Imperator [Pride/Mizuyuki]

[Pride]

"It began in flame. It will end in flame."

Another dream. No. A memory? Or a vision. The three had become one over time. A mind without a body. A soul without a mind. She knew who she was. That was something no sorcery could take from her. The rest... apparently that could be taken from her. Flitting shadows and crystalline reflections were her world now, impressionistic inflections of what had been. As if she were light in a prism, reflected this way and that. Beautiful in its evanescence, but a moment in time trapped eternally rather than fading out as it should be. Appropriate for her, perhaps. A poet might even find it quaint. She didn't find it very funny.

But the world was shifting - changing - a memory playing for a moment, or a pane to reality, she didn't know - blood for blood, a soul for a soul - and coiled essence struck with the patience of ages, a thousand strands with one will, one purpose.

Blood pooled upon the milky surface of the shimmering globe at the center of the encampment, the robed man's corpse slowly sliding down the now-cracked surface. There was a hushed silence for a moment - the calm before the storm, violence destroying diplomacy as members of both sides started, stared - then the world *pulsed* with eldritch power, an ill wind whistling through the ruined fort; full of sound and fury, dark whispers signifying nothing.

Then it was gone.

A single shout of surprise - arms pointed, gazes gifted freely. Tension thick enough it cloyed the air around the apparition. A specter carved in amber and ebon, wreathed in writhing shadow that could ill obscure her golden gaze.

---

Her breath thundered in her lungs, driven by the fury raging in every heartbeat. A Soulbreaker Orb! There had been betrayal, of that she was certain. Few had access to such devices, and fewer still would be able to tune the detonation of such a weapon to consume a single target rather than merely ripping the spiritual essence from all nearby as they usually did. Thus was it easy to conjecture the foremost possibilities - none of which boded well. For anyone involved.

Not even the lightest twitch of emotion reached her face as the arisen surveyed her surroundings, though, much of her conscious mind focused on the rabble around her. Why was the air so devoid of magic? What had happened here? How long had she slept? These creatures were... human, she surmised. Unsurprising, given they reproduced like the vermin most of them were. None here bore the strength to be a worthy foe, and many did not look as if they were even trying... no, there were two factions here, weren't there? Too many dead already surrounded this place. Most of them clad in robes. Mages, perhaps. Or researchers of some kind. The rest looked too unkempt to be soldiers. Mercenaries, brigands, if she had to guess. One corpse lay beside her, a shattered skull leaking his ebbing life force upon the orb against which he lay. Perhaps the reason for her escape. Not intentional, obviously. But he was just one of many, and they did strike her as researchers...

But why had they surrounded her - her prison - even as her temper frayed, her gaze darkened, and her hand rose, accompanied by a silent call, and an ebon blade grew from nothingness in her right hand. Forged in utter darkness at first, but after a moment patterns began to appear carved in crimson, lines and circles along its length - and in one graceful step she pirouetted, carving through the iridescent globe at the speed of thought. There was no explosion, no further incident as she turned to face those nearest her again, merely a gentle sigh as wisps of magic escaped the ruined superweapon.

"Please - you have to help us!"

Her gaze jerked to the robed man who was attacking - no, running at her, stayed her blade even as another, far bulkier man closer to her hefted his axe with ill intent. Raising it high - higher and higher, severed arms rising with the axe in hand; he had but a moment of disbelief and shock, turning to her with eyes offering askance before the raised blade fell, neatly bisecting him from head to crotch, bloody halves collapsing to the ground as if boneless. Unsurprisingly, the man in the robe thought twice of continuing to run at her. Fortune - or wisdom? He would not have survived the attempt.

"What the hell?"
"She killed fuckin' Todd!"
"When did she even-"

-The spell broken, the enchantment fading. Motion returned to the painting before her. She would have sighed if that wouldn't have been a bit too theatrical even for her. Perhaps diplomacy could be won, and there was nothing stopping her from merely walking away, but... "Leave," she stated simply, eyes piercing the robed man. Perhaps there had been a glimmer of intelligence in his gaze, but wrapped in fear and cowardice there was little she could gain by questioning him, and less to be gained by slaying such a weak foe. Uncertainty gripped the man for a moment, then he nodded, perhaps slightly quicker on the uptake than she had gauged, inclining his head - fleeing past her, to whence she knew as little as she cared.

To the rest...

Naked steel and drawn bows greeted her, those petrified by power bringing their arms to bear to beat it back. Perhaps several dozen of them? It didn't matter. None bore the least shred of power. None bore the weapons she yearned to see. None had any value. Unless, of course...

The woman simply smiled, a look that never reached her lurid golden eyes, as her blade drew before her and the gradually thickening mist of shadows around her began to blow. Her blade bereft of the blood that had coated it a moment before, but glowing a bloody crimson. Unabashed arrogance bared to the world, her demeanor as easy to read as its intent; that she feared none here, that she hardly even recognized them as anything but lambs to the slaughter. A warning - and a promise, that this makeshift arena would drown in blood and shadow.

"Perhaps you vermin will do as a warm up."

Soundtrack

[Mizuyuki]

The world had become such a foreign place to him. The rolling sea of grassy hills that stretched out in every direction, the gentle gale laden hillsides and vast plains that he'd called home was far behind him. Sacae awash in its own blood, flames igniting as humanity danced on the razor's edge towards war. Yet here he was. Laus, further away from home than he'd even been, working odd jobs while still traveling. Searching. He'd been resting against a single column of rock, left arm idle upon his right forearm while his right palm lightly clutched the hilt of his sheathed blade.

The world was so different...

He still found it hard to fully comprehend all that had happened in such a short scope of time. His left hand quietly lifted to feel the single feather dangling from the braid wound through his hair that dangled down the left side of his cheek. The large hawk feather's slight bristle still no less taut than the day he'd found it resting upon the bed of grass. For a moment, within the brief lapse of time in which it took to fill his lungs with air and slowly exhale, he felt that rush of memory. As if every thought, sensation and feeling had flooded through him. Mizuyuki's state of mind but a leaf caught in the churning tide of crashing waves. Smiling faces. Exclamations of joy. Clapping in celebration. Dances of excitement. He could still smell the rain in the air. If only it would've washed away the scent of blood... Even still, he could hear the distant rumbling of thunder echoing across the dark clouds. The ring of metal clashing. The screams of the slain. The plea's for help. The shouts of desperation, when that single moment of failure brought his world crumbling down. How that single moment of agony burned away all else.

By the time he roused himself from darkened thoughts, the Sacaen realized he was gripping his blade so tightly that it trembled in its sheath. Metal faintly chattering as if begging for release from its sacred scabbard. Amber eyes slowly drifted down to it, briefly watching as he lifted his hand from the hungering blade and moved to rest his hands atop opposing forearms when he folded his arms over his chest. Mizuyuki craned his neck and cast his glance to the barren landscape. How many of the tree's here seemed so lifeless, compared to the verdant hills of Sacae.

A sigh left his lips. In that second exhale, he tried to let it all out. Let the dark thoughts clouding his mind churn themselves into a grey sky that stretched across the landscape of his mind. At-least then he could find peace in that immediate moment. Though...

Mizuyuki craned his head back to the crumbling fort in the distance. Still, no one had come to collect him. He'd been hired on as added guard to some research expedition. According to the initial terms, he was to wait in plain view once he'd arrived and someone would come to collect him and he could present the contract. At this point he'd given it long enough that he could've no doubt approached himself and sorted things out, but the instructions had been clear to wait....

His hand slowly found itself clasping the sable shaded blade at his left hip once more. The thin black chain dangling from the tip of its hilt dragging a large raven's feather side to side at even the slightest motion. His opposing hand quietly combed through messy brown hair as Mizu quietly shifted in frustration. It was beginning to feel like his time had been wasted. Which wasn't a thought he would harbor for long before he took things into his own hands. Patience, with purpose, he was perfectly content to excise. However he was not going to let another dictate his time without meaning, and waiting in such a manner was starting to test him. 

The longer he waited however, the longer his mind began to slip back into those dark thoughts. To such an extent, that he could almost feel that same chill in the air. The bristle of the wind biting at his partial exposed torso. The lingering resonant plea's, screams barely reaching the back of his mind, and that familiar metallic scent of blood reaching him yet again. It was starting to get hard to separate reality, and those haunting recollections. Except...

Was it real?

Mizuyuki turned to face the assembled camp. The hair's on his neck slowly rising, as darkened honey hued eyes narrowed. His memories were cast into the void, as he drew himself into the present moment. Focusing more acutely on the here, and now. He was fairly positive, if he listened hard enough, he could hear screams. He also knew he was starting to smell that faint musk of viscera. Unless the researchers were preforming terrible experiments, something was going very wrong. Even if they were, he would have to place a stop to it. The Sacaen swordsman quietly took a glance around him as if to reaffirm himself. Right hand tucking behind him to feel the retracted and secured bow, nestled atop a cylindrical quiver of feathered arrows. Ensuring they were safe. A moment later he clutched the blade attached to his right hip. A far less ornate looking blade, slightly curved metal still sharpened to a keen edge yet housing none of the ceremonial design as the blade on his left side.

Without ever touching it, he felt the faint stir at his hip. That eldritch consciousness beginning to rouse. For now, he ignored it however, as he gripped the hilt on his right hip and unsheathed his katana with a quick snap of his wrist. He didn't approach immediately, still on guard as he tried to gauge what he was detecting. A few hesitant and cautious steps closer, but suddenly the lack of sentries had just caught his notice.

Something here was very wrong indeed.

[Pride]

Screams faded into nothingness as slaughter wracked the blood-stained fortress, flickering red-black blade carving air and bone alike. It was no glorious battle of eld; no heroes to clash blades, no mighty magics crashing against each other, no dragons or Taguel to bring their superhuman strength and abnormal abilities to bear. The air was thin, almost dry; her presence tearing at the space around her rather than simply pressing on it, exciting the dormant prana into a frenzy as it would have in an age past. Now there were but threaded wisps of shadow, but what they lacked in destructive power she was happy to provide. The question of what had happened to this world she enjoyed so much ever in her heart, but her mind dedicated solely to the joyous dance of destruction that had eluded her for so long.

Centuries of experience against panicking bandits was perhaps not the fairest of fights, but she found it in herself to enjoy it nonetheless, knowing these curs were but symptoms of the cancer eating away at the Elibe she had known, barely human even by the most liberal definitions of the word. They died as they had lived, caked in their own filth; repaying the earth they had sullied with their life force as guts spilled and blood seeped out.

The assault was coldly clinical - mechanical movements betraying a bit of rust at first, untold centuries of ageless existence taking their toll on her edge, but tranquil grace shone through all the brighter for it, absolute confidence born by endless experience. A blade that moved faster than thought, parrying and striking all in one blurred motion. Bolts and arrows flying through the air as the carnage continued. Most embedding harmlessly in the ground, incorrectly predicting her rampage, blind to the intricate footwork as she strode forward, this way and that. Some whose aim was true, wood and metal flickering away as they disintegrated, answered torrents of writhing shadow that consumed flesh and carved through stone parapets. Instincts honed over countless battles against worthy foes - men and dragons worthy of respect, those she had been quietly proud to consider equals. Not these... things. Animals barking against their fates, and even that comparison was unfair to animals who had wrought naught ill.

Some ran at her, their limbless or gutless bodies collapsing like puppets whose strings had been cut. Others attempted to run, but she could taste the blood-stench polluting their essence, and walking the shadowed paths it was trivial to cross the distance in an instant, striking them down with uncaring metal. Those in robes - precious few left living - she left to flee or pray as they might, lacking interest in their fate.

A wrenching groan from the distance attracted the attention of her attuned senses, each existing on a razor's edge of processing all around her, filtering the useful and the useless. Even so, it still took precious moments to locate the source of the noise. A weapon of some type atop the battlements... a ballista or bolt thrower of some sort, smaller scale than a siege ballista. How intriguing. Clearly a weapon intended to face outward and defend the fort, now swiveled inwards by force. Mountings that would ill work afterward. An acceptable sacrifice to defeat evil?

...The act bemused her. Pausing the rampage, the black-clad warrior smiled tightly for the first time since appearing. Lowering her blade as she ran her fingers along its length, crimson runes glowing bright but otherwise clearly undefended. Welcoming the large bolt as it streaked toward her at the speed of thought, bursting into blackened flame and crumbling to ash and cinder around her. Her blade, flaring with a blackness that consumed the light around it - and with a whispered word, a screaming torrent of shadow that erupted upward, outward, evaporating weapon and man in the span of a single breath and disappeared into the sky beyond with a sigh.

A swift, worthy death to recognize the courageous stupidity of her attacker. She ill liked to cause suffering regardless, but to die in an instant, without blood loss or pain; that was a kind of kindness of its own.

[Mizuyuki]

The eruption was one of such ferocity, that even from the outwards distance away from the encampment he felt shivers traverse his entire spine. The hairs on his neck stood entirely and he felt a chill bedded deep within his core begin to spread. Mizuyuki's eyes snapped to the last moments of the vanishing dark surge while it roared into the sky. Even without much thought, he could tell that had come from inside. The lingering presence washed over him, the Sacaen male frozen as he glanced towards it silently as if looking at the after-image. Almost like the effects when one stared into a searing light, when his eyes darted to the absent open entrance he could still briefly see that thunderous blast of dark eldritch energy within the lasting ghostly image that had burned unto his eyes. The hand resting on his normal blade instantly lifted as he began to move with far greater urgency. Two researchers had come running from the gates. Mizuyuki's hand initially outstretched and his lips parted to call out to them, yet at the sight of him both had started screaming incoherently and run in separate directions. Both moving with an urgency he'd seldom seen men display.


When he passed by the gates themselves, and stepped initially into the camp the scent of viscera hit him like a hammer. Crashing into him along with the stale silence that set him even further on edge. The quickening of his pulse rose into the base of his throat from a steady presence of muted dread. In the faintest silence, he felt it stir. The whispers in the back of his mind. Mizuyuki did his best to ignore them as he stepped into the center of the camp. Bodies strewn. Some more freshly slain than others. A familiar twinge caught him as he stood amidst that havoc. His eyes darting from corpse, to corpse. Noting the differences visibly. Had they been marauders, or more hired guards? Then he saw it.

Her.

Just the presence washed over him with such a feeling that he'd never experienced. His body quaked in tremor for an instant, from sheer protest. Every instinct was screaming within that he should put as much distance as possible between him, and this thing masquerading as a female. In earnest, the stoic Sacaen might've, if it hadn't suddenly hit him. The familiarity of it all. The twisted, terrible, dark irony of it all. His eyes cast a single glance from her, to the slain researches earlier in the camp. Of-course, he could only assume the dark fate that they'd suffered was at her hands. It echoed within his mind now. A far more consuming presence. Mizu's honey hued gaze darkened as he felt his calm visage begin to break. Crumbling into a wrinkled scowl, darkened by his downwards glance before the swordsman began to slowly spread his legs. Quietly assuming the stance that he took so many times before. His hand clutched the purple wrapped hilt of Yamigarasu. When he drew the darkened blade from its sheath he could've sworn for just a moment, he heard the metal sing within that brief punctured grate of blade colliding with its holster.

Then his thoughts melted away in an instant as the blade ignited. A violet glow erupted around the blade and tendrils of darkness engulfed even that dull light a moment later as it began to lather along the length of the blade. Hunger washed over him. Anguish. Fell intent imbued within each second filled lapse in time, as the ancient being before him vanished within his mind. Lost in a sea of flames and screams, the Sacaen slowly inhaled. Mizuyuki clung desperately to what little he could. What part of himself, he could. No doubt, if he simply tried to escape, assuming he could, the two panic stricken researchers would be run down. 

Not here. Not now. As long as he stood there, he would give them any valuable seconds he could. He could not, he would not let another soul die, upon his watch. That was the claim he needed. The raft he clung to, as he began to retake his mind slowly. Staring to the pale skinned woman with blade rising in his tightened grip. Pointing to her with the tip from his spot at the center of the camp. The darkness around Yamigarasu began to slowly fade in the immediate, as he gained control of himself once more. Yet the hunger of the blade exuded a very palpable bloodlust. One that still threatened to overwhelm him, even as he clung to his ancestral concept of honor in his actions.

"You've killed enough..."

There was a heavy rasp to his tone. Was it from fear? Dread? Had he simply not spoken in so long he'd almost forgotten? He didn't know. He didn't care. He lifted his blade in preparation. Slowly taking a stance akin to Form IV, as darkness ignited once more within his blade and began to roar to life Amassing, as he prepared to strike. The blade was slow to gather, but drew a mass of congealed darkness that swirled into a churning maelstrom around the blade. Nothing as grand as the monstrous torrent that had blown through part of the fort moments earlier. Yet still, enough to warrant its own severity should a human be struck by such a blow. It was clear, by the poise and taut stance he was waiting for her to move. Waiting for her to react.

[Pride]

She hurled the impaled bandit away as if it were a vaguely annoying gnat, the corpse impacting the stone wall with a bloody squelch as bones shattered and flesh crumpled. No one in this ruined arena had even put up much of a fight. Oh, they tried, blades and bows alike singing with killing intent. But mere intent meant nothing. It was the act of doing that held meaning; all the fevered dreams and pristine ideals in the world meant nothing without the will to see them to completion. These creatures had only been able to prey on the hooded men because one was stronger than the other, and because the scholars had been too stupid to arrange for a proper defense. It grated on her to a degree that they had not awakened her earlier. She was no hero, but there was no value in meaningless death, either, and to be reminded of failure yet again after so long spent living it left her in a foul mood.

At least until the dark-skinned... bandit? appeared, wrought with displeasure at the death of his comrades. Well, that was about the most one could expect from this ilk, she supposed. Loyalty to each other, and violence. About the only interesting thing about this latest of the batch was the darkness swirling about his weapon. Perhaps the boss of this lot of miscreants, the kingpin of crime, though if so she was... disappointed. At least he held himself with some semblance of surety, suppressing whatever emotions coursed through him with a steady hand and something resembling a stance. Not enough to respect. She did not think she could respect a bandit, preying on the weakness of others, taking lives and livelihood in equal part. Wallowing in their own weakness rather than improving themselves - losing their individuality to the cloying cancer of cruelty as a group. But that didn't mean she couldn't have a bit of fun before putting him out of his misery, and with any luck he might survive a few moments longer than the rest.

"You, would stop me?"

The Knight's pride bore her words like a clarion call, almost indignant in its accusation. Bemused at the very idea and yet insulted that this mortal had the gall to believe he could force her to desist in cleansing this bandit filth. A level of loyalty that might have been admirable had he stood against evil, but this... she turned to face her foe, naked blade towering high in one hand as she regarded him for a moment. Perhaps it would be wiser to interrogate him first. Discover what had happened to the beauty of a seemingly long gone world. The very air stunk of mediocrity.

-Then she called upon that which was was her birthright, magic flooding through her body her a tidal wave of sensation and supremacy. A single step to her, one that covered the eight meters between them in the blink of an eye. The runeforged blade now hovering over the tanned swordsman like the Sword of Damocles - terrible in its inevitability, the weight of centuries bearing down. A fit of fancy taking her, or perhaps more accurately a desperate attempt to elicit something interesting from this mongrel; staying the blade for a moment, staring him down with the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of her lips - and then it dropped, an obsidian pillar falling from the heavens to cleave him head to toe.

[Mizuyuki]

Mizuyuki's weapon ignited with violet hues condensing as fell magic swirled furiously around the blade. The Tan skinned swordsman raised his arms higher over his head as the woman before him declared her disbelief. Pale teeth exposing themselves as he grit, face darkened by a scowl while his weapon bathed in the intent blooming within. A conflicted maelstrom swirling beneath cracking visage, even though he had done his best to settle himself. Mizu's body felt that chill wash over him. Not, this time from her vile magic. From the deluge of cold fury that washed over him as those haunting images swiftly cycled through his mind. Every smile gone. Every dream expunged. Every hope crushed, and cast into the wind. They were gone, yet something like her existed. Something that could bathe in wages of sanguine liquor so vital to the innocent. In that moment, in his eyes, it was as if she had become everything he loathed. The source of all anguish. The source of his anguish. His spine wracked with a single convulsion as he shivered, the hairs on his neck standing once more and Yamigarasu awoke. Truly so. Igniting to life in acceptance of that murderous intent, spreading awash across his entire mind in a single all-consuming crushing tide that washed away all else.

He'd never felt more focused. He'd never felt as sharply, as in that moment. A good thing, as fate might have it. If he hadn't, he never would've noticed the sheer distance she covered in a single instant. That minuscule lapse of time, she'd moved within striking distance as her blade poised above him. Golden eyes widened for a brief lapse, before narrowing as Mizuyuki's left foot slid outwards, and to the side in a backwards circle as the Sacaen spun himself to the woman's right. His blade suspended above, danced with his shifting body as he swung to his left and rotated while side-stepping that fated blow. Had Mizuyuki been less filled with rage. Less blinded by that consuming desire to erase this woman, it's likely he would've wavered at that thunderous eruption. That blow that surely would have sundered him from tip to tip, and cleansed even unto his soul. Instead, he sharply exhaled with a ferocious snarl as his rotation brought his left-wards sword spinning around with an attempt to slash at her lower abdominal beneath her rib-cage.

The wild billowing of his blade's magic roaring, before igniting in an explosive discharge outwards following his swing. Acting not just as an extension but a ruinous blast of fell magic traditionally capable of consuming muscle, flesh, and sinew in ravenous explosive hunger that turned meat into pulp. Mizuyuki's right food kicking off the ground after attempting the slash, relying on the discharge of magic for the bulk of the offensive might. Darkened yellow eyes darted back towards his foe while he quickly sheathed his blade, leaning forward. Dark magic began to rush inwards once more, igniting even around the sheath as the weapon amassed the fell tendrils of eldritch might once more. Assuming another form, taking his stance as his vision briefly acknowledged the dangling hawk-feather hanging near his temple and resting partially against his cheek. The avian trophy braided to his hair, an eternal reminder of his original station. Guardian. Champion. Protector.

Mizu's teeth grind against one another for a moment longer. Growling in frustration, agony, and rage before furiously calling out to this powerful foe.

"NO ONE ELSE ."

Once more the blade ignited. That billowing rage filled spirit lavished in seething hatred and murderous blood-lust, as its tendrils drew the Sacaen's mind further into those dark pools of negativity. The air around his blade churning and rushing inwards as he continued to drink deep the font of magic around him and draw it to his weapon. Much like his conflict in the coliseum. Yet here, it was not light pitted against dark. It was simply the darkness and shadow.

[Pride]

The shadow surrounded her, a dismissive golden glance the last Mizuyuki could see of her before being engulfed by the Elder blast consuming her form. But rather than continue onward and expire against the nearest wall, the writhing tendrils of shadow burst into a tornado rising above the scene of the crime, a black wind howling in the otherwise still air of the afternoon. A raging cyclone, consuming itself like a serpent eating its own tail.

As the inky wisps faded, evaporating into nothing, only She remained. Unscathed. Unharmed. Uninterested. Seemingly not even noticing the shadowed wisps swirling around her form, buffeted by invisible winds. If there was emotion writ on her face, it was disappointment and little else. A silent frustration that reverberated through her being in the wake of what had been momentary elation - the excitement of having hoped to be wrong, that there was still something worth its words in this dying age. Only to be faced with cruel reality once more. Ironically enough she had hoped to be wrong. Not entirely unusual given her aims, but rare once she had judged another. But this... this creature was little more than a child, raging against the inevitable without even comprehending what it faced. Compared to the men she remembered - this thing was hardly even sentient. Certainly not worthy of the respect she freely granted her equals. His actions a mere tantrum against destiny.

But at least he had tried. A child who thought themselves a man was worth more than one who simply accepted fate and gave in. For what was fate if not another foe to be challenged, defeated, broken and cast aside? Bandit scum he might be, but there were still the remnants of something human inside him, the man he might have been before falling to villainy. To challenge the impossible to avenge his fallen scum-kin. That was... admirable enough, in a pathetic sort of way. Loyalty was a trait in short supply after all, as she knew all too well. Perhaps he could at least amuse her for a time. But... no. It would be more honorable to put him out of his misery. Allowing his story to end on a bright note. As a man, not a monster. Fighting the full weight of fate.

And perhaps he could surprise her yet again.

Her hand swung out, imperious and demanding attention, and the remaining wisps of wind shattered like gossamer amidst a tempest - hurled outward in every direction even as they disintegrated, a wave of force uncaring. Her blade rising again, but this time wreathed in a blood-tinged glow, more of the runes running along its length awakening as magic screamed through it. Sing, my blade. Remind the world of your name. They have forgotten you, but I will not, and the world never shall. A pillar of crimson shadow roaring into the air before the executioner's axe fell - a great blade dozens of meters long descending upon stone and mortar, carving through the wall above Mizuyuki as if it had never existed. Collapsing down directly onto the Sacaen swordsman with the force of a mountain. Irresistible and undeniable, a relic of an age long past. Something that should not exist in this world. But an existence which not even the world itself could deny.

[Mizuyuki]

Darkness engulfed everything in sight. Even at his fastest attempt to evade that towering blade that sundered even the masonry on its fabled descent downwards to engulf his world in such a devastating magical eruption. As if the woman's blade had become a font for eldritch energy. Mizuyuki had lunged aside to evade, only for the shockwave and backlash to wash over him and send him crashing into the wall aside the laceration carved into the masonry by this otherworldly foe. His visage pale in that brief moment as he felt a tsunami of pain wash over his sore body. Limbs already burning in aching protest as he attempted to find his center and stand. His heart thunderous, beat fevered, and panic racing through him as the distance between them became so pronounced. Until it rang through his mind. So clear. Never before, heard with such clarity and...sense.

Surrender. Release your will to carnal urge.

Kill.

Mizuyuki's hand was already gripping the sheathed blade. Panting, ragged breaths from his dogged state evident indication to the foe that he had survived. Amber hued eyes sealed shut as he grit his teeth. Not from pain. Not from hatred, nor anger. A dread induced hesitation. He could not die here. He could not let it end here. Yet to surrender...a crossed line from which he could not return. Further did that voice press. The tone, no doubt one of Yamigarasu. The sanguine hunger lathered within its tone so painfully familiar that it almost further drove the force which propelled him to stand properly.

Let your hunger echo through eternity.

Mizuyuki's head dipped. As the smoke and ruined devastation of rubble and debris clogged the air around him, he let his pulse slow. His breathing grew quiet. In that moment, he made his choice. His anguish. His need for revenge. His desire to return the injustice he'd suffered. His hunger for justice, would not be quenched and extinguished, even by this unspeakably powerful foe. He would discard even that which had kept him going for the longest. That which had allowed him to survive in civilization and the wilds. He would cast aside, any restraints, to ensure that their legacy was not forgotten. In the hanging silence, in that brief moment, a single patch of smoke cleared so that he could cast a final lasting glance at his foe, he bore not the gaze of a man floating upon the edge of death. He bore the gaze of a man, that would see the world bathed red, to remove his foe. A single name left his lips.

Hissatsu Guren

In that final moment of initial clarity, his eyes seemed to ignite with crimson lacquer for a single instant. Mizuyuki's blade then erupted with a pulse of life. A thunderous eruption that became a swirling maelstrom of dark magic. Dark tendrils rising and coiling around both blade and swordsman, before a second essence joined. Crimson currents of energy merged, drawn forth from the dark Sacaen blade. As if the blade, and wielder's blood-lust became manifest. It formed currents of dark sanguine energy that stained both blade and flesh. Mizuyuki's right hand corrupted by that webway of magical tendril which coursed crimson currents through and around him as he began slowly unsheathing the blade. A gesture that appeared to take great force, as if an overwhelming force pressed back to oppose the motion. Air rushed in wild currents away from him for every inch of tainted metal he unsheathed, yet retracted as the ravenous vortex around him consumed and pulled in all. Until he suddenly unsheathed the blade in a single completed, pristine gesture. The magical energy erupted like a thunderous blast, the surge of energy sending kinetic waves outwards that instantly expunged the hanging dust still present. Enough to force even the rubble and debris back, as the walls trembled with pebbles scattered from the ancient structure at the act of unsheathing this ravenous blade. 

A deadened gaze now painted across his visage, the dark haired swordsman quietly adjusted his stance. Taking a similar poise to his prior initial stance, blade held high with right and left foot spaced. Unlike his initial encounter with the beastly female however, it seemed as if his stance had taken the most minuscule, yet masterful adjustments. No weakness telegraphed, nor a gap in his positioning allowing for exploitation of still growing talent. This stance, was one of a warrior seasoned far beyond the years of the youth. As if his body had transformed into that of a seasoned venerable swordsman. Alongside the stance, the tides of fell current washing around him projected a single emotional response. An all consuming, ravenous sensation that articulated that which consumed his mind in every facet. Every sense. Pure, merciless, blood lust. The word he spoke a decisive one, which seemed to carry the tone of countless others.

Die.

His blade crashed downwards. In that brief instant, a pulse of energy gathered even further around his blade as the crimson veins along his right arm burned with dreadful incandescence. A torrent of colossal magic that surged with volume hitherto unseen from the swordsman. A colossal tide of dark energy projected further as the crimson essence traversed its length. A blast that washed outwards, as if unleashing the endless deluge of an oceanic current comprised entirely of eldritch power. The air around instantly siphoned into it, adding the concussive force to its impact as it roared with unbridled fury outwards from the crumbling ruins in a manner not unlike the strike which had pushed him to this point. Though his had not formed a blade, it had simply erupted in explosive magical presence.

Mizuyuki's hand tightened its grip upon the blade. Visibly, his skin had darkened as if bruises had started to form. A single small trail of blood was forming from the corner of his lip downwards. A second, slightly larger one near the center of his lower lip. Droplets had already started pattering upon the stone floor, by the time he rose his blade and began to assume the stance akin to Form II. His blade resting in the air at waist level, parallel to the ground with the young swordsman's entire body pivoted sideways so the blade seemed to curve to his side and almost reach behind him. Yet like before, it was performed with perverse mastery for one so young. Eyes deadened, all emotion seemingly expunged from his face, the seemingly muted swordsman waited. Clearly anticipating his enemies survival.


Yet in the back of his mind. In that faintest corner, genuine terror, pain, anguish, and despair seemed to build.