[attr="class","APP3"]The venerable giant that was Seiichi Koji, a mortal man that stood taller still than seven feet, found himself on the back step of the small Usagi as they took the lead with a jovial bounce and a pounding to their heart that even his own mundane and unspecialized ears could make sense of. He had hardly known a more petite male, their frame nothing more than a small wire in oversized clothing that, as ornate as it seemed, consumed him despite how tightly woven the sash around his waist was. Alas, the giant found that harbored favored for the pink-haired bunny, for how dauntless they seemed in the face of impending doom that taunted them with no guarantee of safety or return. They had yet to face the worst, they had yet to encroach upon the trials of the night as She soon would begin her hunger games on those unfortunate to be caught flat-footed in Her domain. Still, despite the waning light that soon no longer bled through the canopies above them, despite how filtered it already was, the small bunny moved effortlessly through the darkness as if he could see beyond the branches and the glowing glints of feral eyes.
Little did Seiichi Koji know... Hikari could not see at all! Not in the same sense as he, however.
"Does the Usagi go by another name?" The Bear of Kumo asked along their walk in the darkness, the heart tone audible to the rare ears of the Usagi was a placid and gentle beat, the heavy 'thrum' of his grizzly heart enough to sanction its own lullaby. It showed no fear, it reflected no concern, but only encompassed the trust in his own ability and as well as in the navigation Hikari had performed thus far. His breathing matched in tone as well, breath drawn slowly until his massive chest swelled beneath the tattered gi he'd worn and then to deflate in a similar manner. There was no doubting that this would go unnoticed to the less informed, however, in the presence of the gifted bunny there was no hiding even the finest of details. It appeared that, as they continued to traverse this stretch of forest in darkness, he had not yet finished training. It wasn't uncommon for martial artists to practice breathing techniques for their mastery, surprisingly, was the basis of internal martial arts, known as neigong that would support external arts referred to as qigong. It was all a process and Hikari had become apart of it, leading him masterfully through the dark.
IF Seiichi was handed the book, he would take it, otherwise he made no effort to reach for it. Besides, it had become too dark to read and his eyes seldom passed over things in interest that weren't manuals of combat. "It is all the Usagi that write and tell stories? Did your grandma risk being devoured for her own?" He asked to continue the conversation as, with anything, a distraction from their current reality could never hurt. Nevertheless, Seiichi remained alert and attentive. He listened to the scope that his untalented ears allowed him and he viewed his surroundings to the best of his abilities, though their scope of effectiveness was truly nullified in the dark. Being none-the-wiser to the illusion that his faux-ears possessed, the Bear was truly convinced that they were natural and as sensitive to sound as any natural set of ears belonging to a fidgety bunny, prepared to leap and dodge danger should the moment reveal itself; oddly, he couldn't help but wonder how they managed to penetrate so deeply into the woods with nary a scratch or a dent on them. Could it have been, because of those gifted ears, that Hikari sense the loom of danger before it could him, avoiding it wholly before being consumed by death's dance?
It was then that Seiichi paused, that bulk that followed closely behind the bouncing puff that was a faux-bunny tail to abruptly seize their steps. Trunk-like arms folded over a dense and powerful chest, cut deeper with muscle than scar. His right arm, resting over his left arm, had lifted to allow a scratch at his beard. He pondered something now, so intensely that it rendered him incapable of moving forward. "I... am a man more born to the woods than a home," he had begun, a sudden recant of his history. "With no mother and a lackluster father, it was beasts that taught me to fight beasts. From men, I learned to fight men." That much seemed true, seeing how, as he wrestled with the bear, they both had grappled each other as a ursine would another until he'd gotten the upper hand with the leverage of his long, trunk-like legs and was able to deliver a finished move. He would step forward, overtaking the bunny if he didn't pick up in pace. "If it were not for the crisis at the border, I wouldn't find myself here..." He'd admit, not yet finished with his delivery. "In the wild I find myself more at home, but She rejects me. She sends to me her agents, each fiercer than the the last with its crushing coils or rendering claws in hopes to assure my demise... but I beat them back." His explanation was vague, but it seemed he referred to something grander when the uttered 'She' slipped between his lips-- a deity or a god of some sort?
"To what extent will you go for the things you love, little Usagi?" Perhaps it was a rhetorical question-- He had already proved it, hadn't he? Without fear, Hikari had traversed the Forest of Death. It was a domain that even specialized and seasoned combatants knew to avoid. "I hope there is a story for you to find in my words and my questions. You deserve as much."
Snap...!
Something lingered in the distance. Had they been followed? Was this a new threat?
@hikari
Last Edit: Oct 2, 2021 13:44:39 GMT by Seiichi Koji
To Seiichi of Kumo, who steadily drew breath between clenched teeth as bare feet slid back--tirelessly rehearsed--and dug into the earth as a steadying stance, every day his lungs could draw breath were an opportunity lusting to be seized. It was then, with the tightening of his core and a final clench of throbbing tension through the entirety of his arm, that the bear struck. Had there been observers, there would no doubt have been a line of questioning not only involving such a short distance, but also the results that followed and their titanic proportions. It was the use of his back muscles that allowed him to deal such a heavy blow from such a short distance, the torque in his strike owed to his overdeveloped trunk. The jounin, having been so forward focused in his motivation, had yet to take the opportunity to rest. As the thought came to mind, to recline against the stump and draw breaths in respite instead of focus, that he was made aware of his company.
!?
He had heard his sobriquet, a name that may have well been his epitaph--should the day arrive--if he continued to exchange it with others instead of his given name. Seiichi had turned, his eyes sizing up the silhouette of a familiar frame as they entered his vision; he hadn't expected someone as twilight drew near, the sky having diffused to a gentle purple as it warned of the impending night and her myriad of twinkling lights. As suggested by his greeting, loud and mirthful, the two shared a brief history. Theirs was a curious exchange, that year ago, where they traded both name and words on much more liberal terms. From his recollection, there was little Seiichi could recognize as changed or different-- save for being distinctly dressed, this time. There were sparse details about the jounin, save the distinct lack of nudity and the fresher pelt he had dawned in the time since.
". . ."
His exchange was a wordless one, but not without its depth as a palatable tension was soon drawn in the air between. His glower, delivered by a heavy gaze that sat atop his stony visage, was telling in all of itself. The bear-pelted man was not ignorant to it, that murderous aura of his that struggled against his impulses with a deathly abandon, his sense of combat so finely tune that not even a twitch could go without translation. The vacancy in his eyes revealed to Seiichi that his faculties were engaged elsewhere, his words sodden in a lust far more nefarious than carnal. It was a language the jounin knew, so well in fact that it was natural that his footing shift and his dominant and and foot found themselves in the direction of Möngke he remained rested on a stump, a grin of false pretenses worn handsomely on their face.
"One of your boys?"
The bear-pelted man finally spoke, that stentorian voice of his causing panic to what wildlife remained as a fleeing crunch of dearth could be heard beyond the tree line hidden to their more mundane eyes; alas, it was no surprise as he'd fought a great many in biding his time until the great calamity was upon them. "You're speaking in diversions..." His gravelly voice trailed, eyes watching and ears listening for what had yet revealed itself. "But it'd be a disservice to man and country if I ignored the threat of regicide," the jounin with bloated muscles shared. At any other moment he would have settled into a stance, perhaps even advance forward with the intent to split a skull behind his straight punch, but a nagging in his mind kept him from acting so quickly. "Tell me, Möngke, who would be so bold to put you to task? I've words for them..." What was the jounin going for? Had he prepositioned a meeting?
It was there that he could be felt. His presence, a sheer weight to his animosity. It was a deathly aura, one that capered wildly from his flesh marred of sweat and woodchip. Despite his outwardly placid demeanor, it was clear that the energy radiating off the wild man before him was everything but.
"I'm unsure if they're questions or threats. Help decide it for me."
[attr="class","APP3"]Seiichi had been left without interruption for sometime, but ever the beast of habit, he continued despite the ache. It was important to face against the attrition brought on by mundane elements such as boredom and the more nefarious ones born of exhaustion. If one neglected to challenge themselves the moment they were upon those ceilings, they would never adapt and never breakthrough. It was in this that their abilities would deteriorate or stagnate, their strength not what it once was for no capering flame unfurled beneath it. It was then, that, Seiichi would deny himself this reality by never stopping. In training, he would seize everyday.
It was then that the door slid open, the first time he had heard it working since he arrived. The jounin looked, slowing briefly in his pace as he continued to lift those concrete weights like a machine. Their pace was steady, even and curiously consistent. He looked to his new arrival: they were young and lithe of frame with auburn hair and bright eyes. Frames like the one possessed by the young man were far more difficult to discern as they often had little to tell. Even worse, he was unfamiliar with them. He could spot the plate of kumogakure on their person, but did not recognize their face. It must have been a shinobi in Kegawa's platoon.
"Ishi Sashi," he mentioned as he was unwavering in his form, the left and controlled descend of the concrete weight alternating in each arm. "They're concrete weights used to build power," he mentioned, although it was difficult to imagine that they did more than little for him. "Have you come to lift them yourself? One doesn't happen upon a dojo without an intention," said Seiichi in that stentorian voice of his, befittingly loud for such a large man as every tone filled the empty dojo. If that hadn't been his intention, to arrive and get stronger by any means devised by Seiichi, then it was to his benefit to explain himself now.
"Your name?" The jounin asked. There was a possibility that the genin was familiar with him, if only by name.
What an interesting soubriquet. Alas, in his experience, of the many no Shunshins or no Doragon he'd encounter few were seldom distinguishable in manners of skill or power. Perhaps it was that uniquely human trait of vanity that made it so, as harmless as the title was. Although, to the determined, to settle on a title and express it with confidence wasn't so bad. Many were late bloomers and, fortunately, could fake it until they made it-- granted, they live long enough for that sort of thing. Seiichi's gaze carried a peculiar weight, as if he could bore into a person's being with a look alone, but he was only assessing; it was unwise to rule out the possibility that, someday, this very man could surpass him in strength, martial ability, and even pettier things like prestige.
Seiichi gave a shake of his head, responding to the question. "Of Kumogakure, Benkei." It seemed he had made his choice, perhaps if he impressed him he'd take to the more gussied name. The man's eyes seemed cemented on him as, even know, he took account of what minor movements could reveal as he utilized his battle sense to steer the direction of their bout. "If you're to play, play to win." The voice of the bear-pelted man was naturally more stentorian than most, loud and powerful as if it were just another extension of his bloated frame. There was no denying, however, a particular sternness that backed his suggestion.
It also seemed, on that note, his words had sworn them into a bubble. It felt silent, a tension to it as it took command of the air around them. It was seizing, the signal that their match had begun as they both assumed their readied stances. It was then, as Benkai blinked, that Seiichi pounced in with a commanding speed. With his right leg forward, the experienced combatant would slide forward as he utilized mastered footwork. Seiichi would begin with the first attempt at contact with a straight punch to the face with his leading right hand and a quick hook punch to the shoulder using his left. They were delivered with a middling speed and as heavy as they may have felt, he pulled his punches. There was intention to this, so to gauage both the young man's reaction and durability; unfortunately, there was no fun and great harm in ending the bout with a single blow.
Unless he was intercepted, he'd slide backwards with the use of his backfoot and with his right foot he'd begin to encircle Benkei.
The Eight Gates [Rookie] "I fight therefore I am." With an unshakable belief in his insuperable technique and strength, Seiichi Koji has unlocked the Tenketsu of Opening, terminating any inhibition that had been remaining. With insurmountable dedication, a far greater array of jarring combinations and techniques have become available to him as he forges forward.
[attr="class","APP3"]"Ahah, yes, and the business your here on is also official," the well-dress man returned to the bubbly baker, the smell of sweet breads to briefly take command of the space as it announced her arrival.
It was to be the pairs first mission together under the eyes of their Jounin who would observe them from a distance and grade their teamwork. Their meeting in any other scenario would have been unlikely, seeing the stark contrasts in their personalities. However, it was in pitting these opposing pieces that Seiichi could better observe their adaption and critical thinking. To Kanna Kyo's question, her Jounin would nod and find his own hand unexpectedly accosted by two tiny mitts, a cloud to blush over their brief--albeit lively--meeting as she shook free mystery-flour that had settled on her skin some time ago. There was seldom a moment of inactivity for the Jounin, regardless of how often he referred himself to silence or to solitude. It was now, especially, that for their sake he prepare.
"Go on, take seats and I'll begin," mentioned the finely-dressed man who smelled of pine as he gestured the two over to a pair of chairs that had already been postured for them. The more lively of the two stood up, his hands to clasp behind his back as he cleared his throat. "My name is Jyefurii, I am the owner of a ninja tool toy company... and I have been robbed." There was a particular disgust to the end of his sentence, so strong was its presence, in fact, it managed to briefly cut through that pleasant scent of baked bread that still lingered on Kanna. "You see, after paying a shinobi research firm a costly fee, we learned of a niche popularity that was rising," the man stopped for a breath, having turned to face them with a fire in his eyes. "We planned to call it our 'Your Path -- Your Toys' line, at least..." his voice was sodden with an onset misery. "We learned that our storage had been raided and the blueprints kept in our personal vault missing. We have every reason to believe it was our competitor." He concluded. Jyefurii push his hair back, dragging his hand down his face before speaking. "I've not slept. I feel miserable. Please, fix this for me and get them back."
He made his plea, his eyes to move between the two of them. He was earnest enough in his explanation and made no mention of half-truths that Seiichi would have called out. "All you'll have to do is slip in and out. I have word on the inside that their guard detail is purposefully light and that tonight is the better night to swipe it back. If we wait any longer, you'll be at far greater risk." He explained, words from the Raikage's assistant himself. There was a look of desperation, one of a man prepared to crumble to his knees or prostrate himself humbly before them if it were enough to convince them for their aid.
[attr="class","APP3"]Encounters of this kind were a rarity unknown, as nothing was chanced in it. There had been no expectation, there had been no agreement in this service she had performed for him. He was brought here as if a ray of light illuminated his path, setting before him a road that glowed in the surrounding darkness. She met him with an unknown kindness, one that knew no prejudice and one that had never bore even an ounce of hate in its core. As professional as it was, there was a brand of awareness and learnedness in her approach that, while it may have been an every day occurrence for her, was something else entirely for Seiichi of Kumo.
A gentle smile cracked from his grizzly visage at her advice, Seiichi knowing well that Mai herself would need to tailor her expectation: it was only part of his nature to work himself hard. It was out of necessity, for more simple folk. Despite being so diminutive in stature, little more than half of his physical height, Seiichi saw Mai Aburame as a venerable giant, the impact she was capable of leaving was far larger than life as she still spilled kind words and advice from between two plush tiers. Perhaps they would see each other again, but in imagining that Seiichi would need to realize his progress faster; with her suggestion and words, Seiichi would plan to work even harder from henceforth.
There was a narrowing to his eyes and a brief moment where his brow drew stern in curiosity, a sudden suspense born from her last spoken words as it seized the air for a brief moment. With his palm open, hand-upturned, the bear discovered a small friend: it was fragile, a creature unlike him in every regard that gently drew its wings to open-and-close as timid steps were taken by the tiniest of toes. He observed its leisured travel, up until it nested on his bare shoulder. He'd heard of the Aburame before, a clan that had found itself widespread. It wasn't until, at this time, that he learned their husbandry led to the use of butterflies, too!
"Farewell, Mai. Thank you, and until the next time."
He'd nod his head to the petite jounin, moving to gather the rest of his wares. In a matter of moments he appeared the same man that entered, that beast in a bloodied gi. This time, though, while the tear was still evident in his clothing, the wound was no more.
Leaving that tent, he'd be greeted by the weight of countless curious eyes. This time, though, Seiichi had a friend that would relieve the burden.
And, for the rest of his journey back, he'd have time to come up with a name.
[attr="class","APP3"]The number of bodies housed in the dojo were scant so early, the population of older men who turned to kata for consistency, exercise and a manner in which to stretch there bones was greater at this hour. Yet--even with that explanation--that led no more to a staggering number of four men, the youngest of them all tuning his movements between those stances which allowed the dissemination of more specific actions. Fortunately, with the sound brought on the friction of the sliding door as it opened, a younger man appeared. He was young and of a gentler statuesque. His cloak was removed and revealed a simple garb and hugging his waist was a sash with, what seemed, a sword woven into it-- katana, wakizashi? No, perhaps longer than those two? Despite the knowledge Seiichi imbibed across martial topics, swords were among his lesser known. Or, maybe he'd learn more if he stood still.
"Recovering," the man returned shortly after, now closer to the few final stances in the kata he had been practicing. With a few ending movements, the man found himself resuming his starting position before the new stranger had arrived. He settled out of it, adjusted his direction and was soon looking facing the new arrival directly. "If it's how you warm up, join me," the bear-pelted man invited the young man to join him. A live warm up could accomplished more than these fixed and mechanical movements and could iron out the manners in which he furthered erred if his foe could recognize them.
"Light contact. Only take downs are sweeps." Seiichi mentioned if the young man that just arrived joined him. It was then, coming closer to the center of the arena, that the jounin would stop short some paces from the center and bend slightly forward in a friendly bow.
"What do you go by? Call me Seiichi." It was a name worth committing to memory, if he hadn't already heard it.
[attr="class","APP3"]The jounin's fists came down in a flurry of formless blows, hailing brutishly with a fury as his hammering strikes. They were ceaseless as they came forth, proving to bear an attrition that he defenses could not stand up to. They were meaty strikes, complete and full with the weight there were laid upon. Despite her efforts to carve his flesh, floundering beneath his mighty pin with all her might as she flailed and scratched with her unkind claws, they proved little use to her. In death's throes, if he continued, her last worthwhile action was the spit of blood. It was precise, alarmingly, and struck him in the face, blooming over the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks. His rain of heavy hands came to an end and, instead, he seized her arms by the wrist to subdue her strikes -- unless she tried to go in with a cheap kick.
"We're done," Seiichi decided for them, the authority in those words fueled by the firmness of his gravelly voice. They were originally sent here with the intent in bolstering Otogakure's defenses, in the face of a frightening foe, not tally onto the long-standing dispute between their realms an additional death. "We're no good to anyone minced and pulverized," he lifted himself off of her, the tight and overpowering grip lessening as he went to stand until he could hold them no longer. He was a mess-- though certainly to no measuring degree of Makoto. Where his flesh had been clawed and cut, bleeding as it would, the poor Inuzuka women would come out of this with welts and bruises--maybe even a fracture--more reminiscent to a one-sided beat down. However, by all accounts, she was alive and she could even the score at a later day.
"Come, we've got cleaning up to do," he referenced to her, a hand extended to help her up. "Something tells me breathing exercises might be all that you can do for a few days..." Came an unexpected quip. Arm over shoulder, person over shoulder or their separate ways, the two would need some medical treatment and it couldn't be found in the middle of nowhere.
[attr="class","APP3"] A good Shogi player thinks of loss. The act of preventing it. The act of accepting it and even using it. A good Shogi player thinks of how to mitigate the harm it causes to ones faculties, ones armies. To fill the holes left in ones defense, and finally to recover from its inevitability and continue forth with the only promise that its doomed to happen again. There is little in life that could be separated from Shogi, as life itself is no less and no more a battlefield than a grid of squares that total ninety-one. It's of attrition. It's of loss indefensible. How does one respond to their pieces taken off the board only roused once more to return and haunt them. How does one carry knowing a single mistake can cost absolutely everything. No matter how reckless a life is lived, it always returns to a defensive play as nothing is more natural than a wall erected the most important, plays henceforth meticulous as they mitigate subsequent losses. To considering the risk of losing any pieces, to forcing upon yourself those moments of vulnerability, the gamble must truly be worthwhile.
It was no wonder that life, like a game of Shoji, was all about lost.
Seiichi had been told that by someone, somewhere. Many years had past since that fateful encounter but, like a hot iron, those words were forever imprinted upon him. He had taken to the game himself, one evening, and had never stopped when time afforded him the leisure of playing, of engaging. It was an involved session which an emphasis of exploration and reflection. It was a game that allowed one to posture themselves upon the board with a reset and reassess their pieces lost and what more could be sacrifice until an insuperable end was meant and no further risking could go on.
However...
Albeit, to see such a large man with such unruly and bloated muscles playing such a delicate and procedural game looked curious, for the lack of a better word. He had an ugly hand, the extremity more akin to a mitt. The path he'd chosen had scarred it terribly, bringing his skin to rupture day in and day out. It was heavily calloused and naturally dwarfed the small pieces of wood he picked up, carefully placing it where intersecting lines formed barrier walls. Despite his size unbecoming to such a gentle sport, Seiichi had yet to find himself at the mercy of another on the board.
Click...!
His game concluded after setting that pawn, both men folding to a bow. His opponent rose and left and, for now, the Jounin was left to weight for the arrival of an opponent. Naoko Kurotori
Last Edit: Sept 26, 2021 6:56:14 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]It stood proud. It was of a traditional appearance on the outside, a venerable structure that stood tirelessly against the test of time as students were made into masters, young boys grown into men. It was a dojo, but as proud as she stood she was but a relic of the past. In recent years it had been relegated to the role of a shrine, its path only worn by wayward travelers as they lit candles and incense. The last master, the final one to publicize their practice within those walls, had died many years ago and his students stopped returning, some moving on to begin their own practices or others making an effort to take on the world. Where their paths may have gone, it was beyond the scope of this dojo seemed to lowly to nurture their legacy, to providing a base for their great story.
Not Seiichi, though.
Through a purchase and some consideration, the Jounin had finally committed to a promise he had made to himself. While Seiichi held to no particular form of martial form, there was no doubting his insuperable talent when it came to the combination of many and their underlying principles. Be it from neigong to qigong for the gentle internal martial arts to do external forces they produced, to hojo undo for the strength training in karate to power through the movements accessed by various katas and so on, Seiichi had mastered the practices. He had been tireless in the pursuit of mastery, in harnessing what power techniques were before him to shatter their molds and further the ceiling to his own talent.
Yet, he knew that he could not do it alone. Dummies did not strike back. The world of Shinobi had taken a different direction and matured talents, such as the professions as he so tirelessly dedicated himself to, could never shine until they were brought to a point of evolution. The jounin knew it was time to take on disciples and further the role of martial prowess in the shinobi world.
Seiichi had always been a frugal man, needing little of the money he earned as a means of survival. His time, mostly spent without respite in the tundras of Kumo, needed zero fiscal support. It was through this alone that he could afford to restore parts of the structure that had been failing, as well as the equipment used. Students would find, inside, various tools for strength training and condition: Chi Ishi, Ishi Sashi, Jari Bako and so on to condition their striking strength, grip strength, the durability of their hands and the power of their forearms. Not a resource was spared in the hopes that no student would spare the opportunity.
Seiichi himself could be found inside, hauling the concrete weights that were the Ishi Sashi as he took a straight stance with his feet brought to shoulder width. It was a full and straight motion, where tension was maintained in front of him as the weights were lowered to his thighs and brought up over head, each arm left to alternate. Jai Huángjīnjiǎ Kaito Nishimura
Last Edit: Sept 26, 2021 3:55:51 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]He found himself here, for another day, in the dojo. His first was met with a number of distractions, namely a young man who felt the need to interrupt him when he had gone out of his way to isolate himself from the others. It seemed, however, that his very presence was a sign of alarm and bred an unnecessary irritation as he asked Seiichi to disengage the dummy he struck. Fortunately, on this day, he had been here for hours and without distraction. In all of those hours he had remained consistent with his training as it was necessary for any master to not dull themselves in their art, to practice and hone the skills they hold prized 'lest they wish to watch them deteriorate. He could be seen, now, practice a fake-out with a low-body charge, striking overhand with his fist as his misdirecting movements would bring focus to the freight train of a torso should he be fighting an actual person. It was then that, with masterful footwork, he would twist around their frame and lift them from the side to bring them crashing onto the ground.
He couldn't practice that last part. These dummies weren't made for that. However, he certainly could get a better handle of those movements. It was about the confidence that they exhumed, the ability to carry them out without fear as closing into such closed-quarters left little room for error and even less for hesitation. It was in this spirit that Seiichi would practice without relent, his desire for improvement a capering flame that unfurled beneath his belly and tickled his heart. Countless hours he would spend refining his movement, on varying days, to make adjustments and eliminate errors he recognized. What fractions of time were shaved off of it would only benefit him, allowing his actions to translate to far more devastating movements. It was only natural that he worked on enhancing this as often as he did his striking, for his specialties lied in wrestling and grappling. A scramble on the floor, in fact, was an invited welcome as it suggested his opponent was familiar with the style and how to defend against it.
However, it wasn't the only thing he was to do that. After a while Seiichi would abandon the dummy, moving to the center of the room where a well-sized dohyo could be found. It was on top of that dohyo that Seiichi now practiced Kata, moving fluidly among various farms as he'd circle around himself to return to his starting position. Just as he had with his wrestling techniques, it was necessary to hone these basics as well and to recognize his own flaws in his transitions to correct them. It had been early in the morning and few had arrived and, of those few, none dared step in with that large karateka as he practiced. He wore little more than his pelt and gi, the arms ripped off to allow him more freedom and to address his comfort; although, he could do with getting another gi. Nomura Benkei
He didn't recognize it as a gesture meant for him. Perhaps he was not smarter than your average bear. Or so it seemed.
Aiko would find herself in the alley postured against four men, the fifth member of their devious group had been subdued and the other wailed in pain for the crossbow bolt that stuck him in the leg with a purposed precision -- the last thing she needed to do was commit murder on the summon of the Hokage, right? Perhaps it was better this way, to strike without maiming or murdering. However, these men that she now faced against did not hold to the same lofty idea and were of much fouler principles, as she'd soon come to learn if she found herself bested by the trio. They could recognize right away that, by the veins that swelled around her eyes, that something funny was up. Luckily, for her, it turned out that these ne'er-do-wells weren't smarter than your average... delinquent?
"YOU.... RUDE HONEY!"
One of the muggers roared his battle cry, springing towards her from his position in the alley way, no more then 3 meters from her. If Aiko could react beneath the duress of a high-tension situation, she could hopefully recall a thing or two about fighting in a narrow strip such as this one. If she were to successful handle these men that now swarmed to her, it would be crucial that she applied her previous training and adaptability at this very moment as they all moved in her direction and varying speeds. They were of rather average builds with no true defining characteristics, but each one of them was larger than her and by judging by their frames alone, they'd pack punches that would truly hurt. Two rushed forward faster then the last. They both began to let loose punches, their strikes quicker than they were hard as they attempted to gauge her reaction time, let alone her abilities. Unless she was able to blow them back, she would be forced to deflect and parry their blows until she could find an opening. They struck with an alarming coordination, as if they'd practice this rotation of blows before, knowing that four fists were enough to typically overwhelm people. There was a pretty clear pattern, however, and a fighter who found their confidence would be able to discern their telegraphed movements and interrupt one or even both of the men that attacked her.
None of the men seemed to focus on the woman they were mugging as the other picked up a bat that had been lying on the ground and, in the wake of the other two who continued their assault, rushed in from behind prepared to swing with a great big cleave, easily meant to knock the senses and the light out of Aiko's step if she failed to evade the blow; all the while the third man with the crossbow bolt in his leg was still recovering, shouting as he attempted to pull it out.
". . ."
Then, somewhere in the distance, Seiichi still waded through the crowd. If he pushed too hard he was bound to knock someone over and trample them. Every step when you were as large as he was required a risk evaluation.
[attr="class","APP3"]She had recoiled, quickly recovering from what was clearly gritting pain. If Makoto hadn't become so sturdy over these years, there was no doubting that the pain may have been too debilitating to carry on. No different than she had been a decade past, Makoto pressed on with her recovery. She raced forth as if nothing happened, shrugging off the pain brought by the three strikes that Seiichi had landed cleanly. She had grown as a fighter, tougher now than she had ever been before. It was clear that, in her time of militant service, she'd seen many breakthroughs and it was, perhaps against Seiichi, that she was having one more.
His ears picked up the call as his eyes watched for the movements. She was swift and agile as ever, speeding towards him with an unrelenting speed as she showed no sign of giving up. It was there, however, that the tactic changed at the last notice. She had kicked up dirt and obscured his vision as he moved to guard his eyes. She took this to her advantage and slid between his legs only to emerge with a rending strike, a visceral set of razor sharp claws cutting at his back. There was no rest to their pattern, a wild flurry of combos tossed his way as she scratched him up cleanly. He stepped forward, the pain of it significant as broke away from her line of attack.
Seiichi inhaled sharply through his clenched teeth. The bear looked over his shoulder. It was a deathly look. His eyes were sharp and merciless in their appearance, honed to the finest tip that a dagger could hope to achieve as he glared so intently with a manifested malice. He turned around fully now and moved onto the approach. He was quick as he prepared to throw a punch towards Makoto's face when -- suddenly -- he faked the action. His speed was formidable and his technique masterful, if she failed to see through this misdirection, than Seiichi may have gotten the upper hand for the remainder of their brawl. He dipped his stance low when he entered her zone with a punch that was never completed, colliding into her with a breath-taking force as quick footwork had Seiichi spinning around her until he was at her backside. With a gable grip solidifying his hold, and having stepped in with his repositioning, Seiichi would twist with his tree-trunk like torso and influence them to his left where his right arm provided further strength and leverage. Unless Makoto could succeed in evading or breaking his hold, she was bound to find herself lifted from the ground with a tremendous twist as the world spun upside-down briefly before the gravity of her dire situation came crashing. It was a awful collision, a painful and disorienting one that were bound to include her shoulders and head as the areas of impact unless she had flexibility to help minimize the damage. Whatever the case, Seiichi would unlock his gable grip and move to mount Makoto while she remaining on the ground, pinning her beneath his impressive weight and the point of his knees on the ground. Her guard would need to be raised quickly as he soon punched from this new position of power.
There had been no flesh punctured. No hide rend. No blood drawn. He had landed onto the earth, despite diving ahead with madness and volition. Yet nothing was at his mercy. Having willingly risked it all, he accomplished nothing. He could only stagger as he stood, his mind in a daze as he was left behind by a vision that fled him at a high space, ghosting over him with its inhuman sweep. What had gone on? What was all of this? There was no material beast before him, despite having been at the core of them only briefly. Seiichi looked at those strange creatures he had meant to skewer with those claws of his, which were fore-arm in length, as they moved far beyond his reach should he choose to remain still. He understood the gravity of his abilities and was ceaseless in the opportunities he'd take to improve upon them, but it became evident to the jounin that a lack in talents or gifts would only make things impossible.
". . ."
Or nurture his next breakthrough. The martial veteran mulled, having to briefly, on the matter when he recognized that they were fully immaterial and finer signs of deception were revealed in his time spent along them at ground level. Was it a genjutsu? Was it all an illusion that only the deceptive could have seen through? Despite his lack of focus on the profession, the jounin was still academy trained. While Seiichi could recognize the immaterialness of the beasts, and put greater thought into how their stampeding mass left nothing tangible in the wake of kicked up dust or left marks of their feet, he could only go on a hunch as he possessed no eyes that could decipher the flaws of an illusion and little in the manner of signaling save his own sense. Despite the unwieldiness his claws presented in the situation, his hands were still capable of performing the sign. It was there that he would disrupt any possible flow of chakra, perhaps something that obscured him from spotting the true threat as they hid in this potential illusion. Completing it, all he could do was return to his run and chase the pack.
And he did so. Seiichi broke out once again at a high speed, advancing forward with thundering steps as he'd closed in behind the 'stampede'. Surely there was something more the Jounin could spot if it were, indeed, an illusion he dispelled. He moved in quickly, a tension in his legs as he soon prepared to leap at the backs of those that remain in an attempt to hunt it down. Like a predator, he stalked in his prey and prepared to leap in for the kill.
