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Old 03-09-2019, 11:48 PM   #1
Bukowski
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Default The Celestial Fist II: The Dueling Dragons

On the last episode of the Celestial Fist II: The Kraken's Wrath

The Celestial Fist II (p2)

/The Dueling Dragons/

Deep within the woods of Seirei no Shima, the Island of Spirits, there were two figures of impressive stature and power. They moved with a quickness and fervor, the taller of the two slashing at trees as they passed them--they moved erratically but with focus and their focus seemed to be on leaving a bread trail.

A foolish errand on an island that served as a cage for demons.

The two held great power and they lacked the fear that came with being powerless. Whether from comfort, confidence or conceit the duo were in their element on the Island of Spirits. They looked young, determined and battle hardened--shaped by a world of violence and destruction. The shinobi world was a callous one and glory often came with gore and was garnished with death. Even then, there was one thing that had shook that world of violence and death and murder and deceit to it's very core.

The power of the bijuu.

"We waste time Baekho! We're no quicker to finding Sanshiro and the false dragon! Is that tiger leading you astray?"

"Nyah! The tiger remains caged Qing-chan! This is a Baekho production! Hee-hee~!"

"What? But how do you expect to search for these men without the beast's senses?"

"Ho-ho~! Why so concerned Qing-chan? It's almost out of character!"

"I'm not concerned about you--I'm concerned about our search!"

"He-he~! You still don't get it Qing-chan, we're not searching for them..."

"Then what are we doing?"

"We're making them search for us!"

~~~

The Fist was on edge.

The jungle was not the most welcoming of places, Fist was a true city slicker. He enjoyed Konohagakure which remained an iconic metropolis with a small town feel and he vacationed in Metsubishi where the beer was cold, the weather was warm and the women were everything in between. This was of course as far from a vacation as could be and he looked the part as he slashed away the brush with his sword and stared at the shorter caramel skinned man behind him.

"This some bullshit and shit."

Battle hadn't effect his speech...

It had effected his appearance.

Shirtless and still barring the wings he had grown on the ship that had brought them here, his belt holding his tools and the sheath for his katana, his pants bloodied and dirty. A Leaf headband tied to his forehead. Still, not a bead of sweat coated his body, the Celestial Body regulating his temperature with a natural and instinctual skill. His mind was working much harder than his body...

Masakage had dared Sanshiro to come to Spirit Island, he had dared him to stop the mad man from turning his own unborn child to a demon vessel. The Sanada enemy was far too chaotic to be trusted with that power and his vested interest in the destruction of his kin made this a personal mission for Fist. Hitoko, a Sennin from Sand, had vowed to assist Fist in bringing an end to his traitorous uncle's scheme.

The Dragon Emperor had called Masakage's bluff just as willing as The Fist had.

It was only after facing the Jinchuriki Huyen Vu that Fist began to think, in the refuges and corners of his mind, that perhaps he was in over his head. Perhaps it had been foolish to simply walk into his enemies trap.

But did he know any other way but to face what was in front of him with a tenacity and resolve that could ignite a bottle rocket and send it to the moon? Hitoko was of a similar ilk.

If you were gonna fight, you should do it with a dragon at your side and you should do it all the way.

"You see that ahead? Those claw marks--third of the sae type I've seen, that's a trail if I ever saw one...which, uh, I think I just did and shit."

He blinked uneasily.

He sheathed his blade, his wings stretched...

"You feelin' lucky Dragon?"

__________________

MEMBER OF THE MUTHAFUCKIN' YEAR!
Don of the Sanada Family
Leaf & Grass Lieutenant



Let's end the speculation, I'm talkin' to all of y'all
Males shouldn't be jealous, that's a female trait
What, you mad ‘cause you push dimes and he sell weight?
Y'all don't know my expenses, I gotta buy bigger plates
Hehehe, and more baggies — why you all aggie?
Homie, respect the game, that should be it
What you eat don't make me shit; where's the love?




Last edited by Bukowski; 03-10-2019 at 12:03 AM..
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Old 03-11-2019, 02:10 AM   #2
Hitoko
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You don’t feel the need to reset your stage usages, Fist-kun?

There was an oblivious quality to the way Renchishin Hitoko blinked while stating this inquire. Truth be told, it was a bit of an odd question to ask. A dark index finger poked at one of Sanshiro’s man made wings in jest as he treaded a few steps behind his comrade, his childlike curiosity getting the better of him as the two followed a subtle trail through the jungle.

What happened to conserving chakra?

The Sennin’s words were slick here, fingers now pressed against his thick lips as he burst into a light chuckle. It may have been at his own joke, mind you, but it was amusing. Although he understood the severity of the situation, Hitoko felt it necessary to bring some semblance of balance and peace with him. He was, at heart afterall, a good natured and goofy individual. Albeit chiseled by the adversity the world of the shinobi brought onto him and recognizing the brutal result of these actions, as displayed by the specks of dried crimson sprinkled upon his robe of saffron, Hitoko was, like his late cousin Shigeru, multifaceted. Capable of weaponizing his disarming personality to disarm adversary and misfortune at his leisure, the cheerful aura the Renchishin carried was a badge of honor groomed through a lifetime of martial practice and service. Yes, he may smile big, laugh loud and indulge in comical, and just down right mischievous, antics often – but there was a reason his body was adorned in countless scars.

Renchishin Hitoko wasn’t known as The Dragon Emperor for no reason, after all.

So, when The Fist pointed out the claw marks on their path, Hitoko took the lead with the jovial passion of an explorer. With precise movements the dreadlocked man pushed aside vines and tangled thickets while babbling about the concept of the term komorebi and how it was the literal word that described how beautiful sunlight was while the rays filtered through leaves and trees. It was similar to the way the two shinobi maneuvered through the landscape with confident and ease. This same attentive ease was the exact amount of confidence the Renchishin utilized when pushing through a large set of bushes, right hand curving into a dynamic upward arc fueled by a layer of wind which shattered a projectile of energy into particles of chakra dust that drifted like flakes of snow around the two.

Feeling lucky, you say, Fist-kun?

Chain-blocking and distilling three more claw like projectiles with the seamless integration of Ekitai and Rittaisen kata stances, Hitoko moved with the relaxed and honed grace associated with both styles while attaining a state of simultaneous offense and defense in order to deal with the attacks thrown at his person. A simple punch, palm and elbow strike, accentuated with the ethereal attraction of a calm breeze commodified as its own weapon, was all Hitoko needed to neutralize the threat. The Sennin looked to have not even been phased by the sudden act of aggression, his saffron jacket billowing with a serene demeanor as his body unraveled from its martial posture.

Yes, actually, but we’ll see how fortune smiles on us today, yeah?

Placing the edge of his fingers upon the brim of his eyebrows as a means to block out the sun from above, a wide grin thinned the Dragon’s lips as his ruby eyes focused on a pair of women a good length away. From the jungle emerged a sprawling field of tall grass whose blades, about knee high, danced and shuffled in the wind. Like an academy student greeting classmates at the end of a long training session, Renchishin Hitoko’s other hand shot upward, waving toward the duo in the distance.

Impressive,” Qing Long muttered, her arms folding tighter across her chest, “to ward off your attack with simple hands and feet is no small feat, Baekho– !?

–But her partner, Baekho, wasn’t in the slightest bit concerned. Matching the poise of the false dragon, Baekho lifted both arms in the air and was waving back with a smile that mirrored the man with the ruby eyes.

Whaaaaaa~aaaat? Yes, yes, very, very impressive, impressive! But Byakko gives him 4 out of 10, wouldn’t recommend!

Seiryu speaks a different prophecy...

...be on
on your guard, Fist-kun.”

Wrapping both arms behind his back as they advanced, the realm of courtesy Renchishin Hitoko operated in was, too, odd. Lifting an arm to gesture with a thumb, the ruby eye warrior smiled toward The Fist once more, finding one last moment to hit him with a wisecrack before they’d be in ear shot of their opponents.

Are these your type?

Hitoko's side mission was to find Sanshiro a girlfriend, too, apparently.

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Old 03-14-2019, 11:05 PM   #3
Bukowski
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"I don't got no type Dragon, you already know the type of chicks I like," Fist said with an immature grin, "Well, there was Yuko, Yuka, Fuka and Fuko," he paused for a moment, "Yukiko, Tetsumi, Megumi, Mayoko," he rubbed his chin, "Tomoka, Orika, Ama, Katsumi, Mitsuko..."

He nodded slowly...

"Well, we can't forget Kiyoko," he gripped his sword, "These bitches ain't nuthin' to me!"

The Fist grinned at the women who seemed to look at him with a sort of skepticism--the field was open, there was no place to hide and that rule applied both to the Jinchuriki as it did to the Sennin of Sand and the Jounin of Leaf. Sanshiro gripped his blade, but he walked forward with a certain calm to his posture, one hand on the sword, an old samurai trick taught by his samurai master.

The other hand raised up, non-threateningly.

"Before we fight, I'd like to simply put this out there," he spoke uneasily, "This is a Sanada struggle, it ain't yours. You don't have to fight and die for Masakage's cause and shit, he's only using y'all as tools and shit!"

"As if Konohagakure and Sunagakure are any more noble? The shinobi world have been using our kind as weapons for years! Masakage would at least have us play a role in it!"

"Leaf and Sand ain't here..."

"Ho~ho! And what would you call yourselves? Just random actors in this play, nyah! Foolish! Leaf and Sand send their biggest and most powerful dogs to deal with the Shiseiju! You'll find the tiger cares not for the barkings of shinobi mongrels!"

Fist simply looked down towards the ground, trying to find words to say--the shinobi world wasn't a pure one, but he knew it was more noble than guerilla warfare and terrorism. There were plenty of noble shinobi with honorable hearts and peaceful dreams. For centuries people with bloodlines or demons bound to them had been treated differently. Fist couldn't let that world view gain root.

He saw things in black and white...

His naivette and innocence still remained even after all the blood on his hands.

"Move aside and let us pass," he said finally unsheathing his blade, "Or suffer the same fate as your comrade. I swear on everythin' I muthafuckin' love--I ain't letting you and Masakage get away with this shit."

He flapped his wings...

"There are plenty of people to be fucked with," he spat, "I am not one."
__________________

MEMBER OF THE MUTHAFUCKIN' YEAR!
Don of the Sanada Family
Leaf & Grass Lieutenant



Let's end the speculation, I'm talkin' to all of y'all
Males shouldn't be jealous, that's a female trait
What, you mad ‘cause you push dimes and he sell weight?
Y'all don't know my expenses, I gotta buy bigger plates
Hehehe, and more baggies — why you all aggie?
Homie, respect the game, that should be it
What you eat don't make me shit; where's the love?



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