Description: The path of Todoh-Ryuu is an ever winding one, with countless twists and bends. Daniel Jack, the head student of the Todoh Dojo, was on the trail of the three Sacred Treasures of Todoh: The Jewel of Todoh, the Sword of Todoh, and the Mirror of Todoh. As Kasumi seeks out the Jewel, Daniel himself heads to the Kusanagi Dojo, where it is rumored a sacred sword was guarded...
Peace and tranquility. Not the brace of words a 'wise' man would likely attribute to a locale renowned as the hard, unforgiving furnace that presents the fierce-burning Kusanagi flame to the world. Though a layabout, the clan's scion has a reputation for efficient, destructive fighting - the victor of many tournaments, a hot contender in just about all of them that matter. His father, the famed and feared Saishu Kusanagi, bore a reputation that raged white-hot by the time he took his quasi-retirement from the ring at the tender age of one hundred and seven. His final battle, against the hundred-foot tall Robot of Mars, lives still in the annals of contemporary myth.
Chaos surrounds these men. Fire burns without law, without boundaries.
Odd, then, that today - like most days - sees the Kusanagi dojo lying at an easy peace. Birds tweet their evensong as the sun lazily sets, casting a warm amber glow across the House of Flames. Every now and then, the requisite water feature in the exquisitely-maintained rock garden lets out a 'tonk'. Anyone tarrying long enough will eventually notice the timing is perfect; like almost everything else here. The front porch is clean, the path leading to it well-swept. Scrolls hang upon the outer walls, free from dust and shining in the last of the vibrant summer's sun. Windchimes knock gently against one another in the gentle breeze, with the artful, barely-audible clatter of chimes hung just-so by a caring hand. It's a beautiful place. Breathtaking, really. The perfect Japanese home.
Until a lurching, phlegmy snore breaks the still.
Jerking awake from his position slumped on the lower step, the elder statesman of the Kusanagi clan - and slayer of a hundred thousand slavering monsters - cracks open first one eye and then, with rather more effort and several squelching sounds, the second. A hoary hand sweeps over the half-opened fold of his dishevelled olive robe to run harshly-calloused, long-nailed hands in a vigourous scratch at his hairy belly.
It's then that he notices the cause for his rude interruption, letting out a displeased 'hrn!' as his other hand lazily drifts upward, lifting a single finger into the rays of the setting sun. Squinting at the digit's filthy upper joint, Saishu scowls with the utmost air of belligerent concentration, and then unleashes a single sharp burst of brilliant fire from his fingertip before settling back with a loud smack of spittle-caked lips.
A vague motion in the air precedes the settling of a small pile of ash between the living legend's sandal-clad feet. Shortly afterward, a single, colourful butterfly's wing settles atop it.
Nothing disturbs the slumbering peace of the Kusanagi.
Nothing, that is, except Todoh-Ryuu Kobojutsu.
Striding up the road to the Kusanagi abode, was a flash of orange. Garbed in a three-piece orange zoot suit, A dark-skinned young man of his 20s strides towards the hovel. On hand was driven deep into the orange slacks pocket. The other? Was gripping a gold-plated chain, whirling it's watch into a blur. Swaggering up the road, he passes under the overhanging outside gate of the dojo, passing into the grounds with the young and arrogant hubris of countless others. But to the man, he had a reason for his hubris.
Daniel Jack was here on a mission.
The detective breaks from his intense charge to the dojo, stepping aside from the beaten path. Releasing the watch, it snaps out from the momentum. But it doesn't get far. Daniel Jack deftly snatches it from mid air, popping it open to check the time. He was early. He was hung-over. And didn't give a pence about either. Tucking his watch away into his slacks pocket, the detective brings both hands out of his pants. Adjusting his black-felt porkpie ha, he then brings those hands down to frisk his suit jacket.
And there, he draws out a notepad and pencil.
The detective scans the dojo grounds, drawing out a rough sketch of the grounds. He had not been to the so called House of Flames, but the Kusanagis were hardly a mystery to any detective of his caliber. World famous martial artist family, with a reputation of dominating international tournaments with their 'Japan Team.' Kyo Kusanagi was the most famous, but hardly Daniel's concern. After living on Gedo Street for so long, he learned how to deal with hellion teenagers. As he completes the sketching, the detective's intense glower burns behind rose-tinted Pince-nez. No, Kyo was his least concern.
It was the other Kusanagi he dreaded.
'The most famous'? If Saishu could read the sum content of a man's innermost thoughts and desires - and who, exactly, is going to tell him that he can't? - he would be outraged. Apoplectic. Ultimately unperturbed. Very uncertain of what that last word means, but he'd forcefully insist upon using it anyway. After all, everybody knows that Kyo Kusanagi is a young punk who needs to pull his act together if he's ever going to measure up; whereas the elder statesman of the crimson flame...
Rolls over onto his side with a vast yawn, his mouth only partly closing as it comes to a sloppy stop against Shizuka's polished third step, nasty, partially-dried bits of saliva smearing across the ancient stonework. He seems utterly unaware of the detective sketching the luscious view, nor cognicent of the fact he's ruining the beauty with his scraggy beard, unkempt greasy hair and the trademark olive robe that probably looked pretty awesome before he neglected to wash it for twelve years.
It's with a gradual settling of awareness that Saishu begins to move again after several minutes, the predator's instinct rising in his over-full gut and burbling up through his opened mouth in the form of a damp belch and an unruly hiccup. Sitting up, one hand clamped to his skull and scratching away at whatever lurks beneath the matted brown straw of his hair, the legendary warrior once more cracks an eye and peers about his beloved estate.
He corrects himself mentally. Shizuka's estate. Mustn't cross the wife. Where is she anyway? With another hearty 'hrn' he glances toward the sliding door leading through to the inner sanctum, noting no gentle burble of smoke nor the scent of cooking rice - and reasoning immediately that it must be that uneasy time before dinner, when time stands still in anticipation. When the birds sing. When, he concludes as he looks around with a smack of lips--
Brightly-clad private eyes stand in his driveway sketching him?
He blinks blearily at this, then settles on something far more terrible than the sight alone of Daniel "Jack" Little could inspire. Something truly evil. A beast that must be eradicated; against which perhaps only the brightly burning flames of the Kusanagi could stand a chance. The fire burns inside his own eyes, though it takes a few seconds for the other to work open and it's admittedly a bit yellow and scuzzy with sleep dirt. Where was he? Ah ha, right! *Rose-tinted Pince-nez*.
"Oi! You!" Saishu's voice rings out in a throaty basso, masculine depth soaked in gravel and tempered with a lingering edge of finest lunchtime sake. "What's that on your face? Are you a man..." Straightening up quite suddenly, his back uttering a creak that's not echoed in the seamless, almost catlike sway of his posture as he comes to his full height, one hand inside the front of his robe and the other rubbing at his raggedy beard. "Or a Nikaido?" He finishes that thought boisterously, unable to stop the irrepressible spread of a grin, flashing yellowed teeth as dark eyes flash like ancient gemstones. "Ha ha!"
The other Kusanagi.
Stopping midsketch, the detective tucks the pencil into the wire spiral of the notepad. In the middle of he sketch, there was that half-finished figure of an old man, staring fiercely across to the artist. Holding the pad in one hand, the detective looks up and into the pair of dark eyes. Brown meets black, with equally fierce passion. Daniel Jack takes the insult glancing, shrugging off the blow as he looks into those old eyes, that flash like ancient gemstones.
Ancient as the Jewels of Todoh, most likely.
Daniel Jack adjusts his rose-tinted sunglasses with the utmost intensity of a man with a cause worth dying for. Every motion from the young man was restrained passion, the utmost control over the sheer power of Todoh-Ryuu. He would normally not trouble the Kusanagis; despite their past history with the Kyokugen Dojo, he had never had a reason to drag their Todoh-Kyokugen rivalries. But he was confronted now. And Daniel Jack, detective of Todoh-Ryuu, approaches the man, announcing his presence.
"The name's Daniel Jack."
Daniel pauses a moment, thinking, before continuing towards the man with an air of confidence. "I'm a private eye, and I got some serious business with the Kusanagis." Daniel Jack casts his eyes across the impeccably Japanese estate. In his mind, he was seeing what ideas he could steal for the Todoh-Ryuu Estate. Pretty was pretty, after all.
But then he say the blemish.
The detectives halts, as if he was struck by a baseball bat. The man's eyes bulge out briefly, a flash of horror crossing his face. And in its place, rage. The detective dives to the lawn of the dojo, lunging down as a hawk upon a rabbit. With his free hand, he reaches out, clutching a long, vine-like piece of grass. And he voices exactly what was on his mind.
"Crabgrass."
History. It runs in the veins of the Kusanagi clan, from father to son, from mother to... the exact same son. They may not be prolific breeders, but the arguable greatest of fighting families are as intimately tied to the past as they are to the present and future. A glance through the annals of history shows tournament winners in their midst since the word 'tournament' was first uttered on bloody, sun-baked lips. The Kyokugens and the Todohs have their respective dynasties, but the Kusanagi...
Well, it's no joke that the man before Daniel Jack, the man to whom he presents the offending tuft of unpleasant weed, is a legend in his own lifetime. He's born from legends. He's donated the means to make another. Thousands of years ago, a man just like Saishu Kusanagi stood in this exact spot as a flameless Yagami accused him, too, of failing to maintain his garden properly. At least, Saishu's pretty sure that's what happened.
"Daniel Jack, hrn!" Comes the utterly-non-admonishing admonishment as the private eye stands there with evidence outstretched, his angry passion bouncing off the flaming wall of Saishu's casual disregard. Those dark, oriental eyes continue to gleam away, but the man takes his time revealing what lies beyond. He doesn't even glance at the crabgrass, continuing to stare past the fruity lenses of the PI's pince-nez as he scratches away at his belly and beard in idle deliberation.
"Right!" He seems to reach a conclusion after long moments, mouth splitting in an even wider grin, arms spreading wide in what appears to be a gesture of welcome. "Ha ha! That Todoh kid!" There's a horrifying moment where the unwashed elder statesman appears to be about to jolt forward and envelop the suit-clad investigator in a jovial bear hug, but he just as abruptly lowers his arms with a grunt, back to their customary position - belly and beard, from now until eternity. "I remember you."
Expression flat but for the ongoing twinkle of gimlet eyes, Saishu Kusanagi slumps into his heels with the air of a man who doesn't intend to move at any particular time.
"Housework karate, right? Washing cars, painting the fence, waxing his bald patch..." He waves his beard-caressing hand briefly, dismissively, "So I guess you're a gardener now, too? Getting the weeds out of his cracks?" Grin. It's fainter than those before, and every bit as brutally, carelessly mocking as the infamous smirks of his son. "Heaven knows that old bastard needs it! Ha ha! Well, don't let me keep you-- you just get on with it, let this poor old man catch his forty winks..."
Another wave of the hand comes in tandem with a big ol' yawn, yellow teeth baring and a warm breath of rancid sake and fish washing over the PI should he not immediately hasten to obey Saishu's command. Which he probably won't. Damn kids.
It was already here.
Daniel Jack was dead focused on the frond of crab grass that was tucked away in the lawn. It was only a sprig. The real core was probably over a mile away. That's how it spread, under the ground, perking up occasionally, laying down thousands of individual roots. If you killed one plant, you only delayed the inevitable. Daniel Jack grips the weed tightly, pulling it harshly from the lawn, turning up the earth around it. He senses motion, and the detective bolts upright, arms ready to catch the incoming man.
But the hug yields.
For now.
The belittlement of the detective as a gardener... was not really a belittlement for the detective. Daniel Jack had served as a gardener for Master Todoh for a long time, and he considers his abilities in lawncare to be paramount to all of Southtown. And if anyone doubted it, one could only look to the current state of the Todoh-Ryuu Dojo; gone was the endless weeds and crabgrass, and in its place, fresh Kentucky Bluegrass. But as the man yawns, Daniel Jack's steely resolve do not fade. And then, he snaps at the man as he releases the weed from his hand.
"Keep it low!"
Daniel Jack doesn't even let the crab grass fall. A flare of chi roars over him, as he unleashes an one-handed slash of energy into the offending plant. The weed disintegrates into ash, the remains scattering across the lawn before him. "This ain't a damned cherry pie, scuzzy" The detective roars, crossing his arms fiercely. "There isn't a tick or tock! The crab grass is already dancing merry to this dojo, and I'm the one to stop it, you dig?!" Arms crossed, and giving a glower that would rival even Master Todoh, the detective stares down across the yard to the old martial artist. "I've come for the Sacred Sword, Saisyu Kusanagi!"
"And I won't be leaving here without it!"
COMBATSYS: Saishu has started a fight here.
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Saishu 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Daniel has joined the fight here.
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Saishu 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Daniel
There are but a handful of ways to get Saishu Kusanagi's unmitigated attention - and even then, a foe would be lucky to receive that in truth. He's a warrior who's seen everything, done everything, and lived to tell the countless tales. Behind those eyes like ancient jewels are the wages of war paid a thousandfold, an encylopaedic knowledge of fighting techniques and battle strategies; and so, too, of the denizens of this world. It could be fairly said that a man hasn't beaten the best until he's faced the elder statesman of the Kusanagi. A wise man doesn't bet against him, and even a stupid man is wary.
It's a dizzying combination of bravery and stupidity required to present such a front as Daniel "Jack" Little, his brash display of the Todoh's trademark energy signature, the passionately-phrased some-sense of his words. That stare. Enough to pierce the heart of a lesser man, enough to make a nobody cower and flee. Perhaps, in time, Daniel will come to cow some of the best.
Right now, he's facing Saishu effin' Kusanagi. Who's got the fire?
"Hrn!" That grin is positively shit-eating now, hand still rubbing thoughtfully as his beard despite the totality of thought having centred upon the deceptively well-oiled mind of the master of crimson flame. Gimlet eyes flash down to the falling ash between he and this brash young interloper, then back up with a pronounced narrowing that, for the first time in a long time, sees Saishu Kusanagi looking completely, one-gabillion percent serious about this whole 'fighting' business. "You call that chi?"
The question hangs, deadly in the air above accumulating ash. As the last vestiges of the ruined crabgrass strike to billow across old, polished stone in the gentle summer's breeze, a gust of inner wind brings bright the fire of the Kusanagi. There's an instant where the very world seems to grow in intensity, heat blooming from every shrub, every rock and every butterfly.
"THIS is CHI!!"
Suddenly, Saishu's not even moving-- he's just *there*, the careless slump of his moisture seguing into instant and immediate action to carry him within inches of Daniel Jack's countenance, sandal-bottoms clapping like thunder upon the cobbles. One hand remains firmly inside his robe, but the other - that once touched to scraggly beard - is now extended to plunge a single digit directly between the eyes. But it slows at the last, becoming - instead of awesomely, unstoppably rapid - only 'sort of fast'. A hoary, untrimmed nail seeks to press with a bizarre gentility upon Daniel Jack's skull.
"You dig? Ha ha!"
The bray of Saishu's laughter heralds a sharp, piercing conflagration of flame that burns away so quickly that one might come to question its very existence - but for the searing after-image of pain and heat it leaves behind, the elder statesman's version of a mere pinprick. A tiny, meagre taste of his power. One might imagine he'd do more damage with that roguishly mocking grin.
COMBATSYS: Daniel blocks Saishu's Weakened Homura Gasane.
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Saishu 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Daniel
It was to be expected.
Daniel Jack arms uncross as he senses the rise of chi. But that icy stare does not break. Daniel Jack was looking into the window of this man's soul, he reading him like a book. Unfortunately, he was reading him like a book written in Esperanto. As he mocks his own chi, he can see that flicker of restraint in the man's eyes. He was expecting training. But then, the fire comes. Daniel Jack crosses his own arms, inhaling deeply as he readies his own aura.
So this was the infamous Kusanagi Flame.
Daniel Jack stands against the rage of the flame. Only a year or so ago, he would be quailing in the presence of such chi, even a small show that Saishu was giving. And yet, as his own Zoot Suit smokes slightly, the detective brings his own chi to bear. Body burning with his own orange aura, the detective manages to just barely stand against the rage of power. As the fires growing hotter, the detective keeps his intense gaze locked into Saishu's own.
And he breaks through.
Enduring against the fires, he shoves forward as the fires die down. Daniel Jack is not intimidated. Letting out a great exhale, he does not relax. No, his eyes make it clear. He was only emboldened. "It is not just my energy, scuzzy!" The detective declares with a hardy fist shake. "It is the energy of the Todoh-Ryuu Dojo! The energy of my dojo! The energy of the greatest teachers of all time! Ryuhaku Todoh! Kasumi Todoh!" The detective was still smoldering, but it was not due to the Kusanagi fire. It was his own fire, his own passion, burning force from his soul.
Daniel Jack falls into his martial stance.
A foot back, a foot forward. The footwork was the most important part of Todoh-Ryuu, as Kasumi taught him. Poor footwork meant you were facedown. Proper footwork meant your opponent assumed the role. His hands brings the same, one hand forward, one hand behind it. One hand to catch, one hand to follow through. A deft, defensive stance, augmented by Daniel's own iron gaze. Holding himself in the defensive stance of Aikido, the detective looks at the old man. He takes a single step, beginning his response with cold, heavy words.
"I'm not scared off so easily, old man."
The detective lunges in with fierce thrust of his left palm to the Kusanagi's chest, breaking free from his own fiery aura. Whether it is blocked or evaded is of no account to the detective, as he instinctively follows up with a sharp hand chop with the right to Saishu's shoulder. The rhythm of the combination is flawless in it's timing, flawless in the transition. For Daniel Jack, it was the reflection of the perfection of his form.
Though for a master like Saishu, it was certainly an imperfect reflection.
The palm strike fails to get the footing just right, minimizing the pure power of the Todoh-Ryuu Martial Artist. The hand chop actually looks a bit restrained, due to the mistake in the foot of the first strike. Very similar to Kasumi Todoh's own Senkou Nagashi, and a rather typical reflection of the limited hand and foot strikes found within Todoh-Ryuu Kobojutsu.
And then the elbow comes.
The recovery of the hand chop suddenly chains into the right hand balling into a fist. Drawing inward, Daniel catches the fist into his left palm. His footing recovers, as he modifies the Senkou Nagashi with a fierce lunge with the elbow to Saishu's abdomen. Another step is taken, the pressure continues. The elbow jab is hardly any more damaging that the palm strike and the hand chop; the detective remains restrained, as if he refuses to take any risks despite his passionate display earlier. The conservative display does not end there, however, as the detective shakes free of the Senkou Nagashi's three strike limitation.
And he unleashes the fourth strike.
Not even Kyo could claim, with his infamous Aragami, could claim a legendary fourth strike. And yet, Daniel was unleashing it, with the smooth and precise rhtym of the first three. The open palm of the left hand breaks from the right fist, surging upwards as Daniel takes a step in towards Saishu. Eyes cold and focused, the detective continues that hampering restraint. As that left palm rises into a graceful uppercut, the martial artist aiming the base of the palm straight into the hairy chin of the master, the combo finally comes to a closure. The four strike offense, the catalyst of the detective technique. But as his footwork shifts, the aura surges back. The catalyst of Daniel's technique.
The Zoot Suit Riot was only the beginning.
COMBATSYS: Daniel successfully hits Saishu with Zoot Suit Riot.
- Power hit! -
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Saishu 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Daniel
What mere mortal knows the thoughts that truly lurk in the mind of Saishu Kusanagi? Some have called him mad, implying a weakness to his psychology that breeds a weakness of body in his advancing years; and it's undoubtely an impression the man himself does nothing to gainsay. But there is, for certain, method in't. Perhaps he's slowed in his age, but the power of that flame hasn't dwindled - and nor has the uncanny control he's able to exercise over it. It will also burn ever true that 'slow'? Is a relative concept.
It's a credit to Daniel that he's able to mount any form of defence at all, even before the lessened expulsion of the legendary crimson conflagration. Saishu himself expresses surprise in the form of widened eyes and a grin that now seems to split his face in two, albeit for an instant as he unwinds from his seemingly-carefree assault, the jabbing finger swinging downward before that hand clenches to a fist. A fist that means business. The grin fades, and while the eyes remain shining it's with something else now.
Does Saishu Kusanagi still have a truly competitive spirit?
Daniel's return palm strike is already halfway to the old man's chest as he shifts stance. Dark eyes regard the detective over the beginnings of his own assault, as much daring him to attack as daring him to continue immediately after; if the Kusanagi patriarch seemed unmoving before, now he's a wall of composite granite and titanium. There's not a frail sack of bones beyond the impact of that strike, but taut muscle honed through fifty years of effort. Lazy he might seem, even uncaring of the world around him, but Saishu hasn't let up his training for one single day.
...well, okay, there was that one time maybe, and then--
He's no stranger to an 'imperfect reflection'. Sometimes, the greatest legends are formed from the inherently flawed, from a fighter's stumble in practice can come the invention of his greatest attack. Here, and now, Saishu is made to stumble himself; not with the palm nor the chop that follows, eliciting a rewidening of that perilous grin. It's the firm, righteously-delivered elbow that finally breaches the stalwart old man's defences. It's not much, that stumble, just a shifting of one sandalled foot. A scuff.
But it clears the way for Daniel's uppercutting palm. Through the wiry passage of unwashed beard he passes clean, meeting the rigid line of Saishu Kusanagi's jaw with a heavy *crunch* that sets the nearby birds to flight as it echoes about that perfect garden. Saishu actually staggers now, whipped backward in an unruly step that he only barely turns to anything resembling favour; spinning about, his esconced arm leaving the olive robe to sway wildly aside. It seems, for one chaotically beautiful moment, as if he'll fall.
He sways close to the ground, the living legend, his back creaking a protest that's surely - somehow - another part of his bizarre pantomime. Because an instant later he's sweeping about with eyes blazing and the fire inside his wiry frame invisibly exploding.
"Well!" He proclaims with a relapse of that goddamned grin, whipping his head to one side as he continues through the momentum he's gained, crossing back into proximity with a private eye in a lunging sidestep. His swaying arm remains out for reckless balance as the other rises, still bunched to a fist, to arc overhead and down. An almost haphazard return blow, a wild haymaker that's surely and painfully easy to evade. It doesn't even *look* like an attack, until it suddenly, astonishingly is.
"Not bad for a janitor!" Saishu's bark comes in fierce tandem with the expulsion of his fist's energies, the arcing limb controlled with all the aplomb of a man taming lions. A whipcrack of a strike, an insidious backfist seeking to batter through whatever defence Todoh has given this young, brash warrior in a singular, snapping and destructive blow. Nothing special. Nothing special at all.
"I might have to start taking this seriously! Ha ha!"
COMBATSYS: Saishu successfully hits Daniel with Gou Tsui EX.
?!? Weird Hit! ?!?
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Saishu 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Daniel
Skillful finish.
Opponents who saw Daniel Jack as merely a fancy-dressed detective who practiced a C-List martial art often found themselves in the same position as Saishu. Where Daniel lacked in natural talent, he made up with hard work and dedication. Hard work and dedication could only get you so far, but Daniel kept exceeding his own expectations, as his force of will carried him further and further along. As the finishing uppercut comes, the Todoh-Ryuu Kobojutsu warrior was already building up his energy, fueling his own aura. He saw Saishu recover. He saw the obvious punch coming.
And Daniel swore he wasn't going to fall for it.
The detective has fought with the likes of his rival Roland before. He knows when someone telegraphs a wild hit, and feints into a sharp jab. Daniel Jack knew it, and was ready for it. His stance was steady, and as he builds up in aura, he begins to charge himself up. Taking in a deep breath, he winds back a fierce hand, flattening it out like a knife. He prepares his gut, his body, for the incoming low-hit, the incoming sucker punch
And suddenly it doesn't come.
The wild haymaker lands true. Daniel Jack mouth goes wide as the strike knocks him square in the face. Nose bloodied, and glasses shattered, the broken pair falls to the lawn as Daniel stumbles back. But Daniel refocuses, regains his footing. Blood dribbling from both nostrils down his chin, the detective's resolve was unbroken. The hand was still high, the energy still flared up. The wild haymaker was exactly as it read. Was Saishu such a skilled fighter, that he already knew Daniel's experience was that he was expected a fake out, and thus, left him open for a pure powerful strike like that? The blow had certainly slowed down Daniel's next strike.
But it doesn't stop it.
Daniel Jack winds back the hand, the deep breath still building as his body ignites in orange chi. "I don't care what you throw at me, old man! I will claim that Sacred Treasure for my Dojo, an use it to seal away that vile evil already spreading across this town! You may be blind to see it;" Daniel Jack eyes flare with justified anger, as his body rekindles with even more intense power. "Or as I suspect from your lawn, you may already be corrupted into its service!" Daniel didn't know the extent of the crabgrass's power; but the leap between 'making it hard for other plants to grow' and 'mind control' was a very small one, to be sure. The detective advances upon Saishu, his bloody face contorted with pure power.
And then he unleashes the hand chop.
For all the faults of Todoh-Ryuu, this was the pinnicle of its contribution to the martial arts world, almost more so than the Kasane Ate. The single hand chop comes with the flawless form of a true martial art's master. Hours of practice, endless reptition in breaking boards. The training to unleash a Kasane Ate brought about this single, chi-laced hand chop straight for Saishu's collar bone. The force was such it could possibly sunder entire battleships in twain, to rend apart tanks. The utter perfection of this hand chop could very likely shatter Saishu's entire skeleton, leaving him a jellied pile of manmeat. Or maybe even crack a collarbone. The detective's unbroken focus was still fixed on the contact point of the hand chop. So slow, so unyielding.
But quite possibly the world's greatest.
COMBATSYS: Saishu fails to interrupt World's Greatest Hand Chop from Daniel with Kamu Kakari.
-* CRITICAL FAIL! *-
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Saishu 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Daniel
Saishu Kusanagi has met a lot of the 'world's greatest'. The world's greatest warrior, the world's greatest threat, the world's greatest lover, the world's greatest giant robotic invader from another planet. Nobody to this point has directly claimed to be throwing the world's greatest hand chop. And to the eyes of the elder statesman, it's a ponderous sort of strike - more the region of that silly Ryu kid with the orange shirt. Always hanging around with that gorgeous blondie Saishu can never figure for a boy or girl. Anyway, he rates that one a little more in the execution.
It's why he doesn't budge, even leaving his arm right where it is, fist still tense and spattered with Daniel Jack's blood as the PI steps back in with his rather flamboyant speech. That gets nothing but the same old, shit-eating grin, the olive-robed master looking as though he's fit to burst into laughter at any moment.
This time, though, he doesn't. He actually grows rather solemn as the Todoh-Ryuu practicioner closes back in, watching his form with an intensity that seems to reveal all and nothing. There's nothing *wrong* with it; he can even see the power waiting beneath, definitely an achievement of one of this young buck's level. Saishu's mocking manner hides a true warrior-analyst - there's not much he doesn't see, whether he acknowledges it or not.
He also doesn't care. A boy doesn't prove himself by striking an opponent who lets him. With a cold scoff, a singularly harsh sound as dismissive as the masters of old - as one might imagine the elder Kusanagi once was to the junior, in order to create such a powerful martial artist as the scion of crimson flame. Layabout or not, Kyo is no joke either. Saishu knows how to train a man. How to temper him. As he lunges forward now, seemingly disdainful of the chop, he knows he's doing exactly that now - placing a brick upon what might become a legend, in time, or be snuffed in the fires of his judgement. Few ever really, truly achieve the right to be called 'master' and yet Saishu Kusanagi is indisputably one of them.
His countering fist seems as casual as those which have followed, in some sense, but as Daniel's chop rushes to beat that impossibly-rapid, ageing warrior to the quite literal punch, he'll feel a delirious spike in the natural energies surrounding them. The Kusanagi flame isn't like other chi; it's not so much drawing on what's there as stealing it and setting it ablaze. It's a mystical energy in the truest sense, deeper and perhaps *darker* than anything beyond the twisted monstrosity of Psycho Power.
And as the World's Greatest Hand Chop lands, it's momentarily snuffed.
Saishu's body yields as though he were nothing but the old, half-broken hobo he likes to portray. His collarbone snaps with a visceral splintering of ivory that surely draws blood upon the inside, the sickening submission of his skeleton matched outwardly as his rising hand drops to catch his still-muscular, still-honed body as it tumbles down and forward at an alarming speed. There's no doubt; many men would be laid low by the blow. Perhaps have been. Saishu doesn't care about that. It's not important.
What matters is that here and now, Daniel "Jack" Little, with his ridiculous pince-nez and a manner so bizarre as to give the Kusanagi master a run for his own, dirty money, has brought him to his knees.
There's a ragged cough from below, in tandem with the ageing warrior's move back into action. Down but not forgotten, losing the battle but never, *ever* the war, Saishu rolls aside and comes up with a hand brushing his injured collarbone, making no attempt to disguise a cringe of pain - but it's beneath the still-sparkling enthusiasm of dark-eyed gaze. Not jubilant, teasing merriment now, but honest-to-heaven excitement. Intense, and burning bright.
"You go too far, boy," is what he says, gritty basso of his tone low and threatening - striking a strange dichotomy with that empassioned stare. The olive robe is suddenly discarded, flung back with a roll of the shoulders and the sweep of the outer arm, revealing the body beneath. It's been a long time since Saishu took off the gloves, figuratively, and the robe quite literally. The body beneath isn't what it appears from without; the tan flesh taut and rippling with muscle just below the surface. His gut isn't so large as it seems in his perpetual slump, barely a bulge shielding abdominals whose tone shows in the v-cuts to either side. The only sign of his age, really, are the myriad, subtle scars that grace his flesh.
"Blind?" He barks, throwing himself into a firm horse stance, the stone underfoot cracking as power begins to emanate freely from this vaunted warrior. No longer restrained by his flippancy. His lead hand tenses hard enough to shake, and yet nothing creaks. His body doesn't complain in the least. "Corrupted?" His bearded face cracks in a grin that lacks all humour now, a fearsome rictus. "Learn your damn history! Last time someone came for the Sacred Treasure, he took it, and me with it. You're good, boy," he acknowledges that with a grunt, and a toss of his head that's less prideful than merely readying. Saishu doesn't *need* pride. "But you're not as good as you think. Turn around, and walk away, or fire's going to start playing with *you*. All you're getting from me..."
He pauses, and raises his other hand to his hip, sneering. For a moment it's all too clear where Kyo Kusanagi gets his everything; the power, and the attitude. In his younger years, this man would have been a spitting image of the reigning World Warrior.
"Is burned."
Many have fallen before the World's Greatest Hand Chop.
It was more rare to see these days, for those who have followed the fighter. The move was generally too slow, too heavy to be practical, and put Daniel in too much danger. However, when it landed, it was one of the most powerful attacks in Daniel's arsenal; capable of crushing through even the toughest and most unbreakable guards.
Including, as it seemed, Saishu's own.
Daniel Jack could feel the bone breaking under his strike. But he did not enjoy it. He had expected to fight someone at he Kusanagi Dojo; it was a simple fact of the mission. He expected resistance from his attempts to claim the Sword of Todoh. But hurting an old man like this? There was no pleasure in it. Unless it was Takuma. Then it would be LOADS of pleasure. Daniel returns to his graceful, conservative defense stance of Todoh-Ryuu, recovering from the hand chop steadily. Using the return of momentum to refuel his aura, he watches as Saishu recovers from his kneel.
And for a moment, Daniel Jack's focus breaks.
He looks into the eyes of Saishu, and right there, he looks away. He knows that look. There are times, in Master Todoh's senile ramblings, when he breaks through the haze into utter seriousness. That gaze of resolve was not toying. That was the look of a man who had perfected his body, his mind, his martial technique. The mind may forget, the body soften, the technique laxen. But in certain moments, all the strength of one's youth merges with the perfect clarity of the mind, and with that, the full power of a lifetime of training returns. Daniel could see that now. He could see the full danger of Kusanagi.
But that fear fades to bravado.
Will hardening, teh detective brings himself to stare down into the now all too serious Saishu. And there, he spits back with tense coolness. "I've read the history, I know about the legends of a sacred sword and that Orochi. I have no business with such tales, or such snakes!" Daniel Jack exhales, and inhales, as he finally regains his footing. His arms begin to raise as he makes all too clear what had brought him with the full force of Todoh-Ryuu into Saishu's doorstep. "I will claim the Sacred Sword of Todoh from you, find the rest of the Sacred Treasures of Todoh, and use their might to save this city from the crabgrass engulfing it. I don't have to be good, Saisyu."
"I just have to be better than you."
Daniel Jack's body redoubles with his own aura, the light of his own energy pale in comparison to Saisyu's own power. But Daniel didn't have the momentum so far from his gap in skill. He had the momentum because he had met, or even surpassed the patriarch of Kusanagi in one thing.
Burning Spirit.
Daniel pulls back both hands now, weaving his aura like an conductor before a symphony. Another slow, overly flourished strike, accompanied by another deep inhale. But while Daniel may be a fool, he was not stupid. His advantage right now was from how off-guard he took Saishu. He could see it in the change of his appearance. He wasn't holding back anymore. He felt threatened by Daniel. And if he didn't successfully intimidate him any further... he would have to figure out another approach. Energy reaching a peak point, Daniel finally exhales, roaring out the name of the attack as he hurls down the energy, a fierce shockwave of orange energy arching across the driveway, straight for the elder Kusanagi.
"KASANE ATE!"
COMBATSYS: Saishu dodges Daniel's Chou Kasane Ate.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Saishu 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 Daniel
"Ha!"
It's not the double-braying bark that so many have etched into their brains after only a single run-in with the master of crimson flame. Saishu Kusanagi was once just as much of a bravado-flush young buck as Daniel Jack; more even, convinced of his purpose in life and believing himself better than all men. All things. It's a laugh that harkens back to that now, though it's tainted by the steeped, fermented humour of age. In that moment of clarity, the elder statesman may come close to recapturing his youth, but he'll never do so entirely. Saishu is... Saishu. No more and no less.
Better than Saishu? Many have tried, and more than a few have been. This world is changing, evolving, new warriors coming to the fore to replace old - and this is the way it must be. The way it's always been. Saishu himself unbalanced titans who ruled the stage thirty years ago, driving them off with scalding bluster and burning fire. Sadly for Daniel Jack, no matter how much he might impress this rag-bearded old man, Saishu may be forced to remove the gloves and whip back the well-worn olive robe... but he'll never, ever, be able to take the school of Todoh as a genuine threat.
"The Sword of Todoh, is it?" He cajoles with a flicker of that prior merriment, watching the descending Kasane Ate with an almost laconic air. It's not slow, by any means-- and he can sense the power poured into it, the youthful and defiant spirit of his apparent foe. As suddenly as it falls, Kusanagi is just as abruptly gone, uncoiling from his low horse stance into a rapid crouched spin. The descending blocks of chi scrape past his leathery cheek, eliciting a wolfish half-grin from Saishu. "I took that because it needed protecting - because your master couldn't protect it, boy. You want to get it back? You want to wield the power of that old bastard's ancestors?"
Allowing the grin to overcome him once more, Saishu steps toward Daniel, a single step taken with a powerful sway of his hip. It drives his right arm upward, from waist to the very skies above, his hoary fingertips catching in the molten rays of the setting sun. It so very almost hides the opening spark, the snap-hiss of the Kusanagi flames coming to glorious, full fruition for the first time in this bout. Not a taste, like before; the real deal.
The spark hurtles groundward, hammering into one of the myriad tiny cracks made by Saishu's display of power moments before. A blaze is quick to follow, fervent and dizzying in its heat, unrelenting in speed and power. It whips across the ground as if it has a mind of its own-- and it well might. This isn't just chi. This is what chi wishes it could be. Chi has posters of this on its bedroom wall.
"Then EARN IT! Ha ha!"
Saishu can't stay down for long with such power at his beck and call. As the inferno soars forth to drive Daniel off his feet, enwrapping his legs in scarring, spitting fire, the ageing master whips back into his low stance with that brightness restored. Yes, he's found an enemy worth his efforts; not since Juri Han has anyone offered him this challenge. So he'll rise to it. He'll match it, spirit for spirit, and then he'll burn it to ashes.
Although, if Daniel's really lucky, he might ask it to stay for tea first.
COMBATSYS: Daniel blocks Saishu's Yami Barai EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Saishu 0/-------/----===|=======\=------\1 Daniel
Many have failed to take Daniel seriously.
Between the outrageous outfit, the goofy slang, and the fact he studied under a punchline of a martial arts school, Daniel Jack had long struggled against the slings and arrows of his opponents. And for the longest time, it was justified to take him as a joke. Daniel Jack was hardly a serious threat for much of his early fighting career. But the detective learned. He trained. People might not take Todoh-Ryuu Kobojutsu seriously, and they may not take Daniel seriously.
But now, Daniel learned how to punish those perceptions.
As the blast passes under Saishu, the detective's stance does not shift. The detective, for all his restraint, was showing wisdom in it. He wasn't letting himself overextend himself. He was fighting stable, and was keeping the momentum stable. His vigor was beginning to become past what his resolve was sustaining, but his relentless offense was refusing to yield. As the flames are sent down, however, Daniel Jack winces. This wasn't the weakened flames of before. He could FEEL them from there. But he did not run away. He did not flee. He waits. He lets them come.
And the fire consumes him.
Daniel Jack crosses his arms in the wake of the flames, the mystical fire unnatural to any energy he had experienced before. This wasn't Psycho Energy, this wasn't even chi. It was beyond that. Flaring up his own aura into the fury of the martial artist, the wasteland of energy was enveloping his form now, the conflagration around his very being. It takes a moment before the fires die away, but each moment in the incredible, unnatural flame was an eternity. The fires are gone.
And Daniel stands tall in the wake of the blast, unbroken.
His suit jacket falls into ashen tatters from his body, revealing his waistcoat and suspenders underneath. A concealed carry holster is slung over his shoulder, revealing a snub-nosed revolver tucked away. The notepad seems to have fallen victim to the fire; the remains of it falling to the lawn, still smoldering. But hatless, jacketless, the detective steadily uncrosses his arms before him, eyes cold, demeanor cold, as he focuses at Saishu. Behind him, the smoldering porkpie drifting through the air, landing quietly behind him.
"..... FANTASTIC....."
The words come with the fiercest of passion, the heartiest of power as he steps forth. His gaze was transfixed on Saishu, each step that he was taking now accelerating him further. The Kusanagi flames may blacken his bones, they may burn his hide to ash, but his spirit was indomitable. Lurching in with a palm strike with the left, it looks like he is beginning another Zoot Suit Riot. As sweat pours from his brow, however, his right hand lashes out with a snap of chi, a small, weakened Kasane Ate coming with the chop.
"...... TODOH......"
Was the second cry as Daniel Jack's left hand pulls back. A fierce charge of energy roars within, the aura of the detective igniting to full bear. If the first two blows landed, he had the opportunity for it. He had the setup. If Saishu was stunned long enough, he will unleash the full forth of his palm strike with the left, the chi-infused blow straight into the chest of the Kusanagi master, all with the kiai shout of all shouts.
"PAAAAAAAAAAUNCH!!!!"
COMBATSYS: Saishu interrupts Fantastic Todoh Punch from Daniel with Oniyaki.
*KNOCKED AWAY*
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Saishu 0/-------/---====|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Daniel
Damn the line of the Kusanagi, and the heritage that's been laid on Saishu's shoulders since the day he was old enough to stand on his own two feet; nobody gets taken seriously until they prove themselves. The ageing master was thrown about in his youth, tossed and teased like a ragdoll until he toughened up and learned not just to utilized practiced techniques-- martial arts isn't about looking pretty, not about who can show off the most or entertain the onlooking crowds. Saishu's style, like any style worth its salt, is rooted in real battle; bloody, visceral, systematic destruction of any and all foes. Which makes a few of its techniques laughable.
Perceptions, to Saishu, are made to be punished. Let people laugh. Let them become over-confident, let them think the brash kid in the neon suit isn't a real warrior - let them believe the same about that belching, dirty old man slumbering in the sunshine. Let them see a technique's grace and beauty, let them see something that lacks the forthright, masculine brutality of a simple punch and believe it inferior. As Daniel recovers from his admirable defence and begins forward, Saishu is already reading him. And already preparing to shatter the illusion that mounts before him.
A chop is an unwieldy blow, so traditional as to be silly in the eyes of most; why throw such a slow strike when a backfist will do. Why such a predictable one when a looping hook can bewilder AND overpower? There's much to be said, too, for a regular cross punch. Direction and power, a solid root on stable footing. There's a reason men like Mike Bison flourish in this world. Saishu grins to himself, the fingers of his raised hand unfurling before they once more close, the lingering motes of the Kusanagi flame weaving in and out of leathery, calloused fingers. He says nothing...
Until Daniel begins speaking. Until the tiny budget Kasane Ate comes forth. Saishu lets it scathe him in the flank, twisting into it to redirect the worst of the impact, the slightest adjustment in his stance proving the old man's grit and toughness. It barely seems to budge him-- because it doesn't. He doesn't even really hesitate.
"Ha ha!" He barks, seguing straight into his own preparations. Whipping himself into a rapid pirouette, he sinks down onto knees that scream no protest, the olive of his robe sweeping about his waist with a *snap* of crumpled material. He ends up in a half-crouch directly before Daniel, as the other man's fist pulls back.
"...WONDROUS..."
The second strike comes in, and clocks Saishu straight in the grinning mouth. He doesn't shift the slightest inch. Doesn't even *flinch* at the impact, even as a trickle of blood runs from one corner of his mouth and a tooth loosens within.
"...Kusanagi..."
Unlike Daniel's cry, this comes as a whisper, or close enough, the gritty basso of Saishu's voice all but lost beneath the outright passion of the Zoot Suit Warrior. The elder statesman is more than ready for the incredible follow-up, the totality of this youth's potential encompassed in another blow that belies his apparent lack of talent. Yes, he shatters perceptions-- perhaps has and will all his life. But Saishu's had fifty years of doing the same. As he enters his own, final motion; a second spin in the same direction, this one so rapid that he seems to fade briefly from view even as the punch closes in upon the rippling muscle of his rising torso.
"UPPAAAAAAAAAAAHCUT!!"
Rising indeed. In a swathe of the summoned flame, crimson wreathing his wiry, powerful body, Saishu Kusanagi rises against this impetuous young foe with all the dignity and grace of a ballerina. It's laughable, really, a lovely rotation of the form that would be perfectly camouflaged against the backdrop of a glamourous theatre stage. Broadway beckons. Yet the Kusanagi clan, and Saishu himself, have perfected this technique over hundreds of years. The Oniyaki. It's a legendary blow, as hidden within the leaping pirouette and the smooth uncoiling of the toned body is a jackhammer blow from the raised right arm, catching Daniel flush beneath the chin as the fires explode into true fruition. A missile of force, burning just as much as it impacts, the uppercut hurls Todoh's prodigy away.
When Saishu lands, the grin hasn't diminished in the slightest, yellowed teeth burning like molten honey within the dissipating manifestation of the crimson flame. The old man slips a hand across his stomach, the other finding his beard once more, and he merely stares across at the fallen youth. Daring him. Goading him.
Get up. Let's see what else you've got. Who's got the fire, kid?
Saishu was in full serious mode.
As the Fantastic Todoh Punch is met against the Wondrous Kusanagi Uppercut, Daniel Jack can almost feel it coming before it even hits. Too fast. He couldn't match with an opponent this fast. He was smart enough to know that he could retreat. He was too stubborn to try it. As he builds for the final punch, he just closes his eyes. He accepted it. He throws out the finishing punch of the combo, as the uppercut comes.
And the illusion breaks.
Daniel Jack resurges back to his past, an entire career unraveling. Fighting tanks, and losing. Fighting Robert, and losing. Taking on a rampaging Yamazaki, and losing. Losing, losing, losing, all the way to the core of humiliations; losing to Holly Wood, gunned down and beaten by the Mad Gear, and left for dead in a harbor-side dumpster. An entire career of getting beaten into hamburger, put into a bun, and served for 99 cents. It takes a while before Daniel lands back on the ground, outside the Dojo. He doesn't land anywhere near to being soft. He lands with a crack, easily heard by Saishu.
And immediately, the detective rises.
For most martial art prodigies, it was often instinctive to block, second nature to dodge. Daniel was no prodigy of that kind of caliber, of Roland's caliber, but he had his own instincts. His reaction was to get back up again, his nature to rise after being fallen. There isn't even a chance to reflect as his broken body comes back for more. He was a vessel for Todoh-Ryuu, he was merely an unyielding pillar of pure will. There was one thing that was clear about the fighter at this point in his career:
You didn't need to be Kusanagi to carry your own flame.
Daniel reenters the Dojo, taking his time. From this distance, he doesn't start out in his defensive stance. He just strides forward, adjusting his jaw. His waistcoast was soaked with sweat, his body battered underneath what remaining clothing he kept, he doesn't even have time to be punch drunk. Turning his head to spit out at least three teeth, the detective lips part for a tooth-gap grimace as he drops his hand.
The count looked to be seven missing teeth, it seems.
Every step is made with the utmost stability. Daniel lurches his way back into the front yard, leaning forward, pumping his fists. Every push was simply to drive him forward. The old Daniel couldn't even stand now. But Daniel Jack, the third greatest Todoh warrior, wouldn't let a little thing like cracked bones slow him down. He had to save Southtown. He had to protect his Todoh family. He had to WIN. As he closes in on the justifiably smug Saishu, he gives a wide swings of his arm, rotating both of them once.
%And wordlessly, he falls back into his defensive place.
Foot behind foot, hand behind hand. The young man's tenacious nature wasn't stopping. He just stares into the elder's eyes, grimace unfaded. He gasps for air, fiercely struggling against the fatigue. With a swallow, he finally breaks from the relentless assault. Daniel Jack's spirit was willing. But flesh was only so strong. The detective hurls out a palm strike with the left, the detective's signature opening. But the right hand chop takes it's time. Bringing around the left hand ready to guard, the detective builds up power for the right, infusing within his own energy as he hurls down the hand chop.
Straight for the collar bone again.
COMBATSYS: Saishu blocks Daniel's Fierce Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Saishu 0/-------/---====|>>>>>>>\>>-----\1 Daniel
Some are born winners; champions, tournament takers and freedom fighters. It's a harsh world where the brutal truth must be confronted - that others have to lose, in order for those same few to win. Is there nobility, then, in failing? In losing because it's the destiny life has laid before you? Saishu rarely gives a serious opinion about anything, his right to grow old disgracefully well-earned in a cocky yet victorious youth and the gradual sharing of gathered wisdom as he approached his retiring years. Few are every privy, now, to what the elder statesman really believes.
But it's certain that as he watches Daniel Jack return, blood on his face and fire in his eyes to match that wrenched torturously across his form by Saishu's seemingly careless ministrations, the master of crimson flame respects one more person in this world. Loser or winner, Daniel's impressed somebody perhaps nobody would have expected. Truth be told, Saishu doesn't care about the Todohs and the Sakazakis, about Todoh-Ryuu or Kyokugen. He doesn't even really care about his own style, or its legacy-- he protects it because it's what *his* role has always been, passes it on because it's an old thing that shouldn't be allowed to die.
What he does care about, is keeping this crazy world safe. From those like Rugal Bernstein who seek power for power's sake. From the petty businessman obsessed with turning a profit at any cost. From psychopaths and outright idiots. Saishu Kusanagi plays dumb, but he understands people - he knows people. He's set fire to so many, it can't help but come naturally. A beaten, bloodied and burning man expresses himself - his TRUE self - in a way few others do.
As Daniel strikes, the heretofore silent and motionless old warrior throws his raised arm upward, elbow crooking to present a firm block. The muscles in his forearm bunch, bones cracking beneath the weight of the mighty chop. Saishu makes it look easy. Pathetic. But the intensity of his gaze, the ghost of that shit-eating grin still just barely lingering upon his lips, expresses something else.
For the briefest instant, he was made to doubt. He's digging deep.
"Why?" Comes the hard, gritted grunt from the Kusanagi patriarch as he thrusts the chopping hand away with a brisk shove of his own arm. In the same instant he's dropping, bringing the other arm away from his stomach and forth to slam a backhanded slap into the gut of the Todoh-Ryuu practicioner. That slap is a distraction, rapidly becoming a grapple with a twist of the wrist, hoary, long-nailed fingers digging deep into the young man's abdominals. It'll be a trivial feat of strength to slam him down with a turn of the torso.
With devastating force he seeks to bring Daniel down, planting the Zoot Suit Warrior flat as his raised arm bunches once more to a fist. It will fall like a hammer, flameless but for what lies within Saishu Kusanagi, a death knell upon the hopes and dreams.
And yet... perhaps not.
COMBATSYS: Saishu successfully hits Daniel with Hikiri Tsuchi.
-* WILD HIT! *-
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > / ]
Saishu 0/-------/-======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Daniel
"Why do you want the Sword of Todoh?" Comes the completed question, those eyes like ancient jewels gleaming down upon Daniel Jack as Saishu stops his mighty fist just short of smacking the boy's lights out with the sort of singular, crushing and yet borderline-effortless force that only such a master can bring to bear. His hand instead stops dead, just off striking the nose. Saishu leans in close, grinning wildly, and there's a moment where he seems to be done. Is he going to let Daniel stand? Has he held back?
And then the strike completes, the last inch covered in an explosive rush. The stone beneath Daniel cracks even if nothing else does, those earlier cobwebbings becoming tiny ravines as splintered rock explodes into dust, raining down upon the pair of combatants. It's... brutal. Unrelenting. No compromise. No mercy.
Because this is how you turn a boy into a man.
A moment later, Saishu stands and begins to unceremoniously walk away, leaving his question still hanging in the air behind him as he hauls his olive robe back over his shoulders and starts toward the house, wherefrom the cloying, moist smoke of boiling rice tantalizingly emits. To the victor go the spoils, once again.
Daniel was born a Daniel.
Everything after that was what he made himself.
The two blows are met with deft hands, the patriarch of the Kusanagi easily dealing with the detective's offense. Daniel Jack's expression made it clear that this misstep left him unaffected. The steady footwork begins to recenter itself. The detective senses the slap to the stomach. He catches it, stopping the slap cold with a block with his left hand.
But it becomes clear the only thing he caught was the bait.
The detective is gripped suddenly by the feint. He attempts to counteract the throw, shifting the momentum away. But there is no momentum. There is only power, The detective grunts in pain as he is slammed on his back, smashing hard into the pavement. The punch comes, and Daniel Jack blinks instinctively. It stops short. The detective reopens them. There is no grateful look in his eyes. Staring up at the master, Daniel Jack's face shows no fear. Just tenacious grit, as he refuses to go down. He accepted it.
And the punch finally comes
For that moment, there is silence in the crater.
And then the sound comes. More cracking. The sound of stone tumbling against stone. The blooded, crushed nose of Daniel Jack is the first to rise, as head rolls around. There is writhing, a struggle to return. Eyes shutting and closing, twisting in the crater that was meant to be Daniel's grave. And finally, a response cracks out from a nearly crushed throat.
"Because I have to save everyone."
And he rises again.
Daniel Jack was back up. His body was going through the motions. He couldn't even feel anymore. But he had to save Southtown from the crabgrass. He had faced that crabgrass before. Hell, he had to even save Saishu from the same fate, just as much as he had to save Kyokugen. That was Daniel Jack's life. He helped people, even the undeserving. Especially the undeserving. Because when he had to look a person; when he had to look at a struggling Kyokugen fighter, when he had to look to a dying Shadaloo doll, when he had to look at every thug and ruffian, and make the choice whether they were deserving or not?
He never had the self-righteous clout to ever say no.
The detective lurches towards Saishu's back... but stops. "Turn around and face me." The detective groans. It was a matter of instinct; Daniel actually couldn't tell the difference between a front or back right now. Everything was a bloodied haze. But as he continues his approach to Saishu, he trips, and he stumbles. Regaining his footing, a fresh wave of power overtakes him.
He reaches out for Saishu....
COMBATSYS: Daniel can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Saishu 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Saishu fails to interrupt You Got Jacked! from Daniel with Combo Grapple.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Saishu 0/-------/-======|
And Daniel gets the grip on him.
The pivot comes naturally. The detective simply keeps a hold on Saishu, and turns. With a slam, he smashes Saishu against the asphalt. But he doesn't let let go. Using the momentum of the throw, he rolls over on top of the man, coming upright again for another wind of momentum. There, he whips Saishu around a second time, slamming him again on the ground. Another roll comes.
But it breaks into a leap.
Still clutching onto the form of Saishu, the pair takes to the air. Both are burning bright with orange energy, the chi flaring around them. Raising Saishu high in the air, the pair comes back down to earth... and the detective uses the Kusanagi as like a sword, slashing through the air hard as he burns with chi. Slamming him down into the ground a third time, a familiar shockwave explodes up and out ,daring to carry Saishu away. And with it, Daniel Jack roar outs,"KASANE ATE!", before landing on both feet.
And he falls to his knees.
He tries to stand up again, face contorted with enduring resolve. But it is for nothing; and Daniel collapses to his knees again. The detective takes a deep breath. A long, deep breath. He exhales chokingly. Daniel Jack tries to rise again, and this time, he reaches a full stand. And with that, he collapses fully. The spirit was still willing.
But the flesh was naught but ash.
Saishu learned early in fatherhood that the best path to making a boy face the truth about himself always began with a punch. Sometimes a headbutt. But always, and forever, directly to the skull; all those confused thoughts and hormonal feelings turn the young man's brain into a perilous mulch, a quicksand into which wisdom and clarity rapidly sink. To blast it all apart, force it to re-form, so often brings the perfect synergy between youthful passion and the confidence of a together, self-aware individual.
As he walks away, Saishu's not focusing on his dinner. Not at all. Not even when he sniffs the air and his stomach rumbles beneath the scritch-scritch of hoary fingers. He's waiting. And when Daniel addresses him, he slows to a stop, sandals clacking upon the cracked and broken stone. Shizuka's going to be mad about that later.
But one can't reach perfection without first shattering it.
"Oop!" Dark eyes widen as the grin spreads once more in mid-flight, the elder statesman whirled about in a wondrous display by this foolish, impetuous youth. His broken collarbone screams at him, and Saishu just laughs all the more, not the sharp two-syllable punch he's known for, but a genuine uncontrolled bray of merriment that lasts... well, it doesn't really last at all. That's the thing about being thrown by a skilled grappler. You just are. There's no pause, no hesitation, just you in the air and then you on the ground.
It's all a blur to Saishu Kusanagi, each part recognized by the inner analyst but the totality lost until he later puts it back together. His own skull is introduced to yielding stone, his back letting out a long-missed creak of protest as the spine arches. Oddly, it hurts the master a lot less than that earlier, bone-crunching singularity of the chop-- but it looks *amazing*. When he's finally pitched away by that barely sub-legendary Todoh-Ryuu technique, Saishu isn't grinning any more because he can't.
It's not until he rolls to a crouch at the bottom of the driveway, panting and wiping a trail of blood and snot from his face, that he's able to restore his senses. It still takes a few. He's not the man he used to be; and a good deal less than he was thirty seconds ago, apparently anticipating his dinner without a care in the world. A million quips surface, bobbing arrogantly, to the fore of his mind. The man of old would pluck one out and cast it forth, because whatever else: he's won. But the man of today doesn't care.
Who's got the fire? They both have. That's what damn well matters.
"Hrn!" With a grunt, Saishu thrusts himself to his feet, wobbling slightly and letting out a throaty cough to clear the phlegm from his windpipe before he starts forward at a slow, gentle lope, that perpetual slump back in his spine but no hand going to beard or to belly. They remain at his side, until he reaches Daniel Jack's collapsed form and looks down thoughtfully. Really thoughtfully.
"Well, kid," he mutters, rolling one wiry shoulder in a shrug that sends a sharp *click* through the broken collarbone. It seems to help, and after a wince the old man bends over and lifts Daniel by the scruff of his neck, forearm bulging with taut muscle. "I'd say you earned it, eh? Eh?" When there's no response, he settles for a vaguely dissatisfied-at-the-world, "Hrrrrnnnnn..."
One thing leads to another over the next few moments, and when Daniel awakens he'll find himself propped up against the east side of the Kusanagi household, toward where the sun will inevitably rise. With sunset nearly done now, it's gloomy over this side, but somebody has thought to light a pair of oil lamps. A few moths already bat at their sides, casting ripples through the light. Shadows through the flame. In the background, a muted cry rings out, rebounding off paper walls. "Oi! Shizuka!" It descends into murmur, and it's a couple minutes longer before the clack-clack of approaching footfalls is heard from around the corner. Along with something else-- a jangling sound? It's at this point Daniel might care to notice the small, graceful yet undeniably shedlike structure he's been placed facing. Bearing a suspiciously large padlock.
Saishu Kusanagi approaches his fallen opponent swinging a single large, iron key on a wide hoop of the same material. It looks older than the man himself; rusted and pockmarked, the rounded end bearing the sigil of the Kusanagi. The teeth are complex and jagged. This is a key that meant business-- and still does. A key of myth.
Grinning widely, but otherwise wordless, Saishu steps over to the small structure and twists the key in the lock. The *ker-chunk* as the padlock falls away, and the hefty thump as it hits the raked gravel beneath, add an extra layer of the impressive to the proceedings. The door is slid back, to reveal a dark chamber packed floor to ceiling with... well, the only word can be 'things'. A poetic man might call them artifacts, but for every jewel-hilted katana there's an dirty old coat, for every golden ring an ice cream tub bulging with a collection of screws. The Shed of the Kusanagi.
But at least a quarter of the contents positively *gleam*. There's a fortune shut away in there, protected day-in and day-out by only a sleepy old man and the questionable power of a simple housewife.There can be no doubt: Shizuka Kusanagi is more than she appears.
"Ha ha!" Proclaims her scraggly-bearded husband, throwing out an arm dramatically as he spins around to face Daniel, gesturing into the depths of the Shed of Dreams. "It's in here somewhere. I'd help you look, but the lady upstairs-" there are no stairs in the Kusanagi household, "-she says I've got chores to do before dinner. So you'd better get to it! Watch the cages at the back. It took me years to round all of those things up... and they *do* bite! One time, Takuma tried to feed them a bit of beef jerky, but if it's cooked they just won't take it. You know, I wonder if they'd eat crabgrass..."
All the rigours of battle forgotten, Saishu walks away swinging that key at his side, the other hand reaching across to the scratchable comfort of his belly. Daniel is soon enough left alone but for the retreating murmur of the strange old master still chatting away to nobody and everybody. The shed beckons him in...
It appears that victory is within his grasp. All he needs do, is reach out and-- rummage through it. It might take a while. But the wafting smell of rice and pork awaits. If Saishu's learned nothing else about life, and how to live it, it's that a man can't achieve anything without the awaiting certainty of a good meal.
COMBATSYS: Saishu has ended the fight here.
At first, there is darkness.
Then there is pain. Pain proceeds the light; it was when you are born, and Daniel sure believes it remains when you die. Whether Daniel was alive or dead was no account for him. He had no tolerance for Saishu; heaven help St. Peter if he met a desperate, dedicated Daniel Jack at the pearly gates. But the light breaks through, and Daniel finds himself not being fitted for a halo, but with several fluttering moths battering his face.
The detective awakens with the scowl.
Every part of him still hurt, still burned. His body demanded his spirit that he would not move. Daniel Jack let his body take those few last minutes of rest. He just stares into last beams of light, casting across late twilight. He stares into that shed, making sense of what had happened, where he was. He was not bitter. He was just not done yet. He had to save the city.
And he wasn't going to do that sitting down.
The detective begins to rise up, when a sound interrupts him. The detective pauses, freezing in place, as Saishu moves before him, keys clutched in his hands. And there, Daniel Jack watches as he begins to fiddle with the door. It was strange to see a man that was so dismissive before, so dangerous before, now acting like a doting grandfather. The detective did not dismiss him, nor did he see him as dangerous, at least at the moment. As the shed was unlocked, the dark-skinned martial artist rises from his tree.
And he stumbles back.
Balancing himself upright against the tree, he steadily works to regain his footing. His face.... his face was still fairly warped, and still flecked with blood. He had received one hell of a beating. And yet, his resolve fuels him. PUshing across the grass, he walks beside Saishu, his eyes gazing into the depths of the shed. This was it. He had proven himself worthy? Or was this just another test. Skepticism whirls around his mind. But Daniel Jack has only one response to the man who spared his life.... and gave him an opportunity to take what he desired.
"Thank you."
And with that, Daniel Jack enters the shed.
There were countless artifacts in here, a lifetime of wonderment and power. Every thirst could be slaked here; greed could be fed by the glimmer of gold, power could be fueled by the mystical artifacts laying under every burlap sack. As for the matter of lust, the detective's eye is caught by the strange stack of magazines in the corner, bearing faint promises of chicken grease and feet tickling within. However, Daniel Jack was here on a mission. He would not be tempted away. As he forces himself within, the low growls of unseen beasts... encourages Daniel to search the front of the shed first. He casts his gaze upon the workbench of the sacred shed.
And then he sees the sword.
The golden-hilt of the katana was what caught his eye. Four jewels studded the handle of the weapon, underneath a seal forged into the shape of a rising sun. The blade is impossibly light, and impossibly sharp; as Daniel grips it momentarily, he senses the power within; an inner strength from the mystical blade that would take it's wielder to awesome heights; an innate power to commit great good.... or inversely, great evil. Daniel inspects the blade, briefly.
And he tosses it aside, dismissing it.
Searching the bench further, Daniel's brow furrows. None of these treasures look worthy of the Todoh-Ryuu name. Daniel Jack had to find the Sacred Sword of Todoh. And that weapon... was not it. Daniel could feel it. Box after box is moved, the contents of tools mingled with a monkey's paw is rolled aside. As he sighs, staring at a crystal ball that seemed to hold the cloudy images of his parents, the detective seems ready give up...
But then he spies it.
"This."
That word comes with the steadfast resolve as expected for the detective. Daniel Jack reaches out to the work bench. Sheathed within a piece of Heavy black leather, lays a simple machete. A smooth born wooden handle of tropical hardwood juts out, while the blade of the weapon itself is conceal. Daniel clutches the handle with one hand, the head of the sheath with the other. He could feel the strength within.
And Daniel Jack raises it up.
Holding the weapon parallel to the ground, he brings it before his eyes, turning towards Saishu with the solemn fixation. Slowly, he draws the weapon from the sheath, the sound of metal against steel filling the air. Gripping the sheath in the other, he raises the crudely forged blade high in the air. It's handle fit his hand like a glove, this machete was as if it was made for him. Giving a few swipes through the air, he tests it's balance, it's flawless, Japanese-crafted design. Grunting, he nods firmly at the weapon. "This is the weapon I have been looking for."
"This is a weapon worthy of Todoh."
Daniel Jack remerges from the shed, face grim as he clutches the machete. He stares across to Saishu. And there, he raises the blade high. "This is the Sword of Todoh, a weapon infused with the power to seal away the accursed plant life that spreads across the city. I, Daniel Jack, disciple of Todoh-Ryuu Kobojutsu, vow to only use it within the honor of Todoh, and to protect the innocent It has been said. And it must be so." Daniel Jack sheaths away the machete, and hooks the loop of the sheath around his belt. And with that, he brings a fist into his palm. Daniel Jack gives out a bow of true respect to Saishu. He had been defeated in combat. And his response to his request, Daniel was eternally grateful. Rising back up from his bow, Daniel gives a quick round of sniffs, before clapping his hands together, a smile spreading over his face. The first smile he had shown to the Kusanagi since his arrival.
"Now is that pork and rice I smell, scuzzy?"
Log created on 14:42:02 06/19/2013 by Daniel, and last modified on 23:57:18 06/20/2013.