Post by Koshou on Nov 22, 2022 8:26:06 GMT -5
‘Ugh. Back to this …’
The thought comes easily to Koshou, who finds himself once more training on his own, if only as something of a way to try and relax himself. Working the bases of the sword forms one after the other, the burly Soul Reaper moves from one stance to the next with fluid motions that always strive to push his body to move a little bit faster and ready the next motion a little bit quicker. Still, despite being somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in the mountains of the North Rukon, Koshou can’t help but think back to only a scant month or two ago. In such a short time, he’d grown almost ten times as strong as he was when he was finally given his Shihakusho and assigned to Squad Eleven.
‘It all comes back to the basics. I can’t let myself lose sight of that!’ Trying to put a little bit of urgency into his own thoughts, the man lets loose a little bit of a grunt as he pushes himself even harder, the swing of his sword causing the air to cut with a WHOOSH sound, the wind pressure caused by the displacement of his swing creating a gust of air that blows through the leaves of the trees and bushes that surround him to create a rustling sound that echoes out all around him. As he completes the last of the ceremonial forms, the pseudo kata comes to an end with the sound of his sword’s guard clinking against the scabbard. Turning, it’s only then that the Shinigami allows himself a moment to take in the simple yet amazing beauty that surrounds him.
Out here, up in the mountains all the trappings of even the feudal-styled life of the Soul Society such as they are, fall away and disappear into the distance. Far from the last district in the region, Koshou had come out here to work himself to the bone, to test himself in endurance, and pure grit. Still, having completed this portion of his exercise doesn't stop him from taking a moment to relish the peace and beauty of the nature around him. A strong mountain stream bubbles a little ways away, a guide of sorts as Koshou has been using it to help mark his trail up and down this mountain.
‘I can’t keep relying on picking up extra assignments from other Divisions like I have been. I need to find a way to make a mark for myself, soon ..’ Koshou kneels by the stream, reaching his hand into the cool refreshing water to scoop some up and bring it to his lips. He drinks from the stream in silence for a moment or two and takes a last scoop to splash across his face, hands rubbing at his features to reinvigorate himself. Standing slowly, he lets his lungs fill up with air before releasing it slowly, a cleansing breath. Bending down to pick up the large log he’s precariously tied rudimentary shoulder strap onto, he slips his arms through those to take up the weight.
“Break’s over! Koshou’s Kazuri Berserker training, stage one complete!”
“Huff … huff … wheeze …” Having nearly reached the limits of his endurance for the time being, Koshou struggles to catch his breath as he digs in trying to ignore the burning sensation that encompasses almost his entire body. With that gigantic log still strapped across his shoulders, he continues his trek up the mountainside pacing himself by following the river upward and toward the tributary that spawned it up there somewhere. When he feels he truly can’t take another step without actually damaging himself and beginning to tear and abuse his worn out muscles, the Soul Reaper comes to a halt and wearily tries to toss the log from his shoulders onto the ground once more. It’s more of a sag that simply lets the straps slide from his arms as they go slack, and Koshou allows himself to slump into an exhausted heap on the ground as well.
It’s only a short rest that Koshou allows himself, before he’s slowly but steadily climbing back onto his feet after only a few scant minutes. Looking up, the sun has crested past its zenith, and is well on its way toward its resting place for the evening and taking a few paces off from his resting place, he closes his eyes and takes a moment to block away all the things that surround him. The sound of the stream a small distance away. The sound of the wind as it blows now in late afternoon through the trees that even now stretch up and into the distance as they cover the mountainside that’s still stretched out before him.
‘Why did I wake up with you in my hand? Why does it come easy to me? Why me?’
The uncertainties running through the Shinigami’s mind were familiar ones. The thoughts didn’t come from a place of arrogance in his own abilities, but rather a hidden lack of confidence that often threatened to encroach upon him in private times like these. He often wondered where the foundation for those skills comes from, no memories to draw on or guide him. No sense that he’d known how to use the blade when he’d found it in his grasp, or in the early days that followed. ‘But when I came to the Academy they probably knew there was something to it, then.’
Once. It was all he needed to pick up a new move, or take to heart the lessons they’d taught at the academy in Kendo and strategy. Once to learn it, and a thousand times to master it. ‘Heh. I remember that … that’s the drive I need!’ The memory came unbidden, from his time at the academy. He’d heard it somewhere, perhaps in his former life or from one of the other hopefuls that lined up to apply for acceptance each term. A thousand times practiced, to say you had mastered something. A silly notion to him now, but it had really sat with him back then.
He recalled secluding himself back then, much like he was now, as he was just beginning to learn how to use his sword. Practicing a basic swing of his blade over and over .. so determined to reach that mark he’d set for himself. And that was how he’d approached every new lesson and technique. Practice, over and over … a thousand times over until he could do each form and each movement and motion in his sleep. His hand moved with the intake of his next breath to draw his sword, and once more he began at the beginning, working his way through the ceremonial forms one after the other.
“Puff .. gasp … go tsao de.. ” Koshou gasps as he reaches another checkpoint of sorts, mostly marked by the fact that he’s once more reached his own limits and can’t really push himself any further with the log strapped across his shoulders. Even further up the mountainside but maybe not as much as it seems given the wandering nature of the stream, the air is a little more rarefied and the Shinigami has to reach and gasp for that oxygen for his lungs. This time there’s a definite sag as he slumps over to drop the log onto the ground. The sun has all but set now, and there’s nothing left to do but give himself a few moments to rest, with all the intent of gathering himself shortly to find firewood and other things to build himself a basic place to bunk down for the night. But all too soon he’ll find himself slipping into a weary unconsciousness ..
As vision and consciousness return to the man, Koshou sits up slowly and gives a quiet groan at the soreness and fatigue that have settled into every muscle in his body. It takes him a moment and more to turn his head and glance around to discover that this is not the same place he’d fallen asleep or so it seemed. A small fire that crackles nearby fills the otherwise quiet night air with faint pops and the soft airy flicker of the flames as they dance. A few paces from the small circle of stones that surround the logs of the fire on the other side, is a more surprising sight.
Seen through the veil of the fire, Koshou notes a large but simple stone statue that’s been carved from a large pillar of stone buried into the ground. The statue is nothing special to look at really, carved into the vague relief of a dragon. More surprising still, is the broad-shouldered man garbed in full Samurai armor that kneels before it holding up a stick of lit incense! Nesting the stick of incense into the ground near the base of the statue, the samurai turns to stand after paying his respects to reveal his armor in full glory. Caught by the dancing light of the fire, gold accents the blackened lacquer plates of his armor and gleams across the yellow metal of the mempo that covers his face stylized into the visage of a dragon.
“So, you’ve come.”
Whether or not they were there before, there appear to be logs for sitting surrounding the fire that still crackles on as the samurai approaches it. A gloved hand reaches up to remove the mempo that covers his face … and the smiling friendly expression that’s revealed isn’t so far from the one that’s often set on Koshou’s own! The man’s hand instinctively drops to reach for the hilt of his Zanpakuto never not by his side, but the blade isn’t there. That shock seems more than enough to stun the man, but the armored individual seems content to wait for it to pass as he takes a seat on one of those logs now encircling the fire like a campsite.
“Take your time, Hattori Koshou. My patience has endured this long, it will abide a while longer.” The samurai speaks again, and the voice sounds older despite the youthful face that’s been revealed under the warrior’s helmet. He sets the dragon-faced mempo beside him on the log and extends his gloved hands out toward the fire to warm them. It takes a few more moments for the Soul Reaper to gather himself and really take stock of his surroundings but when he does, he slowly rises to his feet if only long enough to turn and take a seat among the logs somewhat opposite the samurai. The shirtless and simply clothed Koshou took a few precious seconds to observe and study the man on the other side of the flames with a wary eye.
‘Who is this man? Why does he look so familiar to me? Why do I feel like I know his voice? He knows me, that’s clear enough .. but how? Are we still on the mountain?’ Thoughts come racing through the man’s mind as the silence stretches on, trying to come to something like rational conclusions. ‘If he wanted to outright hurt me, he would’ve already. There’s no way he walks around like that and doesn’t know how to draw his sword. I wonder if I can-’
“Quiet your scrabbling thoughts, boy. I can see you’ve already come to the conclusion that I would’ve attacked you already. This isn’t the time for that, yet. Quiet your thoughts, and feel the warmth of the fire.” The samurai’s voice cuts through the air and through Koshou’s thoughts with a sharp clarity that’s as crisp as the night air. Hands move to remove the helmet as well and set that down beside him as well. Again the face that’s revealed might not be a mirror of Koshou’s but it’s very similar in its features. And the man’s eyes. They seem to hide a piercing, shrewd sense of perception behind that easy-going expression that he wears like a mask as surely as his mempo. “This is a time for reflection. It’s taken you some sweet time boy, coming to this place. I expected more .. though maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. I might not have even expected this much.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Koshou began to realize the full implications of the words that come from the older man dressed in Samurai’s armor. His eyes turned toward the darkness, narrowing as they strain to look past the flickering edges of the shadows and past into the darkness. Looking for the faint outlines of the ground, rocks, trees … with the realization, Koshou’s eyes go from a squint to open wide, as they snap open with surprise.
‘Nothing out there! There’s nothing … what’s going on?’ He continues to process the information of what’s going on around him, this person that’s come to sit at the fire, and he finally remembers the man’s advice. With a shake of his head he decides to give it a try. Closing his eyes, he takes a minute to just reach his own hands out toward the fire and to let it warm him as well and for a little while the ramble and panic of thoughts that go through him calm and still until all of the ripples they cause settle.
‘I know what this is .. they taught us about this.’ The thought comes unbidden, and with it comes certainty. Koshou opens his eyes with a quiet breath in, letting it fill his lungs before loosing it slowly and letting his attention shift and turn back to the other man and when he catches his sight there seems to be a small bit of knowing that plays a faint smile at the samurai’s lips.
“So, you’ve come.” The samurai repeats, with maybe a bit more sense of formality now that the younger of the pair has caught himself up a little bit with the situation. In his own thoughts, Koshou never saw when he managed to get a cigarette, but the samurai smokes one now and the sight of it can only bring a bit of harumph from the young Soul Reaper. “You’re growing stronger. Strong enough to know I haven’t been wasting my time, anyway. It’s been two hundred years since Oni no Hanzo fell to the sword. A long time to wait for another like him. Another of the Hattori clan.”
“I don’t know who that is” Koshou interrupts the samurai with a frank sense of demeanor and tone, his face scrunching up into a pensive expression of his own. “But I suppose that also answers any questions I have about it. I don’t know much about my family history, only that the name is mine.” There’s a pause from the Soul Reaper as he considers that. He thinks of all the lessons he’d learned in the years that had passed since. Years wandering the Rukongai and the Academy and even recent experiences as a newly minted Shinigami. “As shameful as I’ve come to realize that may be, even if only to honor those who lived and died before us .. I intend to keep it.” The brash nature of the man reveals itself somewhat as his tone grows harder, steely with resolve as he makes sure that his intent is known beyond reason, and beyond doubt.
Another decent moment of silence stretches on for a while as the samurai listens and considers for himself what Koshou has said. It’s true that the revelation that this Shinigami knows nothing of the rich bloodline to which his family is tied has seemed to throw the armored warrior for a bit of a loop but he takes the time to smoke that cigarette. Eventually, he leans forward to toss the remains of the smoke into the fiery flames and as he does, his eyes shift sidelong to take a not so discreet glance toward Koshou. In that moment, the younger catches his breath, seeming to visualize the samurai’s eye as if it had shifted to pure energy, an orb of pure lightning that roils within that look and crackles of that energy bleed out like brief shots of blue-ish light into the night.
Then he leans back and lets loose a large, deep bellow of good-natured laughter that seems to cut through the building tension like a hot knife before shattering it altogether. Just like that, the man’s mood and the mood of the conversation too seems to shift in an instant. “I like you” the samurai declares, as if just now deciding. “In the moment, you don’t stop to think about fear or regret or consequence. You see the path forward and you leap at it .. don’t you?” That vision of the man’s eye seems to grow, the bolts of lighting and electricity seeming to bleed more heavily out of that orb and beginning to wreath around the samurai’s armor and body as he speaks, his voice taking on a deeper resonance. “Pure, Raw energy. Lighting has no time to consider these things. It must continue to move, to act. It doesn’t wait to hear the peal of thunder in its wake.” The man’s grin grows into what is now a near virtual mirror of the feral, animalistic grin that Koshou often finds plastered across his face when he’s in the midst of battle. “Ask me, boy. Your time grows short.”
Hattori Koshou can’t help but feel his eyes widen once more as the impact of the samurai’s last words hit him with their full force. They widen too as he realizes he hadn’t noticed when the warrior had re-donned his helmet and his mempo. The lighting now bleeding from him almost constantly encircles his helmet, his mask, growing in intensity that begins to strobe light and heat and fill the air with an nervous current that causes the hairs on the body to stand on end. “Tell ..” there’s an uncertain pause from the young man, before his teeth grit with determination. “Draw your sword! Tell me your name!”
That laughter comes now like those very same peals of thunder spoken of moments before. Booming loud and slamming and pounding at the eardrums like a bass sound that pulses at his head with pain and glory. With a sudden flash, the samurai draws the sword at his hip with a move so fast Koshou cannot even follow it with his eye, The golden blade is bared before him, edge pointed AT him and it was exactly as it had always been, from the moment he’d woken with it in his hands.
“Hyozanryu!”
Koshou jolts awake, and immediately regrets it. He winces, and lets loose a quick hiss of pain from the crimp in his neck and his hand instantly comes up to rub at it as his head swivels despite the pain and looks around. Night has fallen, but the log he’d been carrying across his shoulders lie right where he’d dropped it, no doubt the pillow that had ill served him during his slumber. He can hear the stream off in the distance, and the ever so faint sense of the mass of spiritual pressure and energy that makes up the more densely populated Rukon districts and the Seireitei itself. With a groan he slowly pushes himself to his foot, and reflexively his hand drops to his hip. It finds the hilt of his sword as it always does, but there’s a quick breath of relief from the man anyway. Turning south, he begins the long trek back to a bath, and a comfortable bed and pillow.
The thought comes easily to Koshou, who finds himself once more training on his own, if only as something of a way to try and relax himself. Working the bases of the sword forms one after the other, the burly Soul Reaper moves from one stance to the next with fluid motions that always strive to push his body to move a little bit faster and ready the next motion a little bit quicker. Still, despite being somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in the mountains of the North Rukon, Koshou can’t help but think back to only a scant month or two ago. In such a short time, he’d grown almost ten times as strong as he was when he was finally given his Shihakusho and assigned to Squad Eleven.
‘It all comes back to the basics. I can’t let myself lose sight of that!’ Trying to put a little bit of urgency into his own thoughts, the man lets loose a little bit of a grunt as he pushes himself even harder, the swing of his sword causing the air to cut with a WHOOSH sound, the wind pressure caused by the displacement of his swing creating a gust of air that blows through the leaves of the trees and bushes that surround him to create a rustling sound that echoes out all around him. As he completes the last of the ceremonial forms, the pseudo kata comes to an end with the sound of his sword’s guard clinking against the scabbard. Turning, it’s only then that the Shinigami allows himself a moment to take in the simple yet amazing beauty that surrounds him.
Out here, up in the mountains all the trappings of even the feudal-styled life of the Soul Society such as they are, fall away and disappear into the distance. Far from the last district in the region, Koshou had come out here to work himself to the bone, to test himself in endurance, and pure grit. Still, having completed this portion of his exercise doesn't stop him from taking a moment to relish the peace and beauty of the nature around him. A strong mountain stream bubbles a little ways away, a guide of sorts as Koshou has been using it to help mark his trail up and down this mountain.
‘I can’t keep relying on picking up extra assignments from other Divisions like I have been. I need to find a way to make a mark for myself, soon ..’ Koshou kneels by the stream, reaching his hand into the cool refreshing water to scoop some up and bring it to his lips. He drinks from the stream in silence for a moment or two and takes a last scoop to splash across his face, hands rubbing at his features to reinvigorate himself. Standing slowly, he lets his lungs fill up with air before releasing it slowly, a cleansing breath. Bending down to pick up the large log he’s precariously tied rudimentary shoulder strap onto, he slips his arms through those to take up the weight.
“Break’s over! Koshou’s Kazuri Berserker training, stage one complete!”
*****
“Huff … huff … wheeze …” Having nearly reached the limits of his endurance for the time being, Koshou struggles to catch his breath as he digs in trying to ignore the burning sensation that encompasses almost his entire body. With that gigantic log still strapped across his shoulders, he continues his trek up the mountainside pacing himself by following the river upward and toward the tributary that spawned it up there somewhere. When he feels he truly can’t take another step without actually damaging himself and beginning to tear and abuse his worn out muscles, the Soul Reaper comes to a halt and wearily tries to toss the log from his shoulders onto the ground once more. It’s more of a sag that simply lets the straps slide from his arms as they go slack, and Koshou allows himself to slump into an exhausted heap on the ground as well.
It’s only a short rest that Koshou allows himself, before he’s slowly but steadily climbing back onto his feet after only a few scant minutes. Looking up, the sun has crested past its zenith, and is well on its way toward its resting place for the evening and taking a few paces off from his resting place, he closes his eyes and takes a moment to block away all the things that surround him. The sound of the stream a small distance away. The sound of the wind as it blows now in late afternoon through the trees that even now stretch up and into the distance as they cover the mountainside that’s still stretched out before him.
‘Why did I wake up with you in my hand? Why does it come easy to me? Why me?’
The uncertainties running through the Shinigami’s mind were familiar ones. The thoughts didn’t come from a place of arrogance in his own abilities, but rather a hidden lack of confidence that often threatened to encroach upon him in private times like these. He often wondered where the foundation for those skills comes from, no memories to draw on or guide him. No sense that he’d known how to use the blade when he’d found it in his grasp, or in the early days that followed. ‘But when I came to the Academy they probably knew there was something to it, then.’
Once. It was all he needed to pick up a new move, or take to heart the lessons they’d taught at the academy in Kendo and strategy. Once to learn it, and a thousand times to master it. ‘Heh. I remember that … that’s the drive I need!’ The memory came unbidden, from his time at the academy. He’d heard it somewhere, perhaps in his former life or from one of the other hopefuls that lined up to apply for acceptance each term. A thousand times practiced, to say you had mastered something. A silly notion to him now, but it had really sat with him back then.
He recalled secluding himself back then, much like he was now, as he was just beginning to learn how to use his sword. Practicing a basic swing of his blade over and over .. so determined to reach that mark he’d set for himself. And that was how he’d approached every new lesson and technique. Practice, over and over … a thousand times over until he could do each form and each movement and motion in his sleep. His hand moved with the intake of his next breath to draw his sword, and once more he began at the beginning, working his way through the ceremonial forms one after the other.
*****
“Puff .. gasp … go tsao de.. ” Koshou gasps as he reaches another checkpoint of sorts, mostly marked by the fact that he’s once more reached his own limits and can’t really push himself any further with the log strapped across his shoulders. Even further up the mountainside but maybe not as much as it seems given the wandering nature of the stream, the air is a little more rarefied and the Shinigami has to reach and gasp for that oxygen for his lungs. This time there’s a definite sag as he slumps over to drop the log onto the ground. The sun has all but set now, and there’s nothing left to do but give himself a few moments to rest, with all the intent of gathering himself shortly to find firewood and other things to build himself a basic place to bunk down for the night. But all too soon he’ll find himself slipping into a weary unconsciousness ..
As vision and consciousness return to the man, Koshou sits up slowly and gives a quiet groan at the soreness and fatigue that have settled into every muscle in his body. It takes him a moment and more to turn his head and glance around to discover that this is not the same place he’d fallen asleep or so it seemed. A small fire that crackles nearby fills the otherwise quiet night air with faint pops and the soft airy flicker of the flames as they dance. A few paces from the small circle of stones that surround the logs of the fire on the other side, is a more surprising sight.
Seen through the veil of the fire, Koshou notes a large but simple stone statue that’s been carved from a large pillar of stone buried into the ground. The statue is nothing special to look at really, carved into the vague relief of a dragon. More surprising still, is the broad-shouldered man garbed in full Samurai armor that kneels before it holding up a stick of lit incense! Nesting the stick of incense into the ground near the base of the statue, the samurai turns to stand after paying his respects to reveal his armor in full glory. Caught by the dancing light of the fire, gold accents the blackened lacquer plates of his armor and gleams across the yellow metal of the mempo that covers his face stylized into the visage of a dragon.
“So, you’ve come.”
Whether or not they were there before, there appear to be logs for sitting surrounding the fire that still crackles on as the samurai approaches it. A gloved hand reaches up to remove the mempo that covers his face … and the smiling friendly expression that’s revealed isn’t so far from the one that’s often set on Koshou’s own! The man’s hand instinctively drops to reach for the hilt of his Zanpakuto never not by his side, but the blade isn’t there. That shock seems more than enough to stun the man, but the armored individual seems content to wait for it to pass as he takes a seat on one of those logs now encircling the fire like a campsite.
“Take your time, Hattori Koshou. My patience has endured this long, it will abide a while longer.” The samurai speaks again, and the voice sounds older despite the youthful face that’s been revealed under the warrior’s helmet. He sets the dragon-faced mempo beside him on the log and extends his gloved hands out toward the fire to warm them. It takes a few more moments for the Soul Reaper to gather himself and really take stock of his surroundings but when he does, he slowly rises to his feet if only long enough to turn and take a seat among the logs somewhat opposite the samurai. The shirtless and simply clothed Koshou took a few precious seconds to observe and study the man on the other side of the flames with a wary eye.
‘Who is this man? Why does he look so familiar to me? Why do I feel like I know his voice? He knows me, that’s clear enough .. but how? Are we still on the mountain?’ Thoughts come racing through the man’s mind as the silence stretches on, trying to come to something like rational conclusions. ‘If he wanted to outright hurt me, he would’ve already. There’s no way he walks around like that and doesn’t know how to draw his sword. I wonder if I can-’
“Quiet your scrabbling thoughts, boy. I can see you’ve already come to the conclusion that I would’ve attacked you already. This isn’t the time for that, yet. Quiet your thoughts, and feel the warmth of the fire.” The samurai’s voice cuts through the air and through Koshou’s thoughts with a sharp clarity that’s as crisp as the night air. Hands move to remove the helmet as well and set that down beside him as well. Again the face that’s revealed might not be a mirror of Koshou’s but it’s very similar in its features. And the man’s eyes. They seem to hide a piercing, shrewd sense of perception behind that easy-going expression that he wears like a mask as surely as his mempo. “This is a time for reflection. It’s taken you some sweet time boy, coming to this place. I expected more .. though maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. I might not have even expected this much.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Koshou began to realize the full implications of the words that come from the older man dressed in Samurai’s armor. His eyes turned toward the darkness, narrowing as they strain to look past the flickering edges of the shadows and past into the darkness. Looking for the faint outlines of the ground, rocks, trees … with the realization, Koshou’s eyes go from a squint to open wide, as they snap open with surprise.
‘Nothing out there! There’s nothing … what’s going on?’ He continues to process the information of what’s going on around him, this person that’s come to sit at the fire, and he finally remembers the man’s advice. With a shake of his head he decides to give it a try. Closing his eyes, he takes a minute to just reach his own hands out toward the fire and to let it warm him as well and for a little while the ramble and panic of thoughts that go through him calm and still until all of the ripples they cause settle.
‘I know what this is .. they taught us about this.’ The thought comes unbidden, and with it comes certainty. Koshou opens his eyes with a quiet breath in, letting it fill his lungs before loosing it slowly and letting his attention shift and turn back to the other man and when he catches his sight there seems to be a small bit of knowing that plays a faint smile at the samurai’s lips.
“So, you’ve come.” The samurai repeats, with maybe a bit more sense of formality now that the younger of the pair has caught himself up a little bit with the situation. In his own thoughts, Koshou never saw when he managed to get a cigarette, but the samurai smokes one now and the sight of it can only bring a bit of harumph from the young Soul Reaper. “You’re growing stronger. Strong enough to know I haven’t been wasting my time, anyway. It’s been two hundred years since Oni no Hanzo fell to the sword. A long time to wait for another like him. Another of the Hattori clan.”
“I don’t know who that is” Koshou interrupts the samurai with a frank sense of demeanor and tone, his face scrunching up into a pensive expression of his own. “But I suppose that also answers any questions I have about it. I don’t know much about my family history, only that the name is mine.” There’s a pause from the Soul Reaper as he considers that. He thinks of all the lessons he’d learned in the years that had passed since. Years wandering the Rukongai and the Academy and even recent experiences as a newly minted Shinigami. “As shameful as I’ve come to realize that may be, even if only to honor those who lived and died before us .. I intend to keep it.” The brash nature of the man reveals itself somewhat as his tone grows harder, steely with resolve as he makes sure that his intent is known beyond reason, and beyond doubt.
Another decent moment of silence stretches on for a while as the samurai listens and considers for himself what Koshou has said. It’s true that the revelation that this Shinigami knows nothing of the rich bloodline to which his family is tied has seemed to throw the armored warrior for a bit of a loop but he takes the time to smoke that cigarette. Eventually, he leans forward to toss the remains of the smoke into the fiery flames and as he does, his eyes shift sidelong to take a not so discreet glance toward Koshou. In that moment, the younger catches his breath, seeming to visualize the samurai’s eye as if it had shifted to pure energy, an orb of pure lightning that roils within that look and crackles of that energy bleed out like brief shots of blue-ish light into the night.
Then he leans back and lets loose a large, deep bellow of good-natured laughter that seems to cut through the building tension like a hot knife before shattering it altogether. Just like that, the man’s mood and the mood of the conversation too seems to shift in an instant. “I like you” the samurai declares, as if just now deciding. “In the moment, you don’t stop to think about fear or regret or consequence. You see the path forward and you leap at it .. don’t you?” That vision of the man’s eye seems to grow, the bolts of lighting and electricity seeming to bleed more heavily out of that orb and beginning to wreath around the samurai’s armor and body as he speaks, his voice taking on a deeper resonance. “Pure, Raw energy. Lighting has no time to consider these things. It must continue to move, to act. It doesn’t wait to hear the peal of thunder in its wake.” The man’s grin grows into what is now a near virtual mirror of the feral, animalistic grin that Koshou often finds plastered across his face when he’s in the midst of battle. “Ask me, boy. Your time grows short.”
Hattori Koshou can’t help but feel his eyes widen once more as the impact of the samurai’s last words hit him with their full force. They widen too as he realizes he hadn’t noticed when the warrior had re-donned his helmet and his mempo. The lighting now bleeding from him almost constantly encircles his helmet, his mask, growing in intensity that begins to strobe light and heat and fill the air with an nervous current that causes the hairs on the body to stand on end. “Tell ..” there’s an uncertain pause from the young man, before his teeth grit with determination. “Draw your sword! Tell me your name!”
That laughter comes now like those very same peals of thunder spoken of moments before. Booming loud and slamming and pounding at the eardrums like a bass sound that pulses at his head with pain and glory. With a sudden flash, the samurai draws the sword at his hip with a move so fast Koshou cannot even follow it with his eye, The golden blade is bared before him, edge pointed AT him and it was exactly as it had always been, from the moment he’d woken with it in his hands.
“Hyozanryu!”
*****
Koshou jolts awake, and immediately regrets it. He winces, and lets loose a quick hiss of pain from the crimp in his neck and his hand instantly comes up to rub at it as his head swivels despite the pain and looks around. Night has fallen, but the log he’d been carrying across his shoulders lie right where he’d dropped it, no doubt the pillow that had ill served him during his slumber. He can hear the stream off in the distance, and the ever so faint sense of the mass of spiritual pressure and energy that makes up the more densely populated Rukon districts and the Seireitei itself. With a groan he slowly pushes himself to his foot, and reflexively his hand drops to his hip. It finds the hilt of his sword as it always does, but there’s a quick breath of relief from the man anyway. Turning south, he begins the long trek back to a bath, and a comfortable bed and pillow.
