it tears egos apart, practices dissatisfying excuses, and only fuels its very own cycle that villages try (and fail) to break. Kizua likes to think of it as irrational, ego-centric, and — to think of yourself as better than another? — laughable.
Which is why he skulks along the sidelines.
Shouldn't take him a minute, he'll be out in less than —
CRASH
Foolish of him to think they'd last less than a minute.
"Aah!"
When Kizua's face, donned with a mask, angles, he's eying a little boy —
"brother!"
yes, of course, the brother of one of the two, now battling, shinobis. Thrown aside like he isn't collateral damage waiting to happen.
If only there was someone to save him?
(Kizua's foot is already stepping out of the shadows.)
The sifting crowds had few returning faces, despite the sheer volume of shinobi we had traveled with to make it here. Every day or so, I'd see one or two, but unless I kept an eye out for it - nada. Today, I figured trailing one of the more problematic ones would make things more interesting; and with a smile heavy on my heart, who would've thought I'd be right?
Pulling away from the crowds, I'd follow him and another as heated words were exchanged.
"Ooh, what's going on with you two?" My comment into the scuffle as I was; a loose blade in the wrong part of the world. A wide smile and narrow eyes greeted each of the troublemakers, although I didn't notice the small, third one until after the fact. "I always knew you were a little - what do you call it, again?"
A tilt of the head, disappointment creeping with a notably creased frown. "That short hand you used for being a racist asshole... 'Patriotism'? Oh, wait, no." I turned my conversation to the cloud nin, albeit out the corner of my mouth. "Little Tadaaki here is proud to be a piece of shit, turns out."
The entire entrance was punctuated with a hand on hilt, having been gripping my sword from the first word. "And to be honest, I've not liked him much." Spoken much louder, taking a step towards my fellow Kirigakure denizen. The twitch of my brow a faint signal, I doubted he'd notice - but it wouldn't matter. So long as he didn't die like a moron, anyway.
[attr="class","monbody2"]It's the widened curve that enters the stage first, renders the shinobi still from their clash of blades. Kizua steps in next, or —
in better terms — too late.
But he's a safe distance away, and he realizes his presence hasn't been picked up on yet when words begin to spill and none of them target his person.
Said words are loud, by the way, and gritting;
"another Mist, huh?" the Cloud shinobi.
"Wha... ?!" Tadaaki. To the new face.
Stumbling expressions and fretting movements, but Kizua's mind strays elsewhere. To the brother of the Cloud that scurries behind his elder sibling.
"Whatever, you're here now — let's teach him a lesson," says Tadaaki, and it's clear the newcomer's words have slipped the dense structure of his mind.
Still, this could easily prove a match successful if the newcomer realizes he's got grudges to act on.
"Hmm?" at first, I thought I was replying to Tadaaki. Dense as the rock his mom shoved him out on, surprised he could even make his way to Oto. But lo, a deception to myself! The cloud nin struck out, revealing a pair of shuriken aimed at our heads.
Looked like Iaichi would get to breathe for a bit.
As good an excuse as any. Knuckles tightened, the tendons snapping white in the midday sun as my left leg collapsed forward. Stepping in on my right, my wrist turned upwards as I dashed across the space and underneath the shuriken. The pressure in my shoulder, the movement traveling through my hip - my right heel planted itself, stopping as the blade cut through the air.
Crying Waterfall. A vertical Iaido strike delivered from underneath an opponent's line of sight, aimed towards their center mass. If a successful blow, the recipient was intended to be gutted, if not bisected with enough force. Unfortunately, with the range of a single step in, doubt crosses whether or not it'll put the cloud nin out of commission.
"Let's dance." was the only attempt at coordination i'd give Tadaaki, stepping forward on my left leg, preparing for a follow-up should the kumo retaliate.
[attr="class","monbody2"]It levels too low — he levels too low, and Kizua is now reading it, and perhaps he reads in too much but if that blade strikes at a certain angle, with certain haste then —
clink
something silvery reflects, leaves dance with the wind — (with the mist shinobi's word) — and when Kizua's lowered crown appears, he's eyeing Nomura behind the safety of his own blade.
It's pleasant, this noise that rings when swords crash against one another.
It loses its appeal, however, when collateral damage risks taking the form of a smaller boy.
Kizua doesn't realize this. Not until he finds himself lodged between the mist and the cloud (and his sibling) and so little stops him from practicing further irrationally and saying this next;
"I believe there are harsh repercussions for what you are trying to do."
Killing intent flowed through my blade. 'Iaido is an art for singular attacks, carrying incredible power and speed, but cannot be done easily in succession. Your first strike will matter more than any other.' Faint words, whispering in the back of my head, deafened by the clash of steel.
A smile shifted down, tightening into a grimace as a new adversary seemed to materialize. It was already questionable how much word I'd have to do for this, but now? Where the fuck did he come from?
The pressure against my own blade - confused, but powerful. It was obvious from the touch - not to mention his arrival - that I was slower than him. Weaker, even; but on technique? Hard to tell what the grip is. Not classical kendo, definitely not iaido. I wonder... A shift of view, from blade to man, as I attempted to push down against his sword.
"You're telling me with this?! You don't even want to protect him!" The lack of commitment that greeted me meant I had a chance. If he was stronger, he had his chance to take me down. An opportunity I couldn't lose.
"Tadaaki! You moron! Do something!" I yelled back in frustration. I'd try to force down his own blade, but find the effort pointless; if disarming him was my goal. I'd release my sheath with my offhand, hoping to grab at the masked man's clothing and pull him off to the side, sweeping underneath with my left foot. The motion was clumsier than I had envisioned, but with the man's line of sight...
[attr="class","monbody2"]Tadaaki reacts seconds too late. He's still eying with the same surprise that Nomura garners, and unbeknownst to either of them, the cloud is working a flurry of steel. He's also preparing a few words of his own, perhaps to add to the unintentional distraction.
Kizua catches the cocky smile in them;
"Haha! Can't take fair numbers?!"
and it works a nerve.
(It seems like nobody heeds his warning. Or this country, really.)
A blink — Kizua's sleeve is grappled, pulled. His weight carries him with the wind and it isn't clear where his vision trails but it doesn't seem to be the ground for the foot that levers forward is successful in its attempt. And yet
as the motion invites his body to a comically graceful side-roll, Kizua mumbles an audible;
"your dance isn't very pretty."
There's no time to offer something better. When his body reigns aside, something dark appears. Again, reflecting with threat and launching forward in an attempt to slice the mist shinobi.
Shuriken — Nomura should be the first to catch them as he appears the closest. However, Tadaaki is already on the run. Nomura would only have to take a single step back to allow his teammate to cover for him.
Half of me hadn't expected him to be thrown, the other half expected him to throw me - somehow. Yet here we were.
The change in dynamic wasn't going to last long. Whether or not I had the ability to use that oppurtunity for it... Time to figure out. With the way clear, a step forward would bring my newly freed blade forward. A curved spear, my knee buckled - slamming my weight into a single forward thrust to impale the Kumogakure shinobi through his gut. Forced Seppuku.
Thrusting wasn't something I had practiced in my wheelhouse. In this situation it'd work out a fair bit better, carrying all of the force I had used to hold blades against the masked man into it. Unless the cloud nin turned out to be some kind of freak, my sword pierced through, the faint thunk against bone as the tip lodged into his spine. There'd be no surviving it.
Practically falling forward into the motion, recognizing and reacting to the shuriken wasn't particularly possible. One found itself near my collarbone, another flying past my head towards Tadaaki. A drop of blood running down my face as I continued to fall forward; into the blade, shifting as much of my weight as possible into it. A gasp racked from the Kumogakure nin, the madly-running Tadaaki pausing for a moment, only to deliver a massive haymaker to the unfortunate soul with a shuriken lodged in his eye.
"FUCKING JACKASS!" the other Kirigakure resident yelled; shit very much having hit the fan.
[attr="class","monbody2"]Kizua catches surprise, anguish, and then a mixture of the two when his mask faces back. A splatter of red taints the air in an unruly water show, nearly shrouding the hand that moves to shove his brother.
There's a "no!" before he collapses back, powerless.
His older brother; rough gurgling, and an unsuccessful attempt at eying his sibling one last time.
But Tadaaki seems to be pumping with vigor, still — hesitance slow to override his senses— and when Kizua watches his attention dart onto the child, his feet plant.
He swings forward, the blade at his side maneuvering; coordinated, unlike before.
There'd be a two-step-maneuver to his own person, one; Kizua's foot is in the air, finding the closest abdomen to shove back (Nomura), and two; a spin followed by a single step forward, and the edge of his katana cutting the air in half — seeking the back of Tadaaki's neck before he tries anything on the younger cloud.
-
[attr="class","montag"] notes cloud npc dead, shoves his lil sibling away, kizua tries 2 kick nomura away then behead tadaaki
Fist hit bone, snapping back the Kumogakure's neck, blood erupting from between his lips. No doubt some mix of broken teeth and blood rising in his guts, but I'm no doctor. Either way, he was dying, if not dead from the shock of it already. Focused on the blossoming corpse in front of me, I didn't have the time to notice the blur approaching.
A kick slammed into my side, barely managing to bring the sword with me as I was flung backwards, my opposite hand tugging at Tadaaki. An instinctive pull, I wasn't aware of the incoming blade, but expected some kind of follow-up. As my balance regained, Tagaaki's faltered, a faint hiss filling the air. The man fell to his knees, tongue lolling from his mouth; rolling quietly away from his body.
The rain of blood spurted a small geyser, the corpse toppling in its entirety. The masked assailant would be splattered in it if he wasn't careful, and I was far from removed enough to avoid it either. "Fucking, dammit!" this time a yell as I backed further away, quickly sheathing my sword, tightening my grip.
It's going perfectly. A grimace stretched across my face, shouting plainly. "HELP! A KUMOGAKURE SHINOBI IS ATTACKING US!" rang loudly, my gaze locking onto the masked man. My eyes grew wide, staring quietly at him as I fortified my stance. "You don't wanna be caught, do you?"
No one wearing a mask did it to advertise who they were.
