[center][h1]The Sensei[/H1][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Flfan1p.png[/img][/center] [center][h1]Miyama Native District Assaulted Yakuza Safehouse -> Southwest Quarter[/h1][/center] The men who ran in a panic, wrestling with their fellows to leave. Those who were crushed, broken in body and ruined in the wake of the Black Demon God’s advance. The men who ran from the various firearms, screaming about the flames as the fire serpents continued to chase down those who grabbed at them. As the offense broke more and more they returned to the fists of Tlilpojuan, no longer required for the task of hunting down those who would use those weapons of death that would turn the tide of this battle. A mound of burning bodies, a hellish tragedy. He was numb to the smell, he was numb to the sensation of gore dripping from his fists. But that only made the pain of his heart even greater. The molotovs earlier had been smothered and pushed away with the work of the helper spirits that had been called to the site. While at the other sites the buildings reinforced with spirits, and guarded by guardian spirits. Lion animal spirits utilized as a base, brought to act due to the image held by the people huddled in the sanctuaries. Were defended enough that the invaders were repelled. There were casualties on both sides, and there were many deaths that came out of this nonsense. Yet he would, at least to assuage himself, consider it a victory. But there was no time to rest even then. Through his spirit familiars he saw the barbaric execution of men on the streets. What even was the point of this? They shot and shot, killing others, lording themselves above. Was this how his ancestors felt during the invasion of their lands? No matter how disgusting it was, he did not feel a burning hatred. They too pursued their own goals, even if he could not see the reason. But he would condemn the result of the action, he would stop it. Against those however… in these different circumstances he’d need more than just a heart and his fists. Gathering a number of spears, and a blanket, invoking spirits into them, he set out to slay those who simply shot to lift themselves higher. The invisible waves that rolled out and changed the atmosphere of the building, the ashes that he spread, blowing in a windless gust. Another shrine, another place to rest. Just in case. Well then, now he can begin. The first strike against the Maifa came against one of the smaller groups. A duo walking about on an idle patrol assaulted. A wooden spear came whistling out from the shadows of an alleyway to rip through the side of one of the two, ripping through his body and spilling his entrails upon the ground. At the same time, rushing into action the moment the spear left his hand, covered by his blanket repurposed into a shroud that was colored in black soot, the Horse of Fuyuki rushed at the other man. He took a breath. The distance was closed, the speed of Tlilpojuan exceeding that of men. The gangster saw his friend fall, both of them struck by surprise. Gore sprayed across the ground. His attention was drawn to the figure rushing towards him. The spear redirected in air, shooting back towards the hand of the man who threw it. The Gangster’s attention was divded by the whistling noise of the spear coming at him from behind. That distraction was fatal. Crush the heart. No, at this level it would be a complete destruction of the functions of a human being. The devouring of a life. Moving according to the techniques known as Step Movements, a wide-spread and potent martial arts skill, Tlilpojuan seemed to suddenly appear before the mobster in the small amount of time he wasn’t focused on him.Utilizing special movements, the blindspots of the enemy, and synchronizing their breathing it became an art that It was not merely speed, it was not the erasure of distance from one and their target. A combination of multiple phenomena, of multiple techniques. At its highest it was even a Sage Art that would be taught by Tengu. He stepped in, cratering the ground under his foot from the force required to stop him, rupturing the street. That power transitioned into his fist, Tlilpojuan using the strike of the Four Meteor stable fist. His fist carved through the body of the man, his bones and flesh bending to its shape. The ribs broke, the heart and lungs were mashed into a slurry, and the shockwaves burst and minced the rest of the organs. The man’s body was launched to the side of a building and with a large crash, the oozing corpse fell against the ground. Ah. [color=ed1c24]Who are you?[/color] Came the question. [color=ed1c24]Don’t come near me. It hurts. [/color] Without spending time to declare himself, without spending time to finish off what was so clearly a fatally wounded foe, without looking back or any amount of hesitation the black-drobed figure left in that dazzling inhuman speed the same way he came. [color=ed1c24]What are you?[/color] Was it a cruelty? Was it a form of disrespect? Ah, it must surely be.. a [color=ed1c24]demon.[/color] No. There was no need to admonish them, there was no need to curse them, there was no need to make them repent. They simply were the ones that he needed to fight… to kill. He left because there was no time to spend to the past, to the dead, when the living were in so much need. Look to the past, honor the past, lament the past. But no matter how many centuries of pain you piled up. A single tear of the now was heavier. So he retreated, before he was discovered, before he’d be mowed down. Against these foreigners he could not afford to make it a fight. Their bullets would pierce him, and even if he could survive and heal from a shot or two, it was also very possible that a single bullet would end his life. Even with the defense of the shroud it was better to avoid a hit all-together. Steeling himself to be a demon, he engineered what could only be called slaughters. With the guidance of his spirits, his knowledge of Fuyuki’s streets, his own abilities and his prepared arms he would force them to flee themselves. There would be no more executions.