06-24-2018, 06:00 AM
Hijiri scowled.
“Get back!” he roared, as a flash of white light burst outwards from his body for an instant. When it passed, his Original Form was revealed.
In this transformation, rather than having rabbit ears on his head, the Director bore a small pair of dark wings in their place. This was the truth of his people. The Battle Rabbits, before they had been Battle Rabbits, had been angelic beings of immense power, and though those days were now long since past, the strongest of his kind could still attain such a form on occasion. And Hijiri himself was, of course, amongst that esteemed group.
Fenrir snorted dismissively, then smirked at him, looking the Rabbit up and down, “And just what are you supposed to be, pretty boy? A valkyrie? You’re certainly effeminate enough, I can’t deny.”
The Wolfpack thugs had ceased firing in order to allow their leader's snide, little comment to be heard, whilst TTG retreated as instructed… though a few of the braver medics darted forwards to grab a wounded comrade before doing so. It wasn’t necessarily the most sensible course of action, but it pleased the Director to see his people looking out for each other even so.
“I am Takanomiya Hijiri, Director of the Takanomiya Group. Your reign ends here, Jarl.”
The Jarl opened his mouth for another sly remark, but by then he had already missed his chance. Hijiri had darted past him in an awe-inspiring burst of speed.
From the moment he struck the first of the goons, the Battle Rabbit lost track of the wider conflict almost entirely. His whole world became a blur of flashing steel, flailing limbs and fountains of blood erupting like geysers from open wounds.
His foes could not touch him. He wove between the peons with ease. Few of them even managed to turn to face him before he’d cut them down, let alone actually make any attempt at striking their slayer. And those who did manage that could only watch as he slid out of the way like a ghost, and then they died like everyone else.
The Director caught a brief glimpse of Fenrir’s baleful expression as the great hulk of a man cast his gaze after the spinning, racing Rabbit. Dashing through the massed members of the NSW, Hijiri was reduced to little more than a red-stained blur surrounded by a corona of spurting blood.
Seeing their leader wreaking havoc, his gangsters were emboldened and opened fire, gunning down ever more of the enemy, even as they continued to swarm into the building in an unending tide. Snarling, the Jarl dashed in Hijiri’s direction, putting on an impressive turn of speed himself.
He could not match for the Battle Rabbit’s pace, though, and Hijiri danced away just as effortlessly as he had from all the others, leaving Fenrir raging impotently in his wake.
As he cut through masses upon masses of minions, he encountered three people who stood out. The three he had seen on their broadcast, following the death of the stormtrooper squad he had been working with. A young woman with a psychotic grin and one of the most absurd weapons conceivable, a behemoth in a grey tracksuit, and an old witch.
The girl was enthusiastic, but ultimately little more difficult to overcome than a run of the mill thug. She swung her awful armament his way—a cross between a flail and numerous buzzsaws—but all the Director needed to do was take a step to the side and grab one of the chains out of the air. He swung it around a couple times, standing still for under a second, then flicked his wrist, burying the buzzing blade in the girl’s neck.
Gasping, she staggered backwards, dropping her ludicrous tool to clutch at her throat. And then he was past her. The next he came across, a little later, was the big man, who actually took him by surprise, lashing out before Hijiri had even noticed him. He wasn’t as fast as the Battle Rabbit, but surprise had given him an edge, and he managed to snag Hijiri’s wrist, immobilising his sword arm.
The fat bastard pulled the Director towards him, likely intent on trying to pin him down. He wasn’t expecting to see the Heavenly Weapon: Desert Eagle manifesting in a burst of light in Hijiri’s empty hand, though. In an instant, the pistol was pressed up against his chin. In the next, his head had burst apart in a shower of blood and brain matter.
Slipping free, the Rabbit carried on, hacking and slashing through a mob of gangsters in black, leather biker jackets, until he came upon the little, old woman in their midst. Thick, oily shadows rose up before him, beginning to coalesce into the shapes of beasts, monsters and demons.
His katana tore them apart like sheets of paper, scattering wisps of smoke as he passed through the swarm of apparitions without slowing. The hag’s magic was like nothing he had yet encountered, either here or in his own reality… but it made little difference; her spells seemed to require time to forge whatever foul beings she was aiming to conjure, and the Rabbit was simply too fast for her.
In a single swipe of his sword he had taken her head. In a matter of seconds, the gang's leadership corps—who had proven insurmountable foes to the stormtroopers he had previously fought alongside—had been mown down like blades of grass. From there he moved on seamlessly, slaying another swathe of foes, before his attention was snatched away from his own conflict by a new chorus of screams.
Leaving the remaining NSW gangsters to flee in terror, he turned to see Jarl Fenrir tearing his people apart. Clearly having gotten fed up chasing the elusive Rabbit’s shadow, the brute had turned and charged his allies instead. They could no more stand against his rampage than the Wolfpack had been able to deal with Hijiri’s onslaught.
Covered from head to toe in blood, expression wrathful, the Director faced his counterpart in silence for a moment, catching his breath, and then he was moving again, his gun vanishing and his upraised blade flashing in the light as he bore down upon the barbaric norseman.
“Get back!” he roared, as a flash of white light burst outwards from his body for an instant. When it passed, his Original Form was revealed.
In this transformation, rather than having rabbit ears on his head, the Director bore a small pair of dark wings in their place. This was the truth of his people. The Battle Rabbits, before they had been Battle Rabbits, had been angelic beings of immense power, and though those days were now long since past, the strongest of his kind could still attain such a form on occasion. And Hijiri himself was, of course, amongst that esteemed group.
Fenrir snorted dismissively, then smirked at him, looking the Rabbit up and down, “And just what are you supposed to be, pretty boy? A valkyrie? You’re certainly effeminate enough, I can’t deny.”
The Wolfpack thugs had ceased firing in order to allow their leader's snide, little comment to be heard, whilst TTG retreated as instructed… though a few of the braver medics darted forwards to grab a wounded comrade before doing so. It wasn’t necessarily the most sensible course of action, but it pleased the Director to see his people looking out for each other even so.
“I am Takanomiya Hijiri, Director of the Takanomiya Group. Your reign ends here, Jarl.”
The Jarl opened his mouth for another sly remark, but by then he had already missed his chance. Hijiri had darted past him in an awe-inspiring burst of speed.
From the moment he struck the first of the goons, the Battle Rabbit lost track of the wider conflict almost entirely. His whole world became a blur of flashing steel, flailing limbs and fountains of blood erupting like geysers from open wounds.
His foes could not touch him. He wove between the peons with ease. Few of them even managed to turn to face him before he’d cut them down, let alone actually make any attempt at striking their slayer. And those who did manage that could only watch as he slid out of the way like a ghost, and then they died like everyone else.
The Director caught a brief glimpse of Fenrir’s baleful expression as the great hulk of a man cast his gaze after the spinning, racing Rabbit. Dashing through the massed members of the NSW, Hijiri was reduced to little more than a red-stained blur surrounded by a corona of spurting blood.
Seeing their leader wreaking havoc, his gangsters were emboldened and opened fire, gunning down ever more of the enemy, even as they continued to swarm into the building in an unending tide. Snarling, the Jarl dashed in Hijiri’s direction, putting on an impressive turn of speed himself.
He could not match for the Battle Rabbit’s pace, though, and Hijiri danced away just as effortlessly as he had from all the others, leaving Fenrir raging impotently in his wake.
As he cut through masses upon masses of minions, he encountered three people who stood out. The three he had seen on their broadcast, following the death of the stormtrooper squad he had been working with. A young woman with a psychotic grin and one of the most absurd weapons conceivable, a behemoth in a grey tracksuit, and an old witch.
The girl was enthusiastic, but ultimately little more difficult to overcome than a run of the mill thug. She swung her awful armament his way—a cross between a flail and numerous buzzsaws—but all the Director needed to do was take a step to the side and grab one of the chains out of the air. He swung it around a couple times, standing still for under a second, then flicked his wrist, burying the buzzing blade in the girl’s neck.
Gasping, she staggered backwards, dropping her ludicrous tool to clutch at her throat. And then he was past her. The next he came across, a little later, was the big man, who actually took him by surprise, lashing out before Hijiri had even noticed him. He wasn’t as fast as the Battle Rabbit, but surprise had given him an edge, and he managed to snag Hijiri’s wrist, immobilising his sword arm.
The fat bastard pulled the Director towards him, likely intent on trying to pin him down. He wasn’t expecting to see the Heavenly Weapon: Desert Eagle manifesting in a burst of light in Hijiri’s empty hand, though. In an instant, the pistol was pressed up against his chin. In the next, his head had burst apart in a shower of blood and brain matter.
Slipping free, the Rabbit carried on, hacking and slashing through a mob of gangsters in black, leather biker jackets, until he came upon the little, old woman in their midst. Thick, oily shadows rose up before him, beginning to coalesce into the shapes of beasts, monsters and demons.
His katana tore them apart like sheets of paper, scattering wisps of smoke as he passed through the swarm of apparitions without slowing. The hag’s magic was like nothing he had yet encountered, either here or in his own reality… but it made little difference; her spells seemed to require time to forge whatever foul beings she was aiming to conjure, and the Rabbit was simply too fast for her.
In a single swipe of his sword he had taken her head. In a matter of seconds, the gang's leadership corps—who had proven insurmountable foes to the stormtroopers he had previously fought alongside—had been mown down like blades of grass. From there he moved on seamlessly, slaying another swathe of foes, before his attention was snatched away from his own conflict by a new chorus of screams.
Leaving the remaining NSW gangsters to flee in terror, he turned to see Jarl Fenrir tearing his people apart. Clearly having gotten fed up chasing the elusive Rabbit’s shadow, the brute had turned and charged his allies instead. They could no more stand against his rampage than the Wolfpack had been able to deal with Hijiri’s onslaught.
Covered from head to toe in blood, expression wrathful, the Director faced his counterpart in silence for a moment, catching his breath, and then he was moving again, his gun vanishing and his upraised blade flashing in the light as he bore down upon the barbaric norseman.
![[Image: Hijiri_Name_Sig.png]](https://image.ibb.co/k1H7Hd/Hijiri_Name_Sig.png)