A blade stuck through the throat throbbed troublingly, trembling, blood spurt forth from the tremmering veins. His smile was a vain disguise of the encroaching excitement that he held within. Like a lantern in the black, Hank walked away from the piercing blade.
"Now, my blade has struck you nine instances, yet you still draw breath. How concerning," Sasaki said with intrigue.
"I'm lucky you could say. It takes a lot for me to avoid yar steel." Hank dropped to one knee, shaking from the pain.
"Luck. Indeed, luck is just as much a skill, but just like the stars that glimmer only at night, I too shall show my brightness at the right time." Hank's head flew off his body, but just as it did his DeLorean beamed and his head was miraculously reattached. "Hahaha, you are a fun one, truly a bright plight on my night." Sasaki Kojiro's eyes sparkled with blood-lust. Berrilynn the Sword Saint was a foolish young man obsessed with ambition. His blank life drove him to madness, in turn he took up a mantle not his own and dedicated his life to becoming exactly like his idol. I am Sasaki Kojirou, a man dedicated to one thing, the sword. Berrilynn never cared for fighting or the sword in any fashion, but rather the obsession with perfection when trying to achieve a certain goal. It was salivating, he wanted that same drive, that same purpose, that hunger that made so many great. For he too wished to be great. In time he developed the ability to mimic others and nearly become them. There was simply one drawback. It was purely decided by his interpretation of the person or character and how much he admired them.
A rumbling of cycles clashed with burning passion as a man too large for his own good dove into the fray. Grease broke away from his bike, almost sliced in half, Sasaki held his nodachi (Godmann) to the east.
"Your hair bends like a wheat field, allow me to trim it," his eyes gazed at Grease. Grease's forehead dribbled blood down to his lip. The shadow of the black sun hung, the bubbling moon drooped and fled. Like a grazing hawk his blade bloomed blue with the scarlet moonlight. Blood splattered, wailing swings that tore through air and bone. A ravenous beast as swift as a swallow mid flight. A demon in human flesh, elegance built with clothes of an angel, but organs dressed with death. Eyes that glowed horrendously as his steep steps strode across the concrete crossing, his blade fluttering above as it chopped downward caving into muscle, smoothly passing through. Small puddles left clean cut limbs laying next to their owners.
Grease shivered as each of his gang members were dismembered as quickly as they came to his defence. Grease could only "dodge" from a far distance. Although Sasaki was a good pace away, his blade felt as if coldly pressed against his neck. Sweat born from a trepidatious heart, not from boorish heat, mixed with his leaking blood. His stomach turned as he absorbed the chaos surrounding him.
Why did I decide to come here? Grease's skin was slick with death's approach. Kojiro's blade flitted softly, swinging to Grease's open neck. Grease cocked back avoiding the dancing steel. Sasaki's cool eyes blinked with the dust pillowing over smoke and ash.
A damping force rose upon the collapsing slope as Hank, Sasaki, and Grease stared at the power coming in with his destruction. Each knew that they were most likely the only ones to survive if at all, as the mountain perished into the ocean side. Reo, a physical specimen unlike any other, his speed and power rivaling demi-gods. His hands tore the ground into molten lava. Sasaki simply laughed innocently. A baby with his toy, a face devoid of all malice. His blade removed all in his path as seven visages appeared in less than a blink. Reo's legs were separated from his body. Just as the ground was his weapon so too was it his shield. Legs made of molten steel and stone clamped to his flesh. Burning him as it grew. Goliath. Reo's final form. Sasaki never changed, he smiled softly with sweet pity. His blade blurred as Reo turned to molten mush.
"A real shame. Lack of self is a lack of elegance. A lack of elegance is a lack of character. Character births warriors. Your name is one that will be forgotten, beautiful beast, rest with my pity on your uncouth soul." Sasaki sheathed his blade as he dialed a number on his cellular device. "Yo Musashi, come pick me up. Mount Myu is falling to the east I think, I'll probably die if you don't come soon. Thanks." Sasaki sat in meditative prayer as he let the devastation around grow heavier and heavier.
"What did I just fucking see?" Dante said.
"This will be our revolution," Nishant said with a calculating smile.
Grease scrambled to his men as Hank began to "teleport" others to safety.
Morning began its rise, Kojiro Sasaki awoke, Berrilynn checked his clock, his maid dressed him quickly as he got ready for breakfast. There he noticed something peculiar from the corner of his eye.
"Isn't that mountain supposed to be in the ocean Serri?"
"I don't know what you mean sir, now please hurry, breakfast is currently ready."
"Hey, what day is it?"