View Full Version : Dances of Wind and Steel: Light and Heavy Feet
Sakurazuka Anila sat in the center of her large dojo, resting on one of the thick cushions that normally rested against the wall. Why she'd been invited to participate in the Dajas Pagoda was a mystery to her. From the day she'd left her home and Akashima to now, she'd done very little. Whether it was her unique style of fighting or the cold demeanor that she bore, for some reason she'd been requested as a warrior at the Dajas Pagoda.
Whatever the reason, here she was. Her arena had four elements to it, and either she or the challenger could choose to move from the smooth, polished wood of the main floor and take the battle elsewhere.
The other options for the battle were air, water, and earth. Lining the wall were pegs that could hold up to to hundred pounds apiece, and they led up to a webbing of ropes that formed a system of foot support. Outside was a large pond with stones laid out in a patten depicting a flying dragon. Abutting that was a vast rock garden -- the simplest part of the arena other than the slick floor upon which she sat now.
Koran Vincent Seether would be her opponent. She didn't know anything about her opponent other than his name, but she would learn as soon as he stepped through the silken screen separating the entrance from the arena proper. The huge fan printed on the screen framed the door through which Koran would be coming.
The teapot was set on the table beside the door, kept over a heated plate to keep the tea warm. A delicate cup was beside it, over turned and waiting for its guest. On the table was a note written by Anila herself, in flowingly beautiful letters.
Please partake of a cup of tea,
To relax your mind and cleanse your body.
Take a moment and still your soul
That you enter this battle completely whole.
Am I really sure about this?
The question echoed loudly in his skull. Bouncing from metal lined cavity, to metal line cavity. Growing in size and power until everything he thought, heard, saw and felt, was that single question.
Was he really sure about this?
He closed his eyes, blanked his mind and thoughts and inhaled deeply. I can do this, he thought to himself. I can win this. I can make something better of myself than what I already am. Exhaling slowly, he clenched his fists tightly against his sides and flexed every muscle in his entire body. He held this position for two seconds, before relaxing completely while inhaling deeply a second time. All right, I am really sure about this.
His eyes snapped open and a smirk appeared on his face. "Game time." Flexing his hands and roating his neck on his shoulders, popping it effectively at least six times, he marched up the steps of the Dajas Pagoda and toward his first of many battles to come.
*~*
Now this, I was definitely not expecting.
The machine looked around at the relative calm and serenity of the arena before him and sighed heavily. At least I won‘t have to worry about flowers at the funeral.
Where perhaps he had been expecting a simplistic arena of maybe a sandy beach, or the inside of a warehouse, or even the rolling hills of grassy plain, the machine instead received what looked like a tripped out garden on more than just miracle grow enchantments. There was even a dragon, played out with rocks across the enter expanse of the place. That either took some sorry sap the entire day to complete and perfect, or some jerk off with a wand sixty seconds the create.
“Freaking snobs.” Perhaps the only sane and semi-ordinary thing in the place, was the building seated squarely at its center.
It was a moderately sized structure, rising approximately twenty feet to its zenith, with a nearly equidistant face. He couldn't see how long it was, as he was only staring at the direct front, but he placed a good thirty feet on it, just to be safe. It had only one entrance, at least, only one that he could see. Strange thing about it, was that it looked to be closed by some kind of screen and not your oh so typical door. Huh, hust be a Dajas thing, or else the personal fancy of whomever runs this joint.
The walk to the building was a short one. The machine, being a lover of beauty but not an admirer of it, paid little attention to what was beneath his feet save to avoid tripping himself. As such, he didn't notice that he had messed up the face of the neatly lain out dragon design in the rocks until after he had mounted the steps to the building and glanced backward.
Mmm, bleh. If it was made once, it can be made again. Sorry whomever built that thing. The machine turned from looking at the dragon and stepped into the building.
The first thing that caught him off guard was the vast emptiness of the building. Where he had thought there would be many rooms, partitions and room for a few dozen people, there was instead just one room, four walls, a pillow, just one person and enough left over room for about a hundred people. He took a step forward, confused by all of this and ready to ask questions, when his shin bumped into something that rattled loudly on the ground.
"Huh?" He looked down just in time to see a small pewter cup finish spinning on its rim and come to rest just millimeters from the edge of the small table. "Oh shit," he gasped, bending quickly to right the overturned glass and fix the now slightly skewed table. As he worked, amidst the clank and clatter of the small table and its contents, a small piece of parchment floated up from the table and landed softly just a few inches from his left boot. "Mmm?" Hand still poised over the lid of what appeared to be a small brewing pot, the machine shifted his eyes to the parchment, tilting his head to get a better look at it.
At first he didn't see them, the parchment being a solid white with little transparency to it, but after he had picked it up from the ground, he did notice and squinted to read them. "Please partake of a cup of blah, blah blah blah, still your soul, blah blah, battle completely whole." He blinked, then read again. "Huh," moving the parchment out of his line of sight, the machine stared at the small cup and pot. He lifted the parchment and read it a second time. "What the?" He turned his gaze to the solitary figure in the room, aside from him and his coffee pot. "This serious?"
He stood and gestured to the parchment, a nervous smile on his lips. "Says here I should drink the tea. Why? I didn't come here to drink tea. I wouldn't mind a cup of tea, tea's great." He gestured to the large, empty room. "But, that's not why I'm here. I came here to fight." He paused for a few seconds, the silence of the great room bearing down on him, waiting for an answer from the only other person in the room. “You gonna talk, or sit there like some lump on a log?” Again, silence.
“Shit,” the machine mumbled, drawing a hand across his face and holding it still against his chin and neck. He then began speaking softly to himself, staring blankly down at the parchment. “The Dajas!” He said, his face contorting slightly, as if mocking someone. “What a great opportunity it will be, you should go. It’ll be fun! I can’t go, not enough experience. But you, you can go.” Abruptly his hand closed around the parchment, crinkling it into a small ball. “Grah, I should have never let that boy talk me into this.” Dropping his hand from his face the machine turned and dropped the crinkled ball of parchment onto the table. “What a big joke this turned out to be. Ha, fucking tea.” His eyes looked up at the single, solitary figure in the room.
“Unless you’re the bastard I’m supposed to fight.” He clenched a fist and extended a finger toward the figure.” And should that be the case, why haven’t you at least let it be known that your something more than just a pillow weight. Huh? Why?”
He waited, for what he wasn’t entirely sure. All he did know, was that he’d give it another minute before he started getting really pissed.
Meh, writers block. Good luck, have fun, don't die. lol
Anila spent the time that the robot spent ranting to look him over. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but this had certainly not been it. Maybe if she could cut him enough and get him into the water...
Could she even cut him with her steel fans? No matter, she'd figure something out. Sakurazuka Anila had inherited her father's ruthless nature, and her mother's grace and agility. She'd find his weakness somehow, but she'd have to be careful and avoid being hit. She'd heard Koran's feet on the floor, and something with that much weight to put behind his blows would be formidable if he was at all fast or she was at all careless.
I wonder what his attitude problem is, though. And he needs to stop picking on poor Hissomi. She's just a mute.
~*~
On the other side of the screen, Anila's maidservant was bowing rapidly while trying to write something down on a clean sheet of paper. The woman was dressed in a simple, light cotton kimono with floral print, and was merely doing her job tending the tea. When she'd written her message out, she stood up and brought it forward to Koran, bowing and holding the sheet out with both hands.
It is not I you will fight, it is my mistress. I am mute, which is why my answer was delayed. I apologize.
My mistress would like to offer you a cup of hot tea before the battle as a way to relax and focus your mind and body before your battle with her, as a politeness. It is a courtesy to her to drink the tea, but you have the option not to.
~*~
Anila stood up as Hissomi handed Koran her message, kicking the blue silken cushion back to its spot among the myriad red, blue, and purple pillows lining the walls. She stretched out again, limbering up already prepared muscles. Finally, she did a harsh twirl, holding out her fans but not letting them open.
Satisfied, she walked to the center of the room and stood, a proud figure in all her glory. Her long hair had been tightly braided and gathered in a bun at the back of her head, and her outfit was form-fitting -- black pants, canvas shoes, and a midnight blue top that ended mid-shin, but had slits at the sides that went all the way up to her hips. Thus she was covered from foot to neck, and down to her wrists, with nothing that could get in her way.
She was ready. What of her opponent?
Shit.
It didn't take a genius to know that he'd screwed up. Verbally attacking someone who could respond back, verbally and/or physically, was one thing, but to do such to someone who was incapacitated? Well, that was almost like killing a new born child fresh from the womb. Not only was it inhumane, it was unfair and a cheap way of making yourself appear powerful.
It was also embarrassing.
"I...Well...Umm...I..." The machine stuttered with his words and after a moment, gave up entirely on trying to apologize. Instead simply opting to bow back to the small woman. He hoped his smile, as late and foolhardy as it might seem, was enough to cover up his earlier mistakes.
Apparently the woman had taken no notice, or perhaps she really didn't care, because she had already moved on after the machine had taken the piece of parchment from her hands. Instead of standing in a bowed position just to his front, she was now kneeling next to what looked like the supporting beam for a long paper wall. He was just about to ask her what she was doing - again not realizing she was a mute until after he had started to speak - but he words were cut short when she pulled the wall open and bowed.
For a moment the machine was stunned, his mouth ajar from when he was about to speak, his arms slightly extended toward the woman, black eyes open wide. This lasted for only a moment however, for it had abruptly clicked to exactly what she was doing, and the machine shook himself visibly.
Jeeze, what's gotten me all up in the rafters today? She's only opening some kind of door.
Coughing to clear his throat, the machine shook himself a second time before he nodded to the face down figure of the woman and walked through the door. Wall, like, thing. He only made it as far as two steps could take him before he was stopped short a second time. This time by a black clothed figure wielding two fan like devices, unfurled and held at an attack ready position. It wasn’t because of the fans, or the form fitting clothing that the machine was stopped short, it was because it was another woman. Different from the first but still bearing some striking similarities.
For one, she wasn’t the thickest of characters. Slight of form and sleek by design, she was a picturesque form of the feminine physique. She also had the look of trained killer, one that was more likely to kill first and ask questions later. It was this, this look, this aura about her, that caused the machine pause. It reminded him of those ninja characters he had heard about. Slinking around in the shadows, swift in their deliverance of death and pain. Almost like ghosts; you never saw them until it was too late and if you saw them before they were ready for you to see them, it only meant you died that much quicker.
What have I gotten myself into?
It was too late however, for second guesses. Questions of worth, ability; these all had to wait. Only the blade, fist, foot and cunning of the combatants mind could determine if one was in the right or wrong now. He had signed his name on the dotted line. For better or worse, easy or difficult, he was here to fight. And fight, until death or submission, was what he was going to do.
In the space of one step to another, the machines face went from one of pity, self-loathing, embarrassment and anger, to one of complete calm and readiness. Anything and everything that had just happened, was over. It was done, gone, forgotten. He needed now to only focus on what was before him. A swift, deadly feminine fighter who was more than ready to kill on a moments notice. He stopped just shy of half-way between her and the paper like sliding door, and smirked.
“Tea? A kind offer, to someone you are about to fight.” He bowed his head toward the woman. “I thank you, it is a courtesy amongst combatants that I have rarely seen before and I am honored by it. Unfortunately, I must decline your offer, for, personal, reasons.” His smile twisted slightly and it lasted for only a moment, before it was wiped clean from his lips. “Now, without further ado, I bid you the best of luck in this fight. And may the best warrior win.”
His smile returned, smaller and less define than before, and he readied himself for the rapidly approaching engagement. His hands became loose, his muscles relaxed but ready, his mind siphoning through possible scenarios of attack, defense, actions and reactions. His senses began to peak, his state of readiness at its fullest. Whatever might, or might not happen, he felt himself ready for it and more than capable to deal with anything that might come up.
Game time.
"Welcome, Seether Koran, to the Dajas Pagoda," spoke the slender figure inhabiting the center of the room. The voice was pleasing to the ear and soft, but forceful and impossible not to hear in the silence of the room.
"I am Sakurazuka Anila, and I will be your opponent this day. I hope you are an able warrior, although I do not doubt you will be a challenge. You have chosen to not partake of a cup of tea before the match, you did not take the time to sit and attune yourself to your surroundings. You shall not be given another chance. The only rule I have is that no one may send their opponent crashing through the screen behind you. My servant works there for the comfort of our guests, and it is dishonorable to involve a noncombatant in a fight."
The silken screen snapped shut behind Koran as these last words were put into effect, and instantly Anila saw another world, yet so familiar. This setup was similar in form to the dojo she had always trained in, against her brother Keiji. She almost expected their old sensei's voice to come out of the wood with a sharp "Senshu! Hajime!"
But Anila was on her own here, fighting a potentially lethal foe without assistance or advice. She felt no fear. She felt nothing. A battle calm had crept upon her mind, and she was ready.
"Senshu," she murmured, making a small bow while keeping her eyes on her opponent. Any move he made could be seen and reacted to.
"Hajime." The word was soft, but she felt a pervading stillness fall upon the room, even as she gripped her fans more tightly.
She flicked open the here-to-fore closed Hagane with a loud CRACK as she started gliding rapidly forward over the smooth bamboo wood of the dojo. She led with it in her right hand, keeping Uindo shut and near to her body so that if he lashed out, she could block.
As she neared her opponent, she reached out with a swift slice, just testing his reactions for now.
Koran didn't hear much of what the woman said, at least, not much beyond the part where she mentioned getting to know your surroundings. He hadn't counted on that. Usually he was pretty straight forward in his battles, never letting his opponents get a feel for the ground, and consequently never himself getting a feel for it. He just, went with it. He'd won battles like that, he'd lost battles like that. He saw no reason to change, except, when the chance was offered.
His way of looking at it, was that if someone offered you the chance to get to know your surroundings, chances were that there was something tricky about the place. Something you wouldn't catch until after it was too late. His mouth had twisted into a frown when this had occurred to him, and he immediately took it upon himself to study his surroundings. And suddenly found himself wishing he had taken the woman up on her offer for tea, else he might not have been so surprised at what happened next.
With a loud CRACK!, the woman charged forward, slashing against his chest. He had only a split second to identify the attack, get over his temporary shock at being surprised, and react to it. He reacted as any normal person would, when surprised and being charged by a weapon wielding attacker.
He stepped back and twisted, just barely avoiding having his flesh sliced open, and by the most peculiar style of weapons.
Fans? What kind of weapon is a fan?
He hadn't the foggiest, but from the way to woman had lashed out against him, it was certainly her choice and style of weaponry, so that made them universally dangerous. He would have to watch those things, as simplistic as they might seem, in the hands of a skilled warrior, he was sure they could be turned deadly. He stepped back a few steps and raised his hands defensively.
All right, you caught me with my pants down around my ankles. What do you say we try this again, only this time while I'm ready?
His face was set and his lips had curved back up into a small smile. He shifted his foot stance slightly and bent his knees a little. He was now ready to spring in any direction, up, down, left, right, forward or backward.
He formed a mental image of a sword blade, as well as a winged elf and prepared for the womans next attack.
When fighting an enemy of greater strength and unknown potential, capitalize upon the weaknesses you can see. This enemy appears to be electronic in nature, thus I need to get him out to the lake.
Koran was still too close to the screen for Anila's comfort, so she needed to draw the cyborg away first, probably deeper into the dojo proper before she could lead him through the doors leading to the outside. She couldn't leave him much time to prepare, thus she moved in swiftly, leading in with a sharp jab with Uindo from above, but then twirling away like a leaf, slashing with Hagane while darting back, keeping her distance for now, and moving a little deeper into the long room.
Each sweep of her fans was graceful, arcing through the air in huge motions that were easily seen and easily blocked. She wasn't going to fight seriously until they were away from the screen door. She let herself distance herself from her opponent by ten feet -- enough room to see what he was coming up with and either get in close or retreat and draw him back with her, depending on what he did.
His fighting stance was basic, and one she recognized and had learned as a girl. If basic maneuvers were all that Seether Koran could bring to bear against her, perhaps this battle would not be difficult after all.
But things are so rarely what they seem, iiya?
Jeeze, this woman is fast!
Twisting his shoulder to avoid the downward jab of one of the woman’s fans, the machine narrowly missed being gutted, if only because he had leaned backward away from the woman’s second slash. She then danced away from him, setting her stance and waiting. It was almost as if she was trying to draw him toward the center of great room and away from the walls. But why?
Suddenly it occurred to him and in an instant he knew exactly the reason why.
Fighters of her caliber and strength needed breathing room. They needed space, and lots of it, to utilize their greater stamina and dexterity by using hit and run tactics. When faced with an enclosed space, or corner they became wary, cautious and weak. A smile formed on the lips of the machine and he took a step forward.
A sharp pain, like he was being pierced by a thousand needles, ran up his right arm and caused him pause. He looked down and grimaced at the thin line of green lubricant that was seeping from his flesh. Apparently the woman had hit him, but he had felt no pain. No pain. . . This meant that her weapons were razor sharp and could inflict massive amounts of damage and he wouldn't know it until after it was long since complete. His sneer turned to a scowl and he glared at the woman.
This changed things.
He had to attack back, But how? She was quick, light on her feet and wielding a pair of weapons that she had probably trained with her entire life. He had a series of transformation abilities, a few weapons, one of which was strapped to his back, and near double her strength. Strength against speed? It was an unfair match in any arena, but here it was. Here they were.
I'll just have to make the best of what I have. I need to draw her close, need to corner her.
He knew he was taking to long, thinking to much. He needed to stop thinking, needed to react by instinct. His face smoothed.
He clenched his fists and began to circle the woman. He needed her to strike back, needed her to come to him. He knew he was going to get hit a few more times, knew he was going to bleed during this fight, but what other choice did he have? His snarl returned, showing teeth and he continued his slow circling, searching for her next attack, a possible weakness. Anything to help him win this unbalanced fight.
Ketsueki?
Was the green substance the creature's blood? If so, she'd made the first successful strike. The fact that he hadn't noticed until he moved, and that she'd barely felt the scrape of fan on metal attested to the quality of her fans -- but more than that, it meant that he could bleed. If he could bleed, she could defeat him. It might be slow, and she might take a hit or two...but if she could attack a vital area while doing so, the fight would be over.
Sakurazuka Anila did not intend to be defeated in her own dojo.
She let him circle her, edging slowly toward the open door as he did. The look smeared upon his visage threatened her and dared her to attack if she wanted to live. But he was the guest here, and she had spent days working in each area of her dojo. She was attuned to this area in a way that he was not -- she knew her footing on every rock in the pond, every rope on the ceiling, and every board on this floor.
She remained at the center of his circle, inching ever so steadily towards her goal. His every step was matched by her turning slightly, letting her tough canvas shoes get a grip on the smooth floor as they both moved.
Twenty feet...fifteen feet.
Each moment was drawn out, lengthened; the tension between the two combatants creating an almost palpable atmosphere in the small circle defined by the two.
Ten feet...five feet. At five feet from the open double-door, Anila waited until her back was exactly to the door before taking several quick steps back.
One, two, threshold -- step down. After the threshold, the wood was rougher and pine, and her feet made light taps on the wood as she rushed back, fans held deensively in front of her in case her opponent charged. A step after the threshold and then two steps down on a set of rocks placed for this very purpose. The pond was a mere ten feet away, but depending on Koran, it could be a very difficult or very easy ten feet.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He had circled twice already, and still she had not attacked him. He had provided not offense, given only half a defense and had otherwise left himself open to attack. Could she see through his ploy? Was she catching on to his plans?
It is a very probable solution.
He circled a third time and that was when he began to notice it.
It was subtle. It was a natural range of motion, that given any circumstance, was understandable. It was a reaction, reflex, instinctual and hardly worth control.
It was trying to divert him toward the only open door. He circled around her for the seventh time, and glanced out the door.
It led to a courtyard, much like what he had seen in the front, but this was different. Slightly, to a glance it looked the same, but somehow, it knew it was different. A bird lifted off from the surface of what looked like pond water; suddenly, he knew. He shifted his feet, continuing his circle but his attention had left the woman for a moment.
The tiny cut in his arm suddenly seemed a hundred times more lethal.
He had never thought of what would happen should he fall into water, having his inner circuitry exposed. He had heard the rumors of what would happen, but had never thought that it could happen to him. After all, was he not the most advanced artificial being on this planet? It might be a stretch, but he'd put money on it.
His eyes drifted back to the woman and his teeth ground together in his mouth. One thing was for sure, he could not let himself be swindled into falling into that water. He called up the image of his tiniest form, a small female pixie, and held it firmly in his mind. The other two images, the winged elf and the sword blade, were held only just a little less, as they would be used soon and would have no real impact on his death or survival.
He finished his twelfth rotation and noticed that they were still at least twenty feet from the door. There was still time.
He silently went over attack, defense, counter-attack and counter-defense calculations in his mind and watched the woman’s every move. Searching, waiting.
*~*
At five feet, she moved.
He knew that he would not be allowed to be in the way of the woman, so he knew he was either going to be beside her, or behind her. His theory proved true; she had waited until her back was to the door, his front facing out of the building and then she sprang backward.
Koran, having formulated preemptive strikes and counters to all of this minutes before, followed with no pause. Her feet were light on the wood, the tap-tap-tap barely audible in the great room. His feet sounded like near by war drums, bradum-bradum-bradum, seeming to shake the very air and the very walls of the building as he sprinted forward.
She came to rest on two rocks, fitted tightly into the roughly worked wood of the outside court, holding her fans before her in a defensive manner. Beyond her lay the pond, and in it, his death if he was not careful.
Because he had been expecting this move, the distance between the woman and the machine had changed little, so he was right on her toes when she finally came rest. He balled his fists, took two more quick steps forward, plated his left foot forward and then struck with a quick left hand jab to her side, followed by a right jab to just above her right quadriceps. At the exact moment his right arm began to extend and his left arm come away from its initial strike, he closed his eyes and activated the image of the sword blade. His right arm extended fully, his eyes came open and all in the time it took a man to blink his left hand had gone from being eight inches of digits, to three feet of cold hard steel blade. His right arm flowed back and he shot his blade up in a vicious upper cut that would take the woman full in the gut.
If all went well, she should have had very little time to react. This was all theory however, and as with all theories, there was still the chance of failure.
Anila had expected a strike, and as his fists lashed out at her, she also propelled herself backwards to minimize the damage and maximize the distance traveled. She wasn't counting on just how much it would hurt.
It was like two explosions, one on her leg and the other at her side, and she flew backwards, landing with the back of her head in the shallow water of the pond. It was at that moment she really started doubting whether or not she belonged in the Pagoda. She was an Akashimian Lady, a few bruises in training were all right now and again, but getting hurt day in and day out? No, thank you.
Even the fabric of her top had a slight tear in it where she'd narrowly missed being sliced open.
This is unacceptable.
She gripped her fans tightly, flipping herself back and into the water, letting the sudden cold numb the pain of the livid bruise forming on her leg. She backed up in the water, keeping her feet on the rough bottom. She'd gone into the water in a pre-dojo battle with fellow Warrior Murakama Asuka as well, but the red-headed maiden wasn't really impeded by the water.
Hopefully, Koran would be.
Anila watched her opponent calmly, Hagane's edge brushing against the top of the otherwise still water, and Uindo held up to her right shoulder, ready to go on the offensive should he follow her in.
Family emergency came up. Hope this isn't all that late. >.<
"You think hiding in the water will save you?" The machine hissed as it reset itself into an attack stance. His eyes searched the surrounding courtyard, looking for any other way to engage this woman without having to enter into the water.
It didn't look that deep, at least, not yet. She was still just standing beside the edge, having not moved very far in yet. From what he could see, he guessed the depth at about three feet. If it was a truly like any other pond, the depth would only vary a few inches in the center.
Depth is good, just don't fall down. Or get too scratched up.
His mouth drew back to hiss again and he stepped forward. "I can still enter water, it won't hurt me." So long as my skin holds. He proved as much by taking a step down into the water. His foot almost immediately sank down into the soft dirt and gravel at the bottom, but just before he sank completely, he stopped short. Having reached the bed rock bottom. This changes things.
His face showed none of his sudden doubt or tiny fear, and he smoothly finished stepping into the cool water, allowing his other foot the sink deep into the muck. This will most certainly slow me down, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. His black eyes glanced at his blade hand. At least I still have the reach.
He shuffled his stance beneath the water and then stopped, waiting for the woman to make her next move. She might weigh less than he, but from what he had seen when he did hit her, he knew that his punches made up for power, what they lacked in speed.
((warning to Koran for exceeding the three day limit. And I'm getting in just in time. >.> ))
He sank too far.
The Akashiman warrior knew the exact depth of the pool, and she had a good idea of how tall she was in comparison to the challenger. According to her best estimate, he was now a little more than ankle deep in the muck that her own weight was barely able to dent. This changed things.
True, Anila's entire plan depended on her being more mobile than her opponent, which his current situation granted fairly readily. But what it granted him was both stability and reach -- she could flit around him all day and he could keep waving her off with his arm sword.
She had to draw him in farther, toward the heavier rocks that had fallen during the pond's construction or the annoying roots that remained, if she had any chance of making a victory out of this mess. Slowly, she started backing up, using Hagane to slash a line of water at his injured arm in hopes of seeing a reaction.
Pain shot through her body as she moved, reminding her of the blows he had landed. This was Sakurazuka Anila's first brush with an opponent who could potentially kill her, and while she had faith in the healers the Pagoda had hired, she didn't wish to try it out first hand. She didn't want to die, not here, not now, not on her own territory.
It was all she could do to keep the fear out of her eyes and set her lips into the same firm line that betrayed nothing. Inside, her mind was racing and her heart was trembling. Fear, she found, had a bitter taste.
She's drawing me further into her trap!
And there was nothing he could do but follow her. Else be left standing on the edge of the pond, stalemating the fight into a tie. He growled softly under his breath as she moved away, at the same time trying to splash his arm. Looking for a reaction probably.
He flexed his arm, feeling the ever increasing sting of the cut in his flesh. It wasn't deep enough to cause him a problem in this water.
His growl formed into a small smile and he took a step forward.
Almost immediately he could feel his weight being held down the by the suction of the mud. This was definitely going to be a problem. He planted his foot, let it sink to the bottom and then advanced a second step.
Three steps into the pond and he began to feel a change in the texture of the ground beneath him. It was becoming rocky and he could feel his toes catching on what could only be the remnants of roots.
Shit. He thought, his mind racing, trying to find away out of this. She continued to advance backward, he continued to advance forward. His foot came down on what felt like a large round rock and when his weight centered on it, it felt like it was rooted into the bedrock of the pond.
Abruptly everything in his head froze, and frozen in the center of his attention, was what he was going to do.
His mouth twitched, possibly into something that might have been a smile, might have been a growl and his remaining real hand clenched into a fist. He lifted his other foot out of the muck that held it to the bottom and with a sudden, mighty heave forward, propelled himself toward the woman, using the stone his other foot had found, as a push off point. There was a moments pause as the mud acted like a suction cup, holding him back, but it only lasted a moment. Then he was barreling forward as if there was nothing holding him down, or pulling him back.
His clenched fist slammed into the water just in front of him, sending a spray of crystal clear liquid toward the face of the woman. This was simply a diversionary tactic, as the real point of his sudden attack, was following closely behind the spray of water.
Three feet of nano-morphed steel shot forward so fast, that it hummed as it sliced through the air, making a downward slash toward where the womans chest would have been. With the tip just barely dipping into the now roughed surface of the water, the machine reversed the course of his blade and snapped it back up again. This time however, he aimed to slice straight up the right side of the woman, instead of diagonally across her chest.
And just for good measure, the machine splashed her a second time, just before planting the foot he had used to push off from the rock, next to his other and resuming his defensive posture.
By now the water risen to just below his waist and from the looks of things, he still had at least four more feet until he reached the center of the pond.
Hurray for water fights.
Sorry, this post is gonna suck. Another 'in under the wire' post when I'm feeling like I got run over by one of Manda's trucks.
Through the thick spray of water, Anila saw her opponent gathering up for a strike, and as a second wave came, he moved, right arm extended first. The right arm was the sword arm, and Anila, having no desire to be impaled, darted to her left to avoid the worst of the damage.
She couldn't avoid the entire blade, though, and as she moved away from the main body of the blade, the tip punctured her resilient travel suit, then bit deeply into her side before tearing out of her belly, tearing a large chunk of flesh and muscle with it. Intense pain shot through Anila's body as her blood trailed in ominous streaks to stain the water red, but she managed to strike back, coming down on her opponent's silver body with a harsh double fan jab, aiming one at the back of his neck and the other at his side.
She backed away, over the rocks and roots. Every heartbeat sent an intense, throbbing agony through her body, and the surge of adrenaline that came with getting hurt didn't help much. She wanted to curl up in a fetal position and will the pain away. She wanted to get to Hissomi so that her loyal maidservant could take her to the Pagoda's healers. Neither of these were an option, however; she was in the middle of a fight.
I have the option to fight to the death -- and to the death it shall likely be -- and I have the option to yield. Neither option bodes well for my first Pagoda match, and my father would disapprove of either course of action. Still...I know that Sakurazuka Yukio would insist on himself and his progeny fighting to the death in the arena of honor...
She winced as her hand pressed against the wound, knowing that if she kept moving, she had only a few minutes before she bled out. She had to make those few minutes count. Maybe there was a chance of taking her opponent down as well.
Gritting her teeth, she looked at her opponent, waiting for his next strike. With every breath, she fought back an agonized cry.
Oh, for the option to yield...
Pain, like the kind you get from being punched, slowly began to pulse on the machines flesh. A small grimace came across his face as this pain came to light and he slowly moved his body, searching for the pain.
Rolling his shoulders proved to be the answer for the first pain, and as he suppressed a wince while slowly letting his shoulders loosen, he thought over how it would have gotten there. Probably when I first reached in for that stab. Might have pulled a muscle or something. Truth be told, it felt almost like he had been stabbed, but with a blunt object. It didn’t quite feel like the strain of a pulled muscle. He shook his head a fraction, dismissing the thought. He had pulled a muscle, it had to be that. There was very little time for her to react.
The second pain, was harder to discover. In the beginning it seemed to encompass his whole torso, which made searching, and searching discretely - lest he show weakness to his opponent - quite cumbersome. First he twisted his body slightly to the left. No, nothing there. Then he went right. Oh, there was something, but not enough to cause worry. He straightened. The pain was beginning to throb harder and he grit his teeth in frustration. He bent backward slightly. Ah! There it was.
It was just to the center of his right side, below the rib cage. But, could it be just another pulled muscle?
It certainly felt that way, the same as the shoulder.
His eyes, which had up until that moment had been staring into space, converged on the woman’s fans. Then it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he had been stabbed. He quickly went over the events in his head.
He had reached in to slice open her midriff, and she had leapt back. Not far enough apparently, else she wouldn't be sporting that shallow gash on her stomach. As she leapt back, she had reached out with one of her fans and jabbed him quickly in both the shoulders, and side.
Wait. That first looked to had been aimed at his neck! A killing blow should it have landed. Hmm, she‘s quite quick. This should have been old news for the machine, he had seen her run, and jump away from his punches. Each time I hit her though.
So, she was fast, but not that fast. This meant that she might be susceptible to tricks. A small smile came across his face, and he rolled his shoulders, testing the pain a second time. It did little to restrict his movements. After another moment, he could say the same for the one in his side. They were only nuisances, easily ignored or pushed aside. He tilted his sword hand toward the woman.
"Nice little cut you have there," he said in a calm, collected, almost cocky voice. "What do you say, we add a few more?"
Then he advanced toward the woman, who had been slowly retreating through the water, and straightened his sword hand beside him The blade glinted brightly in the light of the arena, the tip being the only dull piece, as it was stained red from the small amount of blood taken from the woman’s body upon his first impact. His steps were naturally longer than hers, as well as stronger His only weakness being his weight and how far he sank into the mud with each step. Still, in very little time, he had reached a suitable striking distance.
I think it's time for a little change up.
Without warning - the splashing had served as such, despite it also being a distraction - the machine slashed down with his sword hand, aiming to slice the woman down the center of her chest. His sword blade hit the water with a long, narrow splash and in the instant the blade hit water, he swung his other hand back behind him, then quickly around in front of his body. His eyes closed and his mind formed the image of a second blade. He reopened his eyes, and just as his other, newly formed sword hand, sliced horizontally across where the woman’s chest would be, the fist became a gleaming three foot length of blade. An exact copy of his other hand, as it should be. They were both from the same original!
His smile broadened as the new blade, drew closer to her flesh.
Pain was not something to which Sakurazuka Anila was accustomed, at least so long as it was nothing more severe than a rough bruise. Her body was weak against the pain, but her mind was intensely aware of the very real danger her opponent was to her.
Every heartbeat brought him a step closer to her and pumped more blood out of her wound, the writhing crimson stain spreading to nourish the koi, as her corpse might soon be doing. His taunts fell on deaf ears; Anila was more interested in his movements.
The first, slashing blow of his was obvious, and even as he was raising his blade to strike. Anila jumped back to avoid the blow, hindered by the unfamiliar drag of the cold water and the blinding pain in her side. The blade's sharp tip missed her so narrowly that she felt the breeze of the blade on her nose as it passed by.
As his right arm hit the water, Anila charged forward, canvas-clad feet struggling to find good purchase on the slick, algae-covered rocks that lined the bottom of the pool. Out of her periphery she saw his left hand drawn and thrusting at her, the long glint giving her a split-second's notice that he had another attack coming.
Anila turned her charge into a whirling attack as an adrenaline rush temporarily dulled the pain of her wound. She let Hagane slide open with a menacing gleam while Uindo stayed shut to bat the blade aside, or hold it apart from her body for the first twirl. The second twirl brought her past the blade, and Uindo cracked open viciously as she aimed her long, harsh swipes at her opponent's belly.
Either he'd find a way to kill her now, or she'd win.
He should have seen it coming.
He should have seen it, as it was plainly obvious. Any man on the outside would have seen it, like it were plain as day. But he hadn’t seen it, as things were different, on the inside.
Instead of falling into his not so carefully planned trap, the woman had avoided it with relative grace, and dignity. Then, with a fury he had only before seen in predators seeking out their prey, she launched her own ferocious attack against his own unprotected and weak center.
Dammit he should have seen it! It was so plain, so simple, so utterly stupid! Yet, now that he really looked at it, now that it was really happening, and nearly complete, he could see the flaw. The mistake, the single fault, in her counter-attack that would most certianly, cost her her life.
Where upon she had deflected his left handed blade away from her flesh, and spun herself into his arms to lash out at his stomach, she had neglected to recognize the one thing that could end this fight, and in the machines favor. His other blade, his right handed blade. This was her flaw, this was her mistake. This, was her ultimate doom.
She had avoided the right, deflected the left and was now charging home. The machine could only do one thing, and one thing only. He clenched his teeth, and stepped forward, into the attack.
As he did this, as he presented himself fully to the woman’s whirlwind counter attack, he countered her counter, with perhaps one of the most rudimentary and basic of all attacks.
The forward stab.
At this range, and with the both of them rapidly advancing on one another, there really wasn’t anyway he could miss.
You hit me, I‘ll go into detail in my next post.
Green "blood" rewarded her attack and efforts, but all Anila saw of it was a glimpse before a rushing force slammed into and through her body. She saw the glint of silver angling into her chest, but all her strength seemed to rush out of her at once and she slumped before slipping off of the sword and hitting the water with a dull splash.
It was Anila's first brush with death. While she had spent years fighting her brother with his polearms and her fans, Sensei had always called for a stop before anyone was seriously injured. Death, she found, felt cold. Not painful, for he'd been kind enough to stab her through the spine, but colder than anything as her life poured out into the koi pond.
She wasn't surprised by it, though. She was fighting a much stronger opponent in her first battle, and he had so many advantages over her. She had acquitted herself honorably on the field, and when her maidservant reported it to her father, he would have no shame in her. That was all that was supposed to matter, was it not? Did not the Sakurazuka achieve their victories or die in the process? At that moment, it seemed hollow.
The water surrounding her was turning red fast, and it tasted bitter and metallic. The pressure on her lungs was incredible, and she felt the liquid rushing in, choking her, as she bled to death. As the world went dark before her, Anila had one more derisive thought.
I'm drowning in my own blood. How...fitting.
[hr]
Anila's eyes opened slowly, and she was facing a stark white ceiling. Her clothes and hair were dry, and she felt no pain. The battle in which she had lost her life was clear in her mind, meaning that the healing system she'd put so little faith in actually worked.
Sitting up, Anila looked around the small enclosure in which she had been placed. It was plain, but that was expected. The only prominent adornment in the room was her maidservant, hovering anxiously at the wall. In her hands was a note that Anila didn't glance at. She knew that the older woman had gotten the monks to revive and heal her, she didn't need the reminder.
"Come," she said briefly. "We will wait for word as to whether we remain or leave this Pagoda."
Without looking at her servant, Anila walked out of the healing center and made her way to her dojo. She passed the entrances to the other dojos, but they were of no importance to her.
She may well have failed her first strike at independence.
Pagoda Heirarch bonus: +2% EXP.
Silence.
It was done. The deed, was complete. The woman. . .
Dead.
A deep calm settled over the arena. Quiet, serene. Above him the petals from some great tree slowly floated down from the over hanging branches, softly landing on the still rippling surface of the water. He lifted his gaze up, staring in silent wonder at the slowly descending petals. One landed on his face, the soft touch a foreign caress against his flesh. He sniffed and shook it from his face, letting his gaze fall once more on the rippling surface of the water. Upon the still floating body of his dying opponent.
He watched, a silent witness, as the woman’s life force bled from her body, creating long, narrow rivulets in the water around her. They quickly widened and soon, the body was floating it its own small red sea. He watched as the body slowly sank beneath the rippling red surface, disappearing from view as gravity and lack of life took over. Watched as a single fan, unfurled in the last moments of the woman’s life, floated slowly to the surface and then steadily past his legs. His gaze once more lifted itself up toward the falling petals.
A fitting way to die, I‘d think.
His eyes closed and for a moment, he just stood, silent, listening to the water and sounds of the arena around him. And then, without warning, something bit deep into his stomach and caused him to cry out. His hands flattened themselves against his gut and immediately he knew why. His entire stomach had been torn clean open. A final tribute, to the death he had just dealt out.
His foot slipped on the slick surface beneath the mud and he fell to one knee. His shock over falling was only half way realized when death over took him. In one violent shock, his entire body short circuited and forced his body rigid. Then, slowly, but with ever increasing speed, the machine fell backwards and sank beneath the surface of the murky red waters.
*~*
Something cold touched his shoulder and startled the machine into wakefulness. “Muh?” A blinding white light filled his vision and to his left he could just barely make out the silhouette of a person standing over him. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the harsh light and after a moment, he saw that it was a plainly dressed man, holding to his breast was looked like a rather crumpled hat.
“What do you want?” The machine asked groggily, trying in vain to sit up. He grunted with the effort and satisfied himself by simply rolling over instead.
The plainly dressed man, apparently quite nervous as he wouldn’t stop crunching his hat between his hands or shifting on his feet, started at the sudden bluntness of the question. He stalled for a moment, crunching his hat and shifting his feet, before finally speaking.
“The uhhh, judges ummm, sir. Were wanting to uhhh, know if ummm, you would be uhhh, taking the place of ummm, your opponent, Sakurazuka Anila, in the Dajas Pagoda, sir.”
“Sakooawhata? What? No, huh?” The machine grunted, sat up slowly and pushed the man away from the side of whatever it was he was laying on. Wrapping his head in his hands the machine cradled his hurting cranium for a moment before releasing himself and staring blankly at the man. “Now what was it you wanted?”
“The taking of Sakurazuka Anila’s place, sir? Dajas Pagoda?”
The machine quirked an eyebrow slowly. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he said after a moment. “But whatever it is, I don’t want it. Sounds like responsibility.”
If anything, the man seemed suddenly relieved by the machines response. The man then nodded quickly and gave a short bow, before clapping the crumpled hat atop his head and making for the exit door. The machine grabbed the mans coat tails just before he could exit, and held him back.
“Quick question, before you go.” The man waited, looking obviously anxious to get going. “Where am I?”
The man smiled. “Why, the Dajas Pagoda of course.” And then the man let himself out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
“Right,” the machine said, scratching his head. “Dajas Pagoda.”
Having no memory of ever entering the place, or memory of what had just happened, the machine stood and stretched. He then patted himself down, checked his sword and then made for the door.
Now, to find the exit to this strange place. He thought as he opened the door and stepped out of the tiny room. If there even is an exit.
Behind him the door clicked shut and he strode off down the long, narrow hallway, searching for an exit and the reason as to why it was he was there in the first place.
Fin.
Note:
He has no memory of this battle, or the events leading up to this battle, so as such, he has no idea what he did, or how he got there. He will thus, should he win through an OOC judging, not be taking Anila's place within the Dajas Pagoda.
Also, for some strange reason (known to us, but not known to him), he has a slight phobia for bodies of water that are three or more feet deep. This will be noted in a future character update in the regestration sub-forum.
Skie and Avery
09-25-07, 08:17 PM
Anila is red
Koran is blue
STORY
Continuity
8
7
Setting
7
5 - I felt, Koran, that it would have done you more justice to pay attention to Anila’s posts better. There were enough differences in the description of the arena between you that I would get confused, wondering where you’d come up with something you got. That I didn’t take much from, but at one point you said Anila’s fans were “unfurled” when in the post before that she had very obviously stated that they had yet to open.
Pacing
6
6
Too much introspection from Koran, for a battle. Also, I thought that moving 20 feet in baby steps in one post, Anila, is a little much to assume that you won’t be attacked.
Character
Dialogue
7
9
Action
9
7 - I don’t like, after all the hype of the water, it was completely ignored until your last post. I believe you made an attempt at foreshadowing the short circuit in post #16, but I think you missed your mark a bit.
Persona
7
8
WRITING STYLE
Mechanics
9
9
Technique
8 - I can see a definite improvement in this thread compared with others that have come before it.
9 - I do love that your narrative is done in a very personal style. It keeps the readers concept of him to a cocky sarcastic male, and not merely an asshole.
Clarity
8
7
Wild Card
8
7
Total
77
74
Anila is the victor!
Anila receives 1275 EXP and 681 GP. Welcome to Level One!
Koran receives 300 EXP and 222 GP
EXP/GP added. Anila, welcome to the next level.
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