KeotsuEclipse
Active member
Awards
Mild Gore
<.<" I have no comment concerning the time between chapters, other than this: Sorry. ><
Its an okay chapter, I guess. I'm not happy with it, but I'm not disappointed either.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy.
[size=+1]The Mysterious Man That Came From Nowhere[/size]
Keotsu, Rena, Asuma, and Shikamaru stood at the crest of a hill, the sunset burning the sky orange behind them, casting its strangely comforting glow, along with stretching shadows, across the land in front of them.
Trees dotted the landscape, as the dusty plain stretched before them, there location objective in the distance.
“Taochi Town…” said Asuma, lighting a cigarette.
The wind blew, kicking up a massive, swirling cloud of dust. Once it cleared, Keotsu could clearly make out the town: a wooden arch that was once beautiful was missing pieces and its paint was peeling. The sign with the town’s name was dangling by a single nail, barely legible because of the erosion of the sign caused by the dust clouds.
“Our objective is to free the town. Apparently, a group of bandits rolled in about two years ago and took over the town. They killed the mayor, and are taking a “tax” from the civilians,” explained Shikamaru.
“They are actually considered incredibly dangerous. They have more than one Rouge Ninja with them, and, apparently, their leader is a defunct shinobi from the Land of Stone. He’s a class S criminal,” said Asuma, taking a large drag off of his cigarette, blowing a small cloud of smoke into the air.
Pounding at his chest, knocking dust out of his clothes in poufs, Keotsu said, “Meh, I’ll be glad once we get this done with.”
The four Shinobi walked towards the town, taking notice of the frail looking farmers working the fields. There eyes were sunken and dreary; the very look in them pleaded for the Shinobi’s help.
“Tch…How could anyone do this?” questioned an irritated Keotsu.
“That’s what bandits do…And that’s why it’s our jobs as Shinobi to stop them,” said Asuma, taking another puff form the cigarette.
Crows cawed as they crossed through the village gate. Men with katana and bandanas, each one with the same red “X” with a green sphere in the middle, breaking up each “arm” of the “X”; it was the gang’s symbol.
Keotsu’s eyes locked with one of the bandits, and his hand strayed to Mikomi’s hilt. The man rushed at Keotsu.
There was a flash - Keotsu had used the quick draw sword art that he had been taught by his ANBU sensei Toshi. The man gaped in awe as he stared at the bladeless hilt of his sword, Mikomi’s otherworldly sharpness, paired with the unbreakable material it was made from, had sliced the blade of the man’s sword off at the hilt.
“Anyone else?!” challenged Keotsu, twirling Mikomi.
Another man, either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish, charged at Keotsu, only to have his blade cut in half, long before he ever reached him.
“That’s enough of that,” stated Asuma, the wind chakra still glowing around his one chakra blade.
Keotsu, never taking his eyes off the crowd, quickly sheathed Mikomi, and rejoined the group.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized.
“Come on, we should get to an inn before anymore trouble erupts…,” Asuma plainly stated.
The four kept in a tight formation with Keotsu taking up the rear, using his deft swordsmanship as a fear tactic to ward off wannabe assaulters; they made it to the inn without further incident, to each person’s relief.
The inn was shabby – and that was being kind in its description. The walls were wooden and rotten, and for what metal there was, it was rusted. Like everything else in the town, it was stained by countless days of a ferociously burning sun and relentless gales of sand and dust.
Keotsu scanned his surroundings, a basic instinct to an ANBU; the whole town seemed hostile.
Walking through the door, Keotsu’s nostrils were assaulted with the heavy scent of various liquors and ales, Rena even made a noticeable cringe at the stench. Asuma motioned for the trio to grab a table while he approached the Barkeeper in attempts to barter for lodging.
“How much for two rooms?” asked Asuma.
“Rooms are for paying customers,” said the barkeeper, polishing a shot glass.
Glancing back towards the trio, each with their backs toward the round table they sat at, so that they always had a view of the room, he made his order, “Fine. One bottle of sake.”
“With the rooms?”
“Of course,” Asuma replied.
“50,000 ryo,” said the Barkeeper, as if the price was not phenomenal.
“That’s absurd!” Asuma said; he doubted that even if he asked Keotsu, Shikamaru, and Rena for their money to add to his, that their combined funds we even come close to that.
“The more you buy, the less the room,” said the Barkeeper, flexing his muscle so that the tattoo that marked the bandit’s gang peaked out noticeably from underneath his sleeve; Asuma sighed; this could take a while.
Keotsu examined all the inhabitants of the bar. Most were big, burly, drunk men, whose beards where think with slather, and their cheeks red from the alcohol. As he made eye contact with each man, many of them gave him a throaty growl. This was their bar. He was an outsider. Though, they though the woman with Keotsu was a fine catch….
The “champion” of the bar, a big man who was not of low rank in the gang, named Torvald, made eye contact with Rena, who averted her eyes from the man’s drunken gaze. To her, it was so her eyes did not become sore from the sight of the ugly man, who bore many scars from battle, along with several missing teeth and ugly bruises possibly afflicted today. To Torvald in his drunken, primal state of mind her looking away signified dominance.
His dominance over her.
He had already been waiting for an excuse to approach the table; the boy with the sword had locked eyes with him, something that anyone who knew the name “Torvald” knew not to do.
He knew the boy was a shinobi, and even in his drunken state, he had enough sense to not approach the table with three trained Ninja sitting at that table, so his luck was great indeed when Shikamaru rose to assist Asuma in the purchasing of their lodging.
For a man of his tremendous girth, he rose with surprising agility and stealth. So surprising was it that several drunken men backed into him, choked on their half-said threats once they realized who it was. He moved quickly to the side of Keotsu and Rena’s table.
Rena, as an ANBU, was aware of the man’s approaching presence. She didn’t make any notification of it though, as she wanted no trouble. That all changed with the man’s greasy hand grabbed her chin, and forced her to look at him.
His breath was foul with the stench of alcohol, as he rasped, “’ey there, pretty thing. You know, I might be to convincin’ the barkeeper to lower the charge for the room, ifin yer willin’ to come with me. What do ya say, little thing? I’ll show ya what its like to be witha real man.”
Rena forced herself to swallow past the lump in her throat. She knew by the weary looks that the others in the bar were giving the man that he was the champion, that this was his domain. Even the Barkeeper had stopped speaking, and Asuma was slowly reaching for his blades.
Rena averted her gaze, but the man yanked her gaze back to him again, yelling, “’ey! Are ya hard fer hearin’?! Ya know, I don’t care! Yer comin’ with me. I’mma - .” This was all the man had managed to speak before he found himself flat on his back on the floor, warm blood flowing from his now broken nose.
“Don’t you DARE speak to her that way! If you touch her with that hand again…you will lose it.” Pure hatred raged in Keotsu’s eyes. He was already mad at the way the villagers- those farmers- where being treated by the bandits. This man trying to force himself on Rena…he was enraged now. He’d fight each bandit if it came to it.
“’ey? An’ what’re you suppose’ ta be? Her champion? Ha! Ye’re nothing more ‘an a boy! Why, I’d be able ta crush ya between my fingers!” the man mocked as he raised his hand and pretended to crush Keotsu’s head between his massive fingers. The man then shot out his hands, in an act of displaying his “dominance” over Rena and Keotsu, and grabbed her by the collar in her shirt.
Big mistake.
It took Torvald moments to even realize that the “thud” he had heard was his hand hitting the floor, and the only reason he formed that thought that as quickly as he had was Mikomi’s blade resting on his neck, the blood from his hand warm on its blade.
Rena made no movement other than nonchalantly dropping her hand to her katana’s hilt. This was Keotsu’s fight. Of course, he would have struck against anyone that had treated her this way, but he knew she could protect herself; he knew that he didn’t have to play the knight in shining armor, that she was capable.
But this place, and even lately, before this…Things easily enraged Keotsu. This was the perfect time for him to vent his anger. And though she disapproved, she fully expected enemy causalities on this mission.
Turing the searing pain to blind rage, Torvald roared. “Why you brat! I’m gonna crush you!”
The severing of his hand may have sobered the man from the alcohol’s affect, but now he was drunk on rage.
Torvald’s remaining hand shot towards his weapon, a one bladed axe that had a hammer head on the reverse side and with a hand guard that would work effectively as brass knuckles.
Torvald raised his arm and swung a powerfully horizontal slash, the wind creating a great air pressure above Keotsu’s head as he ducked, and the blade sunk straight into the ribcage of a bandit who was standing to close to the enraged champion.
With agility that surprised Keotsu, Torvald went into an angled horizontal backhand with his weapon, aiming the hammer for Keotsu’s head. Keotsu sprung forwards from his crouched position, dodging the hammerhead by only a hairsbreadth. The hammerhead smashed into the floor, sending shrapnel in many directions.
Rena was now up with her katana raised, ready to strike. Likewise, Asuma’s blades were at the ready, their chakra extensions glowing; Shikamaru held a kunai in his hand, but held many small pebbles that would release a paralyzing gas in the other hand.
Keotsu raised a hand, signalizing all others, even the other bandits, that this was his fight. Slowly, a path formed, and the two combatants made their way outside to fight in the wider street.
Keotsu held Mikomi out in front of him, the weapon more akin to a Longsword now (the shape Keotsu had grown to prefer), than the broadsword-like form it had when he fought the Guru.
Torvald rushed towards Keotsu, the axe-like weapon raised. With a powerful swing, he brought the axe blade down with the intention of splitting Keotsu in two. Keotsu was quick, though, and rolled out of the way, nicking the back of the man’s calve as the axe blade burrowed itself a good six inches in the ground.
Keotsu stood and waited, making no advancement towards the brutish man. Torvald was busy tugging at his axe, pulling it a little bit farther out of the dirt each time. With one final, massive tug he brought the axe at and used its momentum (the fluid movement impressive for a man of his size) to launch a spinning backhand with the hammerhead.
Keotsu backpedaled out of the way of the blow, stabbing forward and nicking the man on his forearm this time. The warmth of the small trickle of blood enraged Torvald, and he charged at Keotsu, chopping horizontally with the axe blade, and alternating between a backhand with the hammerhead and a complete spin to bring the axe blade to Keotsu’s other side. Keotsu continued to move quickly, dodging each attack, sometimes only barely, and continued to nick the man’s arm.
Keotsu was glad he had cut the man’s hand off earlier. The corded muscles showed that the man was used to fighting with two equally dangerous, powerful weapons at a time. With such powerful swings, Keotsu doubted he would last against a two-handed assault from this man. All it would have taken would have been one blow from the hammer to stun him, and then the axe would come and finish him off.
Suddenly, Keotsu was angry again. This man needed to be defeated; there was no time to toy with him.
As Torvald raised his weapon to go into another downward chop, Keotsu used a surprise tactic; he moved closer. Pivoting on his foot, the weapon barely passed by Keotsu’s back, who used the momentum of his pivot to drive his elbow deep into the man’s iron wall of a stomach. Though the attack probably caused more pain to Keotsu, it accomplished what it was intended to do, and Torvald doubled over, winded.
With a clean strike, Keotsu severed Torvald’s other hand and then moved Mikomi to the man’s neck, resting it cleanly between his neck and shoulder.
Part of Keotsu wanted to lop this man’s head off, a big part of him. Keotsu shook his head; what was he thinking?! Was he really about to take this man’s life in cold blood?
“Rena, his hand...,” Keotsu said, as he picked up the hand he had just severed, while Rena went to retrieve the earlier severed one.
“Grr…I’ll still fight ya, boy! Even if I hafta rip ya apart with my jaws!” roared Torvald, only the alcohol and a sheer adrenaline high keeping him from registering the massive pain.
“Shut up. You were defeated. Now, hold still, or I’ll have to sedate you…Thank you, Rena,” said Keotsu, as Rena held Torvald’s severed hands to their correct stumps. Chakra flowed from Keotsu’s hands as he worked to repair the bone and tissues, reattaching Torvald’s hands to his body.
Torvald, never have had been defeated before, and certainly not used to a chivalrous opponent, could only gawk, as the feeling slowly came back into his hands as the nerves started to repair themselves. Keotsu took a flask of what could have been water, but was actually very special dew from a rare flower he grew that was feed with chakra, and smeared it on Torvald’s wrists. It was quickly absorbed into his skin, and with the help of Keotsu’s medical jutsu, there was no sign that the wrists had ever been separated. In fact, Keotsu had possible staved off arthritis a couple years longer for this man.
Handing the small flask of the dew to Torvald, he motioned for him to drink it – Torvald downed it all in one hearty gulp. It tasted sweet, almost like honeysuckle. He felt its affects almost instantly; throughout the battle Torvald had steadily been bleeding from his stump alcohol thinned blood, and had lost quite a good amount. This dew revitalized him almost instantly, and he felt better (and more sober) than he had in many, many years.
Sobered, from both the alcohol and his pride, Torvald rose and examined his hands. They had retained the power that they where famous for, and his joints actually hurt less than they had even when he was a small farm lad. He spread his fingers and balled them into a fist, and then opened them again, reveling in his new found dexterity.
Holding one palm open, he bent down and picked up his weapon. Even to his mammoth strength, the weapon felt lighter than it had been before. Whatever that medicine the boy had made him drink, it was working wonders.
Keotsu stood with his hand on Mikomi’s hilt, it now back in its scabbard that was equally as impressive as the blade, always altering with the blade in a way that it fit perfectly to both the blade, and the fighting style Keotsu preferred to use. Keotsu was fully prepared to undo his work, if it came to it. But, with a level head this time.
“I’m not used ta bein’ beat,” Torvald admitted, a good portion of his dialect corrected with the various ales expelled from his body, and I be sorry for any trouble I caused you or this here lass….I will help secure ya some shelter.”
Torvald walked towards the tavern, many of the drunken ones sobered by the image of their champion defeated. Some failed to move out of the way of the massive man, not out of disrespect, but of sheer shock of what had happened. Torvald simply moved them to the side. One man, was particularly drunk….and cocky.
“Hahahahahahah! Look at that! Torvald was beaten by a kid! A kid! Guess your not so mighty now, huh-”
This was all the man managed before a hammerhead met the side of his face, sending him sprawling across the bar, unconscious, and leaving him with the worst hangover he would ever experience to face when he woke up. Torvald may have lost to Keotsu, but he was still the champion of the tavern, and you didn’t rise to that position without being stronger than everyone else.
Torvald then approached the barkeeper who straightened his back; even with the defeat of Torvald (who was actually the only thing that kept the barkeeper alive, as Torvald often threatened to “break anyone who stopped the flow of his booze”), he was determined to come out of this incident with a profit.
“Give ‘em two rooms. The two next to mine,” Torvald said, his gaze more powerful with his golden eyes no longer hazed by the effects of the spirits.
“50,000 ryo,” said the Barkeeper, which was possibly the most brave thing he had done in his life.
Big mistake.
Torvald’s massive arm shot forward and he grabbed the man by his collar, hoisting him up like he weighed no more than a mug of spirits.
“I. said. GIVE.”
“Y-y-y-yes sir, Torvald, sir, right away,” the Barkeeper managed, and then set about retrieving the keys to the rooms as soon as his feet touched the floor.
Moments later, Torvald lead the Squad through the back of the Tavern, to the Inn. He pointed and grunted as he handed the two keys to Asuma and Rena, signifying which rooms they went to.
Shikamaru and Asuma left, and went inside the room that they would be sharing. Keotsu and Rena where going to share a room, but it looked like Torvald had something he wanted to say.
“You…Ye’re here to drive us out, ain’t ya?” Torvald asked, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the tattoo that branded the bandits.
“Hm, you’re part of them? Yes, we are here to drive the bandits out of this town, and rescue the villagers,” Keotsu said, giving his rough paraphrase of the formal explanation on the Mission Scroll.
“Ha! Good luck wit’ that! There’re only ‘bout fifteen of the locals left! Oh, it’s not what yer thinkin’. We gave ‘em fair warning, an’ most of ‘em packed up and left.”
“Wait…then who issued the mission?” asked Keotsu, now confused. He doubted that Torvald would lie to Keotsu. This man carried an aura of profound strength, but he also seemed the type to honor something, if he needed to, and apparently, having been beaten made him honorable to Keotsu.
“Hrm. It was pro’bly those who’re left. Been achin’ at us to leave fer some time. We’re ‘bout to pack up anyways. Too dusty an’ hot. Not much left here, anyway. But… I’m tired of livin’ life like a bandit. I’m getting up in my years…It’s time I settle. The only problem is, our gang has a strict “No Resignation” policy…Even though I’m the number three in rank, I’ve been workin’ with a bounty hunter, who is after the gang head. Killin’ two birds with one stone, ya know? I get out of the gang, and he gets his “justice.””
As an ANBU, Keotsu was required to know a most of the bounty hunters, as many bounty hunters were Shinobi that abandoned their village. While most where classified as a Class E (the lowest) Shinobi, meaning that there was not real threat from them, and that their capture was not on the top of a Hidden Village’s hit list, they were still Rouge Shinobi and, therefore, had to be watched.
“Who…?” asked Keotsu, wondering if the picture had just become more complicated. If the bandits were going to leave, then maybe the Mission would fulfill itself, but if they managed to stop the bandits all together…It would go beyond the scope of their mission, but would prevent further trouble. The problem was, if the bounty hunter was high enough class, and opposed Konoha… Things might complicate quickly.
“My name is Saburo. Saburo Tozankyaku,” said a voice form behind.
Keotsu turned slowly, not out of fear, but out of comfort. Their mission just became much easier.
Saburo Tozankyaku, or “Zorro” as he was affectionately called by those he helped, was a “Rouge Ninja” from the Land of Wind. He came from a small unnamed town, and not much was known about his days at the Academy. Sometime around his twentieth birthday, though, he officially disowned himself from the village and became a bounty hunter, and a very successful one at that.
Saburo very much fell into the “vigilante” category, working with Shinobi if he could, but never afraid to work against them if it meant that he could right some wrong. He would swoop in, take care of the target, claim the bounty, and disappear, as quickly as he had come. He was “The mysterious man who came from nowhere”, the reason he was called Zorro, after the character from the tales that were told in the Land of Wind, though the tale was almost universally known.
Saburo’s hair was close cropped and a very dark brown, almost black. His eyes were an extremely light gray color, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for a few days. He was about six inches taller than Keotsu, but not of much heavier build. He was very agile, and was renowned for his skills with a rapier, making him all the more like the “Zorro” from the tales. He was outfitted in what looked like a standard Shinobi outfit, but with padded armor on his chest and forearms. He also wore a long black cape, long and wide enough to act like a jacket, and a wide brimmed hat, most likely to protect from the beating sun and relentless assault of the dusty winds.
Noticing Mikomi, he spoke, “Hm. I was unaware that Konoha had started training Samurai.”
Taking a minute to process, Keotsu responded, confused, “Me? A Samurai?”
“Yes. Though, you seem to prefer the Longsword to the Katana…You seem to prefer the weapon of the Knights across the seas.”
“I’m not a Samurai…I’m a Shiobi from Konoha. Though, I have fallen to rely more upon Mikomi’s blade than the jutsu I have in my arsenal…”
“Well, he has the skills to put any Samurai I’ve ever met to shame,” interjected Torvald.
“Hm. Well, would I be right in assuming that we stand on the same side?” asked Saburo.
“I think so. Are you planning on disbanding the bandits?” asked Keotsu, not concerned with any monetary gain at this point.
“Not directly, but if that happened, I wouldn’t be angry. I’m after the head. He’s the one with the bounty. Half a million ryo. I could live comfortably off that for a while,” said Saburo. The tone in his voice, something Keotsu couldn’t explain, told him that Saburo fully expected having to disband the bandits before he would even have a shot at the leader.
“Well, I guess we have one – two? - more on our team,” Keotsu said, aiming the question at Torvald, who nodded, showing that he was going to join the band. Suddenly, taking on a group of bandits seemed much easier.
“Let’s meet tomorrow, at dawn, just south of town. If you travel far enough, you’ll find a path leading into the woods. Follow that, taking a left at the first fork, and going straight at the next, you’ll come across my camp. We can make plans there. Until then, adios.” Saburo then turned and walked away, his black cloak engulfing him.
Torvald left without any parting words. He had already established where he stood, and they knew he would be there when they were.
The rest of the night was uneventful. Keotsu and Rena had explored the inn, and discovered that there was courtyard in the middle of the inn, separated from the outside world by the ring-like structure of the inn around it. It housed the only greenery that either of them had seen since arriving, and it even had a fairly large coy pond in the center.
Rena lay in the bed, Keotsu offered to sleep in the hammock on the other side of the room, and listened to his soft breathing. Starlight trickled softly through the slit windows, faintly illuminating everything in the room. Keotsu looked so at peace while he was sleeping, she thought.
Silently, she rolled herself out of the bed, taking care not to make any sounds from either the bedsprings or the old hardwood floor. Keotsu was ANBU just like her, and though both had managed to dull their awareness when they were within civil lodging, a part of them was always on high-alert and any slight noise might wake them.
She tip-toed quietly over and picked up Mikomi’s scabbard, she being one of the few people, if not the only other person, besides Keotsu himself, that could wield the blade.
She moved silently throughout the inn, until she came to the courtyard, the stars again lending her their light. She belted Mikomi’s scabbard to her waist, and drew the sword, Mikomi’s blade changing to the shape she preferred: it was a katana, slightly longer than usually, but not as long as a nodachi, and with an intricate hand guard; it resembled more of a rapier with a katana’s blade.
She swung it, the light blue blade with the silvery-white edge singing as it cut the crisp, cool night air. She twirled her hand, the blade falling effortlessly back into her grasp at the end of its rotation.
The blade swiped through the air, its power flowing into Rena. She felt like she could cut the fabric of reality with Mikomi. She brought the blade downward and then upward again, in a crescent slash as it passed through the water between the coy fish, without ever alerting them.
As the blade left the pool only a fraction of a second after it had entered, it was about as dry as it was when it had gone in; the blade was so sharp that it had cut through the surface tension perfectly without kicking up any spray.
After all the trials Keotsu had put it through, Rena thought Mikomi was unbreakable, or very near to that status. Paired with its incredible hardness and light weight, Mikomi’s blade was sharper than possibly anything else in the world.
Most people used wooden bokken and fought wooden sparing dummies when training their sword skills, but Keotsu used Mikomi, and she had seen him drive the blade up to its hilt into the solid stone side of a cliff and then remove the blade with no damage to it from the wall.
She twirled the blade a few more times in her hand to simply watch it scatter the pale blue light that fell from it for a few more minutes. Reluctantly, she took the blade and slid it back into its scabbard, Mikomi returning back to the bluish-silvery color and long sword-like shape that Keotsu preferred. Something about practicing with this blade brought calm over Rena. She didn’t know if Keotsu would be mad about her using the blade – she doubted it, as no one else could even lift the blade – but she only used the blade in secrecy as a precaution.
She silently moved back to her room, making absolutely no noise. She slid open the wooden door to Keotsu and her room, which in reality was very quiet, seemed to be making enormous amounts of noise to her. She tip-toed over and laid Mikomi back in the exact same position it had been in when she had first taken the sword, and then quietly worked her way back into bed.
The starlight was still trickling through the window, and she felt very refreshed from her small practice with Mikomi. With a content smile, she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Minutes later, Keotsu awoke, for no specific reason. He slowly and silently (not an easy task in his hammock) rolled out of his hammock as not to wake Rena. He slowly made his way out of the room to stand in the cool night air. For some reason, he was on edge.
It wasn’t the bandits. He knew that with all there power they had now, they could dispose of them. What was really on his mind…was what his father had left him.
All they had was a longitude and latitude and all they had been able to discern from a map after looking up the coordinates was that whatever it leads to was in a small set of mountains. Was it a vast treasure? An important master? Or even…survivors from his village? He could only guess, but it ate at his nerves more than anything had in a while.
He shook his head – it would all play out eventually. He turned, and made his way back to the room, much less stealthily than Rena had been, but quiet nonetheless. He stood at the door for a moment, taking in the room. It was bare, other than a few commodities, but what he was really taking in was Rena, sleeping peacefully in the bed.
The stars outside cast a shimmered faintly, illuminating everything, and she was no exception. Her light brown hair was messily splayed across the pillow, while her breathing was soft; her chest rising and falling slowly underneath the thin blanket. He walked over, and lightly kissed her forehead.
“Good night, Rena.”
At least one of them wasn’t being eaten up inside by anxiety.
Keotsu lay down in the hammock, and closed his eyes, hoping to refresh his body. His mind would not rest. His sleep would be restless this night, with no dreams, only nightmares. As all nights since then had been…
Last edited:
