Grey

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

<Snipped quote by Amaterasu>

Doesn't matter the length of time known. What matters is whats done in the time known.

@Demon Shinobi

Spoken like a true shipper, eh?

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

From now on!
I proclaim the ships
HideAsu = Hideaki and Asuka
and
RenAsu = Ren and Asuka

Two shall compete!
One shall prevail!!!

EDIT: Pick your sides my friends x3
lol whether or not I'm serious about this stuff is unclear even to me.

@Demon Shinobi

Hide will not, as I said earlier, "get whipped in more ways than one"

Hohoho I personally shipped HideAsu cause of all the blatant honesty of hate. If you mention RenAsu, all I could say is yakuza boy and the daughter of yakuza eliminators which could be a thing.
But from the interactions so far, HideAsu is far more likely than the newly met two so I cast my vote on the former ship.

@Amaterasu

Mutual hate is the purest form of tsundere relationships hate.

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

I read 'Naokied' as 'Naked'

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

<Snipped quote by Grey>

Asuka will prevail. She will always prevail.

@Demon Shinobi

0% Forgive. 0% Forget.

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

*It's still here*
Yo! I can post soon, or continue to wait on yours Vongola. Just lemme know what you want.

@Demon Shinobi

Asuka. Will pay. I can play the long game, Demon.

You'll see. You'll all see.

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

'That cunning bitch-fox. I see what shrewd plan she's trying to put into action now. She's starting them off early to accumulate debt in order to place them in effective slavery! Hmm... How to warn these poor misguided fools...'

Hideaki nodded towards the younger student. "I understand," he said, looking for a moment almost like an old wiseman as he spoke, "Make sure you get rid of all of that debt in a timely fashion though, or you'll regret it." He looked over to the class president in question, who was allowing the two underclassment to depart and go about the festival at their own leisure. "..." Was it some sort of trap? Who knew? Either way...

...Mission accomplished? Mission accomplished.

Hideaki nodded to himself in satisfaction. His good deed of the day was complete, and he was basically 'done' all of his duties at this stand, so he had little else to do. Of course, he'd have to get that class president back for calling him 'Hide-chan' and implying that she was out of his league (though that was true, except that his league was the higher one in this case), but that could wait for later. He was good at playing the long game after all. "I'm done too, Argento-chan," he informed, "Have fun with the stand."

KHR! | The Enduring Flame

MY NAME WAS CALLED.

I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE SHADOW LANDS.

I'll make a post sometime tonight or tomorrow

A Certain Chaotic Academy

Sasaki Kirima - Aeon of Osiris

"Still nothing, huh?"

The giant grasped the skinhead by his hair and forcefully yanked upwards, pulling with the terrorist's head in order to stare deeply into his battered face. Sasaki's eyes were saturated with nothing but disdain for the individual before him. He'd already lost most of his teeth, his fingers, and his toes without budging from his stance. He'd screamed, of course. in fact, he'd screamed plenty when the skin of his back was being slowly excoriated by the dulled edge of Sasaki's blade. But screams wouldn't save his friends. Screams wouldn't rescue Kotori or Kei or Aria or Bang or anyone else from suffering the same fate as them. He slammed the skinhead's face back into the ground.

It really pissed him off.

As the sounds of combat got audibly louder, Sasaki got up from his crouching position and placed his hand around the hilt of the katana embedded in the clown's forearm. "Stop wasting my time," he said simply, twisting the blade roughly, tearing muscle and inciting audible pain. It still wasn't the sound he needed, damn it. Without rotating it back into position, Sasaki snapped the folded steel in twain to form a rough-hewn dagger of sorts. He crouched back down, lifted the anarchist's head, and promply inserted the blade into the target's eyelid, slicing through the cornea and retina with disturbing ease. Once more, the oni could hear labored breaths and a pained din. It was nothing new. 'There's no way this guy'll live through this,' he thought with distaste as he slowly retracted the blade, 'Even so, if he dies I still have that Akurans whore.' Twirling the blade in his hand and turning it on the other orb, Sasaki was about to prepare the second round when a pained rasp caused him to pause: "Haha...ha..."

"What's so funny?" Sasaki asked, a small scowl forming on his lips as he wrenched the skinhead towards him. To him, this was no time for jokes. For all intents and purposes, this clown was a dead man walking and the giant needed to know what he knew. Fast. After a short period of silence, the clown finally spoke up once again, a rictus of satisfaction and derangement on his mutilated face.

"Oh nothing...hah...I was just thinking... thinking about how... we're not all that different, you and I..."

Something snapped in Sasaki upon hearing those words. His grip tightened on the clown's head. His breathing was ragged, anger seeping through his breaths as his face morphed into an uncharacteristic visage of pure rage. "You piece! Of fucking! Shit!" he roared, eyes manic as he kept slamming the speaker's head into the floor over and over again, with increasing rapidity. They weren't the same. They couldn't be the same. He did this because he cared. That's right. He did this because he cared... He did this because he cared... Because he cared. Because he cared.... BecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecausehecaredbecauseHECAREDBECAUSEHECAREDBECAUSEHECAREDBECAUSEHECAREDBECAUSEHECAREDBECAUSEHECAREDBECAUSEHECAREDBECAUSEHECARED

He slammed and slammed and slammed. He slammed until the skull beneath his hands became nothing but dust, until brain matter slipped between his fingers and littered the room. He didn't notice the Akurans girl slip away. He didn't notice the door to the storage room open. He didn't notice his friend enter and see his relapse into madness.

"...Kirima-senpai... What happened here?!"

In that single moment, the storageroom was plunged into an unsettling quiet. It was like, for just the briefest of moments, everything was at peace. The battle raging outside no longer mattered. What only mattered was this scene, this very moment. Sasaki's massive form shifted ever slightly. Head slowly turning to face the young magician. The hushed dribbling of blood was deafening. Drip. Drip. Drip. His face was blank, entirely devoid of emotion. His dead eyes stared right at Kei. No, that was incorrect. He stared right through Kei, like the giant didn't notice he was there, like his vacant eyes were just staring into a vast abyss of nothingness. Drip drip drip. The bloody chorus chimed on, counting down the soundless seconds.

"What did you do!?"

...

...

...

...

...

...

Terror.

It was always terror.

Even among those who'd respected him for his strength, those who had been the ones to seek him out, there was always that underlying fear pervading their actions. As far as abilities went, his was not that impressive. It was not deadly or powerful, nor was it useful or versatile. Magic, ESP, mortal skills - they were all far more exceptional, far more threatening than his own. Even so, he was feared. He was feared more than espers who possessed power rivaling military squadrons, more than magicians who could forsake even their own humanity for greater power. Why should he have been surprised that Kei would be the same?

He slowly rose to his feet, arms hanging limply at his sides, and his head facing down. His grip tightened around the malformed dagger in his right hand. It wouldn't be wrong to compare his bearing to that of a feral beast. He turned his head back to look Kei. Even as corpses lined the room, even as blood stained his clothes and splattered his glasses, even as his body was shot and bruised, his eyes were like they were before they were thrust into a fight for their lives. Looking back at Kei was Sasaki Kirima, ever gentle. "Don't worry, Kei-kun," he said, closing his eyes and smiling softly at the young boy, "Everything will be fine soon."

Sasaki burst forward, arms bared like the fangs of a predator pouncing on his prey.

A Certain Chaotic Academy

Sasaki Kirima - Talking is Not a Free Action

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 really 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. 'You're so fucking good at destroying, so why not put that mind of yours to work already!?' 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 nice 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 CRACK!, "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?"

W&T FT Zero! RP

Morgan

Morgan's armored dress gave off a muffled clang with every snow-covered step as he absent-mindedly walke- err... trudged through, technically, the streets of Peak Village, in search of... something or other. He'd know it when he remembered it. Either way, he had nowhere to go and absolutely nothing to do. In other words, the poor young man was bored out of his goddamn mind. You'd think that being able to remember everytime he felt like this would have jaded him to the whole concept of 'waiting' by now, but apparently it hadn't, so sucks to be him.

Suddenly, there was something going on that sent a cloaked, grumpy-looking masked lady with some fun gear followed by a black-haired swordswoman, two naked preteen girls, and a jogging, partially demonic male. Morgan tilted his head to the side as the peculiar group finally exited his range of analysis. His petite stature, wide, innocent eyes, and rosy cheeks made him look downright adorable in that position.

. . .

. . .

. . .

'...What the fuck?' the knight thought. Seriously, was he getting hormonal or something? He scanned through his memories in an instant. Nope. Those little girls were definitely naked for realzies, and not the product of healthy teenage mindset. Now the real concern here was: wouldn't they be cold? It was subzero temperatures out here! No, undoubtedly this was some type of scheme perpetrated by the masked woman to create some kind of perverse ninja cult. He would have assumed that it was all the jogging demon's fault, but that would be racial profiling. Morgan was not a racist, after all; he was an equal opportunities judge, jury and executioner, dammit. Nevertheless, there were so many equally logical potential resolutions to this mind-boggling query.

...Clearly this issue needed further investigating.

So using the manpower in his little legs, Morgan trudged through the snowdrifts with a renewed vigor. Pushing through the snow covered streets was a long and arduous process for the young knight, whose effective height was halved or worse by the size of these gargantuan snow piles. Truly, the combination of plate armor and snowdrifts as tall as oneself was not a very good one for the purposes of mobility in the north. But still, he pressed forward with all his might, with all the power in his feminine, 16-year old legs!

. . .

. . .

. . .

...Total distance elapsed: fifteen centimeters.

;n;

"...Wait. Why am I even doing this?" the trap said, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation and turning to the building to his left. Instead of forcing his way through the drifts, he climbed up the snowbank to get on top of the snowless rooftop of the building. Once on the solid surface, he shook the snow off of his armor and trotted off in the direction of the motley crew that had been unlucky enough to garner his attention.

***

"Actually, yes. I am a simple, humble magi just like you. Was wondering if you'd like to travel with me some...rather than spend a few nights in a bitterly frigid cell. Though we ought to be moving, your friends' little light show will have likely drawn some unwarranted attention."

Gee, if that wasn't begging for an interloper to show up, what was?

There was an unsettling silence after the nameless mage completed her warning. Like there was some kind of threat looming in the background. Watching. Waiting. Observing everything about the group gathered there. It was as if the entire group was gathered for one... big...

...trap.

"Hi!" chirped the unwanted attention in question, armored hand waving energetically in greeting. Morgan, hanging off the side of the rooftop, threw his leg over the edge and pulled himself up onto the elevated surface. He rolled onto his back, face looking up at the gathered peculiar people. "You wouldn't have to be some kind of weird cult, would you?" he inquired with a big smile.