Post by BEX on Nov 15, 2013 18:25:53 GMT -5
“T-That’s…Abura-sumashi. The Abura-sumashi…” one of the armed men breathed.
Although no one else voiced a word of affirmation a sense of awe engulfed the group as they failed to realize the mounting aggression pouring out from the plump man in a rush of malice and anger. Darting between the stunned group with a quickness that rivaled the wind, Jack planted himself in front of the Abbot, blade edge shimmering threateningly in case the need called for its use.
Brohiko hardly noticed. Those beady eyes which were usually stretched at the corners by the magnitude of his smiles now contracted with barely concealed fury. The Abbot's was face postured itself in a mirthless facsimile of a grin as rainwater dripped from his unceremoniously adorned sleeves. When the Father advanced with a step, a shower of raindrops followed in his wake. It was fortunate that priests wore so much clothing. The heavy fabric retained a great deal of moisture—enough to slow the arcing hand that raced upwards towards Jack's forehead. Although all the men were trained in combat their skill level barely rose above that of an apprentice; most of them failed to see the grappling match which took place within the span of a single heartbeat.
Blinking his surprise away Jack bared his teeth. Without looking he knew there was a hand capable of killing him in a single movement positioned right below the jugular; the sweet spot. Any swordsman worth his salt understood there were certain areas that resulted in a painless, near-instant death. Slashing wantonly at the throat of any individual wasn’t a difficult task, but it didn’t ensure that the victim was going to die. As he considered the predicament he was in, the slow embers of his passion began to rouse in the presence of another strong enemy. Karate Island was turning out to be the perfect vacation from that shithole jail cell they’d kept him in for those long months. Arrogantly the unimpressed vagabond spat to the side, the precarious situation appearing to have no effect on him as he shot the Abbot a condescending smile, “Not bad Gramps, but ya sure ya don’t wanna get back off…that looks pretty dangerous…”
Slowly the Abbbot reached up towards the flabby folds of flesh encasing his jawline and when the hand came away stained with crimson his face twitched in irritation. Though the brief foray had been a contest based in jujitsu, Jack was swordsman—he knew very little about grappling techniques so he stuck with what he knew best. Just when it appeared as though he’d lost, he slyly used the katana’s advantage in length to score a hit. For a moment the two men: one large and unassuming, the other reedy and unscrupulous in appearance watched each other like lions intruding upon one another’s territory. Then softness returned to the Abbot’s face.
“Dancer-san. It would be wise for you to remove yourself from my path…I have business with the man you’ve bested. Once I’ve finished my business you can do as you like with him; you have my word.”
“Forgive me Father-dono, but we cannot allow that. Susa must be judged by the Warlord and the Consulate; we cannot abdicate this man to you.” The speaker seemed to be the leader of the entourage. He was handsome and well respected from the small nods of approval his men gave him at his back; the sort of fellow that would die to ensure that his squadron would remain safe.
It happened too quickly.
Foolishly the peons' champion stepped towards the Abbot and within two breaths a sharp crack of air accompanied by the discomforting squelching of skin and bone folding beneath the weight of a great force resounded in everyone’s ear. Jack had seen the movement coming, but given that it had been in his blind spot and the attack had not been directed towards him, he’d not attempted to counteract the assault. As the body slumped against him, the deadweight limbs of a man who only seconds ago was among the living flopping uselessly as the downed warrior fell Jack sensed great violence in this supposed man of peace, “You idiots understand now? This ain’t no priest…this guy’s a monster just like me. Get the hell back and shut the eff up if ya dun wanna die.”
Dissension sprung from the division of whether to obey a stranger’s command or to whisk not-Susa away before anyone was killed by the demon priest. Morons, Jack mediated. Glancing down furtively he quickly assessed how the deceased leader had met his end. Immediately he picked out the awkward angle at which the neck had bent as well as the purple-black bruising darkening only one side; the side where impact had been made. Shit…this freakin’ priest broke the man’s neck with a single, precise blow! To Jack, whose strength was sufficient enough to dent steel with barehanded blows, it was a humbling experience to be in such close proximity to this…killer.
“Guessin’ there’s no talkin’ bout this, huh? It’s either your way or the dead way, right?”
“It would appear that way unfortunately.”
“Kukuku. Then the hell’re we wastin’ time talkin fer?”
With that the stage was set for another war; Jack had finally found his paradise.
Although no one else voiced a word of affirmation a sense of awe engulfed the group as they failed to realize the mounting aggression pouring out from the plump man in a rush of malice and anger. Darting between the stunned group with a quickness that rivaled the wind, Jack planted himself in front of the Abbot, blade edge shimmering threateningly in case the need called for its use.
Brohiko hardly noticed. Those beady eyes which were usually stretched at the corners by the magnitude of his smiles now contracted with barely concealed fury. The Abbot's was face postured itself in a mirthless facsimile of a grin as rainwater dripped from his unceremoniously adorned sleeves. When the Father advanced with a step, a shower of raindrops followed in his wake. It was fortunate that priests wore so much clothing. The heavy fabric retained a great deal of moisture—enough to slow the arcing hand that raced upwards towards Jack's forehead. Although all the men were trained in combat their skill level barely rose above that of an apprentice; most of them failed to see the grappling match which took place within the span of a single heartbeat.
Blinking his surprise away Jack bared his teeth. Without looking he knew there was a hand capable of killing him in a single movement positioned right below the jugular; the sweet spot. Any swordsman worth his salt understood there were certain areas that resulted in a painless, near-instant death. Slashing wantonly at the throat of any individual wasn’t a difficult task, but it didn’t ensure that the victim was going to die. As he considered the predicament he was in, the slow embers of his passion began to rouse in the presence of another strong enemy. Karate Island was turning out to be the perfect vacation from that shithole jail cell they’d kept him in for those long months. Arrogantly the unimpressed vagabond spat to the side, the precarious situation appearing to have no effect on him as he shot the Abbot a condescending smile, “Not bad Gramps, but ya sure ya don’t wanna get back off…that looks pretty dangerous…”
Slowly the Abbbot reached up towards the flabby folds of flesh encasing his jawline and when the hand came away stained with crimson his face twitched in irritation. Though the brief foray had been a contest based in jujitsu, Jack was swordsman—he knew very little about grappling techniques so he stuck with what he knew best. Just when it appeared as though he’d lost, he slyly used the katana’s advantage in length to score a hit. For a moment the two men: one large and unassuming, the other reedy and unscrupulous in appearance watched each other like lions intruding upon one another’s territory. Then softness returned to the Abbot’s face.
“Dancer-san. It would be wise for you to remove yourself from my path…I have business with the man you’ve bested. Once I’ve finished my business you can do as you like with him; you have my word.”
“Forgive me Father-dono, but we cannot allow that. Susa must be judged by the Warlord and the Consulate; we cannot abdicate this man to you.” The speaker seemed to be the leader of the entourage. He was handsome and well respected from the small nods of approval his men gave him at his back; the sort of fellow that would die to ensure that his squadron would remain safe.
It happened too quickly.
Foolishly the peons' champion stepped towards the Abbot and within two breaths a sharp crack of air accompanied by the discomforting squelching of skin and bone folding beneath the weight of a great force resounded in everyone’s ear. Jack had seen the movement coming, but given that it had been in his blind spot and the attack had not been directed towards him, he’d not attempted to counteract the assault. As the body slumped against him, the deadweight limbs of a man who only seconds ago was among the living flopping uselessly as the downed warrior fell Jack sensed great violence in this supposed man of peace, “You idiots understand now? This ain’t no priest…this guy’s a monster just like me. Get the hell back and shut the eff up if ya dun wanna die.”
Dissension sprung from the division of whether to obey a stranger’s command or to whisk not-Susa away before anyone was killed by the demon priest. Morons, Jack mediated. Glancing down furtively he quickly assessed how the deceased leader had met his end. Immediately he picked out the awkward angle at which the neck had bent as well as the purple-black bruising darkening only one side; the side where impact had been made. Shit…this freakin’ priest broke the man’s neck with a single, precise blow! To Jack, whose strength was sufficient enough to dent steel with barehanded blows, it was a humbling experience to be in such close proximity to this…killer.
“Guessin’ there’s no talkin’ bout this, huh? It’s either your way or the dead way, right?”
“It would appear that way unfortunately.”
“Kukuku. Then the hell’re we wastin’ time talkin fer?”
With that the stage was set for another war; Jack had finally found his paradise.