"Did you know that there are over forty-seven different types of snakes in Nihon?" Yoshiro's voice was smooth, calm, almost like a lullaby. He began walking clockwise, his wooden sandals clicking rhythmically.
Tang, Tang, Tang
"People fear them, but the truth is only three of those snakes cause any fatal harm."
Yorimitsu mirrored him, walking counter-clockwise. His eyes never left Yoshiro's hands. "He's already starting Kōkan (Exchange Ritual)," Yorimitsu realised, his pulse steadying. "Tch, what a shrewd man."
Yorimitsu's palms opened. "I should have brought Dōjigiri. I didn't think I would be fighting against such a strong foe; I'll have to rely on the Goju-Ryu as I start my own Kōkan."
"I follow the Path of Poison," Yoshiro declared.
With a sudden, violent burst of speed, he leapt forward. His right hand stretched toward Yorimitsu, but mid-air, the flesh rippled and split. His fingers elongated, skin turning into grey and black scales until a dozen hissing vipers erupted from his wrist.
SSSSSSSHHH!
The snakes lunged for Yorimitsu's face, their fangs dripping with a pale, corrosive ichor. Yorimitsu tilted his head back by a hair's breadth, the wind of the strike whistling past his ear. His right hand ignited with a fierce Blue Flame, and he drove his palm downward in a series of lightning-fast strikes.
BOOM!
Dust exploded as Yorimitsu slammed the cluster of snakes into the earth. The impact was so heavy it vitrified the earth beneath them into jagged sand. Yoshiro's snake-hand detached, as his limb reverted to human form.
But it was a feint.
Beneath Yoshiro's fingers, a Crimson Blade of solidified with a vicious upward flick, he caught Yorimitsu across the cheek.
Yorimitsu launched himself backwards, his sandals skidding across the ash-soil. He touched his cheek, his thumb coming away stained with a thin line of red.
"Mmmm, that caught me by surprise," Yorimitsu murmured. He stared at Yorishiro, watching him dance to the sound of his own imagination. "So, you are a Henshinsha (Formchanger/shapeshifter)."
Yoshiro snapped his fan shut, the crimson blood-blade dissolving back into the silk folds of his sleeve. He looked at Yorimitsu with profound disappointment, as if he were looking at a broken toy.
"Mmmm... you are truly weak," Yoshiro sighed. "I thought you would be strong, considering you have a Household Spirit like Inoue under your control.
Da-dum!
The thunder of Yorimitsu's own heart vibrating against his ribs. He collapsed to one knee, his hand clutching his chest as if trying to physically hold his organs in place. His breath came in ragged, wet gasps.
"Ohoho... oho," Yoshiro chuckled, the sound as cold as the steel of his tachi. Yoshiro didn't rush in; he simply watched. "It has already begun. When my crimson blade kissed your cheek, I placed my venom inside your body. Mademamushi kills in stages."
Yoshiro began counting on his pale fingers. "First, your bones will feel as though they are made of heavy steel. Secondly, your vision will blur until the world is nothing but a smear of grey. And then, the third stage..."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of liquid hitting the dry, ash-white soil was unnaturally loud in the silence of the abandoned village. Yorimitsu forced himself back to his feet, his knees shaking violently. His skin had turned a translucent, ghostly white, and the shallow cut on his cheek, once a mere scratch, was now gushing blood, staining his collar a deep, wet red.
"It is already happening," Yoshiro whispered, his purple fan snapping open with a sound like a bone breaking. "You cannot stop the bleeding.
The venom turns your blood against its container. It starts with the cuts, then the pores of your skin. Soon, your eyes, your nose, your ears... even your family jewels will weep red. Your blood wants to escape the damaged vessels of your body. That is the essence of my technique: Doku no Karada."
With a flick of his wrist, five crimson daggers solidified from the blood dripping from his own fingers and shot from the fan. They hissed through the air like hornets.
Yorimitsu's movements were jerky, like a puppet with frayed strings. He swung his glowing blue palms, striking the daggers mid-air.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Despite his trembling limbs, he managed to knock them aside. The daggers dug deep into the earth, hissing as they dissolved the earth into corrosive puddles.
"Woooah," Yoshiro drawled, his eyebrows arching in genuine surprise. "You can still move? Your willpower is most impressive. I would expect nothing less from your bloodline, Minamoto. This is great... it would have been no fun at all if you went down without a fight."
Yorimitsu stood tall, and he wiped the blood from his chin, his silver eyes flashing with a grey light.
"What... you recognise me?" Yorimitsu asked, each word a struggle. He coughed, a spray of dark crimson hitting the white sand.
"Of course I do," Yoshiro replied, his purple fan snapping shut. He walked with a predatory grace, his eyes fixed on the flickering blue light. "I wasn't sure before, since you are all grown now. But those flames... You can't hide them. Even if you change their colour, those are the Flames of Kita. I would recognise that northern stench anywhere."
"Ha... so you do," Yorimitsu whispered.
"You talk too much…" Yorimitsu wheezed, a bloody grin splitting his pale face. He placed his hands together in a sharp, almost like he was going to sing a prayer, then pulled them apart with a violent snap.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
The blue flames brightened; the ethereal blue bled into a roaring, Hot Orange. Three spheres of concentrated solar fire materialised in the air behind him. In his grip, the fire solidified into a recurve bow of burning fire with a fluid, practised motion. He pulled back an invisible string, and an arrow of pure, white-hot light materialised.
"Yes, Yes! That is it!" Yoshiro laughed, his eyes wide with sadistic glee. "A Third-Grade spiritual practitioner. I thought so. A fine achievement for someone so young, given enough time, and you would have ruled the lands…. But too bad you met me today."
Yoshiro snapped his fingers up, and the crimson blades he had previously driven into the ground suddenly twitched. They elongated, their blood-matter knitting together into thick, bone-crushing serpents that tore themselves out of the earth and lunged toward Yorimitsu.
Yorimitsu took a massive leap backwards.
TWANG.
He shot an arrow, and the light hit the snakes, a heat so intense it bypassed the scales entirely, incinerating the flesh and shattering bones into ash before they could reach him.
Thud.
Yorimitsu hit the ground, skidding on his heels. He kept the bow raised, his aim steady on Yoshiro's heart.
But then a thick, steady stream of blood began to leak from his nostrils, trailing down his lip and onto his chin.
"Hehehe," Yoshiro cackled, tapping his fan against his palm. "Keep using those flashy techniques. The more Reiryoku you use, the faster your heart pumps, and the faster you will lose your blood."