[@Argonaut] [center][h1]The Sensei[/H1][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Flfan1p.png[/img][/center] [center][h1]Miyama - Man-made Disaster [/h1][/center] This battle was not one that involved magi. This was not his own personal journey, or battle to see the sights that he found himself entranced by. This was, exceeding even that cursed fire, a tragedy. So he would use that. Something that he did not plan to use casually. Nor for himself in this war. The arts of his home. [h1][b][center]-[/center][/b][/h1] The hordes that should have dispersed or faded away only swelled. More than that people became more and more rabid, driven by desperation. The fright that permeated the community due to the war only was antagonized by the strife between the two local factions and the growing rumors of a monster. He let out a raspy gasp as he slammed the door before him. Draped on his shoulders were a number of people that had been beaten into unconsciousness by the crowds out there. It was more than simply just returning to safety that made the man relax. After all this place was more than just a normal building, a normal shelter. It had become a shrine, a place where gods could temporarily manifest. Although in this eastern land perhaps it was more like a Kamidana. Feeling himself eased, his mind soothed and his body’s aches fading away. He was still wounded of course but it would let him overpower his body’s cry that demanded he stopped. To invoke spirits, to invoke the gods. That was the art of his family, the one sole magecraft that he truly could be said to know. Their bodies were specialized for that purpose, and while as a magus he was at the lowest of levels, when it came to Shamanism it was a different matter. Connecting with spirits he imbued the safe-house, making it a fortification that would hold up to the rabid hostility of the army of rioters that had long abandoned common sense and the logic of gain and loss, driven by their maddened emotions and broken past the point that a human should withstand. Their hearts overwhelmed them and left only cruelty and evil. Of course to simply be alive was not to live. To preserve the people he had saved he invoked multiple kami and spirits as well. Even a Baku. the spirits that devour nightmares, that repelled evil. To rest in peace, to keep them well despite the conflict that they were bathed in. To protect them and keep them well. He had also called upon that girl named Riyu, the foreigner. He added spirits and boons to her glove and cloak to aid her. Whether she went off to fend for herself or stayed with the others as a protector, her help earlier in those long hours was something he felt needed a show of appreciation. Why didn’t he prepare something for himself? He pushed out of the door again. Heading towards where his familiars that he had made in a calm period found more people in trouble. A family that holded themselves in their home that had fended off groups were now under a siege, smaller in scale to the one that surrounded the safehouse, but more than enough to break through. Well that was a simple answer. Knocking down a trio of men as he exited, he stayed for a moment, bringing his fist up to slam against the back of a man’s ear that tried to sneak past him. So the door could be closed behind him. If he had the time for something like that. He broke out of the crowd, arms aching as they had to shield him from the bashes of multiple rods. Glinting steel in the crowd cut at his back, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He’d be fine, but he felt tired with each run. Even if his body was completely unharmed it did not stop his mind from wandering. And when his mind wandered things got dangerous. Not for him, but for those who he was facing. He could be using that time to make something for those who could not protect himself. In the streets a man who he had bashed out cold earlier today swaggered out. His expression smug, but also filled with no small amount of anger. “It’s time to pay you back for earlier!...” Why was he so confident? It was both that he expected the horse to not threaten his life. It was obvious to anyone that he could end the lives of many after watching him in those deadly melees. Yet so far he left at worst shattered bones, and out cold thugs. But even more than that. A gun. The weapon of the modern day, that simply killed. It was not a matter of strength. If he pulled his blows he’d die. If he wanted to live he’d have to kill. So he did. Without qualm or mercy he lashed out with his foot, caving in the man’s chest and slamming him down against the ground with enough strength to pulp his organs and leave his bones shattered against the street that had the man’s body push its shape into. This was not the first time. His head throbbed, his heart pounded. “Brother! It has been a long time coming. But I will be taking back what is rightfully mine.” Ryuudo Temple burned. The matter that should have concerned only two dragged in many. His head throbbed. Ah, that year… The feeling of rain against his bare face. Blood bubbled from his lips. His body was draped against the many steps leading up the mountain. “To think you left for a paltry island like this. Were the great expanses of our land so confining to you brother? Did you leave our land? Did you take our… my trophy, my prize just to drink weed-water and live with a bunch of beasts like a vagrant?! If you wanted to disappear you should have disappeared off the face of this earth completely! Well. I’ll fix that. I’ll make sure you’re gone.” Ah. Blood dripped from his hand (his foot). The charred home of the monks stood watch over the conclusion of this battle. Ah. The mask that had been a simple matter of interest and idolization to him was the focus of hatred and jealousy for another. Yes. Compared to killing him, this was a light matter. Yet he felt a pang of regret all the same. To save some people was to condemn some others at times. With his worn body he could not hold everyone's lives equally. He couldn’t hold himself back if he wanted to survive. So the Horse of Fuyuki became a Black Demon God that left death in his wake.