A Sheathed Storm
[ 4758 Words]
Kiro Shenrai ~ Seraph
Tsubaki ~ Beaks
[ 4758 Words]
Kiro Shenrai ~ Seraph
Tsubaki ~ Beaks
Mind lost in thought, Kiro of Shenrai hardly kept track of himself as he made for the exits of the First DIvision. After an excruciating weekend, he'd done it. Iaiken was now firmly under his belt, though it was in need of polish. Still, he couldn't wait to show off tomorrow. He wondered if Kyuto had expected him to have it finished so quickly, before trailing the thought process away. Other prospects had been... less than forthcoming for his training.
Kyuketsu's lesson had been more of an exercise in futility - his attempts to discern the darker pastures of the man's mind refuted and, worse yet, turned upon him. The available options for him were dwindling, any hope for the Art of the Sword all but gone.
Stopping in the cramped streets of the center of Seireitei, he sighed aloud. Running a hand through his rust-red hair, he dusted down his combat attire. Casting a cursory glance about, he blinked suddenly.
There, on the other side of the street, stood a woman he hadn't seen in quite some time. Tsubaki, once-Captain of the Eleventh, stalked down the street with an eerie sense of purpose about her. He frowned, considering simply leaving her to her task - the woman's instability in the meeting amongst leaders not too long ago certainly helped him - but something else stuck in his mind.
Not since Leon Simeon himself had a greater swordsman been glimpsed. Her own style of Zanjutsu had earned fierce whispers amongst the aficionados of the art - the Tempest Blade.
Biting his lip in contemplation, he felt an encouraging rumble from his zanpakuto - and acted on it. Crossing the street, he hailed the woman. "Pardon me, but you wouldn't happen to be Tsubaki, would you?"
“You know my name.” She looked at the man with an uneasy hesitation, letting her left hand hover at her side near the weapon still locked within its sheath. “But I do-do not know you.”
“And lately, no one is seeking me out unless they have need of a favor or to satisfy some vendetta.” Her fingers moved idly through the air above the weapon, tracing the espers of combats to come. “So which are you?”
He laughed light-heartedly, too used to Kyuketsu's own confrontations. "Well, I do suppose it's rather transparent of me.
"Oh, where are my manners? Saito, of the Second Division." He continued, offering a brief bow of respect. "I should hope not to have any vendetta with anyone, Tsubaki-san."
Scratching the back of his head, he ran the best way to ask his request in his mind. He had no leverage, no way of convincing the woman to pass on her craft... but it had been much the same with Kyuto. Perhaps good will could carry him even further, then.
"I do suppose I have a request, of sorts." He started, falteringly. "The Second Division, we're... without much to our name. I've been seeking to regain some of the former skills we were once respected for. What made us more than gossips and pencil-pushers."
Realizing he was rambling, the man quickly shook his head. Orange eyes laced with cautious determination, he forced the question out. "I would be very honored to learn the art of the sword from you, Tsubaki-san."
“One of these deals, then.” The hand slowly drifted away from the weapon at her side, finding momentary use in pinching two fingers down on the bridge of her nose before she continued. “Alright, I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that since you’re seeking out a complete stranger that-that most of my acquaintances don’t even like that you’re in pretty dire need. Why not go to the Eleventh Division instead? Kyuketsu’s capable enough when he’s not fucking up, and if no one else Alexia would make time for damn near anyone if they asked.”
“Don’t waste too many manners on this next part, because mine are pretty much gone mister Second Saito. Assuming I can teach you anything remotely worth a damn, why should I? Traitors like me don’t have much use or interest in crap like-like names or honors.”
Straightening his back, a curious look came over the Spy's face. His words came in an unusual blunt tone, a tinge of disbelief evident. "Why would it be a question of whether or not you can, when you prepared the very successor you recommend?
"I come to you because I know the alternatives. Kyuketsu-taichou, though helpful in his own way, does not teach the way of the sword as much as he enforces it. His training is helpful in a different way, but not the way I am in immediate need of." He rattled off, a certain measure of caution entering his voice. He had no intention to speak ill will of the woman's chosen successor.
Felone he had no desire to speak about, the woman's bull-headed attempts at poking around in the affairs of Vizards was admirable... but dangerous. He was better off disassociating from her.
"I am asking you because there is no one else who can teach me how to make a blade more than it is." He finished. "I'm asking you because you are the best at what you do."
“At what I do?” A mixture of indignation and amusement crossed her features in the blink of an eye, accompanied by a sharp and almost grunt of a chuckle. “What do I do, exactly? I kill people, kid. I cut down and blow up monsters and menaces regardless of their shape or size, and I enjoy every single second of it.”
Within an instant lost to untrained eyes who didn’t know to expect it the Rite of Rebellion was in the woman’s hand, drawn from the sheath and held in a mixture of both display and readiness for her newfound audience. “This isn’t ever going to become more than it is, Second Saito. It’s a sword. No matter how much I will it to be something new or more accommodating it will never be anything more than a blade on a stick. What you want, and what I’m going to tell you that you want is what you want whether you realize you-you want what is wanting to be wanted or not...is to be more than you are. Kyuketsu is good enough at killing Hollows, but not much else. Alexia probably isn’t even that much. And Sayis?” She jerked a free thumb towards the First Division as she spoke.
“Well, he’s got all that skill and strength bound up in so many useless moral and ethical codes that he won’t kill. So, let’s start with the starters, Secret Second.” The blade twirled in an idle expenditure of bored muscles, its hues of black and orange catching the midday light joyfully.
“You ever kill anyone?”
"Killed them how?" He replied cryptically, before suddenly elaborating. His amicable tone remained, but every syllable was stressed and drawn out, carefully managed. "There are many ways to kill someone, but doubtlessly you mean with a sword.
"Have I taken the life of another being? Yes, I've felt the crunch of a hollow's mask in the moments before it vanishes into nothingness. Have I slain another shinigami, a human, a Quincy, a Vizard?" He stopped, seeming to ponder it for a moment. "Can inaction be as deadly as action?"
A serious look crossed his face. "A sword is a sword, you say, but what makes them move? What gives it purpose, what makes it a sword?"
He took a challenging step towards Tsubaki. "I say you make a blade more than it is because of exactly that. A sword is an object - to be measured and accounted for like everything else. It is only when someone takes up that sword, that someone uses it, it becomes something else."
Gesturing to the blade that the woman spun lazily, he concluded. "That is not an object, Tsubaki-san. That is a weapon, but only as long as it is in your hands. I would ask only that you help me do much the same. A sword is an object in my hands... I need it to be a weapon."
“And if we’re going to do this I need you to drop the smoke and mirrors bullshit.” She rolled her eyes at the purposeful evasion of her questions. Without warning the former Templar Queen was standing inches from him, her leonine irises boring into his as a hushed intonation left her lips.
“Have you ever stood this close to someone, felt their breath hot on your face? Have you had this most intimate of intimates with another living being that wasn’t a Hollow and still plunged the knife in? Have you smelled their blood, salty and sweet as it met the open air? Enjoyed the sharp finish of wet iron stinging your nose as it oxidizes and fades away?”
She pulled closer, whispering in the boy’s ear as her blade came to rest on his shoulder.
“Have you shared that person’s last breath, their last fleeting moments of time in this world before the flame of life is snuffed out?”
Her lips nearly brushed his ear as she pulled deathly close.
“Yes? Or no?”
With as little fanfare, the man had shoved her to an arm's-length, a serious look on his face. "If you are asking me if I have willingly ended the life of another, then no. I have not.
"Is that enough for you to refuse? Are you willing to pass on your art, only safe in the knowledge it will be used to kill those our blades are never intended to touch?" Kiro's voice was strangely flat. Were all leaders of the Eleventh so unflinching in their bloodlust?
“Our task is balance, Second.” She didn’t react to the shove aside from smoothing her robes where the man had placed his arm. “Some of the greatest monsters to ever threaten that peace didn’t wear a Hollow’s mask to do it.” The words remained even and calm, though the look in her eyes had far from abated in its severity.
“If you want to stay alive in this business you might want to lose that prejudice, kid. Threats to the balance come in all different shapes and sizes. You won’t always get to hide behind the fact that they are just some ‘creature’ we’re tasked to destroy.” The sword that still remained steadfast in her hand came to a lax state of readiness at her side.
“I asked you to drop the bullshit and you did. If you want a lesson in apathy there’s no better teacher than Sou’Sai.” Without warning the weapon in her grip was held level with the boy.
“However, if you want a lesson in doing what needs to be done, draw your sword.”
Unwittingly, the man flinched backwards. Turning his gaze away, he debated with himself. A conflicted look crossed his features, before his close his eyes and sighed.
He stood like that for a moment, and it seemed as though the woman had been refused. Then, with am eager ring of steel, Kiro's zanpakuto was drawn. Holding the wakizashi aloft, he could hear the soothing rumble of Sabigyoushou in his mind, and set his mouth in a grim line.
His morality was second to his job. The rust-haired man bowed lightly to the swordswoman, an even tone in his voice even as he ignored the blade's proximity to him. "Please, teach me the way of the sword, Tsubaki-san."
“First thing’s first. Don’t bow. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
A momentary and private amusement crept over her lips, curling them into an almost catlike smile. How many times had she tred the steps of this dance? How many had sought her out, held a weapon against her? Too many to count, at least.
But how many had held it aloft with the intent to kill?
Few.
Far, far too few.
He got points, at least. The boy didn’t try to usher her off into some deserted alleyway or far removed facet of Soul Society as a whole before being willing to engage. Sadly, more and more of her collaborations with the other soldiers of the Gotei seemed to end that way.
“Second, Second.” She held the Rite of Rebellion with unerring readiness at her side, both master and weapon in perpetual readiness for the bloodsport to come.
“Try to kill me.”
Eyes widening, the man quickly righted himself. "...What?!"
“You want me to teach you the way of the sword. Swords kill. So.”
Tsubaki tilted her head to one side, enunciating the command noticeably slower.
“Try. To. Kill. Me.”
Brow furrowing, he made to shout. To exclaim how foolish that was, that intent to kill was no game!
Yet, wouldn't the veteran before him know that better than himself? Death was no stranger to her, such were her exploits. It was commonplace, in their jobs, and their lives.
Shoulders sagging slightly, he bit the inside of his lip briefly, before lowering his stance.
“Well, this is a lovely start.” She looked at the boy with a disappointed expression, beginning to question bit by bit every second if the boy had merely put on a front from the beginning.
“You gonna attack? Or are we gonna sit here all day and wiggle our dicks at each other?”
Instantly, the man lashed out as her sentence started, the words cut off as the wakizashi flashed outwards. A gleam of steel, and the woman had disinterestedly blocked the attack, the clash sending a screeching ring through his ears.
He pivoted on the spot, trying to bring the wakizashi across in the opposite direction. Stepping forward, he hoped to get inside her guard. The feint had failed, the poor excuse for deception mirroring Kiro's apprehension of the whole test.
A rumbling gurgle in his mind set his nerves at ease. Sabigyoushou's rhythmic grinding spoke of the spirit's encouragement, driving his blade forward with a slight more conviction.
“You need-”
Her own sword moved at speeds unparalleled with subtle grace, shunting the boy’s attack aside with one fell stroke.
“-to get-”
Her feet shifted into a striking stance, turning the momentum of the defensive action towards a more aggressive goal. As quickly as the Rite of Rebellion had turned aside Saito’s sword it lanced forward without hesitation, aiming for the boy’s newly exposed midsection.
“-serious!”
He hissed as he tried to twist out of the way of the blow, the Templar Queen's blade drawing a line of crimson across his stomach through his uniform. “I-”
Kiro stepped back, then forward in a brief lunge. Twisting his blade about, he faked a blow at the woman's wrists before flicking the short blade towards Tsubaki's own ribs. “-am!”
Footwork. Why in god’s name do they never have the footwork?!
The incoming strike to her hands was proven feeble before it had even been fully pantomimed. The boy had his weight shifted wrong, the reach was overextended. If he had gone through with it the result wouldn’t have been any more severe than nicking yourself with a cooking knife.
Really, do they ever think about this shit?
Tsubaki turned her diminutive frame about after a quick shift of her stance, unable to stop the blade from making contact but containing it to a light graze across the left side of her stomach.
Losing no momentum, the former Captain flicked her own blade about in a hasty about-face. With both feet rooted firmly Tsubaki brought the weapon back on the offensive, aiming to remove the boy’s head in one flawless crescent of biting steel.
The world slowed to a crawl before the Spy's eyes, the lethal blow of the Templar Queen's sword too swift to avoid, too skilled to parry, too powerful to mitigate. Was that really it? He would die to the hands of a woman who couldn't restrain her skill?
Was that the price of becoming so powerful?
Clenching his eyes shut, Kiro only had the time to realize he didn't want to see his own end meet him, and took the mercy of darkness before he would fall.
“Are you awake now, Kiro Shenrai.” Her words remained eerily calm, level and steadfast despite the chaos around them.
The darkness snapped back to the harsh and borderline blinding light of reality in an instant, revealing a world in which the boy was auspiciously still among the living.
Or was it the dead? Who knew anymore.
Whatever hand the semantics of the moment deigned to deal, the Rite of Rebellion hovered in an eerily unnatural state of stasis in front of his face with a shimmering edge devoid of blood or gore.
“I have been a student of the blade for four centuries. I have seen every trick known to man, every cheap tactic used to buy time or advantage. I have seen enough stupid ass feints to fill five lifetimes.” Little by little the former Captain began to move again, letting the self-stopped attack melt into a more casual but still wary semblance of stance, taking a few steps back from the boy in the process.
“I am not expecting you to show me something new or innovate something entirely origin-original in the heat of battle. You can’t, and it would be unfair of me to ever ask such a thing. What I want you to do is entirely more simplistic.” As she spoke the black blade was brought to a rest against her right shoulder, catching the sunlight from overhead and glinting ominously.
“I want you to show me that this art, and it very much is an art, this killing....is not a dying one. I don’t want tricks, I don’t want feints and trite tactics and senseless showboating.” Her expression winced momentarily, as if remembering someone or something from her past best left to the annals of forgetfulness.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re the best as what you do if you are the last of what you do.” Letting the statement ring heavy but true in the seconds of silence between them, Tsubaki slowly took up a readied stance once again. “You have seen death come for you without deceit or hesitation. You know what it is to fear, and that’s good.” With unparalleled speed and skill the former Templar Queen brought her sword to bear once again, ready to dance through the endless waltz of calm and conflict.
“Again.”
Kiro's throat went dry, his tongue too large in his mouth to find the words to respond. Perhaps they would be unfit, regardless of their nature. He could feel his mind churning in the nature of a Spy. Full of ploys and tactics and tricks that were all trite alone, but made up the comprehensive whole of chaotic misdirection his division pioneered.
Perhaps that wasn't what was always needed.
He tried to rationalize it in his mind, to make easy the thousand mistakes he could and would make. The words of his teachers past flittered through his mind, reminding him of each tantamount lesson. Were he to add Tsubaki to that list, he would have to heed her words... even if they went against every other lesson he had drilled into himself.
The rust-haired man forewent the wide, loose stance of his division. His posture straightened, brandishing the wakizashi as though it were a full weapon. Slipping into a two-handed grip, he leant the tip forward, the length of the short sword diagonal to him.
Sliding a foot back, he didn't wait this time. His blade lashed out, the most simple of rules in his mind: the basic tenets of Zanjutsu. His blade, short and swift, dipped into a short slice at the outside of Tsubaki's leading forearm.
“Better. But still not there just yet.” Her feet moved instinctively, bringing her sword up and stopping the incoming blow with the broad span of the ebony weapon.
A sound akin to nails on a chalkboard filled the area as the former Templar Queen met the boy’s eyes. “Don’t attack out of fear, or desperation.”
“Feel the movements of the air, the subtle shifting of arms and legs and blades.” Tsubaki pushed suddenly, knocking the Spy backwards several feet with the force of impact. “Let your senses adapt to notice the changes, and strike.”
A low hiss dragged from Kiro's lips, hands stinging from the blow. He readjusted his stance, eyes following the woman's blade as it dipped and rose in her stance. The Templar Queen's leg slid back, his eyes darting to it briefly.
Zanjutsu was, at its core, a simple concept more than a rigid style. A myriad of techniques and stances and styles all melted down to their bones. Footwork was accomplished through the faculties of Hohou, but influenced the resulting Zanjutsu.
Leading with his dominant leg to match Tsubaki, he darted forwards without matching her indicator. His forward motion was less powerful, but made in anticipation of a matching movement. Letting his blade fall low, he brought it up parallel to her hilt, once more targeting the source of her strengths.
“When strikes fail, adapt!”
Without warning the woman’s footwork shifted abruptly, moving into a stance that could have only been called recklessly aggressive by the most conservative of purists. Both blade and arm moved in joined unison, snapping to one side like the crack of a whip and cleaving through paved stone and sidewalk in one brutal flourish of force.
Kiro hissed, barely bringing Sabigyoushou up in time. The blade slammed against his own harshly and gashed open his left hip. Tsubaki leant into her strikes, the strength behind them almost overwhelming... but the Spy's body was reacting before his mind could tell him to retreat.
He stepped forward as well, into Tsubaki's guard, as the devastating stroke followed through. The burn in his sides was ignored, for now, and his sword lifted high before curving low. A low crescent, trailing from Tsubaki's right arm and down.
It took guts, she had to hand him that much. Attacking an opponent with a level of skill far beyond his own on her dominant side. It had to be guts, right?
Well, guts or insanity. Either way she could empathize.
The Spy’s blade bit deeply into the flesh just beneath her shoulder, sending a spray of crimson arcing into the air as the woman pivoted into a new blur of motion. Tsubaki spun on her left heel as the boy’s blow continued to cut downwards, brought around and about in a brutal overhead crescent that sought to crush the boy into the dirt underfoot.
It was a move made without hesitation or remorse, carrying speed and precision that lesser pupils wouldn’t have even been able to follow let alone combat. She pressed him in good faith, trusting that the boy knew full well what he was getting into. He’d see it coming, she hoped.
Whether or not he would see that it was the back of the sword or not remained to be determined.
Time crawled at varying paces. Speeding to infinite in the time between blows, before slowing to a halt in the instants before they arrived. Kiro's hands tightened around the wakizashi, sweat beading down his back and neck.
He could see the blows, every single curve and cut of the blade, but his body was hopeless to stop it. The muscles in his arms snapped taut like whipcords, eyes widening as Tsubaki's blade careened towards his shoulder, blunted-end first.
It couldn't be blocked, he wasn't fast enough. It was going to hit him..!
A resonant clang reached his ears, the screech of steel against steel. He blinked, before noticing Sabigyoushou's edge steady against the Rite of Rebellion. His eyebrows shot up, how had he..?
The blade quivered and rattled, but with a low, "Kuh!" he threw back the once-Captain. He regained his stance, but his eyes shot to his blade every few seconds.
“You saw it for a moment, didn’t you boy?” Something dangerously close to a smile crept at the edges of her lips, a subtle tell of her relief that the lesson wasn’t going to waste.
Her footing became solid and sure faster than most pupils of the blade could even fathom, with the balls of her heels melding with the ground beneath them as one creature. The Rite of Rebellion was brought to bear once again with a spirited flourish, effortlessly cutting through both air and paved stone as is went.
“Ebb and flow, pushing forward when able and moving around objects that will not be pushed.” Almost as if being summoned by nothing more than the words themselves a self-contained maelstrom formed around the former Captain, scratching and pitting the ground around her as it went.
“I have forced open your eyes to see, but only you can make them truly understand.”
With the black blade held at the ready, any relief or amusement that still lingered in her hazel eyes fell away like dead leaves thrown to the wind.
“Once more, Kiro Shenrai.”
Flinching, Kiro felt the vicious winds lap against his face. Too far to harm, but no less threatening. Warning. His wakizashi felt heavy in his grip, but familiar and comforting.
He breathed in once, before letting it out slowly. It was stupid, foolish to charge into a technique he wasn't familiar with. Reckless, destructive.
Kiro did it anyway.
Eyes snapping wide in concentration, he sped towards the Templar Queen, heedless of the whirlwind that surrounded her. He ducked low, blade lunging forward to pierce the woman's extended arm.
“So determined, so COME ON!”
Black steel smashed against the spy’s shortened sword and sent a thunderclap of metal echoing across the quickly thinning streets. Those who still dared to observe did so from increasingly growing distance, where others fled entirely as the two hellbent spirits vied for dominance.
To her unshown adoration the boy reacted almost instantly, transferring the energy from his failed assault into a renewed one on the spot. The soldier of the Second snapped to one side on limber legs with the wakazashi arcing under and up towards her frame. Pupil and proctor moved in quickly melding motions, pressuring and reacting in wicked grace as attacks were gambled and lost back and forth.
His eyes met hers much differently now, there was no apprehension or flinching away from her intensity. Instead the drive was matched with unabashed fervor, and fervor was a damn good sign.
Without an inkling of hesitation the woman brought the Rite of Rebellion down against Kiro in a vertical chop with unequaled power and ferocity.
“So long as souls will to endure the tempest....”
The blade came down fiercely, but Kiro's eyes were not on it. His gaze locked onto the woman's wrist, measuring every inch of its approach. His short blade launched forwards, aiming to drive through the right side of Tsubaki's chest.
Ducking low, the Rite of Rebellion caught high on Kiro's shoulder, blood jetting outwards and the bite of pain lancing through his left arm. Gritting his teeth, he drove forwards - willing himself beyond the pain - and carried his strike through.
“...the steel wind will help them grasp freedom.”
Tsubaki made no move to retaliate, instead choosing to come back to a standing position with the spy’s wakazashi still embedded just above her right breast. If she was lucky he hadn’t punctured the lung, but the former Captain wasn’t the biggest believer in good fortune.
The winds that seconds ago circled only the woman’s figure now encompassed both combatants, wrapping around soldier and spy alike in a sheath of living cyclone.
“You’re not bad, boy.” The former Templar Queen managed a small smile as she pulled the blade free and clear of her chest with one quick jerk, returning it with a half-hearted toss. “But you were trying to disable me, not kill.” A slight rise of her eyebrow sought to convey something unsaid before she continued.
“If you want another lesson you know where to find me. Just don’t go making the same mistake twce, mm?”
With a spirited turn that belied the extent of her injuries Tsubaki started off towards the Fourth Division. Inuzuri could wait for another day, the blood that was surely seeping into her lungs was another matter entirely. There would undoubtedly be greater damage to be had next time if Shenrai came calling for more knowledge of her technique.
And for once, she could hardly wait.
