Post by Lord Bromosalino on Dec 16, 2019 23:41:28 GMT -5
“C’mon. Move, move, move.”
Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, the curious newcomer to the Bliss Island once again shifted his gaze to the crowd in front of him. Bumping shoulders with the bustling crowd, the hurried and anxiety riddled young man made every effort to squeeze through every opening he could find, unsure just how much distance he had been able to put between himself and his pursuers in the last few moments. Having made himself an enemy of the nobility class, and by extension the World Government and the Marines that served them, Dagan Mir, the Burning Demon, had found himself on the run once again; the brief respite he had managed by his initial escape was just that, brief.
Dagan’s mind instantly recalled the events of the last two weeks, the chance he had taken had put him on an irreversible course. Just a short while ago, the demon was still a slave, held captive to serve the whims and indulgences of the nobility class that he was property to. However, in a plan that saw him not only destroy the large house vessel of his captors, but also ruin an important family affair and steal the precious heirloom sword that was the very symbol of power and status for the noble, Dagan thought – quite foolishly – that he had been able to buy himself enough to time to leave that life behind forever. And indeed, he had for a time. Though heavily injured in the risky escape, Dagan spent those following days in an absolute euphoria. Yes, not only had his body been burned, but his soul too was lit ablaze, but in a very different way. Initially spending those first several days on the precipice between life and death, the man clung to his newly found freed life and crawled his way back from hell. Finding his resolve, discovering a newfound strength, and awakening an insatiable thirst for life, Dagan found himself on the island of Bliss. And despite the horrified and shocked looks of the local populace, the newly formed man did not care. He was free. He had found his life and he would enjoy it.
That was eight days ago. Freedom had lasted a measly eight days. His first inkling that this new life of his was in danger came shortly after he had made it into the heart of Bliss Island. While Dagan expected to find Marines in every port, every town, and on every island (as one would expect of the physical embodiment of the arms and feet of the very government that ruled the world), the searching eyes of the Marines on Bliss Island told Dagan that he was being hunted. At first, the man was confident that the Marines could not possibly know who they were looking for. Once a fair skinned, unremarkable slave, the injuries he had sustained in his daring escape changed his very physical appearance; the once unblemished skin now marred in burns and char. Even if the nobles he had once served could remember his face (and honestly, what noble remembered the face of their property?), that face was so indistinguishable from its former self that Dagan was sure his injuries would serve as a blessing and he could hide in plain sight. Dagan could sit back and watch as their faithful lackeys ran circles around the island only to come up empty and incur the wrath of the nobility class for their failure.
And that very may well have been the case; had Dagan not been a complete fool. As an act of final defiance, Dagan had stolen the prized Kokutō (black blade) scimitar of his young master and now proudly and arrogantly displayed that blade across his back; the ornately designed black and gold scabbard glistening in the sunny skies of the South Blue. And it was the twinkling metals dancing in the sunshine that caught the attention of one diligent Marine; Dagan’s act of “sticking it to the man” became nothing more than a beacon, leading the predators directly towards their prey. And so, Dagan ran; his feet carrying him further and further into the heart of the city, his heart pounding as hard as his burning lungs.
Through the twisting streets and alleyways, the further he was chased, the more certain Dagan was that he would eventually be cornered and caught. Afterall, the Marines stationed at Bliss knew the island infinitely better than their prey. With their superior numbers, coordinated maneuvers, and tactical communication and positioning, the uniformed hunters knew they were in a position of power and advantage. All they had to do was choke the young man’s options of escape and direct him into their waiting arms. The Marines knew it, Dagan knew it; yet the determined former slave refused to go quietly, determined to find a way to escape from the trap he was being forced into, and maybe stall out his pursuers just long enough to find a little bit of luck to aid him. As fortune would have it, luck was waiting for Dagan just around the corner, in the form of the “Festival of the Sun God.”
“Festival of the Sun God.” An annual festival and tribute held be the citizens of Bliss Island, the island wide party is not a religious party despite its moniker. Rather, the festival pays tribute to a famous and widely loved opera written and originally performed on Bliss Island. The opera, simply named the “Sun God,” is the story of the mysterious denizen of the sun Aphelianos and his descent into hell to free his lover. Following multiple battles against hordes of demons, Aphelianos and his lover escape the fiery pits of hell and flee to a peaceful island of bliss; a clear tribute to Bliss Island that the author used as inspiration while writing the opera on the very same island. Now a beloved and cherished part of the culture of the island, the citizens have since adopted a day long festival to honor Aphelianos and his journey. Starting at the top of the island, mirroring Aphelianos’ initial decent from the sun and journey to hell, the festival slowly moves from the mountains of Bliss and into the heart of the city, redecorated and structured to mirror the cities of hell as depicted in the “Sun God,” before ending in a large feast on the shores of Bliss that last well into the early hours of the following morning.
It was in this second act of the opera that Dagan’s luck and moment of respite appeared; in the “city” of Tartaros and among its many “demons.” Not only had the very heart of Bliss Island been decorated to resemble the fictional capitol of hell, Tartaros, but the citizens of the island had fully embraced the opera and had become the denizens of Tartaros. Bodies painted in a multitude and variance of colors, faces covered in all manner of horned, feathered, or spiked masks, and carrying highly ornate weapons in the same manner as the demons Aphelianos had to overcome. Here, in this act of the festival, Dagan was not the sore thumb he had been in the outskirts of the city. Instead, in the very heart of the festival, Dagan’s own blackened skin simply blended in with those around him, simply turning him into another “demon” taking his part in the festivities. In fact, Dagan was so blended in, that a young lady dancing next to Dagan (who’s own skin was painted black and red in her interpretation of a demon) handed him a wooden mask to match her own. After all, the demons in the “Sun God” all wore masks, so how could Dagan, now a participant of the festival, not have a mask of his own to complete his “outfit?” Examining the horned mask momentarily, Dagan happily accepted the mask; happy to have another piece of concealment against his pursuers.
And the Marines, led by Ensign Kashin, were clearly unprepared for the festival. How could they have been prepared? Ensign Kashin was not a Marine of great importance as reflected in his low officer rank and was thus assigned to oversee the protection and security of the noble vessel, the “Issis,” that Dagan had been a slave on. Kashin was not a local to Bliss Island or even of the South Blue in general and was therefore unable to plan for the turn of events that the “Festival of the Sun God” had provided. He could not foresee the luck that Dagan would stumble upon, and so his well laid plan to trap the runaway had been foiled. Every person in the city could possibly have been his target; each body painted, each face covered with masks, each carrying a weapon that could have passed for one befitting of nobility. And so, the Marines were forced to slow their hard pounding pursuit of Dagan and grind to a slow, methodical search of the large city. And this was Dagan’s chance to put some real distance between himself and the Marines. Now Dagan was not completely free and could simply continue running, the sight of one sole person running through the dancing crowd of the festival would be an immediate giveaway as to who he was. And so, Dagan too had to slow down himself and truly mingle in with the crowd and play the part of a party goer. Though not a supremely talented dancer, Dagan spun and twisted with the crowd as best as he could while trying to keep his eyes peeled for the Marines, changing hands and spinning around multiple dance partners as he attempted to spin is way towards safety. Luckily for Dagan, the white and blue uniforms of the governmental soldiers stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the crowd, making it easy to dance around the many Marine’s positioning around the plaza.
The endless waltz throughout the city appeared to be just that, endless. For what seemed like hours, the dancing continued steadily and slowly throughout the city and down towards the warm beaches on the edges of the island. As night began to fall, the festivities had finally made its way to the beach, nearing the final act that marked the beginning of the feast and the end of the festivities. While much of the island, including the bulk of the island’s Marine force, were enjoying the free-flowing alcohol, food, and music, Dagan had been able to make it docks on the opposite end the island unnoticed. Though not versed in the instruments of vessels or the art of sailing, Dagan had picked out a small merchant ship among the many moored there that he was fairly certain (though maybe misguided) he could pilot. While his hands may not have had the greatest of finesse in preparing the vessel, Dagan hurried to prepare for departure; preparing and folding the sails, trying to tie down the attaching ropes and slacks with unsophisticated and rudimentary knots, familiarizing himself to the basics of the moving parts that were most important to the sailing of the vessel. As Dagan worked in the light of the full moon overhead, even he could not help humming along to the catchy, upbeat music that had not let up at all on the other end of the island; his attitude rising steadily in the light of his current circumstances. He was in the home stretch; he was mere moments from safety.
“You, identify yourself.”
Working in silence for the last hour, the voice of another booming across the docks startled Dagan. Peeking his head over the railings of the merchant ship, Dagan’s mood dropped, visibly evident by a simple “fuck.” Much to his chagrin, the man who had called out to him was undoubtedly the last person Dagan wished to see at this very moment; Ensign Kashim. Standing on the docks flanked on both ends by two other Marines, the unmistakable white and blue jacket of Justice that hung from his shoulders, hand on sheathed blade, the young Ensign flashed a grin. Having left his Marines to oversee the feast, the officer had stayed behind and continued to make his way through the island, following an instinctive gut feeling that his prey was not among the crowd. Searching every emptied shop, every alleyway, every nook and cranny of the emptied city, Kashim finally made his way towards the dock and found one lone ship making way for departure. Much to both his and Dagan’s surprise, Kashim’s gut feeling had paid off, the glistening sword on Dagan’s back confirming the quarry he had spent the better part of the day chasing.
Drawing his sword, a simple, well-crafted, double edged great sword, and pointing its well-polished point square at Dagan, the Ensign’s grin turned into a derogatory smirk, the next sentence dripping with contempt; “You’re under arrest, slave.” Well, I guess this is what we’re doing then, came the immediate thought as a response, here we go. Drawing the stolen blade off of his own back, Dagan steeled himself for the ensuing skirmish, a lump rising in his throat. Dagan had spent the last twenty years living as a slave, not preparing, studying, and training for battles as the three Marines before him had been. No, Dagan would not be able to rely on superior tactics or hardened and tested battle skills. He would have to simply lean into the superior weapon he was in possession of and his well above average strength. Years of plowing, building, manning the oars, and all other manner of physical tasks turned the former slave’s less than remarkable body into a tough and rather muscular physique; it was from there that Dagan would have to draw upon.
Seeing their commanding officer draw his weapons, the flanking Marines on either end of Kashim drew their own swords in preparation. Knowing that they, being non-commissioned officers, would be the one to be assigned to actually do the hard lifting and bring the slave into custody, the two Marines made their way up the gangway. To say that the battle between the nameless marines and the similarly nameless slave was anything but quick and dirty would be a lie. The two equally young Marines were as untested as Dagan was and the difference in strength and weapon quality was too much for the governmental agents to overcome. With two heavy cleaves, the clumsy issued sabers were unable to withstand the Kokutō massive weight. Smashing through their measly defenses with two vicious (though not pretty) swings, the first fight was over in a matter of seconds, and Dagan turned his attention to the commissioned officer still standing on the pier of the port. Two down, one to go. And then I’m free.
Kashim, unfazed by the lack of success of his Marine subordinates, simply walked over his companions fallen bodies as he made his way onto the decks of the merchant vessel, sword outstretched. No words were passed between the two, the two swords glistening in the light of the full moon overhead. No doubt the young Ensign thought the moment to be poetic, the symbolism that lay in the air was thick; the white, pure, almost holy appearance of the Ensign and his jacket matched against the dark, blackened, demon like appearance of his foe standing across him. The festival, the appearance of both combatants, even the images of the knightly great sword contrasted against the dark, demon like scimitar. The stage was set for Kashim to slay the demon and complete his own hero’s journey. Dagan and Kashim stood like this for several seconds, though to someone as unaccustomed to battle as Dagan, it seemed like moments.
The jovial chorus of music that lingered in the air was broken with a sudden clash of steel against steel. Pushing off suddenly with his backfoot, Kashim seemed to fly towards Dagan, the point of his sword driving directly into the slave’s chest. More out of instinct rather than any true understanding of swordplay, Dagan’s own sword came out to meet the great sword, parrying the Marine’s blade at the last moment. However, before he could retaliate with his own attack, Dagan was forced two steps back, pushed backwards by the force of a wide cut which he only just been able to block once more. Another thrust followed by an overhead smash forced Dagan another two steps back. Another wide swing was followed up by kick to the “demon’s” stomach, pushing him back another step. Not wasting anytime, Kashim attacked with a spinning cleave. Though Dagan jumped back to attempt to avoid the attack, the tip of the blade cut into his chest leaving a sharp sting behind, despite the shallowness of the wound. Thud. Having lost track of his positioning on the vessel, Dagan had jumped back to avoid the last attack, his back crashing into the walls of the main cabin. Seeing an opportunity, Kashin jumped forwards once more, letting loose a strong piercing thrust. Unable to move backwards any further, Dagan rolled to his right to avoid the attack; though not completely in time, the attack cutting into Dagan’s left shoulder as the Marine’s powerful thrust pierced deep into the wall of the cabin. As the Ensign attempted to pull his great sword out of the splintered wood, Dagan found a brief moment in which he could open up with an attack of his own. Tired of being on the backfoot, Dagan swung his Ikari wide. Though his aim was true, the Marine was able to pry his own blade from the cabin, catching the brunt of the attack on his own blade. Now the one pressing an advantage, Dagan continued to hack at Kashim with a complete abandon, unrelentless in his assault. Putting every bit of his strength into every attack, Dagan refused to allow Kashim to regain his footing; knowing that if the Marine ever did find a moment of respite, whatever advantage Dagan had would be lost forever. Though able to parry each of the clumsy, yet powerful strikes, Kashim continued to be pushed backwards across the vessel, his back finally to the railing.
Now that the roles had been reversed and it was now Kashim with his back to the wall, Dagan let loose with another powerful cleave. With the confined space he found himself in, Kashim was unable to properly extend his blade to parry the attack and he found himself weaponless as the strike sent his own blade spinning out of control and into the sea. Though unarmed and now powerless, Dagan did not hesitate. Raising Ikari high above his head, Dagan stepped forward and brought the blade down and across the helpless Marine’s body. With a thud, the Marines body slumped on the deck, the once unblemished jacket now smothered in blood. The battle had not been pretty, nor had it been elegant, but violence rarely was either of those things. But he had won, that is all that mattered. With a rush of elation, Dagan pushed the bodies of his slain foes overboard and into the calm sea. He was finally free. He had finally cut the ties to his past and could move on to live his own life.
Making the final preparations for departure, Dagan was finally ready to set off. With the music of the flutes, guitars, harps, and drums turning from a subtle background into a soft drone, Dagan sat at the stern of the ship. Gazing towards the star littered sky, Dagan couldn’t help but laugh; he was free, absolutely free. As the vessel drifted along into the night, the music was long out of earshot, the only sound that could be heard was the now uproarious laughter of a freed man.
Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, the curious newcomer to the Bliss Island once again shifted his gaze to the crowd in front of him. Bumping shoulders with the bustling crowd, the hurried and anxiety riddled young man made every effort to squeeze through every opening he could find, unsure just how much distance he had been able to put between himself and his pursuers in the last few moments. Having made himself an enemy of the nobility class, and by extension the World Government and the Marines that served them, Dagan Mir, the Burning Demon, had found himself on the run once again; the brief respite he had managed by his initial escape was just that, brief.
Dagan’s mind instantly recalled the events of the last two weeks, the chance he had taken had put him on an irreversible course. Just a short while ago, the demon was still a slave, held captive to serve the whims and indulgences of the nobility class that he was property to. However, in a plan that saw him not only destroy the large house vessel of his captors, but also ruin an important family affair and steal the precious heirloom sword that was the very symbol of power and status for the noble, Dagan thought – quite foolishly – that he had been able to buy himself enough to time to leave that life behind forever. And indeed, he had for a time. Though heavily injured in the risky escape, Dagan spent those following days in an absolute euphoria. Yes, not only had his body been burned, but his soul too was lit ablaze, but in a very different way. Initially spending those first several days on the precipice between life and death, the man clung to his newly found freed life and crawled his way back from hell. Finding his resolve, discovering a newfound strength, and awakening an insatiable thirst for life, Dagan found himself on the island of Bliss. And despite the horrified and shocked looks of the local populace, the newly formed man did not care. He was free. He had found his life and he would enjoy it.
That was eight days ago. Freedom had lasted a measly eight days. His first inkling that this new life of his was in danger came shortly after he had made it into the heart of Bliss Island. While Dagan expected to find Marines in every port, every town, and on every island (as one would expect of the physical embodiment of the arms and feet of the very government that ruled the world), the searching eyes of the Marines on Bliss Island told Dagan that he was being hunted. At first, the man was confident that the Marines could not possibly know who they were looking for. Once a fair skinned, unremarkable slave, the injuries he had sustained in his daring escape changed his very physical appearance; the once unblemished skin now marred in burns and char. Even if the nobles he had once served could remember his face (and honestly, what noble remembered the face of their property?), that face was so indistinguishable from its former self that Dagan was sure his injuries would serve as a blessing and he could hide in plain sight. Dagan could sit back and watch as their faithful lackeys ran circles around the island only to come up empty and incur the wrath of the nobility class for their failure.
And that very may well have been the case; had Dagan not been a complete fool. As an act of final defiance, Dagan had stolen the prized Kokutō (black blade) scimitar of his young master and now proudly and arrogantly displayed that blade across his back; the ornately designed black and gold scabbard glistening in the sunny skies of the South Blue. And it was the twinkling metals dancing in the sunshine that caught the attention of one diligent Marine; Dagan’s act of “sticking it to the man” became nothing more than a beacon, leading the predators directly towards their prey. And so, Dagan ran; his feet carrying him further and further into the heart of the city, his heart pounding as hard as his burning lungs.
Through the twisting streets and alleyways, the further he was chased, the more certain Dagan was that he would eventually be cornered and caught. Afterall, the Marines stationed at Bliss knew the island infinitely better than their prey. With their superior numbers, coordinated maneuvers, and tactical communication and positioning, the uniformed hunters knew they were in a position of power and advantage. All they had to do was choke the young man’s options of escape and direct him into their waiting arms. The Marines knew it, Dagan knew it; yet the determined former slave refused to go quietly, determined to find a way to escape from the trap he was being forced into, and maybe stall out his pursuers just long enough to find a little bit of luck to aid him. As fortune would have it, luck was waiting for Dagan just around the corner, in the form of the “Festival of the Sun God.”
“Festival of the Sun God.” An annual festival and tribute held be the citizens of Bliss Island, the island wide party is not a religious party despite its moniker. Rather, the festival pays tribute to a famous and widely loved opera written and originally performed on Bliss Island. The opera, simply named the “Sun God,” is the story of the mysterious denizen of the sun Aphelianos and his descent into hell to free his lover. Following multiple battles against hordes of demons, Aphelianos and his lover escape the fiery pits of hell and flee to a peaceful island of bliss; a clear tribute to Bliss Island that the author used as inspiration while writing the opera on the very same island. Now a beloved and cherished part of the culture of the island, the citizens have since adopted a day long festival to honor Aphelianos and his journey. Starting at the top of the island, mirroring Aphelianos’ initial decent from the sun and journey to hell, the festival slowly moves from the mountains of Bliss and into the heart of the city, redecorated and structured to mirror the cities of hell as depicted in the “Sun God,” before ending in a large feast on the shores of Bliss that last well into the early hours of the following morning.
It was in this second act of the opera that Dagan’s luck and moment of respite appeared; in the “city” of Tartaros and among its many “demons.” Not only had the very heart of Bliss Island been decorated to resemble the fictional capitol of hell, Tartaros, but the citizens of the island had fully embraced the opera and had become the denizens of Tartaros. Bodies painted in a multitude and variance of colors, faces covered in all manner of horned, feathered, or spiked masks, and carrying highly ornate weapons in the same manner as the demons Aphelianos had to overcome. Here, in this act of the festival, Dagan was not the sore thumb he had been in the outskirts of the city. Instead, in the very heart of the festival, Dagan’s own blackened skin simply blended in with those around him, simply turning him into another “demon” taking his part in the festivities. In fact, Dagan was so blended in, that a young lady dancing next to Dagan (who’s own skin was painted black and red in her interpretation of a demon) handed him a wooden mask to match her own. After all, the demons in the “Sun God” all wore masks, so how could Dagan, now a participant of the festival, not have a mask of his own to complete his “outfit?” Examining the horned mask momentarily, Dagan happily accepted the mask; happy to have another piece of concealment against his pursuers.
And the Marines, led by Ensign Kashin, were clearly unprepared for the festival. How could they have been prepared? Ensign Kashin was not a Marine of great importance as reflected in his low officer rank and was thus assigned to oversee the protection and security of the noble vessel, the “Issis,” that Dagan had been a slave on. Kashin was not a local to Bliss Island or even of the South Blue in general and was therefore unable to plan for the turn of events that the “Festival of the Sun God” had provided. He could not foresee the luck that Dagan would stumble upon, and so his well laid plan to trap the runaway had been foiled. Every person in the city could possibly have been his target; each body painted, each face covered with masks, each carrying a weapon that could have passed for one befitting of nobility. And so, the Marines were forced to slow their hard pounding pursuit of Dagan and grind to a slow, methodical search of the large city. And this was Dagan’s chance to put some real distance between himself and the Marines. Now Dagan was not completely free and could simply continue running, the sight of one sole person running through the dancing crowd of the festival would be an immediate giveaway as to who he was. And so, Dagan too had to slow down himself and truly mingle in with the crowd and play the part of a party goer. Though not a supremely talented dancer, Dagan spun and twisted with the crowd as best as he could while trying to keep his eyes peeled for the Marines, changing hands and spinning around multiple dance partners as he attempted to spin is way towards safety. Luckily for Dagan, the white and blue uniforms of the governmental soldiers stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the crowd, making it easy to dance around the many Marine’s positioning around the plaza.
The endless waltz throughout the city appeared to be just that, endless. For what seemed like hours, the dancing continued steadily and slowly throughout the city and down towards the warm beaches on the edges of the island. As night began to fall, the festivities had finally made its way to the beach, nearing the final act that marked the beginning of the feast and the end of the festivities. While much of the island, including the bulk of the island’s Marine force, were enjoying the free-flowing alcohol, food, and music, Dagan had been able to make it docks on the opposite end the island unnoticed. Though not versed in the instruments of vessels or the art of sailing, Dagan had picked out a small merchant ship among the many moored there that he was fairly certain (though maybe misguided) he could pilot. While his hands may not have had the greatest of finesse in preparing the vessel, Dagan hurried to prepare for departure; preparing and folding the sails, trying to tie down the attaching ropes and slacks with unsophisticated and rudimentary knots, familiarizing himself to the basics of the moving parts that were most important to the sailing of the vessel. As Dagan worked in the light of the full moon overhead, even he could not help humming along to the catchy, upbeat music that had not let up at all on the other end of the island; his attitude rising steadily in the light of his current circumstances. He was in the home stretch; he was mere moments from safety.
“You, identify yourself.”
Working in silence for the last hour, the voice of another booming across the docks startled Dagan. Peeking his head over the railings of the merchant ship, Dagan’s mood dropped, visibly evident by a simple “fuck.” Much to his chagrin, the man who had called out to him was undoubtedly the last person Dagan wished to see at this very moment; Ensign Kashim. Standing on the docks flanked on both ends by two other Marines, the unmistakable white and blue jacket of Justice that hung from his shoulders, hand on sheathed blade, the young Ensign flashed a grin. Having left his Marines to oversee the feast, the officer had stayed behind and continued to make his way through the island, following an instinctive gut feeling that his prey was not among the crowd. Searching every emptied shop, every alleyway, every nook and cranny of the emptied city, Kashim finally made his way towards the dock and found one lone ship making way for departure. Much to both his and Dagan’s surprise, Kashim’s gut feeling had paid off, the glistening sword on Dagan’s back confirming the quarry he had spent the better part of the day chasing.
Drawing his sword, a simple, well-crafted, double edged great sword, and pointing its well-polished point square at Dagan, the Ensign’s grin turned into a derogatory smirk, the next sentence dripping with contempt; “You’re under arrest, slave.” Well, I guess this is what we’re doing then, came the immediate thought as a response, here we go. Drawing the stolen blade off of his own back, Dagan steeled himself for the ensuing skirmish, a lump rising in his throat. Dagan had spent the last twenty years living as a slave, not preparing, studying, and training for battles as the three Marines before him had been. No, Dagan would not be able to rely on superior tactics or hardened and tested battle skills. He would have to simply lean into the superior weapon he was in possession of and his well above average strength. Years of plowing, building, manning the oars, and all other manner of physical tasks turned the former slave’s less than remarkable body into a tough and rather muscular physique; it was from there that Dagan would have to draw upon.
Seeing their commanding officer draw his weapons, the flanking Marines on either end of Kashim drew their own swords in preparation. Knowing that they, being non-commissioned officers, would be the one to be assigned to actually do the hard lifting and bring the slave into custody, the two Marines made their way up the gangway. To say that the battle between the nameless marines and the similarly nameless slave was anything but quick and dirty would be a lie. The two equally young Marines were as untested as Dagan was and the difference in strength and weapon quality was too much for the governmental agents to overcome. With two heavy cleaves, the clumsy issued sabers were unable to withstand the Kokutō massive weight. Smashing through their measly defenses with two vicious (though not pretty) swings, the first fight was over in a matter of seconds, and Dagan turned his attention to the commissioned officer still standing on the pier of the port. Two down, one to go. And then I’m free.
Kashim, unfazed by the lack of success of his Marine subordinates, simply walked over his companions fallen bodies as he made his way onto the decks of the merchant vessel, sword outstretched. No words were passed between the two, the two swords glistening in the light of the full moon overhead. No doubt the young Ensign thought the moment to be poetic, the symbolism that lay in the air was thick; the white, pure, almost holy appearance of the Ensign and his jacket matched against the dark, blackened, demon like appearance of his foe standing across him. The festival, the appearance of both combatants, even the images of the knightly great sword contrasted against the dark, demon like scimitar. The stage was set for Kashim to slay the demon and complete his own hero’s journey. Dagan and Kashim stood like this for several seconds, though to someone as unaccustomed to battle as Dagan, it seemed like moments.
The jovial chorus of music that lingered in the air was broken with a sudden clash of steel against steel. Pushing off suddenly with his backfoot, Kashim seemed to fly towards Dagan, the point of his sword driving directly into the slave’s chest. More out of instinct rather than any true understanding of swordplay, Dagan’s own sword came out to meet the great sword, parrying the Marine’s blade at the last moment. However, before he could retaliate with his own attack, Dagan was forced two steps back, pushed backwards by the force of a wide cut which he only just been able to block once more. Another thrust followed by an overhead smash forced Dagan another two steps back. Another wide swing was followed up by kick to the “demon’s” stomach, pushing him back another step. Not wasting anytime, Kashim attacked with a spinning cleave. Though Dagan jumped back to attempt to avoid the attack, the tip of the blade cut into his chest leaving a sharp sting behind, despite the shallowness of the wound. Thud. Having lost track of his positioning on the vessel, Dagan had jumped back to avoid the last attack, his back crashing into the walls of the main cabin. Seeing an opportunity, Kashin jumped forwards once more, letting loose a strong piercing thrust. Unable to move backwards any further, Dagan rolled to his right to avoid the attack; though not completely in time, the attack cutting into Dagan’s left shoulder as the Marine’s powerful thrust pierced deep into the wall of the cabin. As the Ensign attempted to pull his great sword out of the splintered wood, Dagan found a brief moment in which he could open up with an attack of his own. Tired of being on the backfoot, Dagan swung his Ikari wide. Though his aim was true, the Marine was able to pry his own blade from the cabin, catching the brunt of the attack on his own blade. Now the one pressing an advantage, Dagan continued to hack at Kashim with a complete abandon, unrelentless in his assault. Putting every bit of his strength into every attack, Dagan refused to allow Kashim to regain his footing; knowing that if the Marine ever did find a moment of respite, whatever advantage Dagan had would be lost forever. Though able to parry each of the clumsy, yet powerful strikes, Kashim continued to be pushed backwards across the vessel, his back finally to the railing.
Now that the roles had been reversed and it was now Kashim with his back to the wall, Dagan let loose with another powerful cleave. With the confined space he found himself in, Kashim was unable to properly extend his blade to parry the attack and he found himself weaponless as the strike sent his own blade spinning out of control and into the sea. Though unarmed and now powerless, Dagan did not hesitate. Raising Ikari high above his head, Dagan stepped forward and brought the blade down and across the helpless Marine’s body. With a thud, the Marines body slumped on the deck, the once unblemished jacket now smothered in blood. The battle had not been pretty, nor had it been elegant, but violence rarely was either of those things. But he had won, that is all that mattered. With a rush of elation, Dagan pushed the bodies of his slain foes overboard and into the calm sea. He was finally free. He had finally cut the ties to his past and could move on to live his own life.
Making the final preparations for departure, Dagan was finally ready to set off. With the music of the flutes, guitars, harps, and drums turning from a subtle background into a soft drone, Dagan sat at the stern of the ship. Gazing towards the star littered sky, Dagan couldn’t help but laugh; he was free, absolutely free. As the vessel drifted along into the night, the music was long out of earshot, the only sound that could be heard was the now uproarious laughter of a freed man.
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