[log; in progress]

[cinnagami.livejournal.com]

When; After this
Rating; [tentative] PG-13 for violence
Characters; Tsuzuki Asato cinnagami and Sakurazuka Seishiro sakurazuka_san
Summary; Seishiro's second duel and Tsuzuki's first; in this corner is the black-suited onmyoji assassin and in that corner is the black-suited onmyoji god of death. Who will prevail...?
Log; Dirt crunched under Tsuzuki's shoes. The sun was in his eyes; he squinted, looking across the arena. His mouth was dry and his mind in turmoil. How had the other man learned what he was? Had they been enemies during one of the visits he couldn't remember? Or had he gotten his knowledge some other way... such as, for instance, from a certain silver-haired doctor.

He slipped his hands into his coat pockets, fingers sliding along the edges of the ofuda there. Counting them, readying them for swift reaction, he remained otherwise still. His opponent was unknown, and Tsuzuki was too experienced to make the mistake of assaulting an enigma. He had a shield ready should he require it;

In his focus, he hardly noticed his confused emotions souring into something darker. All he knew, as he prepared for battle, was that his revulsion towards violence had faded into a desire for it.

He wanted to see blood.

Comments

[metousiosis.livejournal.com]

There was no need for an encore - it lacked elegance, a horrible after-taste resulting from a lack of beauty. From the shadows of the stadium came the man - one, two, three steps forward, keeping an astonishingly blank smile on his face. The illusionary entrance, too overdone. Besides, this opponent had no forehand knowledge of those skills; a true magician never revealed the secret.

It was a bit of a pity - he eyed the man ahead, a damn close doppelgänger of himself. The suit was cheap. It was all in the tailoring, and it was a bit noticeable. It almost gave rise to the thought that, perhaps, the imitation wasn't only superficial. There was one way to test that.

"Rather fine weather, isn't it?" he superciliously remarked. That challenge was looking his opponent right in the eye; there was something odd in how one amusedly perked brow could convey so much.

[cinnagami.livejournal.com]

Tsuzuki spotted the movement, a black-suited man melting out of the shadows. Tall, of medium build, Japanese; hair tousled.... He felt as though he were facing a skewed mirror. The other man's eyes were the only clear difference: one golden, one milky white.

The sick anger that had taken him over clenched a fist around his heart. Who was this man? Who, to strike at him with the knowledge of his purpose and his filthy hands?

If those mismatched eyes had been purple, he would have thought this was all in his head. Hadn't he heard those condemnations in his own voice?

And yes, the weather was fine. Cool. The time of year for cutting back roses. Tsuzuki gritted his teeth, snapping an ofuda out of his pocket, and flung it at his opponent, shouting a word to activate its power in an explosive burst.

[metousiosis.livejournal.com]

Such silence and eagerness was a bit of a change; there was at least one dissimilarity for the record. No patience - although the ofuda was noteworthy. The ease of illusion was something that came in handy at times like this. One minute, there he stood. In the space of milliseconds, sakura petals sprouted from him, replacing him and revealing his absence. Of course, send the illusion out first. Then move on.

Crossed fingers and a silent chant later, darkness seeped around the arena. That darkness substantiated into a blackness, and all in seeming slow motion. Then.... yes, then, in a spray of petals, he would reveal himself behind his opponent. No words, no movements - he'd let the prey come to him.

[cinnagami.livejournal.com]

The darkness took him by surprise. Tsuzuki's eyes flicked around the arena, so bright with sun a moment earlier. Where had the other gone? Was this illusion or reality? His eyes were no help, whatever had happened. He would have to break this trap before it had a chance to close.

Locking his hands together, forefingers outstretched and thumbs crossed, he focused his power and began to chant. It was a simple dispelling chant; not knowing what this was, he couldn't specify his counterattack.

Who... what... was this man?