"Who is that?" Izumi asked himself as he looked on at a stranger sitting by a river bank holding a rod, "and where am I?"
He tried to take a step toward the man, but he couldn't. Suddenly, his vision became blurred and he began to lose his balance.
Just before he collapsed, the man by the river looked back at him. His face was blurred, and the only thing Izumi could make out was his slender build and his black hair.
That was all he could see, for in the next instant everything returned to black. He could faintly make out the man hesitantly reaching out his hand—but that was all.
A sudden jolt forced him awake, and he found himself lying in front of an unconscious Yuriko.
He sat upright amidst groans and grimaces and moved toward her. She was lying face down, so he turned her over.
When he did, she regained consciousness with a cough of spluttering blood.
A series of light coughs followed as he helped her sit upright.
"Can you stand?" he asked after she had calmed down.
"What are you talking about," she said, "I'm barely awake."
"Do want me to do some healing Vahir on you?" he asked as he raised his hand toward her.
"Hell no," she said, her tone low, "with how terrible you are at vahir I might just die."
"You're one to talk," he replied.
"I'm still better than you are if that's what you're implying," she said, her eyes alternating between barely open and closed.
"Well if you're going to end up dead anyway I might as well try," he said as his hands began to give off a faint blue hue.
"Sure," she said, "just don't—"
She passed out again mid-sentence.
"Yuriko," he said, tapping her cheek to try and wake her up, but she didn't respond.
He sighed. "Look where your crappy mouth got you. If you could only learn to shut up."
He began applying the faint blue light from his palm to her gut wound, and it slowly began repairing itself.
A sudden sensation turned his attention toward the direction where the villagers were, and he thought, "Takae, Miyuki, don't worry we're on our way."
"Just hold on until then."
---
Blood splattered over her shoulder as she drove the tip of her white blade into her discolored neck.
"Cerulean Stasis!" she yelled, and two blue bands of energy imprinted themselves onto her neck, halting the spread of the rot within them.
This time, she didn't wait for the rot to recede into her blade. She pulled it out immediately and stabbed the other wound on her upper chest, near her shoulder.
The same two bands formed on her skin, stopping the rot from spreading any further.
She pulled the blade free again, her breath growing erratic.
Takeru smirked. "You're out of stamina already. I thought you were gearing up for another round."
"Shut up," she snapped. "That smart-assed mouth of yours is getting on my nerves."
"Quite a thing to say when you've been backed into a corner," he replied. "I estimate you can only stop two or three more hits before you burn out completely."
A smirk spread across his face. "Am I wrong?"
Instead of stalling, she fired back immediately:
"It's like you forgot that you weren't fighting just me."
Then, at the very instant she finished speaking, Takae appeared behind him, swinging her sword at his back.
The moment he sensed her presence, he turned—but the slash meant for his back instead struck his right wrist, forcing him to drop one of his rods.
She immediately followed with another strike aimed at his throat. He avoided it by arching his back, lowering his head just enough for the blade to pass.
In the same motion, he dropped his palms to the ground and drove a kick toward her sword-bearing hand, knocking the weapon free.
He twisted back upright and struck her with the rod in his left hand.
The blow landed against her crossed arms and drove her backward—but when the dust settled, instead of seeing the rod fester against her arms, they were coated in a silver sheen that began to peel away like shards of shattered glass, revealing uninjured skin beneath.
She reached out her hand, and a small septa-circle formed.
"Tower Series, number eleven: Chaining Defiance!"
Dark grains of sand gathered at its center, shaping into black chains that shot toward him.
He was already familiar with the attack. With a smirk, he caught the incoming chains in his right hand and yanked hard, snapping them apart.
He launched another strike—but this time, she slipped past it, stepping to her left in a calm, controlled motion.
Her left hand glowed faintly yellow as she drove her fist up beneath his chin, knocking him back.
As he was thrown off balance, he hurled his remaining rod at her—but just like before, she stepped aside smoothly, letting it pass.
She advanced, septa-circles forming beneath her feet.
"Vanguard Series, number twenty-five: Shatter Step."
With her fists now engulfed in golden energy shaped like flames, she lunged forward.
Using the blood from his wounded wrist, he formed two new rods and prepared to intercept—but she was already moving at a speed that blurred the eye.
She circled him repeatedly, her movements erratic yet precise, kicking up dust as she dashed past in low, sweeping strides.
Golden streaks trailed from her fists as she struck—two rapid blows, one to his gut, the next to his jaw—before disengaging.
"She's using the Fist of the Rising Sun," Miyuki thought as she gripped her blackening sword lodged in her chest, "and Shatter Step. She can't keep that up for long… I have to hurry."
The bands on her neck had vanished, along with the rot, leaving only the wound on her chest—but even then, her urgency did not fade.
She was right—Takae's onslaught slowed, and she shifted to defense against his attacks.
Driven back, she found herself near where she had dropped her sword. It lay atop a small rock that stood alone in the grassy field.
She had no time to bend down and pick it up, so she stomped on the hilt, shifting its balance and tossing it upward.
Then, without even looking, she caught the falling sword in her right hand and charged.
Her speed had greatly deteriorated from before, but she still dashed past him, circling him two or three times before striking. What followed was far from what she expected.
Her sword stalled mid-swing, unable to reach him, even though he stood right in front of her. No matter how much force she applied, it wouldn't move forward.
For a moment, it felt as though an invisible force was pushing her blade back—until she noticed tiny specks of crimson energy forming a barrier between them.
Those specks were what halted her strike.
"What is this?" she said before pulling back in frustration.
He let out a derisive laugh. "Come on, sis, did you really think Withering Embrace was the only technique I could use? I pegged you as someone sharper than that."
With a grin, he added, "Call me a masochist if you want, but I'm really enjoying this fight."
"You're far more capable than I expected," he said, easing into another stance.
"So let's keep up the pace, shall we."