[center][b][color=royalblue][sup][h1]T H E   L O T U S[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[COLOR=royalblue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]G E N Z O K U   P L A Z A[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]? ?[sup]?[/sup]?  |  Night  |  Hakuto, Planetside[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]
Jiryu scissored half-breaths as he ran across the rooftops which hung high over Genzoku Plaza. Backlit sun toasted his skin and sweat barreled down the back of his neck; as he neared the edge of a massive shopping center rooftop he prepared to leap. One foot set his balance, the next was his gather, and with the third he soared across the cavity between the two buildings. The red keikogi and hood puffed as he sailed along the long gap and he landed with a roll. From his waist he drew a kunai; a twist of his body and he hurled the projectile with an efficiency gained by only the finest shinobi, for that is what Jiryu of the White Tiger clan was.

Kuroguro had his path impeded by the hurling ninja star, a twist of his body within three seconds of impact helped deter a fatal wound, but still shredded Kuro’s own indigo keikogi along the right arm and left a horizontal open wound to trail blood down his garb's side. He had to re-adjust the angle of his own leap; a roof turbine vent is where he made his new launch pad. Ascending it with a few less-than-calculated-steps, the Lotus leapt high and propelled himself along the same gap over which Jiryu had conquered some seconds before. Kuro landed with a roll and a grunt; he was not as nimble or as fast as the shinobi who was ten years his junior, and his body was letting him know in the most subtle ways these days.

Kuro rose from the ground; Jiryu of the White Tiger had taken off already. He was nearly across the length of a much wider roof when Kuro pulled a kunai of his own, the blade face etched with an eagle; it was the one with which Kuro never missed, or so the legend went. Between his index and middle finger he clutched the throwing dagger and bent his elbow back and then when he had it properly knocked, he let the kunai fly. Its trajectory was blinding, the mechanical ease with which Kuro moved through the throwing motion helped him eject and spring the kunai at a speed which appeared superhuman to the untrained eye. It was not true that he always got his target with this particular kunai but it was true that over the years his hit and miss ratio was above somewhere in the sixty fifth percentile. How shallow and embellished did word of mouth become.

Jiryu of the White Tiger had a kunai pinned in his shoulder blade before he knew it, and the pain which trounced up his spine and back down both of his legs and then settled into the soles of his feet made him drop and fumble on hand and knees. Dust marked the point of Jiryu’s collapse, and from behind it, the Lotus appeared. Hood and fukumen shrouding the ebony man’s face still. Jiryu rolled over and crab-crawled backwards.

“Hurry up and do it! Lord Onaga will fight you Koga dogs to the de--” near impregnable black smoke rose from between Jiryu and Lotus. Both coughed, almost in sync. From the pit of the smoke rose a figure, a man who who was clad in a business suit, bearing a NobuZai signet; his hand was made of metal. Before Kuro could make sense of what happened and the smoke had cleared, the NobuZai agent and Jiryu of the White Tiger had disappeared into the night.

Streetlights flashed below, all Kuro could see was a red keikogi bounced against the melanoid night. He pulled his hood and fukumen from his face and let out a deep breathe; his breathing was rapid and he was hyped on adrenaline. How he would relay to Lord Izanagi how his prey had gotten away concerned him briefly; what had his attention more were the cup of noodles and the ice bath he was about to take when he got home.