>>5330559“GRA SAN THA.” You whisper to yourself, feeling every muscle tighten with the speed you hope will be enough to outpace the giant across from you. While your tendons strain your skin crawls, the familiar itch of burgeoning Joyous’ impatience to escape your prison-body, but they’re calmed as an (admittedly very pretty) latticework of blood starts to quietly thread out from your back, Queen Crimson just as eager to protect you as your clones are to escape.
And yet, despite your preparations, the Vagrant remains stock still. There’s almost a sort of…gentleness in the way he’s poised, for lack of a better word, Cheruem’s sword held at the ready with utmost care.
“Damn. He’s good.” Cheruem mutters irritably, and you can’t help but cock a silent eyebrow at her compliment. “He’s waiting for you to make the first move. Classic duelist strategy. Wait until you strike, then use that information to gauge your overall strategy and style.”
Then, sharply; “I would advise Form Seventeen.”
“I was kinda thinking Form Sixteen, followed up by Twenty-Two, actually.” You offer, giving her pause.
“…Well played. An excellent choice.” Cheruem remarks, voice tinged with pride. “With a few Joyous left behind to prepare-“
“Form Thirty-Six, of course.” You smirk, and your sensei makes a small noise of appreciation only you can hear.
“Are you ready?”
“When you are, Sensei.” You smile, and she doesn’t even correct you this time, as excited as she is to spar with a warrior of the Vagrant’s caliber. “Here…”
“…we…”
“GO!”
When you kick off from where you stand, the calcite buckles beneath you, and from where you once stood you leave behind a trail of afterimages made manifest, a dozen Joyous congealing into existence in your wake with three kicking off to join your frontal assault while another eight stay behind to enact your plan. Your foe’s hands tense but his blade remains sheathed.
“Hexagon Style, (‘Hexane!’ Cheruem archly corrects you) Form Sixteen—Wukong’s Fetters!” You announce, your own voice drowned out as your dozen clones echo your words, each one indistinguishable from their maker as you and your vanguard trio overwhelm the Vagrant with a flurry of feints. He’s fast, faster than you’d anticipated and with a fluid grace that ill-suits his imposing size.
He weaves between your clone’s strikes, dancing just out of blades’ reach with a dexterity fueled by inhumane strength—but when he slips up, you’re ready. He leans back, briefly off-balance and with his back foot flat on the calcite ground, and that’s when you make your real opening move.
“Hexagon Style, Form Twenty-Two—Four Corners Strike!” You yell from the mouth of one of your clones, your body and theirs dissolving as you come together behind the Vagrant’s left side, your trio of doppelgangers boxing him in with blades at the ready.
(Keep Smiling)
