[i]"Foolish mortals, it's obvious that none of you were trained in the ways of the blade. This is not something humans like you can handle, allow me to sort out our problem with my Katana. It matters not to me if a door has magic or can manage to speak, the words mean nothing to a real warrior"[/i]

Oda had been sticking to the shadows, clad in full Samurai armor with his clan's emblem painted on the chestpiece and shoulders. Of course, he stuck out like a sore thumb as it was a royal set of armor meant only for the greatest warriors, crafted by the finest smiths in all of Japan. In his mind, though, he was completely hidden in his little corner before speaking. 

Chest forward and shoulders back, trying to puff himself up into a regal posture full of power and mystery, he raises his sword and shouts [i]"Strike of the Seven Suns!"[/i] [color=yellow][b]before adopting a hilariously rehearsed stance and slashing at the door[/b][/color] (Or what he thought was the door, it might be just a wall as his eyesight isn't the best), blade moving faster than the eye could see. 

With his fluid movement done, he sheaths his Katana in the typical movie-fashion, stopping about an inch before fully closed for a second, then slamming it the rest of the way in as a [b][i]SHHIIINNGGHH[/i][/b] plays in the background. If looking closely enough, you could almost see the few naked strands of hair from under his helmet wave in a breeze coming from nowhere.