Competitive Collision

[EriChar]

“Watch where you’re going!”

[/color] Jumonji Fuutaro was bellowed at by the keep of a market stall, as he leapt over his stock boxes and narrowly avoided knocking him over.
Got no time to hang about… Gotta follow the trail ‘fore it gets cold…
Dashing through the streets of Minatsuki, clamped in his right mitt was a new addition to his arsenal; what appeared to be a katana. Of course, this was a true katana only in appearance, for what Fuu carried was actually the Iaito he had come into possession of, and used to practice his the drawing techniques that he had learned in his study of Shiryuu Shinen Ryuu. Almost visually identical to a real katana blade, the weapon was rather simply decorated, with a black sheath and handle, and a steel guard dividing them. The big difference between this practice weapon and the true version of the weapon it resembled was the sharpness of its blade; Fuu’s Iaito was shaped in the same way as a true katana, but lacking the unparalleled sharpness that it’s combat ready counterparts tended to have. There was also a doubt on the durability of the blade in general, since it wasn’t designed for clashing with other weaponry and more for the simple action of the draw, it hadn’t been as well prepared as the genuine article was expected to be. Still, despite the inferiorities that the weapon possessed, it was the best thing he could have gotten his hands on in short order, and would hopefully stand up to swordplay a lot better than the wooden bokken that was slung at his waist.

Having parted from Hinata at the bar, telling the girl to stay with her father for when he awoke again, Fuutaro had dashed up to his room and retrieved the practice weapon, before setting off to settle the score. Hinata had given him a decent description of his master’s assailant and Fuu, being a former delinquent kingpin and current bouncer, had a good idea of who to hit up and whom to shake down in order to track the bastard down. Having already put on his ‘scary face’ for a couple of the local snitches with no luck, Fuu was now heading to the next one. However, the longer he took finding out where his quarry had concealed himself, the more chance there was of the info he found leading to a dead end. Ducking into a dark back street, Fuu’s dash diminished into a stride, as he caught sight of a few guys crouching further down the street. As they registered Fuu approaching, they stood up, and the bigger ones seemed to move to meet him.
“Hey, buddy, there’s a toll to-“ The lead one’s words were interrupted as his nose exploded, thanks to a well-placed forehead from one time king of the Minatsuki Delinquent Circuit; Jumonji Fuutaro.

“Got a standin’ invite with ya boss.” Fuutaro stepped around the flunky, who was cradling his face, blood making rivers that flowed between his fingers.
“Hahhh, now two veg?” A couple more had stepped up to Fuu, ready to take the place of their fallen comrade, trying to make themselves look big and tough. With the sight of their lead taken down so easily, the next set of ‘hurdles’ seemed to find solace in strength with their numbers. However, their desire to work as a pair seemed to ignore the lack of teamwork and unity between them, and instead of taking the fight to Fuu, they hovered before him in hesitation.
“Well, come on then, don’t need ta queue…” The both swung at Fuutaro wildly, trying to pin him down with their fists. It was unfortunate for them that Fuutaro had gotten used to the pace of such half-assed moves the best part of a decade before. Ducking around the flailing arms of his foes like they had been swatting at flies, Fuu put the pair of them down quickly. The first fell to a boot to the knee followed up by a straight with his free hand, whilst the second was battered to the ground by the sudden presence of Fuu’s pommel in his gut.

With his bodyguards quelled, the final one in the alley, the ‘boss’ seemed to try and shrink away from Fuu’s presence, trying to slip away from Fuu before he had finished dealing with the muscle that had been tossed at the white haired avenger. However, there seemed to have been a miscalculation performed, the ‘boss’ hadn’t expected Fuu to deal with the grunts so quickly, and all too soon Fuu had his target within his grasp.
“Leavin’ already?” The one time Yankee king yanked his quarry back to him and around to face him, a devlish grin apparent on the face of the furious Fuu.

“Ah ha ha ha ha… Long-time no see, Boss Fuu” The target this time around was a former gang mate of Fuutaro, who he’d heard tell of becoming something of an information merchant in the meantime. Apparently, the terror that Fuu once inspired had not completely died out, which would make things a little easier from here on out.
“Ho? Gonna need ta use that good memory of yours…” Fuu patted his old ‘friend’ in a seemingly affectionate manner, but that was all the warmth he showed.
Wasting no time, Fuutaro added to his intimidation factor, slamming the former flunky into a nearby wall, pinning his snitch against it with his forearm.
“Big guy, wears furs, feathers in his hair. Seen ‘im?” Fuu was direct, he had no time to mess around with reminiscence or pleasantries. He needed to know where to find this challenger yesterday, and be standing over his bloodied body the day before.

“Aha ha, you see many strange things on the streets these d-“ Fuu offered his one-time underling a little more encouragement; cutting off the words that he tried to slither out with a his mitt as it slammed into the wall next to the squealers cheek. The bricks beyond the paw cracking, the fire of Fuu’s inner fury prevented any pain from the blow reaching his notice, and as he retrieved his grazed knuckles, Fuu lined up his next shot straight at his fink’s face.
“Ah! Alright! Alright! I heard they’re staying near the windmill, the old Honda farm!”

With his information gained, Fuu released his rat, who wilted and dropped down to the floor. Taking a few steps forwards, Fuutaro paused before he continued, and cast the sagging snitch a cold, red eye.
“If yer lyin’, I’ll be back, an’ my sword’ll be drawn.” Fuu made sure that there was an understanding between them, about the accuracy of the information that had been shared, before he sprinted out of the alley, and on course for his target as fast as he could; the farm was on the other side of town.
[/blockquote][/size]

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] By the time Erland reached the dilapidated house that the swordsmen were staying in, the sun was setting, lighting the rice farms with a crimson glaze. The scene was all but lost upon the man, who was entirely focused upon finding an entrance. Though it was late, it was not yet dark enough to employ stealth, and he was not the kind of man who would employ a method like that anyway. Whenever he went hunting in the woods, he never had to learn how to remain quiet as the animals considered him not to be a threat, but to be prey due to his size. They were considerably larger than him, as were most things found on the island, so it was a plain contest of strength, no finesse was really needed. There weren’t really any defences in place that could be seen from outside. There were a group of them outside, smoking, but they weren’t watching their surroundings at all. It was a perfect situation for Erland, if he was fast enough he could take several of them down before the rest suspected anything. He switched his attention back to the possible entrances, there were 2 obvious ones and one or two more tricky paths. There were the front doors, as you’d expect, an open window around the back, a stairs to the basement and the ventilation shaft on the roof. Never one for avoiding the most fun option, Erland started to walk towards the front door. The group was around the back, so he had some time to play with. He rapped the front door three times in quick succession and a man opened up the door slightly, a metal chain keeping it from moving further, “What the hell do you want!?” “Knock, knock mother*******!” His foot slamming into the middle of the double-doors was enough to coerce the chain lock from its bolts. The man behind the door was thrown back, and a couple of men who were sitting on the floor looked up in disbelief. Taking advantage of his temporary positioning advantage, Erland jumped down into them, lodging both axes into the backs of the fodder. Realising that they weren’t going to come out so easily, he drew his giant’s war axe from his back. The sheer size of the weapon along with the sudden death of their comrades caused the 2 living men to adopt a panicked scrabbling motion away from Erland. The weapon in question was twice the height of Erland, crafted by the giants of Elbaf. He had been keeping it in the tavern until he had found out where he needed to go, but there was no better weapon for “thinning the crop”. Due to the restriction of the roof, he could only swing it horizontally, but this was more than enough to completely destroy the two men before him. The utter weight and power of the weapon was difficult for a normal human to understand as it seemed to almost erase them from existence entirely. Despite its size, the metal was sharpened to a fine edge with the ability to cut through iron if enough power was behind it. The screams and the crash of the door alerted the other thugs to Erland’s presence, but that was just as he expected. Though he was confident, he understood that if he were to be severely outnumbered it would mean the end for him, especially as some of these men were skilled also. To avoid such a situation, he assumed a state of being completely lost in rage, and began to rampage through the house with windows being an escape route if necessary. Yet, as he stormed he encountered few obstacles, to the point where he couldn’t even find any men eventually. He ran into a room with a dust-covered piano, it was spacious yet there was no soldier in sight. After properly surveying the room to make sure they weren’t simply hiding from him, he turned in an effort to leave the room. Yet this was not so simple, as the once vacant doorway was now completely filled with swordsmen, eager to draw blood. It was clear that they were not so simple as Erland had guessed, the moment they understood the situation they concocted a plan to ensure his defeat. As they flooded into the room, it seemed as if there was no end to their numbers. There were now two clear choices, escape and posing a desperate last stand. The fact that he couldn’t see his target’s face anywhere among the crowd made the answer clear, Erland grasped his giant axe and crashed it down onto the floor beneath him, creating a hole below his feet but leaving the ambush above him. [/style]

made by cirrus

Words: 950
Music:
Notes: Apologies for the quality of this one, my mind is kind of messed up whenever I post at the moment <_<

[EriChar]

Crap… Sun’s startin’ to go down already … Jumonji Fuutaro was sprinting through the rice paddies of one of the farms that was relatively local to Minatsuki. Even with steadily dimming light in the agricultural landscape of Dance Island, the dark skin of Fuutaro glistened clearly, a taint of perspiration that a dash through diminishing had brought about. Fuutaro moved as hastily as he could, but didn’t seem to have been particularly worn by the distance. Fuu had long since move past the stage where a marathon run or two would take a heavy toll on him; hours of strength and endurance training had elevated his stamina beyond what one could expect of your average human, so he would have plenty left in the tank for when he ran into his foes.

From what Hinata had told him, the target he tracked wasn’t alone; even when seeking out the dojo, apparently the guy had shown up flanked by a group of flunkies. While he wasn’t sure how many of them he would find at the old Honda place, it didn’t really matter to him. Fuu had long ago gotten used to being outnumbered, and had constantly strived to ensure that with his own level of combat strength, he was never ‘outgunned’. One opponent or one hundred, Fuutaro would fight them, and he would leave with his Dojo’s sign. For some reason, there seemed a reason aside from the disrespect his dojo had suffered, or the hurt that Yosuke-sensei or Hinata were suffering that drove him on; his sense of pride seemed to demand a victory now, but Fuutaro couldn’t place his finger on an exact reason why. To his recollection, he hadn’t suffered a loss or serious dent to his ego recently, at least nothing beyond the usual losses he endured when sparring with his master.
Don’t matter anyway… Fuutaro elected that without any real weight behind the feeling, it wasn’t something that was worthwhile getting hung up on. Pushing the sensation back within him, Fuutaro drove his body onwards, pushing his way through the long, grass-like crops that were ripe for harvest.

As he moved towards his goal, Fuutaro finally caught sight of his goal; rising slowly on the horizon of swaying green plumes, the rounded steeple of the jutting zenith that was the windmill nearby the Honda farm pierced the sky, and Fuu picked his pace up as he dashed in the direction of it. Crossing the final paddy of rice, Fuu finally reached the overgrown pinwheel, and scanned around for sight of his destination.
“Haa… Haa…” His back arched forwards, Fuutaro’s shoulders rose and fell as he gasped for air, drawing air into his lungs to let them catch up with his need for breath. The glisten of perspiration that had been dusted over Fuu’s brow slipped slightly, and with the sleeve of his robe, Fuu dragged his arm across his forehead to stop his sweat from seeping into his eyes.
“That’s… Where yer hidin’, huh?” Fuutaro’s eyes locked on to the sight of a slightly dingy looking building slightly over to his right, and with a target in sight, he set off again.


“RAHHHHHHH!!!” Fuutaro flung himself through the window of the building, feeling the glass and wood exploding out of place as he broke and dislodged the window fittings. Crashing down onto his feet, Fuu landed in a stoop, almost leaning down on one knee, but quickly straightened himself up and tore his Iaito from the sheath that held it.
“Yer mine, ya bastard’s!” Fuu roared with fury as he pointed his weapon at the people within the building he’s broken into, and hung it there as an uncomfortable silence swept over all of its inhabitants. Fervour had overwhelmed Fuu in his efforts, and as his eyes focused on the people who knelt beyond the tip of his weapon, the white haired samurai began to understand that he may have made a mistake.
In front of Fuu, rather than a swatch of angry underlings between him and their boss, he saw that there was in actuality a low dinner table with an elderly couple gaping their mouths in his direction. An old man and woman, with a pair of chopsticks in their right hands and a bowl of rice in their left, were now frozen in shock and fear, with a crazed sword-wielding maniac threatening them.

“Uhhhh…” Jumonji Fuutaro’s mind was now blank, like the elderly pair he was now harassing, Fuu’s mind seemed to have frozen and for several seconds, a mental and physical paralysis held the room’s occupants within its grip.
“I-Is this the, uhhh, Old Honda farm?” Fuu’s mind seemed to have rebooted itself to some degree, and a synchronized slow shaking of the head from the elderly couple implied that they too had recovered their mental faculties.
“Uh… Sorry, do ya know where it is?” Fuu realized that he still had his practice katana directed at them, and he snapped his thrust arm down, to appear slightly less threatening to the still largely stunned set of seniors. Once again, with a perfectly harmonized unison, the aged man and wife’s chopstick bearing hands slowly pointed at the window. Fuutaro turned his head to see that, through the window and past the wind mill where he’d previously caught his breath; there was a decidedly more run down looking building.
Damnit… For a moment, Fuu fell silent again, as he reflected on his lack of observation the first time around; the actual Honda farm wasn’t too far away from the path he’d taken to get to the windmill, so he had apparently ran straight past it without even noticing.
Turning back to the elderly couple, Fuu now had a slight redness in his cheeks, and tried to give them a polite smile.
“Thanks fer the help!” It was an oddly awkward moment as Fuu presented the couple with a salute in a pause, and no one really knew what to say. However, before the topic of Fuu’s breaking and entering was taken up, the cross-cheeked boy thrust himself back through the hole he had made, and sprinted in the direction of the real Honda farm.

His mishap in locating the right building only fuelled the fury within Fuu, so as he passed the windmill again, the sight of a figure smoking outside of his final destination brought an even quicker pace this time. Winding his sword back like a champion pinch-hitter, Fuutaro watched as the mouth of the man in front of him fell open, and the cigarette dropped from his lips. Fuutaro slammed the blunt blade of his weapon into the unidentified male’s face, and with the full force of Fuu’s arms and the momentum of his running legs, the victim was catapulted backwards and straight through the wall behind him.
His action having brought him to a halt, Fuu stood up straight and threw his blade back, so that it rested on his shoulder casually.
Guess I’ll take the back door… Fuutaro stepped through the hole that the goon had made with his home run hit, and stepping over the battered remains of the man, and the wall. Scanning the room within, the thing that stood out most to Fuu was the debris dropping from the ceiling.
“Jeez… Place’s fallin’ apart…” Fuutaro realized, as he saw a gaping hole in the ceiling.

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] Erland fell with all the speed that gravity would allow him, causing him to crash through the first floor as well, landing him on the ground level. The impact of the landing caused Erland to drop to his knees and hands for a moment but he had no time to rest, as moments after a man crashed through the wall of the building. Without any idea what was coming, he adopted a position behind the edge of a bookshelf. He heard footsteps, and then the words, “Jeez… Place’s fallin’ apart…” that seemed to be aimed at no particular target. The words rang through his ears, they sounded familiar. He stood out from the corner and saw that the man who had entered was the bouncer who had passed out during their drinking contest. From the incapacitated goon on the floor, it was clear that he was not exactly on amiable terms with the swordsmen either. Revealing himself, Erland questioned, “What are ye doing here?” Realising that time was an ever diminishing asset; Erland set his plan into action. “Who the hell are you?” “The man who drunk you under the table, now give me a hand with this for a minute.” Erland motioned towards the crooked wooden plank that was holding up the next floor. “Who the hell do you think I am? Bossing me around like you’re my mom or something…” “Well, if you don’t fancy the idea of being over-run by 60 or so armed men I’d say you should shut up and kick in that blasted wooden beam when I call for it. Now, the second we get rid of these, we’re going to have to bolt for that hole, unless you want to tough out a shower of wood.” Erland grabbed his giant axe and readied it against the centre beam of the building. "Alright, kick it out!"With a strike of incredible power, the beam was severed and sent wayward. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was supposed to be a day of celebration for Daichi, the whole gang had grouped up together and tomorrow they were going to take over the whole town. He could no longer fully remember when it was that he had first decided to join this group of thugs-cum revolutionaries, only that he had been swayed by the inspiring words of the boss. Yet here they were, unable to capture a single barbarian due to his incredible strength. They had acted as a single unit, as they had been trained, but it seemed ridiculous that so many had already fallen to his blade when the entire basis for their rebellion was the incredible strength of their force. The weight of the blade at his side seemed heavier than it had ever been, Daichi wondered if he had really chosen the right path. He kept his worries inside as it was set in stone that traitors were seen as worse than the corrupt rulers of the island, and were treated as such. They sought a better life for the people, or at least that was the official cover for their simple desire for power once they gained their position of power. Brother Benjamin had already killed men for the prosperity of their goal, it would be an insult to all that they had sacrificed to get here to simply back out now. The unit commander Riggs signalled them to move back, they were to pursue him down to the ground floor. This command was destined to be forever unfulfilled. Daichi began to feel a slight sway beneath his feet, and then a sudden drop. The floor below them was caving in, it seemed almost like the house itself was imploding inwards. The drop seemed to drag on into infinity, leaving Daichi to field the final words of, “I should never have joined this stupid, f-” before his journey through the air came to the end. The smash of his chest against the re-positioned floor drew all the air out of his lungs and the crack of his hand against the floorboards caused the lights to grow dim with haste. The roof then collapsed in and sheltered them beneath its weight. Due to the entire building being rotten, once they awoke they could exit directly through the roof’s panels. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The ferocity of the building’s destruction surprised Erland; he expected only the floors to fall as he noticed how they were connected to beams. He was not even entirely sure how he knew that it would happen, as he only formed the idea subconsciously and then made use of it once he saw his opportunity. But that hardly mattered, what was important was to work out whether his target had been inside with the rest. The answer to this question was made clear as three man ran towards the remains of the house. Erland recognised two of them instantly, one was the bounty and another was the man who had angered him in the bar. “Don’t worry about your men, I took great care of them.” He spat at the ground and laughed. “I hope ye realise now that pissing me off was the worst mistake of your lives.” [/style]

made by cirrus

Words: 858
Music:
Notes: We had the dialogue worked out beforehand, so I didn't just make up Fuu's dialogue

[EriChar]

The movement of an undefined silhouette in the darkness caught Jumonji Fuutaro’s attention, and instinctively, Fuu dropped his weapon from his shoulder, and gripped it with both hands in front of him, ready to fight. The limited light available in the dusty and dark room caught the polished steel of Fuutaro’s blade, and it shone like a light in front of him, as Fuu’s eyes tried to penetrate the darkness. Ready to strike at any moment, the cross cheeked swordsman wasn’t particularly tense, instead his body felt a little relaxed; ready to act at a moment’s notice. As the dull illumination revealed more of the details of the unclearly aligned individual, Fuutaro felt the sweat from his sprint slip down his temple. The guy was big, not only tall but broad, like an oak tree stepping it’s way towards him.
This one’ll be more of a challenge than the last… Fuutaro opened his left hand, flexing his hold upon the blade within his hands.

“What are ye doing here?” The big guy’s question caught Fuutaro off guard; he had been expecting that a muscle brain like this would drag his knuckles from the ground and throw them his way. Kill now, ask questions later. This guy though, seemed to ask questions first, which was unusual for a hired heavy in the midst of a raid. However, this was not the only unusual thing about the question; there was a flavour in the words, something that sounded like someone who was already acquainted with Fuutaro asking him, rather than a stranger. But looking at the guy, Fuu didn’t know him from Adam… Or did he? For some reason, there was an air of familiarity about this guy that stood in front of him. Something like a déjà vu, Fuutaro felt like he’d met this big barbarian before, though his mind was sadly lacking details of a when and where.
“Who the hell are you?” Fuutaro kept his sword up, ready to strike, but the funny feeling of familiarity had at least stayed a strike of initiative.
Drinkin’ contest? Don’t remember havin’ a drinkin’ contest with this guy… Is he nuts? The response that Fuutaro received only confused him more, he was well aware of his own inability to handle alcoholic contest, so it made absolutely no sense for him to get involved in a contest to test a person’s tolerance towards booze.

“Whatever yer here for, give me a hand with this for a minute.” Now this unfamiliar familiar guy was handing out orders to Fuu, like he thought him some sort of ally or freakin’ underling!
“Who the hell do you think I am? Bossing me around like you’re my mom or something…”
Fuutaro was usually the big dog in the yard, so he didn’t take kindly to someone asserting their authority over him. The white haired maverick wouldn’t just wag his tail happily and obey whatever command was handed out to him; he’d more likely bite the hand of someone who tried to push him in a direction that he didn’t choose. The rebellious spirit of his youth hadn’t quite died within Fuutaro, and there were very few people within his world that he held enough respect for him to consider their opinion to be important.

“Well, if you don’t fancy the idea of being over-run by 60 or so armed men I’d say you should shut up and kick in that blasted wooden beam when I call for it. Now, the second we get rid of these, we’re going to have to bolt for that hole, unless you want to tough out a shower of wood.”

“Tch. Sixty or six hundred, I can take ‘em all on…” Stubborn as usual, Fuutaro ignored the tactical advantage that had been suggested to him, acting out defiantly instead of agreeing with the obvious choice.
However, as the fur wearer struck the beam, Fuu let out a long sigh.
“But I’m in a rush…” Jumonji Fuutaro snapped his body over to the beam that was directed, performing an on the spot pirouette next to it, with his sword in a single hand. As he spun, the cross-cheeked samurai brought his momentum to the blade in his hand, gathering power within it before, after performing a full turn, he snapped the weapon behind him and cracked backwards at the beam like a whip. The force of his ‘Hebi no Muchi’ technique was much greater than any one of his swings, and its gathered power made short work of the beam he was directed to break. Even though he lacked a true cutting edge when using his Iaito, the sheer attack potential of the move that Fuutaro used was more than enough to shatter the wood as he hit it; flakes and splinters exploding out of the impact site and a jagged crack spreading through the wood.

Buckling under the strain of supporting the building, the broken beam gave a groan, then shattered entirely as the crack that Fuu created wormed its way throughout its length. Now completely unsupported, as soon as Fuutaro had sheathed his weapon, chunks from the ceiling above him had begun to drop down.
Think I overdid it? Fuutaro thrust himself forwards, gripping the weapons at his side as he sprinted through the room towards it’s only exit, with the sky was falling down around him. Fuutaro’s focus on survival created a tunnel of attention between himself and his escape, so he was deaf to the cries and screams of the people falling down along with the roof above him. Bodies were falling from the sky, along with chunks of the building that they were in. Though the original intention was just to wreck the floor above them, either through excess in power or lack of building integrity, the whole Honda place seemed to be collapsing around him. Fuutaro had no time to check if that weird barbarian guy was keeping up with him, or had been caught in the fall of the building; all he saw was the light at the end of his tunnel.

Seeing light in the windows of a door in front of him, Jumonji Fuutaro knew that he had somehow managed to make it to the exit. Dropping into a low stance as he ran, Fuu vaulted off from the ground and flung his foot at the access point between him and his escape. The impact of his kick caused the door to bend and then fly out of its hinges, bouncing across the dirt shortly before Fuu himself did. Skidding along the ground, the white haired man who just demolished a building came to a halt on one knee, his right palm supporting him whilst his left still clung to his weapons. Panting slightly, Fuutaro glanced around his surroundings and gave a slight grin when he saw that the weird Viking-looking guy had made it out as well.
Not too shabby… Fuu had a slither more respect for the savage now, he still wasn’t particularly fond of the bossy barbarian, but when you knock down a building together from the inside, it tends to leave an impression.
Shit… The sign… Fuutaro cursed inwardly, realizing that in the thrill of the moment he had forgotten what he had come for. Looking back towards what remained of the house, Fuutaro saw the full scale of the damage that the pair of them had caused; the only thing that seemed to be left standing was the doorway through which he had just escaped. Behind that, all that Fuu could see was a mountain range of rubble made of bricks, beams and roofing.
Damnit, gonna have to dig it back out.. Fuu let out a sigh, pushing himself back up to his feet and scratching the back of his head.

“Don’t worry about your men, I took great care of them.”

The voice of the Viking-guy caught the attention of the white haired samurai, and turning around, Fuu caught sight of three men approaching them. Three may have been an exaggeration however, since as soon as Fuutaro caught sight of a feather-haired man, carrying a massive katana, Fuu’s vision focused on only one.

‘Taro, a man came…
H-He overpowered Otousan…
Took the dojo’s sign…

[/color][/b]

The words that Hinata had spoken to Fuu earlier on returned to him, however, there was an even more powerful motivation for him in that instance. Laid over the image of this swordsman, Fuu saw a single thing; the tears rolling down the cheeks of the girl. The pain, the anguish of what this person had done, formed into small droplets of water. Hinata was a strong person, someone who never cried no matter how much she was hurting or how far she was pushed. The fact that this person had brought her to this unknown point, that this man had made Hinata cry… It was unforgivable.
Jumonji Fuutaro could not and would not abide it, and with a howl of anger, he snatched the grip of his weapon, and charged at the foe before him…

SPOILER: Click to show

Hebi no Muchi (蛇の笞) {Snake Whip/Heavy Whip}

A technique with equal emphasis on movement and footwork as actual striking power, usually used as a counter technique to a thrust or charge from an enemy; quickly performing a quick sidestep in order to catch the target off-guard. As the target attempts to strike the user, a circular foot movement is performed, pivoting on the foot furthest from the attack and turning full circle as they ready their blade to strike. Swing their blade with them as they perform the strike, the user whips it around to strike their target from behind, aiming to take them by surprise.

[/size][/blockquote]

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] Before the three even had a chance to react to Erland’s provocation, the bouncer dived headfirst towards one of them. Since it wasn’t the bounty, he didn’t care much but decided to capitalise on the momentary shock to throw an axe directly at his target. The sudden nature of the attack left him realising only after he had thrown it that killing the man would result in only half the 5,000,000 reward, so incapacitation was a much better plan. The enemies’ skill made up for the berserker’s fumbling. He dodged the projectile with grace; it was almost as if he hadn’t registered the attack mentally due to lack of alarm and his body simply acted by itself, “Concluding the formalities so soon?” The combination of smug actions and words was enough to blind him with rage. Money was no longer an issue, blood was the only way thing that could sate his hunger by this point. Ignoring his previous plan for taking him in alive, beardsman ran straight for his adversary and raised the handles of his weapons. Once more the ostentatious man avoided his attack with a side step moments before collision. In the distance he could almost swear that maracas were clacking away to a merry beat, but not a mariachi band was in sight. “Perhaps you should simply allow me to take it that you have conceded this skirmish, lest we waste both our valuable time.” “Fight me you coward! Is that a sword or a feather duster?” The man’s mildly sinister smile washed away from his face and was replaced by a look of detest, “I advise that you retract that remark, if you wish to circumvent the edge of my blade.” “It’s obvious that ye’re trying to make up for your lack of ability by replacing a fight with a dance.” The man finally drew his blade, its shape was peculiar. It did not have the classic curve of the katana, instead possessing a more gently bending blade. Its handle made it resemble a cutlass, but what was most odd about the weapon was the flintlock mechanism attached to its side. www.flickr.com/photos/chartoo/6968731/ Erland’s lack of knowledge of the outside world was an extreme issue here, he had never seen a pistol before in his life. To giants, pistols were inconsequential, with only cannons being a real threat of weaponry. After seeing the barrel he simply presumed that it was some kind of decoration, which would have been fitting considering the man’s character. “Now, en garde!” The man held the blade sideways, and for all his talk he continued to wait for his opponent to strike first. This was one of the most difficult opponents that Erland could have possibly faced, as he had always expected his enemies to fight head on or run from his might. The idea of a man who would fight by only striking when attacked was a difficult concept to comprehend. With no other tactics available to him, the berserker forged onwards and struck downwards at his foe. With impeccable timing, the man used a sudden upward push of his sword to cause a massive resonation along the axe, halting his arm in place for a moment. This was all that Benjamin needed to strike back with a swift sideward swipe of his blade. The cut was shallow due to Erland jumping back, ignoring the pain in his arm. It was clear that he wouldn’t be able to withstand many more of those counter strikes, so he tried out a horizontal sweep of both axes this time. It was no more effective, as the man threw his blade out straight and parried the blow. His thumb pulled back on the mechanism and fired out a shot at Erlan,d which lodged itself next to his ribs. The bang of the sword confused him, so he pulled back from his adversary. When he moved his hands down to his chest he noticed that blood was pooling beneath his leather-wear. To him he felt that his opponent had cheated him, that he was toying with him. The pain finally dawned and he fell into a frenzy, with no humanity seeming to remain upon his face. He charged at a speed that surprised the swordsmen, but he was still prepared to avoid any strike that could be used against him. It had been drilled into his body since childhood that if you cannot defeat something, it means that you’re not strong enough. The rock hard backs of the hippopotars prevented him from hunting them for years, until he gained the ability to drive his axe through the resistance. His body reacted to the situation while his mind took a back seat. His axes were raised and crashed down with unbelievable force. Upon impacting with the man’s blade they were thrown upwards nd outwards by the collision. The force was too much for his opponent. He dropped his blade to the floor and clenched his arm in agony. The Barbarian rushed forward to attack once more, so the foe had no choice but to pick up his blade once more. Yet this was not an option, as he saw that his right arm was bent inwards in a way that it was never intended to be moved. He dropped to his knees, accepting his fate. This was the only time he would ever take a blow head on, he noted to himself. But the sight of the man’s broken arm was enough to remind the unstoppable force of his original goal. “Stay right where ye are, I’ll be back for you in a moment.” [/style]

made by cirrus

Words: 940
Music:
Notes: Delay was due to sickness, apologies.

SPOILER: Click to show

Reckless Swing: Erland strikes down with both of his axes with such force that the recoil harms him while dealing massive damage to his opponent.

[EriChar]

His weapon in both hands, Jumonji Fuutaro swung at the head of the feather-wearing swordsman with his blunt blade. Fuelled by rage and thoughts of revenge, the crossing swipe that Fuutaro lashed at his enemy was his strongest, with even more power in the blow than the earlier attack that had knocked the flunky through the wall of the building that now lay in ruins. Baring his fangs, even with his first attack and without even using a sharpened weapon, the white haired Samurai aimed to take the head off of his target, looking to knock it out of the park with his brute force. However, the crash of metal and the humming ring of blades denied Fuutaro this opportunity.

“Tch.” Fuutaro’s blade having clashed with the weapon of his opponent, Fuu clicked his teeth in annoyance, as he had hoped to take this weird looking guy down in a single hit.
Guess the guy earned some of his victory… The speed with which his opponent had taken out his big blade and used it to deny Fuu’s hit told the seething swordsman that his foe had a decent level of skill with their weapon. The sword that his opponent used was much larger than Fuu’s own, though similar aesthetically. Easily six feet long from tip to hilt, the weapon seemed to have been styled after a Katana, but was much larger. The fact that this massive blade could be wielded so deftly implied a decent level of skill in the user; a heavy weapon like this was more suited to sluggish cleaving, and no amateur would be able to parry a much quicker weapon like Fuu’s Iaito so efficiently.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Bit of a rude introduction…” His foe held off Fuu’s assault for the moment, the pair of them pressing into their attack and drawing closer to one another. At the moment, in terms of strength, Fuu seemed pretty evenly matched with his target, so as much as he pushed his weapon against the opponent, it moved no further forward.
“You should take your time, exchange names, you’ll want to know the name of the person who defeats you…”

“Not gonna give ma name ter someone so weak…” Fuutaro met his foes bravado with his own, and as they gave their weapons one final hard push to no result, both Fuutaro and his feathered foe hopped backwards, a pair of weapons between them. For a moment, there was peace in the middle of this battlefield. The world having receded from his notice, all that Jumonji Fuutaro saw at the moment was his adversary; the man standing before him with a slight grin but a fierce glint in his eye. Neither Fuu nor his opponent moved, neither of them spoke; a stand-off as they looked at one another, each of them waiting for the other’s next move, trying to get an advantage.
As both of them stood there, each of them a predator ready to pounce on the other as their prey, a blade of grass that had been caught by a stray wind passed between them, and its greenness was almost like a signal to start.

Both of them launching into action quickly, Fuu’s sidestep to the right was mirrored by his opponent, and for a few steps they flowed around the empty space between them in harmony. Neither of them taking their eyes off the other, both of the combatants watched, even though they had now taken motion, the waiting continued. Like a deadly dance, the pair of them stepped around the floor carefully but quickly, Fuutaro with his unsharpened practice blade in hand pointed downwards from the grip next to his cheek. Jumonji Fuutaro’s form was perfect, it was ready to attack or defend, whatever was necessary. While he often acted rashly or wildly, there was a contrasting sense of discipline that seemed to take hold of him when he faced off with an opponent. Like the wild fire within him was controlled, like it was being channelled or focused, at the moment charging his body so he was ready to explode when needed. Both of these people were well trained swordsmen, they moved over the bumpy landscape around one another without missing a step. Despite the unpredictability of the surface around them, without looking, neither Fuutaro nor his foe seemed to fall foul of the hazards around them of loose earth or snags of debris. Focused on their battle, the two swordsmen subconsciously seemed to take in their surroundings and adapt to them without thought, an incredible but almost invisible skill.

Simultaneously, both combatants seemed to realise that their opponent wasn’t going to make the first move, leading to them both stepping forwards to take the initiative. The empty space between Fuutaro and his adversary suddenly became full, with two men entering it, and flashing steel imbuing the space between them.
As he clashed his practice weapon with his opponent, Jumonji Fuutaro knew that in this kind of situation, he was at a disadvantage; his foes sword was long, heavy and sharp, while Fuu’s lacked even a katana edge. The cross-cheeked fighter wasn’t confident in his weapon’s ability to perform in a heated succession of clashing strikes against such an opposing blade, the practice sword Fuu was using was at an obvious disadvantage when striking against a honed battle-blade, and this is why he had sought to end this confrontation sooner, rather than later. Swinging his sword downwards and across, Fuutaro dreaded that each contact between the weapons would be the blade’s last.
It was this sense of dread that perhaps weighed on both Fuutaro’s mind and body, slowing his motions a little, and perhaps limiting the swordsman from unleashing his full potential. In many aspects of swordsmanship, Fuu had caught up with his master, and in terms of strength and endurance, the student had perhaps even surpassed him. Shinen Yosuke was still far superior to Fuutaro in terms of technical skill, and range of abilities, but in an out and competition of simple raw power, Fuutaro probably now could have moved past his master in terms of ability. However, the strength that endurance that Fuu had was currently bound, inhibited by its wielder. Whilst he was keeping pace with his opponent, not being overwhelmed, there was a hesitance in his movements. Reluctance showed in his swordplay born from doubt, stopping him from swinging the blade for fear of breaking it.

It was a critical mistake for a swordsman to make; every strike was one that could change the flow of the battle, and by not letting himself strike with everything that he had, he was opening windows for his opponent to take advantage of. Although he had started this encounter, Fuutaro’s doubt in his blade restrained him, it subdued him, and now he found himself on the back foot, being pushed back by his foe. Impatient, and frustrated by his worries and lack of progress, find himself on the back foot against an opponent he had sworn to defeat only served to make Fuu more reckless. Pushing his worry to the back of his mind, Fuutaro struck back against his opponent hard, throwing his full strength behind his blows in order to counter the current of the battle. For a moment, it seemed to work, Fuu managed to stop himself being pushed back, but as he was carried away by his own momentum, the fickle tides of fencing turned against him once more.

Having managed to equalize the pressure he was receiving from his opponent, Fuutaro tried to capitalize on it and build his own momentum; had he been using a true katana or well-wrought combat blade, fate may have smiled on him, but his choice of current equipment instead sent him a frown. Slamming his weapon down on the upwardly flowing blade of his foe, Fuutaro felt an unfamiliar momentum carry through his movement. At impact, the Iaito practice blade he had been using was cleaved clean through by the thick and sharp weapon of his opponent, and as the tip of it spun off into the air, Fuutaro’s balance was lost and he fell forwards, landing on his left palm and right knee. It is said that in any sort of combat, balance is the most important thing to keep; lose your balance, and you lose. Having toppled himself, Fuu now snapped his head up to face his foe, and watched almost in slow motion as his adversary fluidly spun the blade to a high stance, and readied it to attack. On a hand and knee, for the second time in his life, Jumonji Fuutaro’s eyes grew wide as the gleaming grin of an executioner hung above him…

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] His army was seemingly decimated, leaving him with only his two generals. Big Boss Baller's mind was a wreck, how could he be so unfortunate the day before his plan came into action? In all his scheming and paranoia approaching the date the idea that a force numbering two men could destroy his entire cult of philosophy was far beyond the most insane delusions he could have concocted. He had feared a sudden marine raid, a traitor revealing their plan, even a sea-king being catapulted over and crushing them, but this was another matter. He had made fully sure that his men were properly trained to fight as a single unit that would bow down to no enemy, nonetheless the wreckage before his eyes showed that there was no doubt to them being overpowered. He dropped to his knees from the mental anguish. Who were these two psychos? Privateers sent by the marines from the grand line? Maybe they wanted the island to themselves, and they were killing everything in their path? Perhaps they were sea gods, come to claim revenge for the time Baller dumped his rubbish into the water? Realising that he was steadily going insane, The boss smashed his head off the ground and regained control and screamed to the heavens, “I WILL NOT BE STOPPED, THE WORLD IS MIIIINE!” Once he got his feet beneath him again he ran towards the rubble of the house in an attempt to piece back together his bubble of safety. Once there, he started ripping back ceiling tiles to free the men underneath, or at least he hoped they were there. With the rot spread across the structure, it was a simple matter to reveal what was beneath. A few feet down from where Numero uno was kneeling, lay the unconscious bodies of all his men. At first he shouted, “Get up you lazy slobs! We have a revolution to pave way for!” When he received no answer, he switched to pleading, “Please wake, I need you if I ever want to change this island.” Once more, silence. The worrying niggle was now a maelstrom of anxiety, “Could they be…?” He lowered himself to the floor below gently and crouched down once more, this time to hold his hand over a soldier’s mouth. He felt the breath waft through his fingers, he was alive. He grabbed him by the shoulders and rocked him back and forth, lightly at first and rigorously as he continued to see no signs of consciousness. The man was dead to the world, the jolt of his brain against his skull left him in no state to wake for some time. A gurgle came from the back of the room, someone was waking. The chief dropped the man he had been shaking without care and fumbled to where he had heard the sound from. One of the men was rocking from left to right with eyes shut and a pain-struck face. It seemed as if he was close to waking, but dearly wanted to avoid it so that he would not have to experience the pain that his back was likely encountering at the time. But the head honcho had no tolerance for weakness when his plans, nay, his future was at stake. “Get up, GET UP!” The soldier bolted upright suddenly and gasped a breath in as though it had been years since last he had the pleasure. He coughed violently to clear his airways of dust and debris, “I- I’m alive?” “Yes, but you must rise once more, the revolution is at stake!” “Certainly sir, I might need your assistance however, as I seem to have taken heavy damage to my back.” “If you can’t even manage to fend for yourself then you are of no use to me, rise!” The young man followed his request, and ascended to his feet with great strain. “Now, what is your name, lad?” “I’m Daichi, it’s an honour, sir.” “Right, now I need you to try and wake up the rest of the soldiers, but first, what happened here?” “Well, we were attacked by a bearded man with a massive axe. Upon realising his strength we formed together and trapped him.” “Well then, how did you get in this mess?” “I’m not sure, sir. He managed to escape by breaking the floor beneath him, and before we could catch him the floor fell out beneath us.” This description both worried and relieved Baller, as he now knew that they were not defeated by an unstoppable force, but by a man who took advantage of the environment. Two things continued to plague his anxiety, the fact that there was no mention of the second man, and that he had displayed enough ability that his entire army had to corner him to have a chance. “Do as I have ordered, I must… Settle things outside.” [/style]

made by cirrus

Words: 816
Music:
Notes: SNAAAAYYYYKEEE EAAAATTEEERR!!

[EriChar]

Minatsuki Town Center
Jumonji Fuutaro 15 Years Old

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Ugh… Feel like shit… There wasn’t an inch of Jumonji Fuutaro’s body that didn’t feel sore, and every one of those inches felt like they were heavier than lead. The white haired young man’s skin was black and blue, and blood flowed all over him, like winding and weaving streams in a wetland. Fuutaro’s eyes were practically useless, with his vision was fading in and out he’d see one moment a shop or house pass by him, the next there was just blackness, a looping cycle that seemed to roll over and over for what seemed like a long time. Voices seemed to be around him, but they were too indistinct for Fuu’s ears to make much sense of. From his limited ability to sense his environment, this boy with a fresh wound underneath his right eye, could guess that he was being moved; a vague sensation of dragging seemed to accompany the pain in his legs, and the change in the unfocused scenery also seemed to imply he was unwittingly traversing some sort of space.

Suddenly, Fuutaro’s sensation of movement suddenly got a lot faster; the vestibular apparatus within the boy’s inner ear picked up a rapid increase in gravitational pull, and then the ache of his body flared into a hard pain, as Fuu felt himself smack into the floor beneath him. Groaning from the increase in painful stimulus, Jumonji Fuutaro strained to move his body, but visually his hands and feet seemed to just claw and flop around the ground, before returning to a resting state.
Damnit… Body’s so weak… The impact of hitting the ground seemed to have roused Fuutaro’s consciousness, and with it, his senses. His eyelids were heavy, but he forced them open, bright light blocking out any sort of image other than a silhouette. After a few seconds of near blinding light, Fuu’s eyes began to adjust to their surroundings, and slowly the details of his surroundings began to fill themselves in. His eyes moving slowly around his line of sight, Fuu saw that around him had gathered a crowd of people.
What’re you losers gawkin’ at? Merchants, housewives, a few children; they were all looking at Fuu or in Fuu’s direction. Some were slack jawed whilst others covering their mouths, a sense of fear in every set of eyes that Fuu managed to see.

“…This lout, he is a menace to our gang and your streets…” Following his eyes, Fuu’s ears began to return to their service to him, and from distorted noises words were now formed from a voice, which caught Fuutaro’s attention.
Oh yeah… Pirates… Fuutaro recognised the source of the voice, it was a man dressed in false finery, which only served to make him look more gaudy. The loudly dressed person that stood over him was a pirate captain, and whilst he delivered this sermon to the circling crowd, Fuu’s eyes saw that he had a noticeable swell in his cheek. Despite his circumstance and the pain in his body, seeing that mark gave Fuutaro a sense of satisfaction, since it was his own handiwork. Earlier, though how much he wasn’t sure, Fuu had landed a fine fist on the flashy fellow and he now loved that it had left such a mark.

“…And so, I will deliver a public service and execute him, to protect these lands for everyone.” Fuu’s sense of satisfaction seemed to melt, but in contrast his innards grew cold, like his gut was made of ice. Still feeling like his body weighed a ton, Jumonji Fuutaro tried to force some strength into his limbs, to force himself to his feet, rather than lay there and face his death. However, for all his desire and need for power now, none seemed to imbue him. On a pirate’s death row, the white haired teen flailed and thrashed weakly, but made no real progress towards movement. Fuu’s frantic but failing attempts to free himself from this frightful fate were finally finished when the feeling of a firm foot forced his chest against the floor, as the pirate captain forcibly restrained him, ready to act on his judgement.

Still trying to break away, Fuu’s limbs flapped around, but met with no success. As his body struggled, the eyes of Jumonji Fuutaro locked onto something meant to subdue him once and for all; the pirate had wrapped his fingers around the guarded grip of a blade at his hip, and Fuu watched as dull-coloured metal was drawn from a polished sheath. The face of death for the bleeding teen pointed the blade at him, the scent of metal filling Fuu’s nose and mouth as it hovered in front of his face.
ooking down the blade and to the grinning face from where it came, Fuu’s mind seemed to dance across his life, and all the Fuu could feel was disappointment.
End it then… Traitorous friends, absent father, and mother who only every seemed troubled by him; Fuu’s life now seemed like it wasn’t much worth holding onto, and maybe that’s why he couldn’t escape the death that loomed over him. His attempts to escape or fight back bearing no fruit, Fuutaro ceased his movement and though still tense and painful, his body seemed to relax slightly. Jumonji Fuutaro watched as the blade and the hand that held it rose through the air, and came to rest above the pirate’s head. The wait was agonising; that blade hovering there, its mesmerising quality forcing him to watch it, knowing what would follow. The few seconds whilst the pirate held the sword high seemed infinitely longer than that, and far more agonising than the ache that filled his body. Jumonji Fuutaro knew that it was over, his life that was, and this wait, this stay of execution made him want to cry out and tell the pirate to get it over with.

However, what fell after the delay wasn’t the sword, or rather, it wasn’t only the sword. Once the wait was over, instead of a sword swung to claim his life, the shape of the pirate who held it seemed to wobble, before falling from his feet. It was confusing, and almost unreal. For a moment, Fuu thought he had died, and instead this was some sort of awakening in the afterlife. This was until he saw the shape of something, no, someone take the pirates place. Rising up from behind the felled would be executioner was someone else, one hand at their hip gripping what looked like a long rod, whilst the other threw an equally long appendage onto their shoulder. Still confused, but for some reason relieved, Fuutaro felt the darkness of his vision begin to wash over him, and he fought against it, if even for a few seconds. As he pushed back the impulse to slip back into sleep, Jumonji Fuutaro’s eyes registered one thing; a face. The face that Fuu saw before he passed out again was that of a somewhat delicate looking teenage boy, with dark, tied up hair. The face that Fuu saw, in those short seconds, was that of Shinen Yuuma, and it was the only time he saw the boy give such a soft smile.[/size]

---

Outside the Old Honda Farm
Jumonji Fuutaro 20 Years Old

[/u][/center][/size]

The wait in which the blade hung in the air this time was far, far shorter than the last time he had faced it. His opponent seemed to be in far less of a position of superiority, and sought to quickly end the battle by bring his weapon down on Fuu. Unfortunately for his opponent, however, Jumonji Fuutaro was no longer the weak and beaten teenager the last time, and the rapid succession of moments that he was afforded were more than enough this time for him to react.
I ain’t so weak I need ‘im to save me anymore! Spurred by the memory of Shinen Yuuma’s rescue, something he usually preferred to forget, Fuu sought to intercept the killing blow himself this time. What remained of his Iaito was still grasped in his right hand, and with a skilled flick of his hand, Fuu snapped it into a reverse grip. Lashing his arm across himself, Fuu met the executioner’s swing with a backhand swipe of his own, parrying the blow as the heavy weapon of his opponent scraped down the remainder of the blade which he held. His arm stung as he carried out this motion; whilst Fuu had managed to intercept the attack, the strength of his opponent and the weight of the weapon hadn’t been completely denied. Grazing his right arm, blood quickly poured from the path which the heavy blade took along his arm, but it was a worthy sacrifice.

Ignoring the pain from the scratch on his arm, Fuu kept the momentum of his backhand and used the palm and foot of his left side that were at rest on the ground to drive his body upwards. With his opponent now caught off balance, Fuu’s counter attack begun, though it was decidedly lacking in grace and style than their previous exchange. When only seconds before, the white haired samurai and his foe had danced around the battlefield in a graceful waltz, Jumonji Futaro turned their encounter into something he knew a lot better; brawling. Springing to his feet, with his opponent’s blade having been pushed down to the ground, Fuu had removed his guard and happily took advantage of this. Slamming his forehead into the nose of his adversary, Fuutaro forced his foe backwards, and as he did this, Fuu grasped at the bokken in his belt with his left hand. With his explosive momentum behind him, Fuutaro pulled the wooden blade from its resting place and slammed it into the shoulder of his enemy.

Blasted back by the force of his hit, Fuu’s opponent was still reeling as Fuu dropped the damaged remains of his Iaito the floor, and brought his bokken into both of his hands. A few feet between them, Fuutaro gave his opponent no time to recover their momentum, gripping his bokken tightly and hopping skywards. As a wild swing of the weighty weapon wielded by his target passed harmlessly underneath his feet, Fuu rolled forwards in mid-air and gripped his blade tightly. His foe dumbfounded by his movements, Fuu grinned slightly as gravity began to pull him back down, and with all the force he and the forces of physics could muster, Fuu slammed his own weapon down onto the skull of his foe, for some reason found that he was screaming the name of his attack.
“HIRYUU TSUISEN!!!!!”

SPOILER: Click to show

Hiryuu Tsuisen (飛竜槌閃) {Flying Dragon Hammer Strike}
A technique used by positioning oneself higher than the target and using gravity and momentum to increase the striking power of the blow. With a high jump or leap from something above the target, the user draws their body into a forward spin, looping downwards and slamming their sword down onto the target with vastly increased force, something like a bladed hammer.

[/blockquote]

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] Calling Big Boss Baller’s plan insane would have been an understatement, considering that it had been the longest time since last he laid hands upon a weapon himself. It must have been weeks on end, perhaps even months, since he had felt the need to hone his bladecraft. For whatever worries he had for his army, he had complete confidence in his two generals. They were completely loyal, and were by far the strongest men on the island by his reckoning. Yet the barbarian was clearly not from those parts, there were simply too many unknowns involved for the man to stand back and trust in the ability of his subordinates. He could hear the drums of war resound within himself, his plans would not be ended here, not before he has done everything he possibly could. His inherent cowardice he had earned from reaching a position of power had been entirely lost as he was once more brought down to ground level, where he had to fight with all he had to survive. He did not realise it at the time, but the experience had revived his burning drive that had once brought him so far in the world of sword fighting. But this revival was not sufficient when he did not have the finely honed body to support it. He was pumping with adrenaline, and grabbed two blades from his fallen men as he exited the building. Once his eyes adjusted slightly from the pitch black insides of the house to the dusk light outside, his mind pieced together what had occurred in his absence. His right hand man, Benjamin, lay clenching his right arm which was visibly misshapen. It was clear that he had been bested by the brute, as he stood a few paces away with one hand holding an axe, and his other clenched a wound which seemed to have been caused by Benjamin’s pistol. His third in command was still in an exchange with the young swordsman but it did not look good for him as he was moved into a bad position. With a strike that was visibly fierce, the general had a bokuto planted down onto his forehead and seemed to have little chance of rising once more. The day was lost in every way imaginable, yet admitting defeat was no longer an option to the leader, his mind was filled with rage and resentment for the men who had taken everything from him. “You bastards, I’ll show you who’s the big boss around here!” He drew both blades and assumed his stance from times past atop the collapsed manor’s roof. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Erland was fully prepared to face off against the other men in order to secure his target, but the bar’s muscle already had it covered. It seemed that his initial impressions of seeing the man as a force to be reckoned with were right, though he was still a piss-poor drinker. All that left was the leader who had attempted to display his “swagger” when he entered the bar under Gaunt’s surveillance. He seemed a pathetic man, but his fighting ability did not necessarily reflect that, as Benjamin had shown moments before. As if waiting for his cue, a shout came from the (now very low) rooftop. “My axe is thirsty; quench it with your soul!” The first clash of their blades was their last, even with the berserker’s handicap he easily overpowered the man with an merciless dual strike. They rushed towards each other, leaving a few steps of space between them when stopping. The pause was exactly what Erland needed, as he readied his biceps to fly out with every inch of strength that he could muster. As he had already sustained considerable damage, he knew that this last strike would be all that his arms could facilitate. Unfortunately, his chest wound still throbbed without end, making it impossible to draw out all his strength. As his opponent was unknown, he could not afford the kindness of using back of his axe. Once he felt he was ready, he lashed out his left arm, thrashing down from above. Though he was out of practice, Baller was able to defend against the blow by locking both blades, but this was an act of falling into Gaunt’s trap perfectly. A second strike, even more destructive than the first, rose up and struck the chief’s face directly. Once the pain struck him, he fell to the floor with a scream. The war was over, and “The Unstoppable Force” stood victorious, if slightly battered. “You wouldn’t survive a day on Elbaf, why lead men if you’re not even worthy to lead your own body?” Erland left on this note, and walked to claim his prize. [/style]

made by cirrus

Words: 793
Music:
Notes: Can't post tomorrow due to essays, apologies.

[EriChar]

Panting, Jumonji Fuutaro hung over his opponent, what remained his wooden blade in his hand, the rest of it either in splinters or chunks all around the pair of them.
Probably I shoulda held back a little… Fuu straightened up and looked at the stubby ‘blade’ that was left, only a few inches of his trusted armament were still left beyond its grip, and the ferocious attack with which he had damaged the weapon had also broken his opponent. Storing what was left of his bokken in his belt, as he moved his right arm to do so, the sting of his earlier cut shot out from much of his forearm. The adrenaline wearing off now, Fuu could now fully feel the pain of his injury and though minor, the blood from his wound vexed Fuutaro, as it was staining the sleeve of his already torn robe.
“Oi, ruinin’ ma clothes with ya stupidly huge sword…” Lashing out in irritation, the white haired and bloody sleeved samurai stomped a kick down on his defeated enemy, the sole of his sandal smashing the already sizeable bump on the guy’s head.

Guess it’s ruined anyway… Tearing the sleeve from his yukata, Fuu pulled his bloody arm from his garment and let the right hand side hand loosely at his waist. Using the torn sleeve as a makeshift bandage, he wrapped it around his injury to stem the blood loss, and tied it up as tight as he could make it, without turning his fingers blue. With his wound temporarily dressed, Fuu moved onto his next concern, the task with which he had sought out his battle; retrieving the sign of his school.
“Eh, wake up, ya damn loser…” Fuutaro grabbed the furred garment of his flattened foe, shaking the man vigorously to wake him up.
“What’cha done with ma school’s sign?” Despite the shaking and a few slaps, the only responses that Fuutaro could draw out from the unconscious swordsman were saliva and a dull groan.
“Wimp.” Fuu showed his foe no respect in their defeat, for as the man’s lack awakening refused his inquiry, the white haired victor opted to head butt him back to the ground. Dropping the furred and feathered fellow with the piled high ice-cream bumps on his head, Fuutaro scratched the back of his head and glanced around his vicinity.
“Guess’ll have ta find someone else…”

Looking over the battlefield, Fuu noticed what was left of his Iaito a few meters away, and stomped over to it. Knowing that he might need something to help with his persuasion, Fuu lifted the weapon off the ground, inspecting the state of his damaged weapon. Like his bokken, it was barely a sword anymore; a good foot of its blade had been removed, cut off even, and what remained at it had been gouged in the parry that he had used to protect himself earlier on.
“Tch.” Fuu grunted with more annoyance, and put the battered and broken blade back into its sheath. Scanning his surroundings, Fuu noticed that the giant sword his opponent has used was resting on the ground, barely a foot from him, so he opted to take that up as a replacement.

“Borrowing this, sure ya don’t mind…” Fuutaro gripped the heavy weapon’s hilt, and pulled it up to him, giving a slight groan at the strain he put on his injured limb.
Jeez, n’wonder it was such a damn pest… Fuu wasn’t exactly lacking in physical strength, he could easily toss around men twice his size like they were little girls, but the huge and heavy katana he hung from his shoulder took some effort for even him to move. Adjusting his grip, Fuutaro looked back towards the remains of the mansion, hoping to see a conscious soul whom could relate to him the location of his school’s sign.

“Ah!” Fuu saw that one of three that had marched up earlier on, still stood, if even for a moment. Only moments after Fuu had locked his eyes onto the remaining member of the trio, did he slump to the ground thanks to a blow from the massive guy who Fuutaro had met within the now ruined house.
He beat em both? Not bad… Fuu was impressed, only a little of course, but still impressed. Whilst the white haired samurai had fought and defeated their swordsman, the savage-lookin’ guy seemed to have taken out his two flunkies, which saved Fuu the trouble. Obviously, they probably weren’t that strong if he could have taken them both down so quickly, but at least it counted for something that this brute could’ve beaten them.
“Not bad!” Fuutaro gave Erland a nod of respect for his performance, and rolled the massive blade on his shoulder as he walked over to his bearded companion. While they had gotten off to a bad start, things were now looking better between Fuu and this unknown fighter, and Fuu gave him a grin before he got to work.

“You finished with this guy…?” Fuu wrapped his free hand around the collar of the still semi-conscious lackey that his counterpart had just defeated, tossing him onto the ground. Slamming his foot down onto the whimpering weakling, Fuu pressed him down to keep him in place. Lifting the big borrowed blade from his shoulder, the white haired interrogator jammed the weapon into the ground, inches away from the man’s shoulder and neck. Steadying the blade to stop it from immediately decapitating his target, Fuu grinned at the man, expecting some quick results.
“Lookin’ fer a sign that yer boy took from a dojo today… Know where it is?”

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] While walking back to the bounty head, Erland saw that the bouncer was standing over him, a little beaten but in otherwise alright shape. Though his opponent was one of the two “Generals” as the boss had called them, which meant his strength was on-par with the gaudy man, he had defeated him. It was clear to Gaunt that his strength was considerable. As he approached the man, he exclaimed, “Not bad!” and nodded. Feeling that the rebellious attitude from earlier had been dropped, the Viking replied, “Same goes to you, seems I underestimated your might whence last we met.” His opinion on the man had definitely turned for the better; perhaps his original plan could come into action? Still, getting the bounty and a boat was priority number one, getting a crew could wait until after. “You finished with this guy…?” “I was just about to take-” Before he had a chance to finish, the hired muscle grabbed the well-spoken man by his collar and threw him to the floor. Before the bearded berserker could even question what was happening or butt in, a blade lay against his target’s neck. “Lookin’ fer a sign that yer boy took from a dojo today… Know where it is?” The bearded man’s first instinct was to simply punch the swordsman into the sunset, but he held back long enough to recognise that his intent was not to kill, but to threaten. “Keep him in one piece if yah can, unless ye have a bag on hand.” It was then that Erland started to question why it was that the only example of his unique manner of speaking manifested itself in variations of the word “You”, it certainly felt weird to not understand how he was even meant to speak. Perhaps it was a side-effect of the culture shock he had experienced since coming to the island? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ While Gaunt pondered on pointless matters such as this, the eloquent man let his guts free, in a metaphorical sense of course. What I actually meant was that he squealed harder than Jimmy the squealer could ever hope to. It didn’t matter much, but the code of the movement expressly forbid it. He did, however, figure that since the other two leaders were seemingly dead, it was a forgivable crime. “Lookin’ fer a sign that yer boy took from a dojo today… Know where it is?” The words rang once more through his mind, as his hazy cognizance attempted to piece together an answer for the question. His sight fell back the beginning of the evening’s festivities, when Sven returned from his time roaming the island. He was boasting about his triumph over the island’s dojo master who had once been held as the island’s strongest warrior. His trophy of victory was the dojo’s sign, a representation of it’s pride. For something that caused the group to celebrate so joyously in the past, it felt strange to think that it was likely the very action that set this unfortunate course of events in motion. “Th- *HACK*” His lungs were coated in blood from the beating he had withstood. “The sign of the island’s sword dojo? It was brought inside the house last time I had seen it.” Getting out of here alive was all that mattered now. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The course of action was clear, but the unstoppable one had no interest in the bar worker’s goal, it only mattered to him that it would not interfere with his plans, but this didn’t seem to be an issue. Considering how he provided assistance and how the issue was partly due to his own actions, Erland decided to aid him in his search for the… Sign? Why he would go so far in order to reclaim a sign was unknown to the barbarian, but he accepted it as a part of human culture that he did not know of. “Well, we best get searching I suppose.” Making Benjamin’s position clear once more, he turned to him and stated, “If you try to escape you die, there’s no room for in-between. Though I suppose with wounds like that you’d have trouble getting far anyway.” The Finch said nothing to this, and reverted to his near-collapsed kneeling state. Once he reached the broken-down house he climbed the collapsed walls and readied his giant axe, “Trust me on this one.” With the greatest finesse he could muster, the unstoppable force destroyed a section of the roofing panels with a strike that caused the tiles to fly outwards, rather than rain down upon the men inside and make the search for the sign even more difficult. This allowed them to take advantage of what light the sun still offered. By now the sun had almost set so it was somewhat minimal, but it was still preferable to the complete darkness that the house was under beforehand. Below he saw that one of the swordsmen was still awake, and was tending to the others. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Daichi’s eyes shot up to the skylight where the roof once stood. It took him a couple moments to adjust his eyes, but he could not mistake the silhouette he saw. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the man that had cut down so many of his brothers. He was, for all intents and purposes, the god of death that plagued him. The first impulse that screamed inside his head was to simply run as fast and as far as he could, but there were 3 things that stopped him from following through on the action. He was sure that, given the freedom, this man would end the lives of every man who still drew breath in this building. In addition, he was sure the running wouldn’t be enough to escape a man who had defeated all of them, even the seemingly invincible generals. And finally, there was the more basic issue of fear paralysing him in place. With his body offering no help, the only weapons he had left to fight for his survival was bluffing and using his ability of persuasion. Somehow he felt that both options would prove to be incredible ineffective against a man such as that, but he no other choices. “I take it that you have defeated the leaders, bravo. Bravo. Will nothing stop you in your quest for sick gratification at the expense of the lives of others?” Like a child on the final day of his school year, Daichi felt that he had nothing left to lose when all that awaited him was death. “I will make it clear, you may strike down my brethren, but I shall make fully sure that you will not forget this day for the rest of your short existence.” Daichi drew his blade from his hip and readied himself into a stance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Erland was surprised by the soldier’s words, pleasantly even. By sheer chance the man had guaranteed his safety by earning the respect of the berserker. Had he cowered away or pleaded his life may not have been ended, but he would not have escaped unscathed due to Gaunt’s significant anger. “Lower your blade, mate; I’ve no interest in hurting anyone now that I’ve gotten what I was after.” An endearing smile filled his face. With all hostilities leaving his mind, an idea appeared in it’s place, “One thing though, might ye have a boat?” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Daichi was entirely unsure how to react to the man’s words, he had expected nothing of the sort to come from him. He did not lower his blade though, as he still felt both suspicion and hatred for the man. The second line caught him entirely off-guard though. While he worried about survival, this man was asking about nautical matters without the slightest care for the fact that but minutes ago he would have cut Daichi down without hesitation. He paused for a few moments, unsure of how to advance. In all honesty he didn’t really care about those who had died, he was simply using the idea of it to fuel his last stand. Loyalty meant nothing when there is nothing left to pledge loyalty to. “… Yes, it’s docked in a cove not too far from the sword dojo.” [/style]

Words: 1,380
Music: xxx
Notes: Took a while to get my mind around writing it, but I guess it's the longest one so far.

[EriChar]

Damnit, inside the house? The news that Jumonji Fuutaro received wasn’t entirely to his own satisfaction, and with a sigh, the young man turned his head to look at the remains of the house.
“Tch. Pain in the ass…” Fuu chose to believe, that had he known the sign was in the house earlier on, he would have tried not to demolish it in his effort. Truth be told, he probably hadn’t needed to put such weight behind the strike to the support, and suspected the subsequent destruction may well have been in no small part due to his over exertion. Fuu would like to believe that given the knowledge beforehand, he would have opted to keep the building intact in order to search it, but in the heat of the moment, the truth behind this belief may have been questionable. Just like in his battle with the unconscious swordsman a few feet away from him, the white haired swordsman tended to get carried away with himself, and Fuutaro wasn’t someone who was good at holding his strength back. When confronted with a school sign buried in the rubble of a building, there was a slight intention within him to change that part of his nature, though whether he would remember that for the future would remain to be seen.

With his information extracted, Fuu scooped up the blade he was persuading his squealer with, and hung it onto his shoulder again. He wasn’t looking forward to digging the sign out of the house, especially in this light, but Fuutaro knew that it was the only option now. His companion seemed intent on aiding the search, something that the white haired seeker was appreciative for; the sign meant nothing to the giant man, and there was little to no bond between the two of them, so the civilized seeming but savage looking fellow was increasing in Fuu’s opinion by getting onto it.
“Could use the help, if ya got nothin’ else to do…” This was the limit of the swordsman’s verbal appreciation for the assistance. Fuutaro wasn’t accustomed to thanking people, so any sort of acknowledgement of a person’s worth, even if he said they were slightly helpful, it was a big raise above the usual disinterest and almost disdain with which he held those he had no respect for. And so, with a nod and small admission of his need for assistance, Fuutaro allowed the aid of the fur-wearing foreigner.

Huh, stronger than I expected… Having been busy demolishing his own support beam, and then dealing with his own foe whilst the Viking fought the other pair, the roof demolishing demonstration that he was given was Fuu’s first insight into the ability that the person who he had been fighting alongside. Obviously, whilst he still rated his own skills more highly than this barbarians, Jumonji Fuutaro couldn’t help but concede that the efficient display he was given wasn’t entirely unimpressive, and it certainly seemed to save time crawling around in the dark. Even the diminishing light of what was now a warm evening was better than a search by firelight.

Looking down inside the hollowed out rubble that was once the house, Fuutaro noticed the battered remnants of the foes he had earlier been ‘facing’, most of them who were new to him. The vast majority of them seemed to have been taken out, but there was still one of the gang who seemed capable of defending himself; a lone figure with his blade drawn that the Viking seemed to be dealing with. Standing at the top of the demolished house, Fuutaro kept his eye on the situation, watching the blade whilst he himself readied his own.
It irritated Fuu slightly that the fur-wearing guy seemed to be trying to talk this fella down; daylight was being burned with every second wasted in discussion, and whatever kind of state the foe was in, he’d just had a house fall down on him. Fuutaro, who wanted to dig out his sign from the house before it got dark, tapped the back of his borrowed big blade onto his shoulder impatiently. With a stand-off like this, he couldn’t just hop in and start looking for the spoils of his victory. Even though the guy looked beaten, Fuu couldn’t afford to drop his guard or ignore him, if he did and this guy decided to ‘be a hero’ then all his days hard work would have been wasted.
Hurry up, I ain't got all day… Fuu couldn’t see another one of these men who looked like that could put up much, or even any, fight.

It was only after the mention of his home dojo that Fuu opted to hold back his own intentions of quickly doing away with this obstacle. The Viking had been asking something about a ship, a matter which Fuutaro had little interest in, but the fact that this lackey seemed to be familiar with his training hall could be useful.
“Haaa, ya know the dojo, do ya?” Jumonji Fuutaro barged a verbal intrusion into the conversation between the furry one and the feisty flunky.
“Lucky for both of us, if ya know what happened to the sign ya feathered friend filched?” To emphasize the implication about the swordsman that Fuu had just defeated, the white haired samurai lifted the big blade he had just taken and drove it into the ground in front of him.
“Don’t be shy, sooner I get that, the sooner ma bloodlust will ease…”

[Tim Curry]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style,width:500px; height:500px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/g9uJQ.png); background-repeat:none;] Though he had been silently standing at the side during the exchange of words, the other man cut straight in after Daichi mentioned the dojo with, “Haaa, ya know the dojo, do ya?” The forceful manner of his speech alarmed the young soldier and reminded him once more that he was dealing with men who could strike him down at any time, “…Yes I know it, though I’ve never had a reason to go there.” Now that it was pointed out, he remembered that one of the generals was bragging about defeating the master of the dojo, supposedly the strongest swordsman on the island. He held their sign up with pride, as he made merry. Could this whole thing have been…? “Lucky for both of us, if ya know what happened to the sign ya feathered friend filched?” Indeed, it was that very act of pride that had brought the revolution to it’s end. “Don’t be shy, sooner I get that, the sooner ma bloodlust will ease…” All the tension in Daichi’s body drained out, he dropped his blade to the ground and burst into a demented laughter, but could not hold back his tears. How stupid he had been, wasting so many years of his life for this pathetic organisation. Well, no more, it was time to live as he chose. He wiped the fluid from his face and regained his composure, “The sign should be somewhere in the place we were all drinking in, give me a second. The disillusioned boy looked carefully at the the layout of the building for a moment, and tried to create a mental map of where the rooms once were. Once he had figured it out he walked over to a heap of rubble and rummaged through it, scattering pieces of broken wood to his side. After a minute or so he saw the familiar letters and pulled the board up. It still had a nail through its top with a small chunk of wood on its tip, seems it was ripped from a wall without care. “There, have I earned the privilege of living?” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Erland acknowledged that finding the sign took precedence, but grew impatient to enact his plan. Once it was recovered he wasted no time in walking to Daichi and asking, “I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with these parts, you’ll have to bring me there before I can let you go.” The youth nodded reluctantly, he had little choice in the matter after all. He turned to the bodyguard, “Looks like we take our paths here, you were a worthy man without doubt. If we are to meet again I’ll welcome you as a brother.” Erland shook the man’s hand with vigour and started to walk away with the boy. Now that he was not running across the island at random, it did not take long for the bearded one to reach the craft. The boat loomed down over the pier which jutted out from the sand. It was less a sloop and more of a transport galleon, though it was no-where near the size of the marine vessels. It was clear that such a barge could not be set to the sea with the current crew Erland had of himself and possibly this teenager. “’Tis a fine vessel indeed, but I fear that it might be too large for serving my plans.” “Well, the leader bought it with the plan of invading nearby islands once our revolution had taken root here; it was intended for a crew of 70.” This sent Erland’s brain into a state of deep thought, one similar to that he experienced when deciding to destroy the building’s supports. After a couple of seconds he was enlightened, “Well that’s not much of problem now is it? After all, it’s not like I killed many of your men.” Once more Daichi was startled by the level of person he was dealing with, though he began to fear that the man was more deranged than truly fearless, “You’re suggesting that the red dawn become your crew? What place could you possibly need to get to with such urgency?!” “Well, I’m in no exact rush, but I believe that Zarzara island is next on my path.” The soldier fell silent and dropped his gaze to the floor. He raised his eye line back to the barbarian and said, “Alight, I’ll help you.” with a stark expression. “Getting those idiots to follow your will shouldn’t be too difficult considering the fact that you defeated both Big Boss and his generals, but it shall require a certain amount of finesse which you clearly seem to lack.” The berserker barely considered this an insult, he preferred to be seen as a man who did everything in a very forward style. “I can supply that side of things, but in return I need your guarantee that I shall not receive the treatment and workload that your likely to enforce upon the others. Oh, and that I may take my leave once we reach the island.” It was by no means a bad deal for Gaunt, if he was right in what he suggested. He hadn’t intended to keep the boy for long regardless unless he willed it, considering the spirit he had showed. “Alright, we have an agreement. Now all that remains is to seal it over a stiff drink.” “Considering my age along with the fact that the men have probably come back to their senses by this point, I suggest we postpone that for another time.” “A strange practice, but a necessary one I suppose. Lead on back to the broken house.” At the site of the conflict the unstoppable force realised he had made an impermissible blunder, he had forgotten his bounty target that he had fought so hard to capture. Upon seeing that the force of soldiers were still unconscious he grabbed the sleeping bounty, still lying on the ground where he was when the two left. Clearly his injuries were too severe to give him the option of escape. The other two, the boss and the swordsman general, were nowhere to be found however. The moon was now glowing brightly from the sun’s shine, though it felt somehow comforting to be beneath and most of the on island’s residents were already soundly slumbering. He made clear that he would return soon, and began to run towards the police station with the pompous man upon his back. Even the motion of the brisk pace did little to stir him from his inanimate state. The officer on duty at the office was resting; he had not expected any action at this time of night and was not being paid enough to keep a constant watch on the men trapped behind thick iron bars without a hope of escape. At first the sight of the massive man carrying another on his back startled the sheriff, but once he realised he was a bounty hunter he went back to his position of leaning back on his chair with legs upon his desk, “Just throw him in the open cell and close it up with this.” The man threw a set of keys to Erland, “I’ll identify him in the morning, and you can collect your reward mister…?” “Erland Gaunt.” “Right, now come back then, I’m busy as stands” With that he tipped his marine cap down upon his face and returned to his rest. [/style]

Words: 1,245
Music:
Notes: Back on track now hopefully, apologie for the series of delays.

[EriChar]

“Ah, I’d say ya’ve earned your head today, thanks kid…” It was entirely possible that the dusty young man who, at last, returned to Fuutaro the sign for his Dojo was at least the same age as him, if not older. However, now that his search had come to an end, his attitude relaxed a little in his relief and to a certain extent his habit of asserting his seniority over other people. A former street punk, Fuutaro differed from many of the solemnly silent samurai swordsmen of Wano, as he tended to get a bit chatty with his foes, though this was absent in his most recent battle, with the feather headed foe; in that instance, he had been largely overwhelmed by anger and determination to let his usual trash talking fly, letting only a little lick or two into the air during their entire battle.

Driving the huge borrowed blade he was still hanging onto into the ground next to him, Jumonji Fuutaro wiped off the dirt and dust from the sword school sign, and held it in front of him.
Shiryuu Shinen-Ryu. The white haired young man smiled as he read the characters on the sign he held, a beam born of pride and satisfaction at what he had accomplished, and also a sense of expectation of the return to happy times for the people around him.
As he eyed his prize in the failing light of a falling night, the goliath that Fuutaro had shared his assault with apparently became intent on being elsewhere, so following a handshake and some overblown words of kinship or something, the viking fellow whom Fuu had still not yet learned a name for departed.
“We’ll have ta have a rumble another time!” Jumonji Fuutaro had been mildly impressed by the demonstration he had been given by the colossal companion with whom he now departed, and the competitor within him had an inkling of interest in a friendly bout with the furred fellow. However, now was not the time for chasing after a battle, no, the student of the Shinen School had places he needed to be.

Ready to move, Fuutaro tucked the victor’s prize underneath his arm and readied himself to move, but before he got under way, the eye of cross cheeked winner settled onto the sword that he had been carting around only recently.
Might make fer a good trophy… Scooping the massive weapon up, Fuutaro chuckled as he slung the ship-breaking sword of his routed rival over his shoulder, carrying it along with the sign he had tucked underneath his other upper limb. The light of the day almost gone, Fuutaro begun the second leg of his marathon as he dashed back towards his home town, oddly energised despite all the exertion he had been through, the light of the stars and moon highlighting the fools grin worn on the boy’s face as he sprinted through the darkness.

---

The last remnants of daylight had long died down by the time that Jumonji Fuutaro reached the door of the Shiryuu Shinen-ryu dojo, his breathing somewhat ragged and perspiration apparent despite the coolness in the air. His destination reached, the worn white haired youngster jabbed the massive blade into the ground outside the dojo, and stepped up to the door, which for the first time in all the times that he had visited the dojo, was closed. Although he regularly arrived early and often stayed rather late, Fuu had never consciously been at the dojo much after nightfall, so the sight of a closed door in a place that on some level had always been ‘open’ to him was somewhat unnerving for the young swordsman, almost like the dojo itself was baring the weight of the suffering that occurred that day. The good news was, Fuu had arrived with what he hoped would be the item to lift that burden from both the dojo and the people inside it.

Do I knock or…? For a moment, the manner of door which he approached delayed Jumoni Fuutaro, as he was confused as to how to enter. In front of him was a traditionally constructed sliding door, made of thin beams of wood acting as a frame for the paper that consisted as the surface of the door.
Just gonna break if I try to knock on it…. Scratching the back of his head, Fuutaro opted to just go for it and enter, deciding that his barging in wouldn’t be the worst thing that happened today, and since he spent a large amount of his time here anyway, it wasn’t as if he was entirely unwelcome either. Grasping the wooden frame of the door, the white haired boy thrust it sideways with his free hand, and to his surprise saw in front of him the girl he hadn’t laid eyes on since rushing off from the bar the afternoon before.

Her hand outstretched, as if she too had been opening the door before Fuutaro had thrust it away, Shinen Hinata stooped in a slight lean, with a started expression on her face.
“Burglar!!!” Hinata screamed this word quickly, apparently not recognising the shape of Jumonji Fuutaro in her doorway this late at night, and before the white haired boy could say anything he felt the unforgiving fist of the girl ploughing through his face, before being flung backwards. Propelled rearward by such an unforgiving force, as he unintentionally released the dojo’s sign and bounced backwards, it was clear that should his opponent this day have been the daughter of the Shinen dojo, Fuu may very well not have been favoured with such a victory.

Finally skidding to a halt a few meters outside of the Dojo’s grounds, Fuu pulled himself back to a foot and a knee, clasping the fist’s impact site on his cheek and glaring angrily.
“What the hell kinda welcome is that?!” Angrily snapping, now out of the shadows, Fuu’s hair was shining in the moonlight, and the dojo’s sign now laying a few feet in front of him for his feisty friend to see…