KURAI [O]

[Naitome]

--| The entrance hall to the Library of Kurai is near flawlessly rendered in gold, with baroque architecture, archways and sculptures of precious metal arranged around an intimidating spread of knowledge contained within endless tomes. It is, unfortunately, the only structure within the massive expanse that has not collapsed into destruction, as the ravages of time have weathered its many other halls into little more than dust and old paper. It is just outside of this main hall that a young man who has only ever been called "12" before his joining of the samurai order, begins to experience life beneath the weight of his given samurai name, Ryuo.

He is buried beneath a half ton of books. He has just killed a young boy who appeared suddenly before him. His armor is heavy and cumbersome as the pile of forgotten volumes threatens to swallow him whole.

Something malevolent is moving through the destroyed building.

It is getting closer.

He sat atop a black carbon karst, layers of soluble bedrock interrupted by underground caves and a field of pockmarked ash stretching for miles in every direction...at least, this was the base. Miles above ornate gold-work and a tunnel system more labyrinth than path, a man trembled in barely contained rage, pushing books away from his sides. The lower half of his body seemed suffused with whatever spilled contents the Library offered, and more rained down from a hole in the ceilings structure directly above him. They would descend, after teetering on some overhead ledge or shelf, and strike him on the head comically from time to time. He swept his hands around the pile, the sheathe of his sword just barely visible as poetry and novels and impregnable arcane texts crowded his midsection...seemed to be pulling him through the floor.

He heard a sharp grunting beneath him, animal noises, echoing off the maze walls of the lower level.

His eyes closed and instead of the normal wild clutch of routine sensory perception, he reached out with a flood of chakra crashing through his tenketsu, enveloping his body and stretching out, past the simple arched structure surrounding him, into the cave-scape settling below his feet.

The seal over his heart pulsed...glowed briefly...chakra bubbled up beneath the surface of his skin but he cared not. He thought only of going through the motions, the minute nodules of ink spread along his chest mimicking constellation points, focusing on the reserves of chakra within him rising and building, piling atop each other like the books. His breathing quickened.


He would allow them to swell and retreat, like waves in an ocean. His surroundings seemed to be marginally effected by the blanketing waves, but his overall predicament didn't change. He held an open palm out over an "Official Guide To Taki No Kuni", and instead of focusing outward, decided to think about scale. He allowed his chakra to knead itself together, become smaller and more highly pressurized, pushed it and forced it out of his body and molded it as if it were simple clay. A suffusion of physical and spiritual energies collided, became something more...

...from his bare hands, a pulse of chakra became a torrent, a contained stream...his chest tingled with the effort as his body simply and efficiently bypassed the formation of hand-seals and fed a loop of forced a few feet from his hand. Its end tapered suddenly, became like a blade, then washed over itself and swelled bluntly at its end to become more of a paddle.

He began slowly sweeping away the books and compacted sand that were his prison. He freed the handle of Million Body Blade and cut off chakra feeding his superficial savior to take the sword's hilt in his right hand. He could feel an increased range of motion, even if only slightly, and braced himself for the next few seconds as a creaking sound built...

...and Ryuo fell through the floor.

[Naitome]

He fell for what seemed like years, finding it difficult to catch his breath as the wind rushed and strange energies crashed into his spinning frame. When he landed, it was not quickly and loudly with the expected thud of many pounds of metal hitting ground, it was lightly, like footfalls on a quiet night.

Where he landed, shook him to his core.

It was...a city.

He had expected a few underground basement structures, perhaps a storage space to hold older collections, but not this. There were...vehicles from ages long lost, buildings, a sprawling dune-city spread wide and reinforced with concrete and steel and infinite sand. There were roads and machines for assembling, gardens and underground fields arranged like a spiral around a core of pipes feeding water and draining oil from...the empty empty little villa.

There were areas where things seemed to be being built; new homes and training facilities and perhaps shops that would help it better imitate the simulacrum life of the ghost-city. He could not hide his melancholy; he'd begun to feel himself growing stagnant and comfortable, he felt as if he were not pushing himself to his absolute limits. He walked in large circles that grew consecutively smaller as his feet sounded impatiently along the resistant ground, and eventually came to an outcropping of uncovered rails and pillars...the skeleton of some incomplete structure.

He moved calmly from one point to the next, finishing the last bitter dregs of the clove cigarillos he kept with him at all times, and slowly unsheathed Million Body Blade, admiring the glint of overhead artificial lights reflecting off the flat of the blade. He stared in awe at the capricious enormity of the underground complex.

He passed his hand over the blades surface, feeling the slow rise in temperature as his chakra flared and congealed into a flickering shell, and spoke for the first time in days.

"Alone...again."

There was a flash of light and a surge of power. The exposed metal bars around him began to melt into puddles of muddy silver and the tiny impressions of grass beneath his exposed feet were burnt to blackness in the span of a second. His sword changed, grew a burning outline of charged particles igniting into life and stabilized into a recognizable shape; he created a reaping scythe of energy around the doubled-edge of Million Body Blade. He moved the blade through the air, expanding his burning chakra field as far as it could go, and took the first un-named stance of his own fighting style, gripping the handle tightly.

[Naitome]

He took a small step forward with his right leg, the left moving back along the natural line of his body, which was turned slightly sideways as his arms were raised in a defensive manner, the cutting edge of the blade pointing upwards. He held the sword higher than his own head, as he placed his right arm along the front end of the hilt, and the left to subtly cradle the back end. He set his feet, allowing the rigidity to leave his body and loosening his joints, while his breathing slowed to a bare minimum; he closed his eyes and as his chakra blurred the air around him, he let his right hand rise slightly and fall, his left still attached to the back end of the blade hilt, and carried the slashing movement through to completion as a brief step forward with his left foot connected the momentum of the move into a half-spin, ending with the blades point thrust suddenly forward. In his mind, he allowed his chakra to follow the same flow and path as his sword, imagining a slowly draining funnel that would carry the energy along with it. The scythe of energy extending for several meters from the swords tip carved a neat line through the air.

A tiny wave of barely visible heat traveled from the vibrating metal of the weapon out its tip, and as quickly as he'd begun the movement, he charged physical energies in his lower body to move a half step to his right in a flash, delivering another energy carrying slash through the air. At the highest point of the maneuver, he twisted again, this time just his upper body as his feet remained planted, and letting go with his left hand, used the right to torque the blade so that the flat of it would move with the same ferocity as the cutting edge. His left hand found the hilt again, mimmicing the grip of the right, and brought the sword edge flying up through the air and behind him, ending with a blackened ash-mark on the ground. Another 'flash' half a step to the left and a slow moving stab, followed by four more slashes aimed at an imaginary opponents heart, neck, and hands. As the movement ended, a full back step would return him to his original stance. Extending his arms upwards, he gave out a soft grunt as a fast vertical downward application of pressure completed the kata.

He stood, holding the blade tightly in his left hand, jumped high into the air, spinning his entire body multiple times before using the right to accentuate the movement. As the blade came around, he whipped it beneath his own feet, allowing them to rest on its length just long enough to lunge another few steps off of its weight. The sword was propelled forward, bearing the touch of his chakra, the scythe extended straight now, and his body turned a complete horizontal revolution before he drove the sword straight downward, finally relinquishing himself to gravity.

As the sword bit into the earth, Ryuo would be seen crouched atop the hilt with his entire body, like a lone flea sitting atop a sprig of grass, and without hesitation, he took another breath, and held his incredible weight in stillness on the unwavering katana.

Around him, something moved, made noise; was tracking him through the overgrown relic of a city.

[Naitome]

As obscenely as his heavy frames stillness atop the blade had begun, it was broken by an extension of both Ryuo's legs into the air. He pulled back his left arm, reaching upwards as his body weight fell forward, and gripping the hilt of his sword in his right hand he completed the movement, flipping frontwards and pulling the sword from the ground at the same moment, to end right side up after delivering a rounded vertical slash through the air. He landed in a crouched position as the blade impacted with the earth, and spun its length horizontally, his chakra struggling to maintain shape and form around his flickering movements. He stood quietly as a low wind picked up behind him, (odd, some part of him mused, to feel wind in this decrepit ghost metropolis, but he overlooked the intrusion of logic as quickly as it was birthed) and gripped the empath katana with both hands overlapping before concentrating as much of his spiritual energy as he could gather into its shimmering length.

"Always alone..."

He said, louder and more focused, his eyes closing in concentration as he imagined his conflicting internal energies like a massive hand reaching into the heart of the blade. Images flashed briefly through his mind, and the path of his steps had been traced in the dust around him that now, kicked up and particulate, began to blow about, pushed with power. He ignored the caress of sparks against his hardened black armor and felt himself 'fall' (this is not an exaggeration he thought, I can feel the distinct physical impression of plummeting) and no longer restrained the pure pressure he'd spent so much time concealing for the benefit of others.

An invisible field of chakra expanded, sunk into the ground and over his considerable height, radiating heat. In his mind, woven between nightmare images of his own death and the unmistakable sound of something large treading weak ground, Ryuo saw, for the briefest of seconds, what seemed to be a large mirror (impossible, he thought, and most of him agreed) and plunged through it a second later, trailed by the ethereal floating ghost sounds of his own half-real screams.




A sword was pressed against his throat.

[Naitome]

He opened his eyes suddenly, moving back through sheer reaction, without thought as to who or what, lowering his stance and center of gravity while holding Million Body Blade to his side in a diagonal right handed grip. A flash of red and black cloth sped forward, blisteringly fast, crashing heavy metal against metal as he stared at his own sword flash out in a disciplined strike he barely had time to deflect in his surprise.

As his attacker stepped back, Ryuo's forehead wrinkled imperceptibly with determination, momentarily a mixture of too many emotions to easily describe.

Before him stood an experienced warrior...a Samurai in thick black and red robes, his hair in a top knot, his face creased by age and wisdom, his mouth set in a disapproving and constant frown. The man held a jeweled katana of intricate detail, one Ryuo knew too well. It was the gift of the man he sought, the man who would feel the brunt of his daimyo's vengeance. This was Shizukana Koroshi, ronin, and the man's sword...

...the man's sword was called Billion Body Blade.


"Still too slow, Juni."

Shizukana said to him in a rumbling baritone that vibrated Ryuo's chest. The man was the same height as he, an unusual sight, and without words, they each bowed to other, took their initial stance, and would begin.

(Odd again, he thought....no words exchanged between them, nothing to signal the beginning of combat. He expected the arrogance of Shizukana; he was after all an exceptional warrior, far better than Ryuo....but why had he called him Juni, the name he was given by his captors...what he at first thought to be a sign of affection but was in actuality just the word for "12" in the language of hi no kuni? Shizukana knew him as Ryuo....was this a dream or a vision...was any of this even real?)

Swords flashed.

Something came closer to the man battling his own demons.

[Naitome]

The cacophony of metal-on-metal rang hollow in the cathedral sized tunnel; it seemed more a tomb now and it was difficult to appreciate its wide open and painstakingly carved golden halls while the object of his vengeance swung a blade that bit hungrily at his flesh. The sound of sword ricocheting off of cheap armor was absent, their was only the animal grunt of pain accompanied by a misting of blood that discolored the air and made the young samurai's madness worse. He was caught in a sadistic swirl of conflict, and felt as if perhaps he might not complete this dance with his inner devils.

Approaching from the far left was the sound of heavy machinery grinding its way through a mound of sound. He heard it only as an afterthought at first; but with growing severity the melding of sensations became a full on assault that made every pause in his attackers strikes an opportunity to gaze around wildly in paranoia. Something was coming. For him. It was close.

He could not react as he wanted; his hands weren't fast enough, his mind was too distracted, the chakra augmenting seal on his chest burned his tenketsu to the point of sparks blooming through each layer of his skin with the fresh reminder of hurt. Billion Body Blade was relentless, and at the same time as he cursed the skill of his one time comrade, he could not help but admire the man's commitment to perfection. If only he'd been loyal. If only Juni...no....Ryuo...would not be forced to kill him where he stood, the two would be allies. He ducked low beneath an upward slash that could have split his body in two and moved forwards with reckless abandon, Million Body Blade aimed to sever the apparitions throat.

The sword cut through. Cut nothing. Moved through an ethereal miasma of shapeless smoke that scattered Billion Body Blade into nothing as the lights around Juni dimmed, and he was again, alone.

He sat suddenly, resolutely, as if he'd come upon some great decision. His mind was quieted and with legs crossed, he ignored the siren call of impending doom that followed the heavy pounding nearing his body and he thought only of release. He was not well in the mind, but it was his madness, he owned it. If perhaps this were used to his advantage...if indeed it were possible...

Off in the distance, there was a sound of a great door being forced closed.

In his own head, Ryuo gained the impression of a door opening.

He would sit here, lost in his own mind, but still finding a path, until the madness had been quelled.



There was a chilling silence in the cave that would not be broken for some time.

RETIRED

[Gentlemanne]

Retirement approved.

I'm not reading all that shit, another staffer can take care of that.

[Messatsu!]

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