stuff

A piercing strike. The howls from those watching intensify. Growing thicker, and larger in number now as the mightiest of those currently present- falls. In a last ditch attempt to net the win, he is done away with.

The power of Setsuri truly formidable, and despite their greater numbers... None step up. None move to interject, the path of the proved warrior is free... seemingly.

For the cries of outrage continue. "PATHETIC!" Some shout with anger fueling them; fist shaking violently but bodies unable to move- these creatures unwilling to face death as the Mysterious male had it seemed. Their wills all only paper thin.

"THAT TECHNIQUE IS NOTHING COMPARED TO WHAT I WILL DO TO YOU- JUST WAIT!" Other more long-winded entities cry. All of them are nothing but crows; waiting to scavenge. These seek to egg on one another, hoping someone else takes the first plunge. Not unable to fight, but still unwilling to bet their lives so carelessly.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE STRONG?! I'LL SHOW YOU STRONG!!" The stupidest amongst them. Their brawn all they have. Natural affinities carrying them this far- they acted. They knew no other way to live. Truly the bravest, but the most foolish. For they are the first done, getting in each other's ways. Fights break out as they careen towards Setsuri. Breaking formations; killing their own, slaughtering to have the right to say they have failed the newcomer. To prove themselves supreme.


Sloppy strikes made by those who can reach the man are not to be feared. They are fodder. Steps up the ladder for what really lie in wait...

". . ." Amongst them all. One walks without fear. Without worry. Has he seen death? Has he tasted inexperience? Yes. all of this in more. The host of something greater than himself. The pinnacle of 'fight'. The embodiment of martial skill.

Bushin.

He without restraint, contains himself. He who strikes with nothing but his full strength time, and time again- moves any who come towards him with subtle motions, and waves of fingers.

Yet something is amiss...

His path is not clear. Yet he walks it casually. That 'subtle' movement is a misconstrument. Limbs line the ground. Bodies pile alongside where his feet now pass. For on his level- subtle did not mean weak. His strongest of attacks, was also his weakest. His touch was damning. His presence, a weight ont he world.

The skill he exhibited- beyond everything.

It was him. A line made- from the end of the cavern. An odd grating sound, echoing throughout it's length. There he walks until he comes to stand directly apart from Setsuri. Having either seen savages cut down, fleeing, or cut them down himself.

Looking down at them as a towering 'wall'. Stoic in every sense of the word. Hands gripping upon the imposing length of a Halberd of some sort. No words spoken. No knowledge imparted. It was a moment where instinct prevailed. Where what he needed to do could not be said, but only carried out. Acted upon- the feelings inside of him urging at this point.

Here he stands now- no anticipation filling him. Just a dead-certainty. Akiresuken, the Bushin.
(Hozuki, Dog)