Sparking the Broken Flame (Verus)

[GEAR]

September 18th, OE 102
Citadel City, Perindor
Perindor Citadel Garden

The hour was late.

A cool breeze filtered through the gardens of Perindor, past the bridge, the only sound being the distant hooting of owls, the chirping of crickets, and the gentle babble of a stream. A man sat cross legged beneath a tree. His brow, lined with age, was set deep in thought, and his arms folded within simple, functional robes. It wasn't that he had any particular dislike of the ceremonies associated with Heidel - but, it was perhaps in this attire that he felt most comfortable. A boxy flame lamp rested by his knee, its glass sides blackened with age, but which cast his stern features in a warm light that intermingled with the evening gloom.

It had been a long, long day for Kusanagi.

War with the Giants loomed large. He was reminded of it every day by the lines which crossed his skin, the distant howling of the captives becoming more and more distinct, more clear, with every passing day.

His fingers dipped to the sword laying across his legs, and he let them play across the hilt, thoughtfully.

What felt like an eternity ago, they had fought the Giants. Every one of those who had stood by his side had been a hero, a legend in their own right.

How could those surface-dwellers, that eclectic collection of strangers, hope to accomplish what they had failed to do?

Even now, the memory of that day lingered in his heart, like a hunk of cold stone gripping his ribs. It would never allow itself to be forgotten, even if by the grace of God they -prevailed of this, he was certain.

Still. He had learned through the years not to make assumptions. Yes, what needed to be administered was a test.

Now all he needed to see was if that woman's pride would permit it. Kusanagi looked out upon the quiet peace of nature, his memories of conflict intermingling, overlaying with the sight before him... and spoke, as if to himself:

"The light of a candle

Is transferred to another candle—

Spring twilight."​

 

[VeraC]

Mumyo had been shuffled away from the rest of the new arrivals, directed towards the inner gardens of the Citadel, rather than the ballroom where the rest would be enjoying their evening. Perhaps she thought it strange at first, but as she began her walk down the stone path, she began to feel that she wouldn’t have likely enjoyed herself at the reception anyways; her somber mood would likely only spoil the other attendees’ evening.

In quiet contemplation she strode through the gardens, looking down at the flowers blooming in abundance around her, the crescent moon above providing gentle illumination on the whitened petals of the flora, almost sparkling in the moonlight.

Just what was she to do in this land? She lacked both a means and the will to fight, was she not useless in this situation? Just why was she brought here?

Such questions and more filled her mind, serving only to further her anxiety and depressive state.

She crouched down to examine one of the flowers, extending her hand to touch the flower, but before her hand could reach, a sudden gust of wind blew sideways, sending the white petals scattering away. In the moonlight they glittered and sparkled, before fading into the distance.

Looking to the direction in which they went, her eyes fell upon the man she had seen earlier, the one who introduced himself as ‘Kusanagi’. He too gave Mumyo many questions; was he related to her? To her sword school?

Approaching with both caution and curiosity, like one would approach a sleeping dragon, Mumyo walked towards Kusanagi, stepping onto the wooden bridge with the soft footsteps her straw sandals made on the ground. With many questions on her mind, only one managed to make it out of her mouth as she asked him,

“Kusanagi, just who are you?”

 

[GEAR]

"What right do you, who has callously shed the name her parents gifted her, have to ask that of me?"​

The pointedness of his speech cut through the air, and in that second one could almost sense the ambient temperature between the two of them drop into the freezing. Kusanagi opened his eyes, slowly. His gaze bored into Mumyo's own... and within his eyes, there was a great depth, as though she were trying to stare into the bottom of the sea. Age had slowed the body, dulled the senses, and grayed his hair... but the mind behind that gaze was as keen and perceptive as it had ever been, the blade of legend that could cut even the finest of silk.

Slowly, the hero of the ages rose to his feet. The breeze brushed his robes, flowing past Mumyo, the petals dancing about his own feet, as the myth regarded the modern.

"To wallow in shame... I know that all too well."

With a soft clink, the katana was slipped into his waistband, and he rested his palm gently against the reassuring weight of its hilt. So familiar was it now, his constant companion for so many years, that it might as well have been a part of his body. He let his gaze wander back to the surroundings, perhaps reflecting on his own memories - of that day, when everything had fallen apart.

"It shackles our spirits. Poisons our minds. We become a prisoner of our own pride."

There was something about the way that he stood, to her eyes. A kind of constant, passive awareness, as if he were always ready for an attack at any angle, perfectly one with his surroundings - everything from the grass, to the stream trickling nearby, to the wind - he seemed to move through it all effortlessly, as if a fish through water. Kusanagi folded his arms, and once more affixed the girl in his gaze, his eyes traveling to the sword she carried.

"If you cannot conquer yourself, what hope do you have against the Giants?"

 

[VeraC]

"What right do you, who has callously shed the name her parents gifted her, have to ask that of me?"

The man was working his way, pushing Mumyo’s buttons in the areas that were her most sensitive. Though she listened, taking the verbal blows hit by hit, offering no counter until he finished his part. As Kusanagi stared into her eyes, perhaps deep within he could see a dim light, the remnants of embers, smoldering within the depths of Mumyo’s soul. To the contrary, these were neither flames of determination, of passion.

But rather resentment.

Unbridled Hatred.

Mumyo too hated seeing herself like this; her fall from grace not only a shame on her clan, but also to herself. She was no longer the Indomitable Blade, the Sword Saint of Luna. Her blade was rusted and chipped, damaged and defiled by them.

Emotions began to well up within her, though she tried her best to swallow them back down.

“You think I so carelessly ‘discarded’ my name? You think I chose exilement?”

She bit her lip and tightened her grip on the handle of her sword.

“I fought for what I believed was right. I put my entire soul into each strike that day! I put in all that effort, and I still lost!”

Her voice slowly began to grow in volume.

“What do you know of my tribulations? Since the day I took up the sword, I have tried my hardest every day! I trained for longer than anyone else! I trained harder than anyone else!”

She paused for a moment, dropping her face down to the ground, drops of moisture, glistening in the moonlight, falling from the corners of her face.

“...Even when the everyone else slept, I still continued to swing my sword, to perfect my art.”

She looked back up to Kusanagi, those small embers now beginning to swell in intensity.

“All that training, all that effort; my heart and soul poured into every technique, just to be trampled over by that Baron… Those damned knights of Luna.”

She clenched her teeth as the veracity in her eyes intensified.

“Because of them… Because of them…”

Her voice cracked and crumbled, the mental inhibitors that kept her stable now failing.

“JUST WHAT WAS THE MEANING OF MY LIFE UNTIL NOW?!”​

With a guttural shout, twisted and malformed by anger; her emotions now overflowing and flooding her body. What was once a dim ember had now spread into a wildfire. She pulled her sword from its sheath, pointing it at Kusanagi. She took a deep breath, her mouth in a snarl and tears leaking from her eyes.

The time for words was over. All her pent up frustrations, her anger and resentment. The agony and suffering she had experience until now, she would let it all out.

“Furinkazan, Sixth Gate, Open.”

Like a volcano that had been smoldering for days had finally erupted, Ki began to rush through her body, as for the first time in her life, Mumyo had opened the sixth gate. The final gate of the six Ki points of the body, it was as she opened it that overwhelming power flowed through her body.

If but at a cost.

The overflowing Ki only resonated with her own feelings and her current state of mind, the anger overcoming and consuming whatever else populated her mind. It wasn’t wrong to say her mind had gone blank in the moment, emotions bubbling over all thought and reason; it was almost a berserk-like state of mind, where she would become a merciless assaulter.

With a crack in the ground as she stepped forward into a dash to Kusanagi, blade held at her shoulder, aimed to cut through the man across from her, neck to hip.

 

[GEAR]

It's as I thought.

Sure enough, his suspicions were correct. She wept, she howled, her aura bloomed like a poison lily, caustic and wild, whipping at the world around her. All the while, Kusanagi stood unflinching, unbowed by the display of emotion, as tall and proud as ever - even so, his experienced mind noted the power that she was emanating, the sheer, uncontrolled fury - and steeled himself. He'd kicked the hornet's nest, and now came the angry residents.

"Is that it?"

Let this long overdue bloodletting do you good, young one. I only regret that you had nobody to give it to you sooner.

Mumyo accelerated towards Kusanagi - but to the old warrior, it might as well have been in slow motion. His breath left his mouth, turning into white vapors on the wind - the telltale sign of haki exertion, as he felt his heart beat slower, falling into a familiar rhythm. Feel the world around you. Be one with it. Do not try and tear it away for yourself - merely borrow its strength, and give thanks.

Clink.

His thumb pushed the tsuba of his sword up, exposing the inner blade to the light, which seemed to splinter on the radiance of its surface. In one smooth, flowing motion, the weapon was drawn, and the air was filled with the clang of metal against metal.

The weapon's surface was so clear, so pure, it was like the surface of a lake, melded into metal. It almost glowed as it arced skillfully through the air, passing through the air with a weary whistle, to deflect Mumyo's rushing strike. Whether by design, or by purpose, the young woman could see her own furious features reflected back at her in the sword's surface - unrecognizeable as the person she had been before.

"You lost a battle. And what did you do? Throw everything away, and go into self-imposed exile?"

Kusanagi's voice hardened, and his body whirled. A fist lashed out, expertly aimed to slam between her ribs, swiping under her shoulder - except there was something more behind the blow. Kusanagi's fist had blackened, the surface like corroded obsidian, a hammer swiping against her body, delivered with such thundering force and speed as to send her sprawling over to the bridge.

"Did you think that would make you stronger?"

Were his punch to connect, the gleaming blade would have been risen overhead. A whispered word of power, am almost effortless, instantaneous transfer of power so natural that it could only have been formed over hundreds of years of practice - and the weapon came down, a wave of crimson, crackling energy sent chasing after Mumyo, radiating nothing but controlled, disciplined power, the exact opposite of her soulful cry.

"The only person your self-absorbed flagellation serves is yourself!"

The poison was deep, running through her veins, killing her. It needed to be bled out, or there would be no hope - and this was the only way he knew how.

What, he thought to himself, would Lao have done?

 

[VeraC]

As blade against blade clashed, the difference was night and day between the two. Contrastive to Kusanagi’s blade that reflected the glimmering moonlight, Mumyo’s was that of a dark steel, ashen and discolored. The two blades collided, in a seemingly equal match of strength, yet Kusanagi’s surprise strike was one thing she hadn’t expected. The only way she could react quickly enough was by using her left hand to pull out the second blade she had sheathed, in an attempt to block his fist.

This however, was a hastily made decision.

The man’s fist collided with the blade as she pulled it out, but with his fist, hardened beyond what was humanly possible, shattered the blade at the base, rendering the weapon effectively useless. The force behind the blow was another matter, the impact sending her flying backwards, crashing into the flowerbed, tarnishing the flora that grew below her. Her bones and guts might have been saved, but she was now down a weapon.

Nonetheless, she stood up from the ground, a scowl on her face as she used her sword to reposition herself back upright on her feet.

“Then what should’I’ve done?!”

She shouted out across at Kusanagi.

“Forsake my Family, my clan and deny their judgement?”

She took a step forward, gritting her teeth with each movement.

“Fight my way out of the clan? Kill my uncle and cousin? Were I to disobey them that day I would’ve been cut down right where I stood.”

She clenched the fist that held her katana tightly, her palm digging deep into the wrappings of the handle. The Ki around her body began to change in color, shifting from the usual white, to becoming tinged with red. It was condensed with the evaporation of her own blood from within, the precious liquid offered up as power for her strikes.

“Tell me Kusanagi! What should I have done?!”

Before her was a man who stood in her way. In her mind was naught but the image of those lunarian bastards who ruined her life.

That Baron.

Those Knights.

The Queen.

When she made her way back to Luna, it would be a reunion that would paint the streets red in blood. One of vermillion and crimson, for every day she trained her blade, for every day of her life, she would deliver to them a slash. She cared not if it took one thousand slashes, ten thousand slashes, a hundred-thousand slashes; such numbers were meaningless to her. She only wanted them to feel what she had felt for these past seven months.

The shame and disgrace, the one who trained her whole life to be defeated by some privileged brats of the upper stratum, it was all bullshit to her. She would get there soon enough. All she needed to do was get through this man.

With her Haki extended to her blade, she took one step forward, followed by a second, as she lunged forward and within the blink of an eye closed the gap between him and her. Her blade was held low, to perform an upward sweep at the man’s hip, with her in a low stance to avoid any slash that might’ve targeted her body otherwise.

“First Step: Raikiri!”

Tonight, a blood lily would bloom.

 

[GEAR]

Mumyo, the nameless warrior, spat her venom at Kusanagi. Her helplessness, her frustration, her fury at being disowned by those she had been raised to revere. Despite the passivity in his features, the woe, the sadness in her voice, dripped into his heart, like drops of blue paint dissolving in water. He did not return her aggression. Rather, he did something unexpected.

Clink.

In one slow, flowing motion... the sword was returned to its sheath, right as she broke into a dash of blistering speed. Kusanagi's arms rested at his side... and he closed his eyes. Even depriving himself as such, he could sense her as she approached - how her very being seemed to roar, to howl in defiance of a world that rejected her, that beat her down, that deprived her of what was hers.

Her blade lashed out, gleaming like lightning.



Boom.

The rolling thunderclap resounded in their ears... and the sky seemed to split, causing rain to fall on their shoulders. A freak accident? Or perhaps something more, as if the entire world were craning its neck to watch the conflict between legend and upstart.

Kusanagi's fingers held Mumyo's blade in place mere inches from where it had been aimed, as delicately as if it were a petal. His own haki - bright, pure light, radiated from the edges of his fingertips, holding her own back firmly - yet not rejecting it either.

"Do you see, now?"

Kusanagi opened his eyes. There was another boom of thunder, as the downpour intensified.

"Does your resentment give you strength? Does your misplaced vanity give you purpose?"

Kusanagi's other hand blurred and something hard slammed into the woman's throat, just behind the jaw, with enough force to send her hurtling back yet again, gasping for breath, katana clattering from her hands.

"True power... true strength... comes from within. From tranquility. From clarity of mind."

Something impacted the ground beside her, driving itself into the dirt. Once her eyes were able to focus through the falling rain, the cold streaking down her face, her neck, soaking into her hair... She would have been able to hear his voice as he approached. There was something strange about his footsteps - how the rain seemed to almost part about him, as though he were a ghost that moved through the world, a mere part of the scenery given form.

"The moment a warrior loses himself to that... He will never attain victory, for his gaze is locked behind him."

In his hands, he held her sword. Before her, lodged into the ground, was his, ancient tassel waving gently in the wind. Kusanagi stopped, features illuminated by a thunderclap. His brow was set, eyes focused on her own, and the way the world seemed to throw shadows about his features made him look for all in the world like a statue of some long-lost deity.

"Draw it."

 

[VeraC]

The blade drew itself downward to the man’s shoulder, but was stopped in the instant, like it had hit a wall of steel, the man having caught the blade almost effortlessly. The sword shook by her hands, attempting to push through the man’s defense, though not even an inch would his fingers budge. She did little but snarl at Kusanagi’s words, frankly not in the mood to respond to his questions. It seemed he only answered her questions with more questions; what was the point in talking with him?

“Nrrrghh…--”

Mumyo was about to dig deep in her for a howl of anger to draw out what strength she had, but before she even had the chance, Kusanagi’s jab struck her square in the neck; it was not a strike of physical force per say, but one of spiritual force, Kusanagi’s own Ki interrupting and spreading through Mumyo’s and sending her into a moment of shock, as his blow shut close the gates of Fuurinkazan. As if the red curtains that had been pulled over Mumyo’s eyes had lifted, her body began to settle into its landing spot within the flora, Mumyo staring blankly at the cloudy sky above.

Rain fell on her face, wetting her features and soaking her hair, the back of her clothes browned and dirtied by the soil-turned mud. Her body ached and groaned in pain as she attempted to move. Her anger had slightly subsided, but she couldn’t call herself ‘complacent’ at the current situation. She lay still on the ground, her mind lost in thought, or perhaps still in shock; either was the forceful sealing of Fuurinkazan making it extremely difficult to move her body.

“Draw it.”

Yet with the man’s words, she couldn’t help but feel some sort of motivation to continue the fight. She turned her head to look at the white blade, which even despite the now-cloudy weather, was still glistening in splendor. For the woman once called “the Indomitable Blade,” this whole situation was pretty pathetic. Mumyo saw her reflection in the blade and she struggled to even recognize herself. Just who was the person she saw in the mirror?

Just when had she become like this?

She called upon her body, she begged it to move, first an arm, then her torso, then her legs, she slowly stood up from the ground, stumbling forward, catching the blade with her hand to regain her balance. She faced Kusanagi, a spark of some sort perhaps having caught flame deep within her.

She seized the sword with both her hands, but as she attempted to lift it up, she was hit with a realization.

Heavy…

By looking at it, she could tell it was a relic weapon like Takamagahara, but far beyond that it possessed a strange heaviness that was far befitting of its size or composition. Just what was it that allowed Kusanagi to carry it so easily?

Nonetheless, she managed to lift the blade up with a heave of her arms, and then with an arc had it fall on her shoulder.

“Am I just to forget everything that has happened? The disgrace and shame I’ve brought on myself?"

Crouching low, she leaped forward into another dash, however now with a blank look on her face, unable to remain fully focused on the fight. Planting her foot down before Kusanagi, she heaved the weapon up and over, to slam it down on the ground where he stood.

 

[GEAR]

Mumyo tore forward through the rain, through the cold towards uncertainty. The sword in her hand glowed faintly, as though it were reacting to her thoughts, her feelings, echoing them. Kusanagi listened to the world, to the sensations that rippled out from this young woman. Her sword came up and over - the murderous strike of one not quite yet adjusted to their weapon, but who understood full well the power behind its weight.



The blade came down-

And lightning flashed between the two combatants.

---

The distant past.

A young man in white robes stumbled back with a surprised shout of pain, falling onto his back on the grass. He lay there for a minute, breathing heavily, not even shielding the sun from his features. Eventually, he sensed footsteps approach, and an inquisitive figure loomed into view - another young man, this one wearing his training robes more loosely, carrying a sword over his shoulder.

He felt indignation rising in his chest as he rasped:

"...You cheated."

The young swordsman's eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Did I ever say I was going to fight fair?" He said, offering a hand.

The first man stared at him reproachfully, but begrudgingly took it, rising into a sitting position as he sighed, and looked at the burns on the back of his hand. They weren't too serious. Nothing a spell couldn't fix up. Where had he gone wrong? As if reading his mind, his sparring partner spoke, tapping the side of his head knowingly.

"You're trying too hard to play by the rules. Makes your reactions slow, 'cus you're over-thinking."

"It is how I was taught." Said the first, defensively as he picked up his sword, wincing at the weight. The other shook his head.

"That's not how it is in a real fight. Or a war, even."

They both sat and looked out upon the fields. The idyllic plains under a radiant sun. Their peers were all around them, engaged in similar exercises. Eventually, the first spoke:

"So a win's a win, even if it's dirty? Don't you feel any shame? Don't you worry about bringing dishonor to your name?"

The swordsman made an exaggerated show of thinking, much to his peer's chagrin. He already despised these get-togethers, and now he had reason to despise them even more.

"Honor comes from victory. Doesn't matter how you do it." He said; "You can honored for dying if you like, but I'd much rather prefer to enjoy the accolades while I'm alive."

The swordsman slung the weapon over his back into its scabbard and made to leave, but not before the first asked:

"...What's your name?"

"Kusanagi. You?"

The first hesitated, as if he was unsure of why he'd asked. Perhaps he was just curious, because this one seemed remarkably straightforward compared to the rest. Nobody had managed to throw him like that before, nor had such a simplistic reason for being able to do so. He had to know more.

"Lao." He said, at last.

"Lao Xi Feng."

"Huh. See you around then, Lao."

He waited until he was gone, and brushed off his book. Normally, he couldn't wait to get back to the more cultured studies, but perhaps... His hand closed about the sword hilt. Perhaps... There was something more to this barbaric exercise than he'd thought. Standing and straightening his posture...

He tried again.

---

The Present

There was a resounding CLANG of metal, and something whipped through the air. Kusanagi felt the impact run up his arm into his bones, but suppressed even the smallest signs of discomfort. Mumyo's borrowed sword arced into the sky from where it had parried the incoming slash, cracks visible running up its flanks like silver spiderwebs.

He didn't want to think of how long it had been since it'd been inspected. Doubtlessly the spirit in the metal was starved and deprived, having to do the laborious work its taskmaster demanded of it.

"Holding onto the memory of your disgrace has kept you alive. Kept you moving forward."

Kusanagi caught the sword as it fell. The rain had stopped now, leaving only a stillness in the air, as cold droplets dripped down his weathered features.

"That is a crutch you no longer need."

He extended the hilt towards Okuni, returning it to her. No further action seemed to be forthcoming.

"Today, the slate is washed clean... and you are born anew."