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tampered2006-08-16 05:20 pm
ossuarybouquet.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-08-16 05:20 pm
Log; complete
When; Aug. 11 [sunset]
Rating; PG-13, violence & blood, etc.
Characters; Kimimaro (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ossuarybouquet) & Kurogane (black_ginryuu)
Summary; There's an issue, a challenge, a fight. In which both parties learn a thing or three, and injuries run rampant. ♥
Log;
Kurogane had a lot of frustration to vent. First of all, he was incapable of walking around the city now without seeing pictures of that stupid meat-bun who called himself a Mokona. He was never loath of a fight, of course. Plus there was that little ulterior motive that he didn't even like admitting to himself: he needed to prove to himself that he could protect his own, after losing Ranmaru to Marluxia so recently. He had hated feeling so hopeless in that situation, standing by while someone he cared about had been laid low with blindness and then forced to die to help someone else. In short, Kimimaro had hit a nerve with his comment about not being able to take care of Syaoran. Normally he would say no to a fight and let the kid take care of himself, let him learn from his own mistakes, but he couldn't let this one pass.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Kurogane took a deep breath to fill his lungs and then let it out in a long, calming sigh. He didn't need these thoughts to distract him in a fight. The emotion was good - raw emotion only fueled the fires in a fight - but thoughts got in the way of instinct. His shoulders relaxed for the first time in the past week or so, and his hand rested comfortably on Souhi's pommel. He was all set for a good fight.
Now just for that creepy, under-fed-looking kid to show up.
Kimimaro had had no problems finding the building in question, once again, this time for a different reason entirely. Once most of the maps had been pieced together (it had felt strange, assembling sheets of paper on the floor of the innroom), he'd noticed that the entirety of the city seemed to have a distinctly circular shape--and that all the places marked for residence formed a ring all their own. From there all he'd had to do was count the order in which the buildings came--traveling the rooftops facilitated many things.
It was difficult to articulate just why he'd accepted and taken up this challenge, coming from an unknown man attempting to protect a child he barely knew--Kimimaro was essentially flying blind, with next to no data on the other's possible powers, weapons, or level of skill and experience. Perhaps the city was affecting him after all... Or perhaps this would be another good opportunity to understand something so vastly incomprehensible--to a shinobi, a fight was more informative than an interrogation could ever be. It just depended who came out alive.
The moment he sighted the edge of Building 4, back towards the sunset, he felt the aura of the one waiting for him; coupled with the complete silence that greeted him, its sense of predatory intent increased all the more. He had already gathered himself by the time he landed, mind blank save for the beginnings of the fight.
When Kimimaro arrived on the roof of the apartment building, Kurogane's grin flashed white in the growing darkness. Even if he was lit by the glow of the setting sun, he still was quite capable of eminating a dark, almost demonic aura when he so chose. And he so chose now. Nothing like intimidation to earn you the first strike in a battle, and with any luck this kid was inexperienced - he wouldn't know what to do in a man's battle - full of dirty tricks and bar-room tactics.
Kurogane himself had sought out at least three separate fights within the first week of his arrival in the City, so had Kimimaro asked he would probably have told him what he had found out himself - it was simply the easiest way for someone who based their life on fighting to establish their sense of awareness with their surroundings. But, as Kimimaro never asked, Kurogane never told. Instead, he loosened his sword in its scabbard and took a menacing step forward, death's-head grin never leaving his face.
"What's your name, kid?"
Upon closer examination, the as-of-yet unnamed shinobi seemed at the same age as Syaoran, with the same look in his eye: willingness to do anything to help the person you cared about the most. That wouldn't stop Kurogane from beating his ass into the ground, however.
The man who seemed to detach himself from the long shadows across the rooftops emanated something both familiar and foreign to Kimimaro--the smile reminded him of Orochimaru-sama in one of his killing moods, but everything about his lord that was ice-cold and needle-sharp became fire and blade with this man. And that aura... Kimimaro had never fought a jinchuuriki, but he was sure it would have been a fair comparison; the next closest was the cursed seal, when he fought against those of the Sound.
Assessment passed in a flash, never making its way onto the youth's face, which was critically taking in every inch of his opponent's armor and weaponry--the only such visible was the great blade at his waist, but Kimimaro knew better than to make assumptions. There were no other factors in his observations; he knew enough to fight, enough to strategize, and that was enough to ease him smoothly into true battle stance.
His answer to the question was smooth, serene, an afterthought. "Kimimaro."
When Kimimaro announced his name, Kurogane executed the smallest of bows in an inclination of the head.
"Kurogane."
And then the grin was back, with flashing blood-red eyes. It only took a few steps for him to get his sword out of the sheath and bring it to bear directly at Kimimaro. He wasn't pulling his punches here - if the younger man was in the perfect position to lose an arm with this strike.
Kurogane knew a practiced fighter when he saw one, and he was pleased to find that in his momentary assessment of the other's figure he could see all the hallmarks of experience. That meant he didn't have to go lightly, which was what he wanted, really.
Kimimaro barely heard the name--all his senses were focused on catching that first step, the very first twitch of the muscle of the arm reaching for the blade at the other's side; he yet had no inkling of the other's speed. When Kurogane attacked, though, he saw he needn't have bothered; although the other was fast, his attack was completely direct, linear and openly read, although--
Hints of ninja in his garb, watch for jutsu. The thought flowed through his consciousness with the same rhythm at which Kimimaro slipped smoothly under the encroaching blade, the smell of blood momentarily everywhere. He held back attack for the time being, unwilling to leave openings just yet to an obviously powerful fighter.
After his first, intentionally wide stroke, Kurogane was fully aware when Kimimaro didn't take advantage of the opening that was left by his swing. There were dozens of reasons for that, but he was sure he could narrow them down within a few more strikes. His grin didn't waver as he stepped to the youth's side and brought the sword down, this time aiming for the head. He wasn't the type to just sit back and gather information, after all - if you could finish the fight in a few easy strokes, why not?
He was as of yet unaware of what the kid had up his sleeves, but Kurogane was quite sure he could handle this kid. Call it animal instinct if you will, but it had never let him down before. Of course, tradition was in his favor - he had never lost a fight, and he certainly was not about to die here and now, who knew how many worlds away from Tomoyo.
He knew it was risky, but it was also an opportunity to see just how well his opponent could wield that blade--Kimimaro bent over backwards almost double, allowing his body to slide forwards until he was within Kurogane's guard--simultaneously, twin daggers of bone sprouted from his open palms, faster than the twitch of a pupil, aimed straight for Kurogane's chest.
It took long enough for Kurogane to notice and curse under his breath, though, as he was forced into a retreat. Now that was fuckin' weird, and Kurogane had seen some weird shit in his time. Bone, growing out through the skin? The shock factor managed to allow Kimimaro to nick some of the fabric of Kurogane's loose robe, but nothing more than a scratch registered on Kurogane's skin as he flashed backwards.
That trick wouldn't work twice.
Ah. Despite his relatively considerable bulk--although it was no doubt amplified by that particular air around him as well as the billowing cloak--this man's speed was nothing to be trifled with; very, very few could have dodged an attack at such close range, and Kimimaro had killed a couple of them himself.
"Teshi Sendan!" Even as he extricated himself from the tangle, Kimimaro pressed his advantage during the fleeting moments when Kurogane was just that much off balance recovering from his attack, flinging deadly rounded bits of bone with one hand even as he caught himself on the ground and flipped out of range of that oversized sword with the other.
Kurogane was just finished thinking - "Damn, this kid knows how to fight," - when he registered the projectiles coming straight for him. He didn't have time to register where they came from and what they were as he fell into a dive-roll instinctively to dodge them. That happened afterwards. Glaring through the increasing gloom as store and house lights were yet to light up, he watched in a kind of morbid facination as Kimimaro's fingers healed almost instantaneously.
"That's handy," he commented, standing up straight again only to fall into an ages-old stance: one arm forward for blocking, feet one in front of the other to provide a smaller target, sword raised and hovering around his ear, pointing directly at the white figure in front of him as he gathered his energy for an attack.
"Tenma shori sen!"
Thrusting the point forward, the energy whipped out of his blade in the form of a snapping, snarling dragon, maw wide to invite the unwary.
One thing was for certain, then--whether it was close or long-range combat, Kurogane was not an easy target, and Kimimaro might be hard-pressed to touch him, much less cause harm... However, the opposite also held true.
The other man's attacks were powerful, and linear, and relied completely on brute force and scale--the type of attack Kimimaro would laugh at, were it not for their battleground. He managed to evade the dragon's jaws, but the sheer power of the attack snapped and tore at his clothing, and also demolished a sizeable portion of the roof; he now had even less terrain to maneuver in, and although the same held true for his opponent it still did not tip the scales, which might be what he needed to win this battle.
Relying on dumb luck had never been a part of Kimimaro's repertoire, though; even as Kurogane's attack missed him, he was already on the move, once again dashing in close before the impact on the other side of the roof had fully petered out.
"Yanagi no Mai!"
Kurogane was aware of the moment it took him after a full-scale attack like that to recover, so he was already defending when Kimimaro came whirling out of the dust like a doctor's worst nightmare. Blood-red eyes widened as he moved to block the attack and a sharpened arm-bone smashed into his arm bracer and broke through the toughened leather to cut a long gash down his forearm. He would have cursed his luck in picking a fight with someone who seemed quite the opposite of his own style of fighting, but instead he was merely exhilarated. At this point, death was everything, and nothing.
Bringing his sword in between the two of them, he drove the point of it towards Kimimaro's throat.
There was the recognition of success, momentary but electric when he truly broke through Kurogane's defense and finally inflicted a sizeable hit, but it was the look in the other's eyes that caught at his focus--there was no fear, nor was there the total lack of emotion that Kimimaro knew lived in himself at such moments--but exultation, something so incomprehensibly close to joy that it threw him off for the briefest of moments it took to allow Kurogane's sword to slip between them and behind his guard.
Once he had recognized that, there was no more time to waste on self-reproach--his ribcage, collarbones, shoulderblades came bursting out of his skin in a flash of pure reflex, and the sudden cluster of bones managed to just catch the flat of Kurogane's blade, and deflect it enough that its slash sent blood spattering from his jaw, rather than his jugular.
He couldn't help it - it was just so crazy, and yet, so wonderfully challenging. Kurogane laughed out loud. It was the laugh of a kid who had just got a present for Christmas that they had been begging for, tempered by the sheer steel in his grin.
"Good job, kid," he said casually, appreciatively, understanding and recognising the confusion in those hauntingly dead eyes. This kid was a professional killer, sure, but he didn't have the real joy of the fight, and that would be the difference between the two of them in this battle.
His sandaled foot came up, ignoring the bones that made small cuts where they could and pushed back, hard. They separated far enough for Kurogane to casually unbuckle the damaged bracer and drop it on the roof, keeping one eye on Kimimaro as he took the tie that had been holding the armor in place and tied it over the wound, pulling it tight with his teeth, before resettling into another stance.
Kimimaro gritted his teeth as he stemmed the flow of blood from his face with his fingers, willing his bone shell into place to protect the injury from further aggravation in the coming clashes. The other's laughter--he couldn't tell if it was taunting or goading him... or encouraging, the challenge smoldering in that expression unmistakable.
He was confused enough and unnerved enough by how he could not read this opponent's psychology the way he thought he should be able to... Kimimaro stayed still long enough to permit Kurogane to recover completely before he moved again, albeit cautious of whatever new technique that form meant.
He needed to break through again, in a different way--something that would connect with his opponent. Accordingly, one hand ripped the long bone from his left arm in mid-dash, his speed increasing until the blurry afterimages of his movement left streaks across the rooftop. "Tsubaki no Mai!"
Forgoing another energy attack for the moment, Kurogane lunged forward to meet Kimimaro's attack, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the bone leaving the arm and forming into a sword. Kind of disgusting, but something like that was not about to turn the stomach of someone who had watched his father be eaten by a monster at a very young age.
The memory sharpened his focus and his eyes narrowed again as he followed Kimimaro's movements, anticipating where and when he would strike. He knew he couldn't move that quickly, but then again, he didn't have to.
Stepping into the path of the bone sword, he brought his sword in a sweeping strike aimed at the pale boy's chest. He trusted in his own strength and the strength of his blade. It would cut through bone.
He realized that he'd once again underestimated his opponent in his frenzy--either that, or Kurogane had completely lost his mind. Either way, Kimimaro was already bearing in for the attack by the time he saw the blade pointed at his chest, and although his cage of bone was out and ready to deflect it, this strike was different from the last--the angle changed. His eyes widened; he'd... underestimated the opponent's ability to learn in that millisecond of just-too-late, and by the time he'd registered the gravity of the error, metal had crashed through his one-armed defense and glanced off the bone armor just beneath his skin, leaving a gaping wound across his front.
In that split second, however, his momentum and his single-minded attack carried him enough so that the spear of bone shattered Kurogane's shoulder plate, embedding itself deeply in the flesh beneath even as Kimimaro fell to his knees, stifling a painful cough against the fresh bones of his right arm.
Kurogane was satisfied. Sure he was wounded, but the kid was hitting the ground and that was as much of a win as he could afford to take. He stepped back, away from the coughing, gasping figure, aware that he had hit something hard that had stopped his attack from impaling the kid, but he had been expecting that. Had been relying on it, actually, because he didn't want to kill this kid. Not yet, anyways.
His sword arm was useless, anyways. Clinging onto his sword, he gritted his teeth and pulled out the spike of bone, letting loose a hot gush of blood. The shoulder guard clattered to the stone roof and he pressed his other hand over it, trying to stem the flow. The muscles were torn, he could feel, but no major blood vessels broken. Bind it up nice and neat and it'd heal in no time.
Looking down at the prone form, he watched Kimimaro cough up blood, no emotion showing on his face.
"Nice try, kid."
There was a too-familiar, agonizing feeling like a sand gale burning through his chest, trailing pinpricks of hot and cold in its wake--he needed to stop coughing and couldn't, needed to rise and face his opponent but could not find the breath to. Furiously, Kimimaro clutched at his torn chest, willing the pangs to stop as he finally looked up, wiping the blood from his mouth with a firm hand. "Next time."
That was all he managed before he doubled over again. The anger, however, was stronger this time, and he was on his feet a moment later, chest heaving and fists clenched and bloody--damned if he was going to let some ridiculous disease rob him of his dignity and his will to fight, this way. The eyes that met Kurogane's matched challenge for challenge before Kimimaro turned away, silently, and sped from the rooftop.
Kurogane recognised that illness - his mother - and actually had to quash the urge to follow Kimimaro as he ran across rooftops away from him.
"Next time," he agreed, frowning.
It was only then that the pain hit him and he grimaced, turning and heading for the doorway back down to his apartment, the point of his sword dragging in the stone as he clenched it in a bloodied fist.
Rating; PG-13, violence & blood, etc.
Characters; Kimimaro (
ossuarybouquet) & Kurogane (black_ginryuu)Summary; There's an issue, a challenge, a fight. In which both parties learn a thing or three, and injuries run rampant. ♥
Log;
Kurogane had a lot of frustration to vent. First of all, he was incapable of walking around the city now without seeing pictures of that stupid meat-bun who called himself a Mokona. He was never loath of a fight, of course. Plus there was that little ulterior motive that he didn't even like admitting to himself: he needed to prove to himself that he could protect his own, after losing Ranmaru to Marluxia so recently. He had hated feeling so hopeless in that situation, standing by while someone he cared about had been laid low with blindness and then forced to die to help someone else. In short, Kimimaro had hit a nerve with his comment about not being able to take care of Syaoran. Normally he would say no to a fight and let the kid take care of himself, let him learn from his own mistakes, but he couldn't let this one pass.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Kurogane took a deep breath to fill his lungs and then let it out in a long, calming sigh. He didn't need these thoughts to distract him in a fight. The emotion was good - raw emotion only fueled the fires in a fight - but thoughts got in the way of instinct. His shoulders relaxed for the first time in the past week or so, and his hand rested comfortably on Souhi's pommel. He was all set for a good fight.
Now just for that creepy, under-fed-looking kid to show up.
Kimimaro had had no problems finding the building in question, once again, this time for a different reason entirely. Once most of the maps had been pieced together (it had felt strange, assembling sheets of paper on the floor of the innroom), he'd noticed that the entirety of the city seemed to have a distinctly circular shape--and that all the places marked for residence formed a ring all their own. From there all he'd had to do was count the order in which the buildings came--traveling the rooftops facilitated many things.
It was difficult to articulate just why he'd accepted and taken up this challenge, coming from an unknown man attempting to protect a child he barely knew--Kimimaro was essentially flying blind, with next to no data on the other's possible powers, weapons, or level of skill and experience. Perhaps the city was affecting him after all... Or perhaps this would be another good opportunity to understand something so vastly incomprehensible--to a shinobi, a fight was more informative than an interrogation could ever be. It just depended who came out alive.
The moment he sighted the edge of Building 4, back towards the sunset, he felt the aura of the one waiting for him; coupled with the complete silence that greeted him, its sense of predatory intent increased all the more. He had already gathered himself by the time he landed, mind blank save for the beginnings of the fight.
When Kimimaro arrived on the roof of the apartment building, Kurogane's grin flashed white in the growing darkness. Even if he was lit by the glow of the setting sun, he still was quite capable of eminating a dark, almost demonic aura when he so chose. And he so chose now. Nothing like intimidation to earn you the first strike in a battle, and with any luck this kid was inexperienced - he wouldn't know what to do in a man's battle - full of dirty tricks and bar-room tactics.
Kurogane himself had sought out at least three separate fights within the first week of his arrival in the City, so had Kimimaro asked he would probably have told him what he had found out himself - it was simply the easiest way for someone who based their life on fighting to establish their sense of awareness with their surroundings. But, as Kimimaro never asked, Kurogane never told. Instead, he loosened his sword in its scabbard and took a menacing step forward, death's-head grin never leaving his face.
"What's your name, kid?"
Upon closer examination, the as-of-yet unnamed shinobi seemed at the same age as Syaoran, with the same look in his eye: willingness to do anything to help the person you cared about the most. That wouldn't stop Kurogane from beating his ass into the ground, however.
The man who seemed to detach himself from the long shadows across the rooftops emanated something both familiar and foreign to Kimimaro--the smile reminded him of Orochimaru-sama in one of his killing moods, but everything about his lord that was ice-cold and needle-sharp became fire and blade with this man. And that aura... Kimimaro had never fought a jinchuuriki, but he was sure it would have been a fair comparison; the next closest was the cursed seal, when he fought against those of the Sound.
Assessment passed in a flash, never making its way onto the youth's face, which was critically taking in every inch of his opponent's armor and weaponry--the only such visible was the great blade at his waist, but Kimimaro knew better than to make assumptions. There were no other factors in his observations; he knew enough to fight, enough to strategize, and that was enough to ease him smoothly into true battle stance.
His answer to the question was smooth, serene, an afterthought. "Kimimaro."
When Kimimaro announced his name, Kurogane executed the smallest of bows in an inclination of the head.
"Kurogane."
And then the grin was back, with flashing blood-red eyes. It only took a few steps for him to get his sword out of the sheath and bring it to bear directly at Kimimaro. He wasn't pulling his punches here - if the younger man was in the perfect position to lose an arm with this strike.
Kurogane knew a practiced fighter when he saw one, and he was pleased to find that in his momentary assessment of the other's figure he could see all the hallmarks of experience. That meant he didn't have to go lightly, which was what he wanted, really.
Kimimaro barely heard the name--all his senses were focused on catching that first step, the very first twitch of the muscle of the arm reaching for the blade at the other's side; he yet had no inkling of the other's speed. When Kurogane attacked, though, he saw he needn't have bothered; although the other was fast, his attack was completely direct, linear and openly read, although--
Hints of ninja in his garb, watch for jutsu. The thought flowed through his consciousness with the same rhythm at which Kimimaro slipped smoothly under the encroaching blade, the smell of blood momentarily everywhere. He held back attack for the time being, unwilling to leave openings just yet to an obviously powerful fighter.
After his first, intentionally wide stroke, Kurogane was fully aware when Kimimaro didn't take advantage of the opening that was left by his swing. There were dozens of reasons for that, but he was sure he could narrow them down within a few more strikes. His grin didn't waver as he stepped to the youth's side and brought the sword down, this time aiming for the head. He wasn't the type to just sit back and gather information, after all - if you could finish the fight in a few easy strokes, why not?
He was as of yet unaware of what the kid had up his sleeves, but Kurogane was quite sure he could handle this kid. Call it animal instinct if you will, but it had never let him down before. Of course, tradition was in his favor - he had never lost a fight, and he certainly was not about to die here and now, who knew how many worlds away from Tomoyo.
He knew it was risky, but it was also an opportunity to see just how well his opponent could wield that blade--Kimimaro bent over backwards almost double, allowing his body to slide forwards until he was within Kurogane's guard--simultaneously, twin daggers of bone sprouted from his open palms, faster than the twitch of a pupil, aimed straight for Kurogane's chest.
It took long enough for Kurogane to notice and curse under his breath, though, as he was forced into a retreat. Now that was fuckin' weird, and Kurogane had seen some weird shit in his time. Bone, growing out through the skin? The shock factor managed to allow Kimimaro to nick some of the fabric of Kurogane's loose robe, but nothing more than a scratch registered on Kurogane's skin as he flashed backwards.
That trick wouldn't work twice.
Ah. Despite his relatively considerable bulk--although it was no doubt amplified by that particular air around him as well as the billowing cloak--this man's speed was nothing to be trifled with; very, very few could have dodged an attack at such close range, and Kimimaro had killed a couple of them himself.
"Teshi Sendan!" Even as he extricated himself from the tangle, Kimimaro pressed his advantage during the fleeting moments when Kurogane was just that much off balance recovering from his attack, flinging deadly rounded bits of bone with one hand even as he caught himself on the ground and flipped out of range of that oversized sword with the other.
Kurogane was just finished thinking - "Damn, this kid knows how to fight," - when he registered the projectiles coming straight for him. He didn't have time to register where they came from and what they were as he fell into a dive-roll instinctively to dodge them. That happened afterwards. Glaring through the increasing gloom as store and house lights were yet to light up, he watched in a kind of morbid facination as Kimimaro's fingers healed almost instantaneously.
"That's handy," he commented, standing up straight again only to fall into an ages-old stance: one arm forward for blocking, feet one in front of the other to provide a smaller target, sword raised and hovering around his ear, pointing directly at the white figure in front of him as he gathered his energy for an attack.
"Tenma shori sen!"
Thrusting the point forward, the energy whipped out of his blade in the form of a snapping, snarling dragon, maw wide to invite the unwary.
One thing was for certain, then--whether it was close or long-range combat, Kurogane was not an easy target, and Kimimaro might be hard-pressed to touch him, much less cause harm... However, the opposite also held true.
The other man's attacks were powerful, and linear, and relied completely on brute force and scale--the type of attack Kimimaro would laugh at, were it not for their battleground. He managed to evade the dragon's jaws, but the sheer power of the attack snapped and tore at his clothing, and also demolished a sizeable portion of the roof; he now had even less terrain to maneuver in, and although the same held true for his opponent it still did not tip the scales, which might be what he needed to win this battle.
Relying on dumb luck had never been a part of Kimimaro's repertoire, though; even as Kurogane's attack missed him, he was already on the move, once again dashing in close before the impact on the other side of the roof had fully petered out.
"Yanagi no Mai!"
Kurogane was aware of the moment it took him after a full-scale attack like that to recover, so he was already defending when Kimimaro came whirling out of the dust like a doctor's worst nightmare. Blood-red eyes widened as he moved to block the attack and a sharpened arm-bone smashed into his arm bracer and broke through the toughened leather to cut a long gash down his forearm. He would have cursed his luck in picking a fight with someone who seemed quite the opposite of his own style of fighting, but instead he was merely exhilarated. At this point, death was everything, and nothing.
Bringing his sword in between the two of them, he drove the point of it towards Kimimaro's throat.
There was the recognition of success, momentary but electric when he truly broke through Kurogane's defense and finally inflicted a sizeable hit, but it was the look in the other's eyes that caught at his focus--there was no fear, nor was there the total lack of emotion that Kimimaro knew lived in himself at such moments--but exultation, something so incomprehensibly close to joy that it threw him off for the briefest of moments it took to allow Kurogane's sword to slip between them and behind his guard.
Once he had recognized that, there was no more time to waste on self-reproach--his ribcage, collarbones, shoulderblades came bursting out of his skin in a flash of pure reflex, and the sudden cluster of bones managed to just catch the flat of Kurogane's blade, and deflect it enough that its slash sent blood spattering from his jaw, rather than his jugular.
He couldn't help it - it was just so crazy, and yet, so wonderfully challenging. Kurogane laughed out loud. It was the laugh of a kid who had just got a present for Christmas that they had been begging for, tempered by the sheer steel in his grin.
"Good job, kid," he said casually, appreciatively, understanding and recognising the confusion in those hauntingly dead eyes. This kid was a professional killer, sure, but he didn't have the real joy of the fight, and that would be the difference between the two of them in this battle.
His sandaled foot came up, ignoring the bones that made small cuts where they could and pushed back, hard. They separated far enough for Kurogane to casually unbuckle the damaged bracer and drop it on the roof, keeping one eye on Kimimaro as he took the tie that had been holding the armor in place and tied it over the wound, pulling it tight with his teeth, before resettling into another stance.
Kimimaro gritted his teeth as he stemmed the flow of blood from his face with his fingers, willing his bone shell into place to protect the injury from further aggravation in the coming clashes. The other's laughter--he couldn't tell if it was taunting or goading him... or encouraging, the challenge smoldering in that expression unmistakable.
He was confused enough and unnerved enough by how he could not read this opponent's psychology the way he thought he should be able to... Kimimaro stayed still long enough to permit Kurogane to recover completely before he moved again, albeit cautious of whatever new technique that form meant.
He needed to break through again, in a different way--something that would connect with his opponent. Accordingly, one hand ripped the long bone from his left arm in mid-dash, his speed increasing until the blurry afterimages of his movement left streaks across the rooftop. "Tsubaki no Mai!"
Forgoing another energy attack for the moment, Kurogane lunged forward to meet Kimimaro's attack, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the bone leaving the arm and forming into a sword. Kind of disgusting, but something like that was not about to turn the stomach of someone who had watched his father be eaten by a monster at a very young age.
The memory sharpened his focus and his eyes narrowed again as he followed Kimimaro's movements, anticipating where and when he would strike. He knew he couldn't move that quickly, but then again, he didn't have to.
Stepping into the path of the bone sword, he brought his sword in a sweeping strike aimed at the pale boy's chest. He trusted in his own strength and the strength of his blade. It would cut through bone.
He realized that he'd once again underestimated his opponent in his frenzy--either that, or Kurogane had completely lost his mind. Either way, Kimimaro was already bearing in for the attack by the time he saw the blade pointed at his chest, and although his cage of bone was out and ready to deflect it, this strike was different from the last--the angle changed. His eyes widened; he'd... underestimated the opponent's ability to learn in that millisecond of just-too-late, and by the time he'd registered the gravity of the error, metal had crashed through his one-armed defense and glanced off the bone armor just beneath his skin, leaving a gaping wound across his front.
In that split second, however, his momentum and his single-minded attack carried him enough so that the spear of bone shattered Kurogane's shoulder plate, embedding itself deeply in the flesh beneath even as Kimimaro fell to his knees, stifling a painful cough against the fresh bones of his right arm.
Kurogane was satisfied. Sure he was wounded, but the kid was hitting the ground and that was as much of a win as he could afford to take. He stepped back, away from the coughing, gasping figure, aware that he had hit something hard that had stopped his attack from impaling the kid, but he had been expecting that. Had been relying on it, actually, because he didn't want to kill this kid. Not yet, anyways.
His sword arm was useless, anyways. Clinging onto his sword, he gritted his teeth and pulled out the spike of bone, letting loose a hot gush of blood. The shoulder guard clattered to the stone roof and he pressed his other hand over it, trying to stem the flow. The muscles were torn, he could feel, but no major blood vessels broken. Bind it up nice and neat and it'd heal in no time.
Looking down at the prone form, he watched Kimimaro cough up blood, no emotion showing on his face.
"Nice try, kid."
There was a too-familiar, agonizing feeling like a sand gale burning through his chest, trailing pinpricks of hot and cold in its wake--he needed to stop coughing and couldn't, needed to rise and face his opponent but could not find the breath to. Furiously, Kimimaro clutched at his torn chest, willing the pangs to stop as he finally looked up, wiping the blood from his mouth with a firm hand. "Next time."
That was all he managed before he doubled over again. The anger, however, was stronger this time, and he was on his feet a moment later, chest heaving and fists clenched and bloody--damned if he was going to let some ridiculous disease rob him of his dignity and his will to fight, this way. The eyes that met Kurogane's matched challenge for challenge before Kimimaro turned away, silently, and sped from the rooftop.
Kurogane recognised that illness - his mother - and actually had to quash the urge to follow Kimimaro as he ran across rooftops away from him.
"Next time," he agreed, frowning.
It was only then that the pain hit him and he grimaced, turning and heading for the doorway back down to his apartment, the point of his sword dragging in the stone as he clenched it in a bloodied fist.