Locked up.
Nov 21, 2015 7:59:47 GMT -8
Post by Naitome on Nov 21, 2015 7:59:47 GMT -8
To descend. Into the hardened black flat. Bizarre falling star of cloth and flesh and anticipatory calm. He was at once free and rigid. Wrangling air, seething stiff limbs flailed like thin petals as the distance of the fall increased, a meteor lotus. When he reached the bottom, the noise of desperate fighting growled away distraction. He landed.
Onto a thick clutching, a metal sliver's glint scattered silver in the prison dark. Four former shinobi fought against their own contraption-restraints, battling a horde of samurai that outnumbered them three to one. They hadn't been expecting Naitome's arrival, stomping as he landed, straight-down momentum carrying excess weight to crash into the bulk of heavy-armor tacked onto their misguided swordsmen-jailers. He killed two instantly, used their bodies to break his fall, ducked beneath a skewering diagonal display of blades thrust forwards more in reaction than skill, the startle-response relentless combat forces into habit. The first blade sailed over his chin, splitting a single red hair from the goatee Naitome had not noticed until that moment. The second came from the opposite direction, blistering fast, nearly tracing the contours of his face as he licked the sword, letting it draw his blood. He twisted, right knee a braid of stretched scales, hands lightly tapping both attackers in the center of their chest plates.
They flew, rocketed, as if a world-sized slingshot had flung them, broke two man-sized holes through the side wall of the prison's lower level. They crashed through compacted chambers layered to be a warding. SHelled walls, holding the place up. He had not cracked a hole clear to the outside with the assault, but the other samurai clinging to the fray stopped and watched in awe, stared at Naitome's face, recognized his strange features from tales of his transfer.
"Gods fuck me blind, how the hell did he..."
"its...its Jashin no Naitome...!"
He smiled, forked tongue flickering past fangs still ruddy with the blood of past tormentors.
"Kirigakure..."
He started, a shout, as he reached for his scythe - remembered it had been taken, along with his other possessions - then turned the reaching motion into a slithering jerk, punctuated with the turning of his head. He addressed the lull his commotion caused, the prisoners now jumbling in the half-hearted frenzy of watching a beast speak, the samurai hacking at his peers.
"...and those of you from other lands, all of us, shinobi."
He said the last word, the forbidden word, like a mantra, like magic, like the secret name of a god.
"We are not trapped in here with them...they are trapped in here with us."
And with monstrous grace, the prisoners changed the dynamic pervading their fall.
"RISE."
He near-screamed.
And they did.