New Horizons - Open

[Makoto Kiyoshi]

Makoto couldn't deny himself the thrill felt from experimenting with this boy. The fighter was a good test subject. There were no test subjects while on duty as a shinobi. No specimens in battles to the death. One didn't have time to study an enemy so in depth in the midst of battle with the stake of life on the line. To much analysis would cause them to get an upper hand. Any possible weakness had to be exploited quickly. Any openings were taken advantage of instantly. Battles were too fast paced, too unpredictable. It was a different manner of training while on duty all together.

Days where you constantly fought. Only fought. Mastering your techniques to an art form. Pursuing the knowledge of your body, mind, and chakra to make it purely at your command. That's what happened on the field as your fought to the death in every battle. And in every battle one Makoto only thought of one thing. His art. Only with interludes such as this was he able to experiment. Makoto was able to ask himself how much his art had evolved after constantly tracing, practicing, discarding what wasn't needed. The jounin was, for a moment, able to see where he was.

And yet...for some reason, he still felt empty. Each battle, each kill, each triumph. They meant almost nothing anymore. He accomplished what he had to because there was no other choice. Makoto should have been happy about them. He should have been thankful for survival so long. However, there was only that emptiness. Back, when he was still a genin, there was a time when he would have been happy about it. Winning, rising in skill beyond others. Becoming ever stronger, but not anymore. This thrill was the closest it came to that sense of satisfaction he had not felt in so long. The thrill and something else.

He had become a void. As much as he wished to deny it, he couldn't. His path had narrowed into the darkness and had faded behind him. With no other alternative, he could only continue. It was that or give up, fail. And he detested that more than continuing. Odd, even though he thought little of himself of occasion there were still no regrets. Though there was no satisfaction if winning, Makoto still held a calm commitment in what he did. He was content with saving others. Now he remembered where the other satisfaction came from once more. The knowledge that others were still saved when he cut down threats. It made him feel lighter.

Makoto drifted closer in his thoughts, watching as the boy struggled to overcome the simple technique he'd been captured in. There was a slight sense of disappointment that clouded in his eyes when it seemed too much for the boy. For a while, Makoto thought he'd killed the fighter. Then the boy was back. He was bloody and bruised now, but still intact. Was that the limit of his strength? Like an animal backed into a corner, he still wished to struggle in the fight even if it meant his death. Makoto stopped his advance, leaving a yard between them. Taking in that feral smile and the words that sounded more foolhardy than brave, a small hum of disapproval finally escaped his lips.

Full strength.

Everything Makoto had at his disposal. The boy wasn't ready for it and he needed to understand that. To seek mastering your art was one thing. To die for it, however, was another. What was the point in planting a see if you never even wished to see it sprout beautifully in the first place? Makoto had yet to get teach anything to this one. Maybe the jounin needed to work on his teaching methods. Either that or this was just a student that refused to learn.

"No," Makoto stated in boredom while shaking his head from side to side. To use full strength, to hold nothing back, would be the same as killing this boy in cold blood without purpose as he was now. "Yet,I still commend the skill you've displayed so far. So I will draw my sword." The fighter probably didn't realize that Makoto was doing him an honor, but the jounin didn't worry. The blade at his side should be more than enough to sate him. Then the shinobi would call this spar to a halt, despite the outcome. After, Makoto hope the boy would take the time to listen to the words behind actions. Maybe then the lesson would bear fruit and the experiment would see a successful result.

The hiss of his blade being released into the air seemed unnatural. The sword even hummed in anticipation. As if it was a key to an unseen door, the blade's freedom seemed to unleash something else. Something more. Makoto still stood within a void as the emptiness never faded. However, now there was a vortex of killing intent that surrounded the void. Calm, controlled, focused, deadly, dangerous. The blade invited the thought of bloodshed from both the opponent and the man who wielded it.

To take the life of another was no small feat. However, some validated their very existence on this within the world of shinobi. Stay alive and reduce the opponent to nothing, that would allow you truth and meaning within your existence. Makoto was not one of those people. However, he had to kill and do things others would not. As a result he had been dragged into that circle without realizing it. A circle of death. Not touching the jounin, but always trapping him within. Kill to live, kill to survive, kill those who wished for revenge. Kill. All of them taken seriously, with his sword drawn. The illusion dropped, no longer needed. But the world still seemed just as twisted around Makoto. The jounin had to conserve the chakra.

Makoto had to be serious in skill without becoming serious in heart otherwise he would claim this boy's life. Use of chakra would only confuse that by giving the sense of the enemy being a threat to his life. To a lesser ninja, Makoto would have been overwhelming. A void within a circle of death. The shinobi may as well have been the shinigami himself. Makoto took a stance, left foot sliding up while bringing the sword back to hide behind his person. "Do not falter," he said to the fighter. The boy couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed by this. Not if he sought to face Makoto at his fullest.

[Ryuusei]

Not a moment had passed as he pressed one hand on his bo-staff and pressed it into the ground. His eyes showing the gallant nature of combat that had soon pursued him and his characteristics of power and strength. A vigorous spirit was he that this fight would finally be one of a serious nature. Something told him that he should not hold back on this one. That instead of keeping himself from this battle to its limit, he should fight with all the strength he had. The calming of the man's voice told him that he would be something of a bother in nature, as the "No" signaled. Was he really not going to attack with his full power? But then a hint of excitement was felt from this man. The cold air felt from him had turned and changed into something else, maybe he also had some sort of passion within him? It was hard to tell.

"Thanks, now that I know what I'm up against, guess I can't hold back anymore either."

His voice had also changed. His eyes had become much more powerful than they were before, not so much powerful but feral. The true passion of combat had began to arise in him as he started to maneuver his hand through his back pocket, his baggy pants being held up by a sash or belt. Rumbling through them, he revealed a pair of gloves. These gloves were his fathers, his most prized possessions. Along with his necklace he always kept these close with him, and with them he could fight with his truest spirit. Grasping them both, he placed them on his hands, the steel padding against the top shining, showing many dents and dings within them, many more than what his special staff did.

He watched him. The spirit he displayed before burning even more through the atmosphere once again colliding with the cold aura he showed throughout. The instinct of his true power would be shown through this battle as it collided with his opponents own showing that this battle would be once more, truly a sight to behold in his eyes. Ryuusei had taken a serious look, His fingers and body still hurt from such a battle, he wasn't phased so bad due to his tough body, as that attack had sufficient force but nothing driving it over. It was basically like a gale force wind without a tornadoes power. He recovered from it quickly, and thus was ready for this round once more.

"A kenjutsu user, hm? And from your stance quite strong... something that shouldn't be trifled with, this pressure you have, amazing..."

Getting into his own stance as he stood by, having nothing to say about his current predicament. Though frowning on the outside, happy on the outside, a truly strong opponent and someone who he could finally fight against that was a ninja of substantial strength. Would he truly win or lose against such a force to be reckoned with. His fists gripping slowly gaining more tension into them. This unease that he felt within his power made Ryuusei feel beyond himself for an instant. But it was a good unease knowing that during this battle his absolute best would be tested. The instinct to win was a mental battle. A battle of wills, and a battle of skills. If you had neither you'd lose, if you had both your chances of winning were higher.

"I won't."

His focus had arisen, as the wind's blew against them both, Ryuusei on the bottom of the mountain's slope and Makoto on the top. A find example of the underdog versus the superior opponent. It only made him excited at the constant struggle. Taking away what could be considered the truth of his limits and making notion of what he could exceed. He would have to evolve, and through this battle he would. Using his best weapons, his hand to hand much stronger than his weaponry skills, it made sense that he would be at full tilt. Taking on an armed opponent with not only ninja skills but swordsmanship. He would need his spirit at an all time high, in order to focus and not deter from what he wanted. To beat this opponent and claim one more victory to besting any and all ninja that he considered strong. To show the strength of true martial arts.

Breaking the silence, his body moved forward quickly a dash to accelerate himself forward at speeds faster than he had been moving before. He would not conserve his strength in this battle showing that he wanted a full scale war and not just some pity attack from this man. That sword would either be the one that would cut him down or best him. He would still not kill this man, remembering the words of his mother. Unless absolutely necessary he would never kill someone for his own benefit. His legs accelerated him into combat as in a flash he would come towards his opponent from his right side, the smoke from his movement trail showing. Accelerating his right arm in a gesture of one fluid movement, he took it upon himself to attack with an original from his base training...

'Taste the Matchless Fist, signature technique!'

His fist would begin to tighten as it went towards his opponents left side with vigorous speed. The flash of lightning between such a strike as it attacked with a vicious move pulling forth as he lifted his foot forward. And with an explosive wave of kiai, the attack released through even more speed, accelerating even further with tremendous force in it. His first true use of this skill in combat.

'LIGHTNING STRIKE!'

A skill developed from his father as a skill that used short range explosive movements to move quickly and attack with high speed. Those who had mastered it had mastered the precision of the fist and body within unison. Even though a low-level skill, it was feared in combat due to its tremendous speed and power.

[[Lightning Strike - [Shuurai]
A signature skill of the Matchless Style. The user attacks with a strike that is made for quick yet powerful short strikes. In that when using an attack, the user takes the shortest route to a punch instead of a full body burst. This punch is released with impressive speed and power. The user adds in kiai in order to reinforce the blow and strike with even more impressive force. It's a punch that can end a fight relatively quickly if done correctly.

You can understand this technique better by thinking of how a gun works. A bullet, by itself, is hardly damaging. Put this bullet inside a gun, mix gunpowder with a spark, and the bullet shoots out at high speed. The bullet is users' fist, the speed is the gunpowder and the spark is kiai.]]

[Makoto Kiyoshi]

Who would the average person consider responsible for the sins of a ninja? Staring this boy down, Makoto wondered as the cycle of death around his sword seemed to bleed. Pools of blood, contradicting the thirst the blade seemed to have, creeping around him and trying to touch him through the void. Once Makoto's master took his blade and sharpened it after Makoto's first kill. Torn by the stress of the action, Makoto could only listen as he rambled.

"I wonder if I'm just as much to blame as you. Like this sword, I forged and sharpened you. Slowly, bit by bit, I watched the blade become fine and deadly. Sometimes I think I do more harm than good. Sometimes I consider retiring. How many people have been killed by the swords I've created? Even if I did retire, would I still sharpen them? Make them lethal again to make the cuts all the more clear? Should I be appalled by myself when I look upon you in pride?"

At the time, Makoto barely understood anything. He just saw a new man before him, hunched over sharpening equipment. The only thing his fragile mind could question at the time was, "Then why are you still sharpening the blades?"

"They say that the weapon made is a reflection of self...Perhaps I just want to see my weapons better than any others. But...Deep down I want to say that I want to awake something within. Shinobi are weapons and at the same time they're different. In comparison to a blade, one would say that the blade's spirit would be the ninja's potential. I want to awaken that, if only just once, see it flourish with as much beauty as the setting sun. Maybe even more. I want to see a sword...stop being a sword."

At that moment, he stopped and look towards Makoto. It shocked the teen from his stupor and the image burned into his mind forever more. "I want to see you become a work of art, Makoto."

Back in the present, the world began to move again. Makoto now understood more than he ever did before. Makoto could see it now, this boy's art. More than a weapon. He was as aware of it as he was his own. And the jounin wanted to watch both of them grow even more beautiful. The purity of white. A deepness of blue. A color of richness that existed only within the summer sky. That was what awaited the boy, but he was still clouded. As for Makoto, that sunset still seemed so far. He was still stuck within a state of twilight. Rich in his own right, but not in a state he wanted.

The circle of death around him finally receded. Makoto felt humbled. Who would have thought this experiment would have caused such a result? All it had taken to remind him of himself was a simple spar. The shinobi felt more at ease than he had in a long time. He even wanted to see if he could bring the fighter a little closer to his art. Not merely for the sake of controlling an experiment, or results in data. Makoto honestly wanted to see the beauty his master had sought to bring about in another.

A light wind that wasn't of Makoto's doing, drifted passed. The wind, the trees, the earth, the water, and Makoto himself all felt the same. One in entirety. The lines blurring where one began and the others ended. Makoto could feel the world and he was one with it.

The boy's charge seemed slow, as if moving through water. However, there was a grace there that hadn't been before. He could see the art in his movements. There were at least a dozen ways to end him, but the all seemed unneeded. The all seemed graceless. So when the boy was upon him Makoto matched art with art. He didn't move, he changed. The jounin pulled his sword into everything. With that Makoto felt complete. There was no longer a void, there was a mixture of heaven and earth.

He drifted around the punch, the fist close enough for the force to graze him. Flowing to the right, slowly as he brought his sword around, trapped in the same state his opponent was currently in. He lashed out with a single cut. There was the faintest of ripples that washed over the blade. A sign of control and finesse. Not a movement wasted. The trail it left seemed to be as bright as the sun within Makoto's eyes. This is was his art. This is what he wanted to show his master. This is what he wanted the boy to see and understand.

Notes: What I had on loop while writing if you're curious.

[Ryuusei]

'He dodged the Lightning Strike?!'

There was a short interval from which Ryuusei had done the attack and actually attacked with what he had done so. The characteristics of the Lightning Strike quickly foiled by what would appear to be an opponent which had the strong urge to be superior. He couldn't doubt himself due to this however, taking back his senses for that moment as the sword flew at him at a moments notice. The sword came towards him at an unparalleled speed. The amount of speed taking Ryuusei off-guard.

'I gotta protect my arms and dodge it!'

His arms pulling back and his legs dropping against the ground as he tried to leap away in time for the sword strike, the split second amounted to what would appear to be a extremely rapid strike in the wind. The blade seemingly reaching nothing but what would be his image. Slowly, the wind blew as he landed against the ground. A sharp pain on his chest from the power of the sword strike as he gritted his teeth. It was an amazing feeling, being cut by a blade at such high speed. Ryuusei dodged quick enough to avoid his vitals being cut, so this was just a strong cut, but sweat graced Ryuusei's head, more so than before a she grasped his chest. Keeping an eye on his opponent.

'What speed, he's much faster than me, that movement as well so fast, so quick, I could barely dodge the attack fast enough!'

He learned something from that strike, that his opponent was still just toying with him. After all, if he hadn't been, that slash would of been much faster and much more lethal. A swordsmaster with such skills while also being a ninja. This had to be some sort of joke. A ninja having the skills based in their ability with physical combat when they had such a branding of combat skills in their actual techniques. Was it really that big, the gap between him and Ryuusei? It had to be a trick... A sort of aggravated look appeared on Ryuusei's face as he began to get back in stance.

Waving his palms around slowly revolving them in a circular path. Ryuusei needed to understand more, to understand that this opponent was one of which he had to fight fully against. If he didn't fight against him he couldn't understand or master the ways of his martial arts. Their was something he had up his sleeve more as an ace in the hole towards this battle. He hadn't used his Shuuchuu against him at this level yet, the level of focus and determination a true Matchless Fist principle user would. The barrier was erected as he focused the surrounding powers into erecting it fully.

To become stronger was Ryuusei's dream and now that he had met someone superior to him in close combat, he needed to erect that power to adapt, that growth that he'd need in order to fight against him. He needed to use that skill... Over and over he practiced it against his mother, the skill that would allow him to bypass a swords offense and get into his defense. Beginning his movement towards his opponent, his hands moved quickly forward utilizing the aura he would try to focus his abilities on reacting to his opponents skills and movements. Taking his time to mount an offense against his opponent. Going on the defensive could get him killed just as much as the defensive. Because a good defense was an impressive offense, attacking aggressively and keeping the opponent on their toes. Whoever slipped up first would lose this battle.

Slipping into another attack, circling around his opponent with another great dash from a one-eighty perspective towards his opponent he would attack with another "Lightning Strike, motioning to deepen the attack patterns he made taking things into his own accord. All he needed was one good strike, maybe that speed was all he had. Ryuusei knew all too well however, that speed was one of the most important combat applications in battle. Without the speed to wield an attack you couldn't use an attack properly and you would fail. Ryuusei needed to move at a higher speed than his opponent. Much higher.

Right towards his head, accelerating his arm once again, he would release a mass wave of kiai through the air for each attack. Screaming with the fury of his body attacking with its full power.

[Makoto Kiyoshi]

The feeling was unlike any other Makoto had felt before. There was a gentleness about him, within the air around him. It felt comfortable. A cloud of peace that put him at ease. The distance had widened between him and the fighter so slowly, but he barely brought his mind to notice. He was so preoccupied with this new state of being that he'd found. What was this softness in the air. So different from the void. A product of the oneness he held with heaven and earth. Was it simply a balance he found? No, there was balance within the void. This was different.

This was softer. What got softer the deeper it became? A riddle with multiple answers. If Makoto had to place it, he found that "confidence" was the closest to bring all of it into one word. Makoto's confidence didn't weaken, but it grew softer. Unnoticed and unnecessary. He had been looking down on the fighter just because he abstained from branches Makoto had been raised to hold dear without ever realizing it. Now he saw him as an equal. Another man trying to strengthen his art to its most beautiful form. A fighting spirit that grew only stronger as the days went by.

This fight had awakened Makoto's own spirit. Driving it to seek out the perfection it once struggled so desperately for. And in the face of this adversary it only grew tougher. Believe in yourself: confidence. Have faith in your art: fighting spirit. More and more as it invaded the enviroment around you and mixed into it. Only then would you become one with heaven and earth. Makoto could allow himself the thoughts of invincibility so long as he stayed within this state. And there was that budding curiosity: What if I could take it further?

Was he still even experimenting anymore? How had he suddenly become the test subject of his own work? Just what was it about the other equation. In the beginning the equation was himself and the boy's growth would be a resulting factor. Now he was at the center and within the result. The shinobi had never noticed the lines blurring between them. He wanted to ask for answers. However, deep in his mind, he already knew. A similar spirit which drew out the spirit of another. The two of them were so opposite, yet so equal and alike.

Taking note of the fighter, actually looking at him completely, his mind wanted to be bogged down with everything the eyes beheld. Seeing everything in its entirety, effortlessly. Truly seeing. However, he only looked at the art. The fact that he cut the boy didn't matter. The curiosity if his sword had inflicted it while in his hands, he didn't dwell upon. They stood still, his opponent may be seeing everything he did. However, Makoto didn't move to press the advantage. Why? In all honesty, he was afraid. What if he lost this completeness? The jounin didn't want to risk that. There was still so much he'd yet to find within it, like he was only touching the surface of a pond.

Makoto's stance loosened as his opponent took his own once more. Then the fighter charged again. Makoto let his art guide him. The attack was faster, still slow, but much faster. Rippling waves of air flowed all around the two as the distance closed once more, not unlike water, disturbed not by brutishness or rampant desperation. No, they weren't even 'disturbed' they flowed around them. Melding, mixing, and molding into new patterns. The fighter's fists lashed out like hail. Falling on him unrelenting. Makoto could only change.

Ducking under the first, moving out of reach yet touching close similar to air. Deflecting a second, one arm leaving the hilt of his blade, yielding and redirecting like wood. However, the assault continued and Makoto realized that dodging was no longer an option. This dance was too fierce. The art was too vibrant to go ignored. He put up a guard, unyielding like rock. A fist cracked against it with a sound of thunder. Then...Blood flew. His own. So hot it seared his skin. Was it deep? No, it couldn't be as Makoto could still see, feel, and hear. A deep gash crossed his temple. Warm red life liquid leaking down and covering one eye with a red hued lighting.

Still Makoto had come to far into the change. He flowed like water now and lashed out like lightning. Stepping gracefully, even as he tried to dodge more blows. One hit may be the end of him and that would mean losing. Not losing the battle or spar or whatever this was. It would mean losing this state. The oneness. Though still fluid and true to form, his attacks were off mark. Normally, they were killing blows to end another and Makoto was too deep in this intoxication to make them otherwise. However, with a haze in one eye and one arm attempting to lessen hits the cuts would be shallow if they touched.

Bruises were developing, he was sure, but the aches were pushed aside. Cuts were forming, but the stinging was ignored. Exhaustion that was quickly building up from prior jutsu and this dance that had quickly escalated, he ran from. This swirling art took all of his attention. He wanted to see it completed. Then he saw it, an opening. Another was aimed for his head, but the chin was left open. His free arm, instead of blocking or deflecting aimed for that one opening with all its might as his foot rooted strong enough to the earth to crack it.

(OOC: I was hoping we could end the fight in a cross counter here and then have one last aftermath post each since you're going to be leaving.)

[Ryuusei]

(That's cool).

His attack pressed onward, the spirit of his own making drove him to becoming that much more spirited in the competition. He felt the blocking of the swords length against his fist cracking against it. He knew that his opponents swiftness has become something much more appealing, as a seemingly art form glided the blade of which he used. He would not allow himself to fall for its elegance, he would need to master it. Master his own art through the use of his abilities. Working himself in battle to be faster, stronger, better.

The appearance of his next assault within a collision of spirits he began to feel a change within his soul. His opponent seemed meeker to assaults, was he caught off-guard by the techniques he was using? Or was it something else. It began to build, that spirit of battle burning inside of him, he hadn't mistaken it as anything more than a battle of strong versus the strong. As it couldn't be called anything but that in the grand scheme of things and the diversion that nothing in this battle could be more than what it was. A battle. A battle to evolve, to exist as something and improve as a way of develop.

"Come on, damn you, fight back don't cower, face to face we fight as warriors, as the strong versus the strong! I won't just allow your arms to be weighed by the sting of my punches!"

Before he had stopped his attack. He would switch himself and go behind his opponents back, leaving once more a trail of smoke through it all, within the split second he attacked. That attack finally had broken through the defensive wall, smashing him in his temple with great might as he would need to go for his next attack. He couldn't let up on his oppositions attacks. His eyes began to flash through the thick of it all. Understanding what he needed to do, he came to the conclusion. Faster and faster, he'd need to move higher and higher. A barrage, a barrage of hits at such speeds they couldn't be defended against. He would up the ante needing to push his body to its absolute.

'Faster, faster, faster, faster!'

As the blade had began coming his eyes were ready for the next attack, his bodies cells had intensified for their true potential to be let out. The sword coming at speeds so quick that it would be a close exchange of combat. It took nothing but what would be wanted most, the intensified speed that he wanted, shifting his weight to go head-on against the challenge of his sword. The challenge of a life time had began to rise within him, acceleration of his limb came faster this time. Shifting his foot into the ground as well, as he gritted his teeth, screaming loudly as an explosive kiai ran throughout his body.

'Accelerate faster, accelerate until that speed cannot be seen anymore!'

The explosiveness of the attack shifted until it completely disappeared and took forth the defenseless notion of his opponents face. The grasp that with his sword this battle would end was no concept within the mind of the relentless youth. A blast of wind released as his arm disappeared from sight and the sword hit its mark deeply pressing into his skin. The jettisoned attack of his fist into the opponents face. There it was, an enhanced "Lightning Strike". That strike faster than any strike so far he'd used.

"HA!"

As the fist was swung with great might. Ryuusei watched as instead of his sword, his fist was closed within this attack. The release of the attack came with a collision of two souls. The souls of a fighter and the souls of a ninja. The twos collisions rang as a spread of pressure from the release made it known throughout. The expression of force came through with a swirl of wind.

[Makoto Kiyoshi]

The world exploded around him and his opponent in the clash. The ground cracked, taking the form of a spiderweb along the ground that grew quickly. Various parts of rock suddenly sunk into the ground as land shifted, disturbed by the sudden stalemate. The winds howled, retreating far from their simultaneous impacts to leave them in a unmoving center. It was as if the intensity of their fight had scared the air around them as the whipped violently a few feet around their bodies, agitated and wary of touching them. To any outsider, the two would have looked like they'd been briefly within the eye of a hurricane.

Makoto reeled back as that one blow allowed everything to catch up with him, barely staying on his feet. For a moment, he blacked out. Drifting in a pool of darkness until the pain of his crumpling body suddenly striking the ground forced him back into consciousness. His throat burned and craved water as badly as it sought out air. Even as he heaved air desperately, his lungs still longed for more which was only made more difficult with the weight that seemed to settle on his chest. Sweat poured from his form in a constant tide, making his clothes damp and heavy. Though minor, the sheer number of bruises and cuts inflicted were enough for his body to protest the thoughts of more movement. That was fine, Makoto was content with just staring up into the sky for a couple of seconds.

Just how long had this duel lasted? The sun was already passed its point of being high in the sky. Noon had came and went with little notice. Clouds drifted by innocently, unconcerned with the battle below. Even though turning his head was a chore, Makoto also looked around at the destruction they'd caused. Deciding that was enough lying around, he pushed his worn body into a sitting position. Noting that his sword was still clutched tightly in his fist, he stared at it. "How long have you been waiting for me to listen?"

He sighed as he stiffly pulled the sheath from his side. Carefully, he pushed the blade back into its resting place as its work was done for the time being. Far from over, Makoto mulled. However, he needed time to recover before trying to seek out the state he'd stumbled upon. Everything attached to his body felt so heavy right now. Limbs were stiff and held a clunky dead weight that felt foreign to him. Taking the time to check himself over, it was safe to say that he was a disheveled mess. Dried blood was still flaking from the side of his face from the cut on his temple and his lip was busted. Those were probably the worst of his damages.

A hot soak was definitely on the agenda tonight. A long hot soak. What of the fighter, he wondered. Throughout the course of battle Makoto had lessened the pull from the full front of his attacks. If any serious injuries had befallen him, then Makoto would have to take responsibility.