Sora moved without thought, her blade a blur of glinting metal in the mist. Two figures, shrouded by mist, danced around her, matching her blow for blow, strike for strike in a veritable storm of attacks that would have left even the most studied practitioners in awe, had they seen it. Samidare flitted left and right like a hummingbird, the unbreakable blade snapping up in perfect a one-handed block as one of her foes came in with a long, looping diagonal, her body twisting out of the way of the strike while the second tried to get around to her back.
She kept the figure in view, right arm twisting her weapon around the first one’s blade as she kept turning, chakra pulsing through the fingers of her left hand in order form a Sword Finger, the six inch long chakra blade slicing through the neck of her foe without a sound before they had time to react. The pink-haired Jounin didn’t stop, pivoting on her back foot while she brought her katana up in a short, arcing diagonal that was nearly vertical, managing to deflect the second foe’s thrust up and past her ear.
The other woman reacted well, transitioning the thrust into an attempted downward diagonal with both hands, hoping to power through her guard, but her blade remained firm, the black-scaled arm of her Devil Bringer proving to more than enough to match the full brunt of the woman’s attack and then some. Sora pressed her advantage, stepping in with a falling diagonal cut, right to left, that the other woman barely managed to deflect, panic flashing across her face as she tried to leap back, out of range of her follow-up strike…
And failed.
Samidare cut a line straight through the other woman’s chest, shoulder to hip, the mist around them dissipating as the clone that had fed it life was defeated, its chakra and memories returning to her body in a puff of smoke. It was always disorienting, taking in the memories of the final clone, feeling the panic and desperation as it tried to work out what it needed to do, what
she had to do, if she wanted to improve. Still, it had been a near thing- if she hadn’t been using her Devil Bringer transformation, that last attack would have plowed through her guard and cut her down in an instant.
Sloppy work, that. Can’t rely on the arm for everything.Letting loose a slow, steady breath, the pink-haired woman released her hold on the storm, the vibrant blue chakra retreating back into her body as the Devil Bringer receded from view, the tempest of power and emotion that had once haunted her every step now as much a part of her as any limb. She was getting better at controlling it, at focusing her fury down to a single point and channeling it into something productive- but it wasn’t easy, mentally or physically, and the ache in her limbs from the strain of fighting at such a high level was a testament to just how much of a strain the transformation put on her body.
"Guess I better head back." Sora muttered as she went through the motions of sheathing the blade; first chiburi, a swift stroke down and to the right, to clean the weapon of blood, followed by noto, a swift twist of the blade so the edge was pointing up, only to slide the weapon across the lip of its saya, guiding the tip into the koiguchi with her thumb before pushing it down so that the sepoa rested comfortably against the lip. A simple practice, one she had done thousands of times, and yet one that always seemed to bring a sense of closure and peace, even in the midst of the chaos.
Her weapon now sheathed, the pink-haired Jounin turned on her heels, walking out of the small clearing she had been training in with swift, purposeful steps. Her stomach rumbled, the taste of sweat lingering in her mouth as she strolled through the forest, paying only minimal attention to the various teams and Shinobi that were utilizing the training grounds around her, thoughts drifting towards what she might make for lunch… until, without warning, a voice drifted through the noise, catching her attention and jerking her head to the right, gaze instantly spotting the source.
Average height. Brown hair and eyes. Young, by the look of her, and… is that a fishing rod?The thought tickled something in the back of her head, a memory from somewhere of something, some clan or bloodline that she had researched in her search through the archives, but the name eluded her. The girl looked familiar though, in the way so many of her former students from the Academy did- she wasn’t certain of her name, but a surprising number of those she had instructed remembered her, far more than she could reasonably be expected to recall by name.
Ah, what the hell. I have time."Having some trouble?"Funato Yuzuki
Yesterday had been rough. No amount of excitement from meeting her teammate for days to come would override the ever-lingering bitterness of a loss. All from that fragment of a moment before their blade clashed.
