typically hailed the withdrawal of one's blade from its sheath was delayed by approximately a second and a half. Hosting the blade between himself and the frightened party, he simply continued to grin beneath that garb masking his face. His eyes studying his prey, his mind formulating his best course of action. He had no fear that his prey would escape, only minute concern over how difficult they were going to try and make this.

With obvious frustration and failed intimidation, the questioned the swordsman, yelled and cursed at him, threatened him even. It was never any different, never anything new. Everything was the same every time. His silence made them even more angry, one of them was spitting as he yelled he was so angry. The man with the gun removed it's safety and proceeded by feeding the ammunition into the chamber, though he refrained from shooting just yet. As the men grew louder and louder, they began to shout over one another, hardly giving the swordsman a chance to respond. As if he ever intended on doing so to begin with. Finally his free fist lifted and close, his index finger uncurled slowly from it as his hand reached up to his face. Placing his erect finger over his covered mouth, he silently commanded the approaching men to be quiet. Somewhere down the road behind the swordsman, a lone traveler on foot spotted the attempted hold up by the imposing figure holding a sword against a handful of armed farmers and a man with what seemed to be a hunting rifle. Turned on his heals, he ran for the nearest checkpoint in order to tip off The Wolves of the troublemaker.

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@Etched in Stone

Edited by Twitterpated

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Even the Great Mother Nature could not predict such events, for the first time in History of Datsuzoku there was a great threat to Society. Jigoku had not feared this as an entire region, one monster was simply not enough to annihilate them all. Yet, somebody had to end this massacre. 

Kenshinobu's teaching under way of the Rising Sun lawed every citizen man and woman possess basic understandings of the Arts, but only if they remained as students at Hinode no Gakko did their studies and experience improve; were they awarded titles of high stature within the Dojo as Full Moon Elites, graduates. Things boiled down to simple equations, whom ever, what ever the Nation, Jigoku was now facing ... What pest still lurked amongst the trade routes, stalking prey, littering remains of carcasses strewn, how come Ichizoku Ookami highwaymen have yet dealt with the perpetrator? Soke Grand Master of the Rising Sun was very displeased at such unfortunate news. As appointed General, chain-of-command had to go as followed; ranking officials were at the top of the totem. Though he wished personally to deal with these matter, he could so very much accomplish if willed. The Blind Wolf, once remembered to been as Swordslayer, no longer was fascinated by the likes of Battle. Not unless the Nation demanded it, or the Heika. Yet, somebody had to end this massacre. 

“Brother Moro, it’s those killings again. Except, I’ve witnessed the culprit myself. His eyes as red stained like the pair of twin blades he wields. In garbs of all black, a Kasa, and his hair resembling the same colored blood from his eyes. Perhaps?"

About twenty-meters away along the Norther border of the New Union Frontier, the nearest encampment of Ookami highwaymen stationed and patrolled about for at least another eighty meters. It was overwhelming, but a force that seemed to give a challenge against the Nation's toughest of warriors was little to gain for the trespasser. The highwayman looked frantic at the door front with big, bulging almond eyes beneath his Straw hat as drops of sweat rolled down his cheeks, so did, his body reek of terror. 

"You're supposed to be from the most Elite of warriors from the land, to've been taught by the Legendary Swordslayer himself and look at you. An Ookami highwayman? Pathetic!"

While Brother Moromichi was in fact, the School of Rising Sun's Shihan Head Instructor he was also, a bitter sweet older cousin to Momoku whom he rivaled and often competed against in studies. In silken white robes and fitted leggings, the white-haired pale fleshed Yokai stood to his full height while his iridescent pearls descended further upon the clansman steady in warning. A metallic object produced from under the long sleeve of his right hand as it held there, clenched by it's handle tand off down momentarily to the side of his body. 

"We are a Nation of Kaiju monsters, undead demons, dragons, the list can forward. We invoke the Fear, not that we are fearing. Or is it the fact that, Humans are too incompetent?"

The flash from the metallic revealed itself once again, but this time his hand was projecting forth underneath him and the veil of his large summer sleeves. Mind, by the time a reply was stuttered into play the gushing sounds of the tanto blade, driving through fabrics of flesh into the liver side of the man's lower abdomen was recorded in the backgrounds. The man's face turned lifelessly pale as his soul slowly drifted from him with gasps of air, soon a blood-curled grin marched it's way across Yoshihide's lips in acknowledgment of the man's sudden death. As he fell into the Yokai's arms gravity pulled with him and his body toppled to the floor. A pity the Ookami didn't catch the land, a concrete thud to follow. Moromichi wiped the short blade clean with the silk from his robe, in a single stroke he cleansed the metal of it's impurities, sheathed it and stepped over the dead man's body towards the door's exit. 

"Better off dead, arent you? Better off, dead."

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched in Stone

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With the gunman as close as he was, he could've had a good clean shot, though the men walking ahead him became risks he wasn't willing to make. Keeping his weapon trained on the swordsman as he began to move, his finger had yet to even touch the trigger. Raising the blade up and to the right, he turned the sharp edge outward before he leaned away from the men, his left foot leaving the ground as the knee acquired a bend. In a swift, fluid motion he kicked the leg out, using the momentum from its force to torque his body and apply that much more pressure to his throw. Slicing the air in an eerie whistle, the Odachi swirled with murderous intent at the trio of men. Shock took them, in which only one had the impulse to do something. The second closest to the thrown sword took a leap of faith, pushing his closest companion out of the way, yet paying the ultimate price for it. The large blade tore through his body, bisecting it at the waist. The sword continued past the struck target and his the farthest of the three in the thigh, cutting a couple inches into it and undoubtedly hitting an artery.

The man with the rifle had found his chance. The swordsman still carried a sword, though not at the ready. His comrades were severely injured save for the one whom was pushed out of the way. The bisected man choked on his own blood as his body sickeningly slid apart, the hero's blood spraying on the saved man. The unharmed of the three screamed in fear, while the one whom was cut deeply in the thigh was screaming in pain. Judging by the pitch and length of the man's screams, he'd never been cut before. at least not by a sword. With a clear shot, the rifleman pulled the trigger. The discharged bullet whizzed by his head as he suddenly lowered his form, grazing his kasa as it passed. With to bounding steps the rifleman had fed the next round and shot again. This time, the swordsman managed to grab the unharmed man, lifting him just in time to take the bullet first. Being that the round was no sort of hollow tip, it tore through the previously unharmed man; Piercing him through the back before exiting the upper abdominal region, and ultimately entering this mysterious psychopath's shoulder where it became lodged. 

Ni. Two, two bleeding screaming men remained, and the one he held was yanked to a fro as he was dedicated to being thrown at the rifleman. By now, the woman with the crying baby was jumping out of the carriage with the driver, and the three of them made a run for it, opposite the direction the witness had ran in. The stirring horses finally took off on their own accord with no driver to calm them. Crashing into the gunman, they fell to the ground in sort of a mess, the rifle being shot again in the process; Casting a bullet astray. Picking up his Odachi once more, he approached the men as they fought to get back on their feet. The one that had been shot panicked however, and in his anxious state he hindered the rifleman from being able to get up or even further defend them. He simply refused to let go and kept crying and screaming about how he didn't want to die. Lifting the bloody blade parallel to his face, he licked it.

Steadily he approached, the men argued, screaming at one another as one fought to get away, and the other fought to not die alone. The monster of a swordsman grew a sinister grin beneath that garb, his free hand lifting to pull the garb off of his nose and mouth. That same red tint that afflicted his hand had apparently crept up his neck and was beginning to consume the skin of his concealed face as well. Lowering his hand once more, his right hand positioned the sword parallel to the shot human's back. Once he was near enough, he thrust the blade into the nape of the man's neck, The blade tip pushed beyond the brain stem, and even though a nearly instant death had put the man out of his misery, the blade failed to stop before it ejected from one of the man's eye socket. The gunman continued to scream as splatter painted him the same red as this man's abnormal attributes.

Pulling the blade free, his foot pushed the man over. The now freed gunman tried to crawl backwards from under his now dead companion, though the look in his eyes told the swordsman that he already knew it was too late. Stabbing his blade into the earthen crust, the man began to calm just a bit until the swordsman advance regardless, seizing him by the fabric of his shirt, and his hair. Lifting him up and off of the ground completely, the swordsman stood erect, holding off of his own two feet. As he released a blood curdling cry for mercy, tears streaming down his face, the swordsman parted his lips and sank his fanged teeth into the man's neck. Biting out a sizable divot, he chewed the flesh poorly and swallowed. The failing gunman's body convulsed as he too died a terrible death. The swordsman continued to feast upon the flesh of man so long as he was left unhindered. If he managed to polish off the first corpse, he had a few others to pick through.

@Etched in Stone

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Irons painted a red trail through the air so potent, the smell of reed and tall grass was soon quickly, overpowered. It drew the battle-craved elder cousin almost to an uncontrollable hysteria. Despite his rank and reputation at the Rising Sun, moralities held very little importance. Like this Man-Eater the Jigoku people called it, Yoshihide was far, far from ever relating himself to being considered Human. A man of Monsters was more appropriate fitting, a true Daiookami from the Wolf Pack  - the White Devil. His right hand held up to his torso in the formation of a handseal empowerment, yet with his eyes concentrating on the manifestation to unfold from it; a brief incantation of words compiled a mystical blizzard of white Rose petals all hailing down upon him. Enough, the entire Nation of the Midlands seemed to be able to view such snowy white pureness one could only dream of during times of Spring, Summer, or Fall.

Soon, it was evident Moromichi's whole form had been shrouded by the blossoming white petals and that his body was consumed by the heap almost instantly vanishing, like a brush from the wind without even a trace on his whereabouts.

 "Body Flicker Art: Blossoming Rose Dance!”

A technique used to cover short distances unless users trained otherwise and became of mastery - a quick solution to getting out of somewhere hastily with little expense to the Demonic Energy. This one however, was a variation with a  twist. A wave of wind breeze caressed over the Man-Eater in his feast only to reappear as the white petals that now, encircled him. Freely encompassing his form it was then, once the first abrasion was administered should he have noticed, the heap of petals slicing across the air at him were not from the norm and in fact were means of artificial infused with energy. Boomeranging, each in it's own individual path or direction, never straying too far from the Man-Eater with sharp and resilient edges. It would seem that as the swordsman was beginning to enjoy his meal at the fullest, he would be disrupted with these razor petals from all possible angles in a perpetual series of dancing strikes. Ligaments, joints, arteries, were primary targets, but of course there had to be atleast a hundred petals to count and there was no telling what all went targeted.

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched in Stone

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The relief and euphoric effects of eating human flesh. To him as another human, cannibalism should have been alarmingly disgusting. Though thanks to the spirit he harbored within his temple, it was the only thing that actually tasted good to him. Anything else tasted terrible in comparison, with raw flesh of animals being a hard yet worthy compromise. When the hunt wasn't going well though, and the hunger became too much, this was the result. Demonic mutation, in which the further it progresses, the more the man becomes the monster. When sated however, the mutation recedes to some degree from which it grew, though it never fully leaves the body. The Yamabushi prayed and meditated on his condition. In their enlightened states, it was unanimous among the ascended that he was cursed. His fate now only had one direction. Death. 

"!"

Suddenly, a laceration was produced upon his left cheek. It was very similar to the nature of a paper cut. He noticed despite his lack of reacting to it. He merely paused as he was about to bite another mouthful of flesh. It took a couple of seconds for a red trace of the shallow cut to appear before a single drop began to swell at it's lowest edge just before dripping. Snapped out of his delusion of being alone, more of these petals seemed to be around him, and out of thin air! Years of training among the warrior monks of the mountain, and learning the magics of the Daitengu, he was well versed in these sorts of assaults. Flower petals, leaves, blades of grass, all of these things could be weaponized given the skillset.

With a grunt of frustration, he stood, albeit coiling his limbs and crunching his midsection. His robes and kasa served him well in creating a buffer, though more lacerations founds his face, neck, hands, and feet as they were the most exposed. Where the petals repeat the offense of the initial cut, they dug deeper. Swelling with Yoki in all seven chakras, the building energy spilled into his being, flooding him with it's prowess until there was enough to spread throughout his body. One on swift burst of motion, he threw his head back, a guttural yell escaping his blood covered mouth as his wide eyes began to scintillate a brilliant crimson. As his back arched, his arms tucked at his sides with closed fists. Blood slowly began to replace the red hue that was leaving his visible skin, save for his hands. Though the transition became completely lost once the gathered Yoki was pushed out of all his Tenketsu simultaneously; That same brilliant crimson seen in the glow of his eyes.

Not only would the shock-wave of force produced push the petals away from him, but the waves of energy following the concussive force would certainly cancel out the energy found in the tiny petals one by one. Yoki to Yoki; Like drop of water returning to the ocean before vanishing without trace. Still gripping that half eaten limb, his free hand instinctively found itself gripping the sheath of his Odachi, the thumbnail flat to the knuckle against the hand guard. As the energy wave left his vicinity, this mysterious swordsman stood ready, still. Before the glow even left his eyes, his lids closed. With the Demon within at bay from his recent feeding, his mind was regaining it's usual ability to focus. He'd feel his opponent clearly this time, and long before he'd see or hear him. With his kasa hanging over his back now, the full length of his hair was nearly hidden, his face now fully exposed; Though covered in blood.

@Etched in Stone

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Instead of canceling out any energy the rose petals, did disperse from the vicinity of tearing the Man-Eater's flesh into sliced peaches. Clever maneuver to scatter the hundred in effort to prevail. Where ever they had land nor did that matter much, or if they blew strewn - some way, some how the petals were being manipulated and controlled. Things were evident in the swordsman's counter that Yoshihide was not faced today with a foe of inconsiderate time and waste, this strange man was in fact a some body. Not only did this interest the Swordslayer in his eagerness, seeing how well the man actually fought, but this impressed the Yokai Shihan in ways that deserved a decent amount of clarity and respect. While toying until weaknesses were exploited was a natural game of hunt and prey for the Werewolf, often stalking his kills before initially, making his first move his only strike. The Man-Eater was worthy of an introduction. As he stood ready, gripping the sheath of the Odachi with his other hand clenched over the half-eaten limb, the rose petals gathered together in unison. Maybe it took no more than a total of three seconds to reform and rebuild into the dreidel like cyclone of white rose petals. Yet, this time in it's build of momentum they began altering and shifting, placements were not so equally spaced as they were in prior formation … they did grow increasingly feverish in color, translucent Yoki engulfed them and soon within a matter of moments, a grandiloquent blinding white light erupted for a few seconds from the central point of structure across a distance of atleast twenty-feet. The Man-Eater removed his kasa into a complete field of vision of pure blindsight. Whether this meant the minor effects of the Art stood within range of the man or not, as long as he was facing it's direction, even if he caught but a glimpse he was to be stunned almost immediately by such magnificent white.

One simply could not ponder an assumption, or think to expect what came next - not while enveloped in the temporary blindness effects. Balance, sight, and the motor functions seemed a little off and sloppy for if five seconds. So it was possible, Moromichi had now placed everything in order. His body would spawn for it's first official appearance in the city's outskirts from last being spotted at the North base of the New Union Frontier. From about twenty meters in front of the man Yoshihide emerged underheighted at 5'11 and weaponless as so it seemed, the bottom half of his summer robe stained with blood that obviously could not been his own. So was his hand still covered that held the thumb and index finger straight up in the seal of the Tora concentrating Yoki from his Tenketsu throughout as his iridescent white eyes met to match it's rivals. For the first and last time would he allow a pest unto said lands, how dare he test the Nation?! Though Yoshihide had disdained his younger cousin for him being rather the Chosen child of the Pack, opportunity with Jigoku was to vast and great to have declined the rank of Shihan Head Instructor at the Rising Sun. Though he might have never sworn allegiance to the Emperor in vein, this way was a good cover up to get what he wanted to achieve. Yoshihide was a Rat and just like the Man-Eater he was to get dealt with once his time came. But, this was now. 

" I assume you had enough fun for the day? Speak your name to me Swordsman, just once. Or we can spare the introductions and I can get this over with? But here, today, you will Die and I'm here to enact.

While his freed hand curled close to his chest with fingers almost pronged forward as if projecting claws, Shiroyasha released a blood-curdling grin one the Man-Eater should know familiar. It invoked evil in him like no other this day has seen. The lack of battle readiness did not seem to phase his concentration of the matter his eyes only narrowed further into their target at bay a gust of wind brushed past the reeds of the battlefield to commence it all. The scent of roses still clung to the air particles. The sun had not seen no better shine. The terrain had not felt any more privileged for the skirmish of Bladeslayers. This day seemed like truly an honor even the sacrifice of his own blood was worthy to die against something more formidable and frightening. Shiroyasha only slightly adjusted himself bending his form some if one called it that, allowing the joints to unstiffen and relax. Yet things of this nature seemed unnecessary for a Demon or Beast, his disciplines still was heavily influenced by the Monks, Bushi, and other martial influences from the Yokai Realm. As he focused more Yoki into the handseal through his tenketsu he gave another glance towards the perpetrator and his sinister grin formed itself to be relaxed or unempathetic. Blank rather. The gaze from the White Wolf.

"  

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched in Stone

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He was only half right it appeared, for the petals did not naturally fly away beneath his influence. Instead they rebounded, collecting approximately 10 feet before him in a flourish, only to produce a sudden flash of burning white light. The swordsman narrowed his eyes in frustration, his arm holding the severed limb raising before his face to block the light from his immediate view. When the display finished, he could already see the shadow a a man beneath his arm. He moved the limb from his sight once more, taking in the full sight of the White Devil before him. This was no man, not like himself. Just as the men before him though, he spoke upon the swordsman, feigning honor from it's wretched maw. He could sense it's blood lust in it's very essence. 

"..."

He remained silent as his narrowed crimson eyes glared at the Yokai, considering how he would face an opponent he could have no hopes of running from and escaping. One of cunning and mischief, skill and tenacity. The only thing the swordsman arguably had going for him was righteousness. He'd answer for the bad Karma produced for his sins or today and all the day before it, perhaps he was already answering for them and simply hadn't noticed, though he refused to be down trodden anymore by the likes of Yokai kind. The Rasetsu was enough of a burden to him, there was no room for any other. 

His right leg moved back before he shifted his center of gravity, raising his left leg beneath his robes as if he was planning to deliver a sidekick to his opponent from so far away. His right arm cocked back as he leaned with it, only for his entire body to recoil a brief moment later. Kicking his left leg, torquing his body left and swiping his right arm through the air, he used this build up of momentum to chuck the half eaten limb at the Shiroyasha with extreme prejudice. The throw was so harsh that he bowed into the throw, his arm swinging still after the release and even caressing the dirt before coiling back into his lowered form. His left thumb extending as left foot returned to the ground the right one moved naturally into the lead from his throw.

@Etched in Stone

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Though the exhibition had yet to commence, that didn’t necessarily mean Shiroyasha hadn’t already begun to devise a plan for the defeat of the Man-Eating Swordslayer. Essentially, the Moromichi never let up on his semi-aggressive, strategic battle tactics. Walking the Path of Gedō even as the Shihan of Hinode no Gakko in a way, winning rather had it's incentive for the White Demon. Unlike the teachings at Rising Sun promoting health, spiritual enlightenment all the while benefitting those in the Arts of Self-Defense; the Demon Fists was not only a way of fighting but a philosophy and ultimately a chosen path set down the road of power, madness and greed - as this was the Way of the Demon to not only gain dominance in the Martial world, but to also gain power by any means. This battle was for sake of acquiring the rumored Rasetsu, by killing it's host would only free his soul to detach the yokai from said body. This wasn't for the People of Jigoku, or the Heika, nor his reputation of Head Instructor with the Dojo like every one else imagined, or for his perfectly perfected Cousin Kenshi. Only the thought of his name, his face, their childhood memories not of what they were, but of what they weren't as members of the same ichizoku. This fueled him to become stronger, to be more rampant and become less like his favorited Cousin - those whom idolized him as the Legendary Swordslayer. That, in these reasons alone did the Moromichi train not only to become a Master of the Demon Fists, but to be the strongest yokai the World had ever witnessed, ever feared, ever abhorred. 

Almost immediately, his feet kicked and sprung from the terrain; that curled left hand bent itself forward from it's inward positioning the arm no longer sat along the edge of his torso, but now held-out in a ninety-degree angle from in front of him. It seemed as if he was running directly head-on the exact line of travel as the projected limb cast by the Man-Eater whom up to this point, refused to give his name; he was also refusing to allow his soul to pass over the Material plane to Spirit Realm if killed and defeated. Shiroyasha paced himself even closer, his sprint short in steps rather than taking longer strides which wouldn't allow him to shift directions or change patterns mid-action. His travel began to slightly curve, instead of his headlong sprint face-to-face of the Man-Eater he performed a barely noticeable juke to the same side of his extended right foot, projecting off at an angle maybe forty-five degrees further to the right than his initial charge. It was during this when the limb had lost it's intended target, the Shihan now coursing in the direction of the Man-Eater except at an angle. Upon reaching the Man-Eater with about six meters between the duo, Shiroyasha would once again sham his movements in a misleading body-swerve to the left seemingly, stepping off course just enough that he might have tried to avoid or dodge whatever counter the Rasetsu had coming next. However, during his juke, his body would almost vanish completely from sight; an application of yoki focused into the tenketsu of his feet enough to amplify his agility and speed momentarily. In essence, the White Devil moved at a pace that was almost untraceable to the naked untrained eye. His body continued it's normal course, or at least it seemed under the influence of intense discipline and agility, sprinting to the right side of the Rasetsu when all in actuality, he had took a leap of faith into the air at least another ten meters high above the enemy. 

"Fire Release Art: Great Blazing Meteor!"

A giant roaring fireball crackled from the epicenter of the Tora seal in his right almost instantly. An outflux of yoki energy held from the seal was finally released. About the size of an wrecking ball that unlike natural flames, these continuously burned and had solidity in form - yoki energy hardened it's substance. Upon impact, this great ball of flame was an explosive if employed correctly. Overhead his form rocketed the small meteor under intense spiritual heat and flames, not to forget atmospheric pressure due to it's kinetic properties that hauled the oversized fireball from the sky towards the center of it's target. Free-falling, Shiroyasha glided his way back straight to earthen soil with grace unscathed by his own ability. Producing six shuriken three for each hand and finger as he descended, his iridescent whites readily scanning the vicinity for his target while he weightlessly floated down from his ascension of almost thirty-five feet high in the air. This was, just the beginning. This was, the White Devil. 

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched in Stone

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As he had forsaken the telling of his name, so had this Demon. Though perhaps being a Yokai meant he wasn't subjected to the same principles as a human soul was in terms of crossing over. Despite his ailment however, Komorebi was sure of one thing about his life if nothing else. It was not going to end today, he was not going to die today. The man of white charged at an angle, Already he could tell the agile demon was going to evade the severed, partially eaten limb thrown at him. This was precisely what he wished for, to elicit movement from the opponent so that he might pray upon said movements. As the demon drew ever near, the exiled Monk grasped the handle of his Odachi. The way his body curved, the way his legs positioned, it was rather obvious that not only was he making his profile smaller to the enclosing demon. He was undoubtedly preparing to execute battoujutsu. By the time the sound of the blade leaving the sheath was heard, his arms motion had already completed it's murderous cut!

The prolong ringing of the metal blade was his first reassurance that the demon had in fact deceived him, as if he had to second guess the lack of resistance to even his sharp blade and impressive strength. Following the signature of Yoki with his mind's eyes, before his naked eyes caught up to the information it was processing, it was his best guess that the man in white went up. As the demon shouted, Komorebi twisted at the core as his legs bent and his right arm drew back in similar fashion to how it had earlier just before he literally threw it at the poor souls he snuffed but moments ago. His body moved in unison, as one, with a swift fluid grace that failed to pause. Rejecting the earthen crust from himself, he leaped, torquing his body as he threw his sword once more, though this time, he threw it vertically. By now the sound of the rapidly growing flames dwarfed the sound of the blade cutting the air if it didn't outright mute it.

While powerful with huge dimensions, this imitation meteor of a fireball traveled nowhere near as fast as it's caster. This was perhaps his saving grace. With the resistance of the atmospheric pressure, simulating a crashing meteor, it was easy to judge that the sword had less resistance and was traveling faster in theory. Whether he saw it or not, which he likely hadn't due to the rate at which the move spawned versus the rate it traveled at, the sword impacted the fireball at approximately the same moment the demon was too busy hosting projectiles in each hand, twixt every finger. The inevitable explosion that followed would not leave Komorebi unscathed as he landed with a three point crouch, his left hand now gripping the handle of his Katana in an underhand fashion. Though when the explosion did follow, the man in white was still closer to the source than he was. From roughly 20 ft, he could withstand the concussive wave that ravaged his hair and loose fabrics; And left his kasa fluttering violently about the back of his head down to the shoulder blades. Shiroyasha however was about half that distance away. Even if he was unharmed, his weightless form would likely be thrown higher into the air. While he heard his sword return and stab into the ground beside him, he couldn't imagine the Odachi had any remaining use to it. No way the mundane weapon survived such an impressive heat and force, with a status of battle ready. 

Naturally his eyes squeezed shut against the force of the explosion. His ears popped, in which one left on bled and carried some temporary deafness and ringing. Once the force washed beyond him however, his head quickly snapped back up, in which his eyes shot open wide in search of the demon he had been fighting. With a burst of Yoki flushing through him, he temporarily enhanced his senses to compensate for his loss there of.

@Etched in Stone

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Valorous how the Man-Eater would risk and destroy his Sword to the spiritual meteor, yet almost brilliant as it was of stupidity, Shiroyasha would later commend the act of brash intelligence. In the detonation of his fireball the concussive force washed over him, knocking the Shihan nearly ten meters higher into the air. While the explosion had not been caused by natural flames, in theory also meant the technique was useless in damaging himself. A giant forty foot mushroom of smoke and fire was left from the wake billowing into the air above. Busticating, chunks of ember scattered about, some hitting patches of reed and grass only to combust the ground in a gradual flame while others, extinguished upon impact. Most lucky of all, there had been some that sparked and ignited their ways near the grounded swordsman. The atmosphere had become thick almost impenetrable to pierce through it's veil even with enhanced vision, Yoshihide didn't bother relying on sight to track his target however. No. Even from thirty meters in the air there was no masking the scent of Blood from an Okami. His arms crossed over the other in front of his face resembling almost the shape of an "X" as he climbed into his elevation with the shuriken firmly in position. He outwardly projected his arms in half-circles, swinging them welcomingly wide. Simultaneously, releasing the hold on the ninja stars, three of them went whizzing in arc formation down to his left towards the Man-Eater's location as the others, did the exact same thing yet in an opposite trajectory from his right side. 

Now, came the grandiose part of it all. Spaced no more than three feet apart the shuriken leveled about evenly with the ground no more than a foot away, missing their intended target sweeping past the swordsman in their circular projection purposely as it seemed. By now, those patches of grass ablaze had started to spread and grow more intensely - though they did not require oxygen to thrive, the air was plenty outdoors and any breeze of wind was enough to inflict if not, the entire land. Soon, the Rasetsu was his for the pleasure of dominating the world, his cousin Momoku, even conquering the entire Datsuzoku Empire. While his aspirations proved themselves farfetched, his victory would only demonstrate just how truly indomitable Shiroyasha could potentially become. These ambitions drove him to succeed, no matter the cost of the Nation itself. Whether the swordsman realized it or not, soon, from a single ember astray and the shuriken arcing around him excited enough wind and agitated molecules to burst the encompassing area of his space; a radius wide enough to squeeze him in and maybe one other engulfed to a barricade of searing spiritual flames on all sides of his 360's. Encased to be cooked alive seemed the only likely option. Falling to land on his feet, bracing himself lightly for the earthen crust hands outstretched with inward palms, so did his fingers spread apart in their patience. All six shuriken returned to their wielder boomeranging the encasement of flames, landing perfectly betwixt each section of the separating fingers in his hands. Adept in his handling, leaving not a single cut between them. 

Shiroyasha watched the man from afar as the flames closed in further on him, knowing this was only the beginning. Focused in his preparations to retaliate, this was only the beginning.

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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A cloud of smoke and debris washed over his vicinity, climbing beyond the Shiroyasha, enveloping him on the way up. Residual flames and debris rained about him in the smoke as he covering his face with the sleeve of his robe. Muffled coughs escaped him as his eyes shut completely. Even if he could see through the smoke, it wouldn't help him if he was in the smoke, hindering his breathing and the ability to even hold his eyes open. Still, as they approached he could hear the approach of the the knives cutting through the air, distinctly apart from the dying sounds of the recent explosion. With his already lowered stance, the exiled Monk suddenly bolted in the direction he sensed the demon landing in, easily escaping the path of the knives that he had no idea were meant to miss in the first place. Regardless, as soon as he reaching the zenith of his striking range, he took his chances pushing the enemy with Taijutsu. His Yoki continuing to gather within him.

"!"

His sleeve abandoned his face as he forced his eyes open, his right hand securing itself about his Katana, carried in place of the traditional Wakizashi. Much like his encounter with the victims of his most recent slaughter, he drew his blade in a flawless battojutsu. By the time the naked eye registered the full range of motion on the offending limb, by the time they heard the passage of the blade against the sheath, the cut was already complete. A diagonal slash meant to bisect the demon from it's right hip to it's left shoulder. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the sharp edge of the blade to remain facing his target while immediately following up with a second slash, this one being horizontal and aimed to decapitate the demon outright. The knives flying at his backside weren't fast enough to hinder his assault, and even if they could have hit him, it would take more than a few, inch deep puncture wounds to stop a man of his discipline. By now his eyes had returned to more of their natural, sienna hued pools framed in white. 

@Etched In Stone

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hình về 12 chòm sao cực đẹp luôn đó nha #ngẫunhiên # Ngẫu nhiên # amreading # books # wattpadEvery minute detail, a graze from the wind shifting the sway of reeds, to the route of travel the Man-Eater used to escape from the surrounding soot and smoke to scatter. The reeds danced in flames emitting crackles of death, terror, and destruction. The fire itself was contagious like a virus soon encompassing a radius of one hundred feet and spreading! It was evident in the account of this, the smell of burning flesh did not accompany the grassy tendrils crisping; nor did any suffering whelp break the noise of the field burning alive. Yoshihide snarled at the thought of such realities in distaste for the Swordslayer without openly admitting to the his adversary's fighting ability and ultimately, his unwavering will - which he was still all trying to comprehend up to this point whom exactly this being was. The Yokai Realm had many tales to tell of this Rasetsu - however, witnessing firsthand live action had even the Shihan sharp as the cutting edge of a Katana. It would all be taken into visual consideration. Shiroyasha endured a motionless stance drawing yoki from the already existing fires about the area, his spread fingers down to the cuffs on his wrists engulfed in the spiritual essences of flame. They weren't literally, on fire but they were concentrated outlining the entire limb of his hand. Small trickles of sweat from the yokai's face was evidence, this swordsman was no ordinary foe. 

"You will burn in spirit today, Man-Eater."

At the time he extended his arms forth in near palm-thrust motions. instead of planting himself firmly in the earth and supporting grounds with the application of his own weight, Shiroyasha took to a backwards jog as so his legs would appear, his feet lifted from the grassy surface skillfully enough striding steps in reverse whilst performing the Arts. A producing metallic flash of light as the Rasetsu fouind itself drawing his final bladed weapon would also discover being blasted with a wave of yoki flame not only intended to incinerate the physical being of a body, but to inflict the spirit and soul altogether and as one. It was in the knick of time maybe, but strategy was the overwhelm in the long-haul. While this blast of unnatural flame continuously did not cease itself, Yoshihide in retrospect never ended his retrograded direction. 

@Twitterpated

 

Edited by Etched In Stone

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The moment the demon began pooling energy from the environment around them, he knew that something of another attack was coming fast! Without hesitation he pressed onward with his slashes as anticipated. Unlike earlier, this time the swordman pooled his Ki; He did however gather it throughout his entire being as he had earlier with those annoying petals. Without expelling a wave of force however, the Monk simply allowed the energy to expose itself through his pores, spreading over him and his sword in a protective skin. Gritting his teeth with the second slash missing, he bent his knees while raising to the balls of his feet. Rebuking the earthen crust with extreme prejudice, the swordsman lunged aiming a thurst at the demon with a sudden burst of speed easily twice as fast as he'd appeared a brief moment ago. An afterimage was left in his wake, in which by the time it faded the thrust of his katana. While the parasitic flames of Yoki indeed plagued him, his Ki was more than enough to protect him. While Yoki was powerful, and this demon seemed to house plenty of it, the truest strength to be found in power was in the purity of the power, not the quantity of it. Something a devil like this would never grow to understand.

@Etched In Stone

Edited by Twitterpated

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