[h2]Sasaki Kirima - Talking is Not a Free Action[/h2]
For a brief moment, the devastated storage room was plunged into a tense, eerie silence as a red-haired swordswoman entered through the hole in the wall, twin blades at the ready. Inwardly, Sasaki groaned. He [i]really[/i] didn't need a competent close range combatant interfering right now. He could deal with guns, but he'd need both of his arms in at least moving condition in order to properly fight someone like this. Even worse, the lack of bullets rendering her into swiss cheese meant that these terrorists were aligned with her group, for there was little chance that this swordswoman directly associated with them based solely on what he'd seen so far. 

Sasaki mentally gauged the situation, trying his darnedest to figure out the best course of action to take. Dying wasn't an acceptable outcome, not yet at least. [i]'You're so fucking good at destroying, so why not put that mind of yours to work already!?'[/i] he chided himself. He was unprepared for a development like this; it was like getting caught with his pants down twice in the same day. The fact that the sounds of battle on the other half of the cafe were growing increasingly loud did little to help ease the process.

And then, the woman spoke.

That decision would be her downfall. Because as we know, talking is not a free action. Contrary to what the media would want you to know, simply because specific vibration patterns understandable to others are being emitted through one's vocal cords or similar means, did not mean that time has stopped or that everyone would have the common courtesy by which to pause their speech and wait before continuing their assault. 

Case and point: Sasaki Kirima, who was currently driving the heel of his foot directly into the solar plexus of the crimson blader mid-sentence.

It was better than any other idea he could have made. He was always better on the offensive anyway, and besides, he never said he would be a [i]nice[/i] fighter. The impact of his strike wasn't meant to kill, but to send her flying at the majority of the clowns and to loosen her grip on her weapons. Although, he wouldn't be surprised if he busted a rib or two in the process. Taking initiative, Sasaki wrapped his hand around the folded steel, cutting sharply into his palm but disarming the slicer in the process. He shifted his grip from the blade to the hilt, the act of gripping the sword sending annoying shocks of pain up Sasaki's nerves. Even so, such a weapon was too much of an advantage to drop based on something as petty as that.

Taking advantage of their moment of immobility, Sasaki kicked off the ground and closed distance, using the reach of the blade and his own natural strength to cleave into his opponents like a hot knife through butter. Not long after he had bisected the first of his opponents from shoulder to hip, rifles were raised as the familiar chorus of gunfire broke out once more, like an orchestra to the budding dance of death. The hail of bullets tore through the still air, but they weren't enough to put down the beast and his predictive capacity. The blade-wielding berserker manipulated his blade inelegantly but effectively, severing fingers, hands and arms, parrying aside gun barrels and riposting with deadly force. 

It was almost fun.

By the time the dust finally settled, blood splattered the walls and body parts littered the space like debris. The storageroom had become a slaughterhouse. Lying prostrate before Sasaki was the unfortunate survivor of the bloodletting: a clown, pinned to the ground by the blade buried in his left forearm and the foot resting on the back of his opposite knee. Nobody else in the room was alive aside from the slicer girl, who lay off to the side, alive but incapacitated by his initial assault. "Akurans, huh?" he murmured, looking at the tattoo on the back of the swordswoman for the a short moment as he relocated his other shoulder with a loud [i]CRACK![/i], "I'll keep that in mind." He spoke with an uncanny calm, unperturbed by the carnage surrounding him, "I have to say, you're surprisingly resilient." In his hand was the second of the slicer girl's blades, carving lines along the floor. Upon detecting signs of resistance, the clown's kneecap gave way to unexpected force. "Really, it's inconvenient..." Sasaki sighed, rubbing the back of his head with a bloodsoaked hand, "...How far do I have to go to get a straight answer around here?"

"I don't have all day, let's continue this charade, shall we?"