07-19-2017, 01:01 AM
The walk through the Nexus was an unpleasant one. His wounds had him grunting with pain from each step, but he could not let the next step be his last. He was too stubborn to die after a battle, like some sort of pathetic weakling. The trail of blood he left was not a good sign of health either. Had either of the Fist users wanted to track him, they would have no troubles.
He looked off to the distance to the gate he had chosen. It looked like stone. Familiar and rustic, like the gates to some of the temples back in Japan. He would not go there, at least not quite yet. Instead he kneeled and tended to his wounds. He shredded cloth from his already tattered pants legs to wrap around his various wounds. The last scraps of his shirt were also used to help staunch the bleeding.
After surviving as many fights as he, one was wise to learn a thing or two. His breath was still troubled, but after an hour of labor, he left no crimson trail. The first few steps in a new direction almost tracked along the steps of the old before he veered just slightly. The new path would lead him almost straight across the Nexus, and hopefully distract any who would follow his trail in later days.
Takezo was becoming fully aware that he needed to rest. Dante’s Abyss had been fun, but it wore him out. In his new immortality he still waged war against exhaustion, hunger, thirst and stress of the mind. The latter was starting to eat away at him.
What would a sword do against a man that can fly? Chakravartin may have been standing on equal ground at one point, but if he could remain airborne and attack from afar, even the proud swordsman acknowledged defeat. The god no longer stood upon the earth like a mortal, and Takezo had no desire to ascend to the heavens quite yet. The idea of wielding a bow or other secondary weapon also displeased him.
How had the golden robed man done it? He shimmered like that stuff the faceless figure had offered. Omnilium, Takezo remembered. Without it, I am nothing. With it… anything I desire can be mine. At least, the conversation went something like that. He did not feel as bound to it as he supposed other Primes might. He did not feel any different, to be honest with himself. The only difference was that he had died and yet still walks. In the after math his walk was more of a shuffling along with a few grunts every other step.
The question was there though. Could he perform magic? Like the yokai of legends?
A smirk formed. “I could really become a demon.” The words were spoken aloud, their wickedness tainting the silence. As he walked, the swordsman slowly drew his weapon. With each step of his right foot, he cut the air.
“Hai!” One.
“Hai!” Two.
“Hai!” Three.
The one-handed strikes were swift. With each right step he flicks his wrist and unleashes his grunts for another swift blow against nothing. With each left step, he refocused himself, resetting his sword position and recalibrates. The number of attacks climb into the double digits.
Fifty or so cuts in, he achieves his goal. He felt his reach extend, if ever so slightly. He could almost see the blade of air slash outwards behind his weapon. It was a wind honed as fine as a razor. It was like the dreaded Kamaitachi slashing about with its sickle claws. The winds of the yokai were so brutal, they were said to shred the flesh from bone.
Takezo’s razor wind was weak, but it was fast. Each right step, he would unleash another, the faint whistle of wind like music to his ears. His lips were curled into a perpetual grin. This was what this world had to offer. How entertaining. It was hard not to laugh at his new achievement.
The child-god may think he has surpassed him, but he did little more than inspire the swordsman. The number of cuts slowly approached triple digits as Takezo walked. It was almost beautiful, how the blade of wind sailed so far beyond reach before dissipating. No, it truly was beautiful.
One hundred cuts. Takezo was breathing hard again. His wounds hurt and he was sure during his focus he had left a drop or two of blood in his wake. It was too late to care about that now. He was excited and eager to try this new technique on a more solid victim. Sadly, there were none to be found in the Nexus at the moment, not even a tree to cut.
With a flick, his sword is sheathed again and his pace quickened. He felt no pain, thanks to the adrenaline pumping through him, though he knew he would feel it soon. Wounds littered his body, hunger was beginning to creep in, his throat was parched. Perhaps the next gate would have a village just on the other side.
That is what Takezo banked on as he locked his eyes onto a distant anomaly he assumed to be a gate. He could not make out the details of the gate from this distance, but it would no doubt be better than here. The blankness of the Nexus made the swordsman uncomfortable if he thought on it too long.
With great vigor, the wounded warrior unwittingly makes his way towards the Vasty Deep gate.
He looked off to the distance to the gate he had chosen. It looked like stone. Familiar and rustic, like the gates to some of the temples back in Japan. He would not go there, at least not quite yet. Instead he kneeled and tended to his wounds. He shredded cloth from his already tattered pants legs to wrap around his various wounds. The last scraps of his shirt were also used to help staunch the bleeding.
After surviving as many fights as he, one was wise to learn a thing or two. His breath was still troubled, but after an hour of labor, he left no crimson trail. The first few steps in a new direction almost tracked along the steps of the old before he veered just slightly. The new path would lead him almost straight across the Nexus, and hopefully distract any who would follow his trail in later days.
Takezo was becoming fully aware that he needed to rest. Dante’s Abyss had been fun, but it wore him out. In his new immortality he still waged war against exhaustion, hunger, thirst and stress of the mind. The latter was starting to eat away at him.
What would a sword do against a man that can fly? Chakravartin may have been standing on equal ground at one point, but if he could remain airborne and attack from afar, even the proud swordsman acknowledged defeat. The god no longer stood upon the earth like a mortal, and Takezo had no desire to ascend to the heavens quite yet. The idea of wielding a bow or other secondary weapon also displeased him.
How had the golden robed man done it? He shimmered like that stuff the faceless figure had offered. Omnilium, Takezo remembered. Without it, I am nothing. With it… anything I desire can be mine. At least, the conversation went something like that. He did not feel as bound to it as he supposed other Primes might. He did not feel any different, to be honest with himself. The only difference was that he had died and yet still walks. In the after math his walk was more of a shuffling along with a few grunts every other step.
The question was there though. Could he perform magic? Like the yokai of legends?
A smirk formed. “I could really become a demon.” The words were spoken aloud, their wickedness tainting the silence. As he walked, the swordsman slowly drew his weapon. With each step of his right foot, he cut the air.
“Hai!” One.
“Hai!” Two.
“Hai!” Three.
The one-handed strikes were swift. With each right step he flicks his wrist and unleashes his grunts for another swift blow against nothing. With each left step, he refocused himself, resetting his sword position and recalibrates. The number of attacks climb into the double digits.
Fifty or so cuts in, he achieves his goal. He felt his reach extend, if ever so slightly. He could almost see the blade of air slash outwards behind his weapon. It was a wind honed as fine as a razor. It was like the dreaded Kamaitachi slashing about with its sickle claws. The winds of the yokai were so brutal, they were said to shred the flesh from bone.
Takezo’s razor wind was weak, but it was fast. Each right step, he would unleash another, the faint whistle of wind like music to his ears. His lips were curled into a perpetual grin. This was what this world had to offer. How entertaining. It was hard not to laugh at his new achievement.
The child-god may think he has surpassed him, but he did little more than inspire the swordsman. The number of cuts slowly approached triple digits as Takezo walked. It was almost beautiful, how the blade of wind sailed so far beyond reach before dissipating. No, it truly was beautiful.
One hundred cuts. Takezo was breathing hard again. His wounds hurt and he was sure during his focus he had left a drop or two of blood in his wake. It was too late to care about that now. He was excited and eager to try this new technique on a more solid victim. Sadly, there were none to be found in the Nexus at the moment, not even a tree to cut.
With a flick, his sword is sheathed again and his pace quickened. He felt no pain, thanks to the adrenaline pumping through him, though he knew he would feel it soon. Wounds littered his body, hunger was beginning to creep in, his throat was parched. Perhaps the next gate would have a village just on the other side.
That is what Takezo banked on as he locked his eyes onto a distant anomaly he assumed to be a gate. He could not make out the details of the gate from this distance, but it would no doubt be better than here. The blankness of the Nexus made the swordsman uncomfortable if he thought on it too long.
With great vigor, the wounded warrior unwittingly makes his way towards the Vasty Deep gate.