Post by EriChar on Aug 3, 2013 9:49:34 GMT -5
Stood in a circle of redness, the ‘display’ that Shiroyama Yoko had given to both the audience and her fellow competitors had received a stark contrast in its response. As the crowds around her were whipped up in a frenzy, screaming the girl’s epithet in joy and celebration at what she had done, the fellow warriors that surrounded her had far more silent a reaction; standing there stunned at the feat that this beauty had performed. Felling a quartet with a single motion had only further instilled a sense of reluctance in the parties around her, and now, the ‘Sensual Samurai’ found herself with an odd sort of respite; the eyes that looked at her wary and waiting for someone else to take the first move. It was almost as if the fighters in Yoko’s immediate area had been pushed onto the back-foot, the defensive, without ever being directly attacked. The statement that Miss Shiroyama had made with her swordplay had unnerved them so, that guards had immediately been raised; now the arena knew that any sort of weakness or mistake would cost them their place and a whole lot more. While this dark haired girl from distant lands could be seen as a beauty, when it suited her, she could also be a beast.
So, it must now be myself who seeks the initiative? Her breath returned after the scuffle with six that she had fought her way through, the swordswoman let out a calm wave of air from her lungs as she scanned her surroundings, deciding that the impact she had just made would necessitate a change in her battle tactics. While initially taking the role of the ‘counter puncher’ in this fight to conserve energy; drawing her enemies in and capitalizing of their own errors, Yoko would now need to be the one to take that first step, to be the one who was drawn and not make that critical mistake. Snapping her blades back into the standard grip from the position she had held them for her ‘technique’, there was almost a perceptible wince in the bodies of the fighters that stood around this young woman, each of them seeming to think they would be the first to taste the steel within the samurai’s hands. Skipping forward, Miss Shiroyama stepped into action, seeming to target the foe directly in front of her. Weapons were raised to guard as the girl moved forward, much slower than the pace she could achieve when say, saving a child from a tiger-laden pit. Of course, giving people the opportunity to react was all part of this young woman’s battle strategy; while springing forward, she was not aiming to strike down the foe that she seemed to target, but rather ‘spring’ the traps of all around her. Showing the experience that this girl had gained over the years that she had fought in this arena, rather than continue her forward ‘charge’, as her lead foot landed on the ground only meters away from her seemingly intended target, the young woman shot out into a sidestep, swinging her blade upward as she did. Quickly changing her direction to catch those who thought they were ‘safe’ off guard, the cleaving, skyward sword she sent carved into the reflexive guard of a wooden mace, the sudden need to react making her ‘true’ target lose his footing and fall to the force of the blow.
Silently, relying more on her instincts in fighting than intelligent strategy, the arena’s Deva did not take much time to pause and check that her first foe had fallen, instead she was already in motion again, thrusting forward with both blades at the dumfounded first target she had feigned her attack on. Curling her left handed blade outward, thanks to the confusion of the moment and her well-honed strength, Miss Shiroyama managed to peel back a second opponents guard, and followed up the move with by slamming the guard of her second sword into the man’s nose, forcing it to crumple and provoke the explosion with further ‘claret’. Like a sort of purple pinball, the Sensual Samurai sprang around her surroundings, bouncing of the ‘buffers’ that the bodies of her foes served, rarely ceasing her motions as her weapons sliced and smashed her enemies away. With no real time to think about whom she was attacking, the nature of this battle royal worked to the advantage of the springing swordswoman, allowing her to simply perceive and react to her targets, moving to strike them down without worrying that she might have her blade headed toward a friend or ally.
It was with the fast paced style of the Sensual Samurai’s swordplay that her ‘zone’ of the arena, the south-eastern quarter in which she had started her battle, was cleared quickly of its competitors; the greater number that fell to her strikes and swordplay, the more that seemed to fear her, hesitating in their course of action and ironically making it easier, rather than more difficult, for the dark-haired beauty to progress. Miss Shiroyama did not know what was unfolding in the other ‘corners’ of this circular battlefield; while she maintained an observation level sufficient to alert her to threats she perceived in her immediate surroundings, the swordswoman did not afford herself the time to casually glance around further than her goings on, and see the sights. Once the numbers were thinned down enough, and the arena less ‘cramped’, no doubt the scale of the fights with increase with the calibre of the contestant. Surely, unless there were some real curve balls of competitors to be tossed in here, the final few would be the arena’s champions, the pretentiously titled “Deva’s”, and anyone else who hadn’t yet had the opportunity to be felled by them. It wasn’t an easy path to reach the level of such a title, and there was no titleholder would allow their reputation to be sullied by becoming the one who was eliminated by some ‘no-name’ competitor.
Batting away the ‘competition’ like a true champion would, refusing to relinquish her hold on the title she had achieved or the opportunity victory might bring, with the quarter of the coliseum in which the Swordswoman’s ‘Shop’ had been set up cleared of most of its competitors, the young woman sought to finish the job she had started and move on to the ‘tougher’ foes; the final stages of the battle. Catching sight of what seemed to be the last of the human-like shapes in the dusty corner she had been fighting in, Shiroyma Yoko’s eyes locked on like the predator she was in this arena; zoning in on her prey with the skill and efficiency of a hawk or tiger in the middle of their prime. Drawing her blades back, the foreigner sought to settle this ‘stage’ of the competition and move onto what might be known as the ‘endgame’; the final battle between the strong and lucky who remained standing. However, the swords gripped firmly in this femme’s fists never fell; for once she caught the sight of the face of her target even this well-experienced warrior found that her form could freeze. The ‘Sensual Samurai’ was, eyes full of wrath and desire for destruction, looking into those of the boy who earlier she had earlier sought so hard to save…