Prayer of the Sakura [Job/Adrastos]

And Now They Pollinate:

Morihana Fox High Priest:

Upon the first night of their admittance, those who have come seeking Morihana's graces were marched into the night's cool embrace. Flickers of moonlight penetrate the pink canopy of the Cherry Blossom granting but a sliver of sight along their wearisome toil.

Khalik had remained in lockstep with the acolytes albeit begrudgingly. Given the dry and serious tone which befell their midnight travel, he had supposed this was a delayed penance of some sort; that Morihana did not take kindly to the near death experienced by their past recruiter, and by proximity he was associated with the guilty. This may well be his final night among living, and this silent skepticism only grew more wary to the rising chants echoing from within the depth of the Sakuras.

Zikr:

A chant. Perhaps a prayer? Perhaps their last rites? It was hard for the uninitiated to tell. "Oh, what a lovely tune. How those heavy notes quell the unease in my heart," the young assassin spoke aloud to the grievance of the faithful who saw through his words for what he was: A sarcastic nobody with an errant tongue. Still, their march continued and with each step a purple haze grew more and more dense.

Indeed, the pale maiden's graces were no longer with them tonight for it was by Morihana's spiritualism that takes this night of their's.

WC: 225/1500

"Sounds like delusion to me," Adrastos said, breaking his silence. He had been following along with this religious march to gain more information, but he didn’t think he’d be part of a march consisting of nonsensical chants. “I don’t understand why I always seem to meet people or groups that are heavily involved with religious ideology.” The dark king’s first run-in was with Requiem Jynx, a madman brought down to his knees by some organization. Then there was Diana, a rather interesting woman whose beliefs were more simplified and less belligerent. Now there was the Morihana. Perhaps their ideology was somewhere in between.

Adrastos was unfazed by what he did earlier and didn’t seem concerned about the consequences his actions might have caused. After all, he wasn’t in the wrong. The clan was at fault for putting the man in danger by allowing him to test potential recruits for the cult. “Why do they bother with their rituals and prayers? I’ll never understand the mind of zealots…”

Hopefully, nobody else would try to test the dark king. He wasn’t worried about failing. The tiresome repetition of trials was more annoying than anything else. Adrastos would pass whatever test they had if it meant fighting an opponent, but why did they have to send weaklings? If they were really serious, they should have someone better. On the off chance they did send another drone to see if Adrastos was worthy, the magician would kill them. Mercy was something he didn’t feel like handing out again like last time.


WC: 257/1,500

Mundane Items:

DMV:

Weapons/Magic Weapons:

Magic Items:

"Perhaps, its easier easier to live on their knees than to live on their feet," Khalik answered with cruel mockery. However, the acolytes did well to hold their tongue in the face of such heretical blabber. After all, the one who spoke could easily snuff them out like they were but a candle before a storm.

The trail continues, its rock-embedded footholds sink deep and its trees rise tall. Numerous snakes, enormous in size with the twisting flesh of fiber and numerous scales forged in ink and paper, wind through this side of the forest with an unending constriction. It leads the faithful to deeper depths while warding the intangible demons which threaten man's core.

The sacred belly of the snake— one of the many spiritual grounds within Morihana's territory— is where the uninitiated have arrived. The dense woods depart to reveal a lone Sakura Tree upon the holy site unlike any which came before. Its crown spreads outwards like a spider lily as if to hold Heaven upon its mighty limbs. Pink petals blessed in an otherworldly glow disperse the nightfall's haze, so they faithful may worship unnerved. Rope cords and talismans decorate the trunks of this Sakura.

Their acolyte guides depart from them to join their ranks on the sidelines in fervent chanting while they were left to progress on them lonesome to yet another fox-eared priest. Unlike his brethren prior, this Fox Priest carried an air of grace to him which seemed to be lacking among these holy men and women. Of course, their was the matter of the four ringed staff which no other has shown to be in possession of.

An uncomfortable chill rolls up Khalik's spine. Call it paranoia, but he sensed this Priest was of the magical kind— and the mere notion was enough to pit a molecular civil war between his neurons and cells.


The young assassin held fast before the priest, only the subtle thumbing of his old dagger beneath the cloak hinted to his worries.

"Good evening and welcome to the Tsuki Hana, travelers," he was composed even with the knowledge his forerunner spread to him. If death was to stain this nightfall, he was steeled to face it. Tonight will be the last trial the clan shall beseech upon you— a preparation to see if you'll drown or blossom in these storming times."

WC: 632/1500

Weapon:

Adrastos closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “A magician,” he grumbled. Just like the last one. The dark king cracked his knuckles and neck. Of course, there was another test. His silver eyes stared coldly at the magician. The little boy had no chance to defeat him, which meant it was all up to Adrastos. The dark king wasn’t worried since he had his arsenal of spells and the secret weapon of him owning a dark metal vessel. His secret, unfortunately, couldn’t be known publicly yet.

The dark king fiddled with something on his wrist as he stepped forward in front of Khalik. “The only person drowning here will be you,” Adrastos replied. “And you won’t be able to see a damn thing as I tear you to pieces… Unless you take me out in one attack.” The high priest smiled. “You won’t be smiling for long.” The dark king’s voice was monotonous, a dead echo void of all emotion.

The man with fox ears was the first to strike. “Foxfire!” The fire-shaped fox formed and raced toward Adrastos. He responded appropriately, flicking his wand into his hand and aiming it at the construct. Blue rukh gathered around the wand as Adrastos commanded the rukh to create and strengthen the spell. A gush of water to spewed forth to intercept the fiery fox. The two spells collided, and the fox exploded into a fiery blaze, setting the grass on fire. The fire would spread quickly, but the dark king swiped his wand. A gust of wind was sent toward the spreading flames, sending them away from him and Khalik. Adrastos raised his wand above his head, aiming it at the sky above. “One hit was all you had.”

Black magic spewed from the wand like a fountain and covered the area in pitch darkness. Within this field of shadows, Adrastos could sense the location of his opponent with ease. The dark king doubted the priest would do anything rash seeing as how he had no way to know where Adrastos was. Would he be that determined?

“Fox Tears!”

The dark king cursed under his breath. He could feel the spell moving through this shadowy realm. The flame that shot into the air didn’t bother him until it exploded into many different projectiles and rained down. He could have let Khalik get hurt, but the kid didn’t deserve that kind of cruelty, not even from the dark king himself. Adrastos grabbed the kid and pinned him to the ground as his borg protected them both from the oncoming damage. Once the danger subsided, the magician stood and dusted himself off. “He’s going to wish he never challenged me,” Adrastos said before breathing deeply.

Digging the soles of his feet into the ground, Adrastos unsheathed the Blade of Ascension. He should have beheaded the priest the moment he saw the fox-eared bastard, but where was the fun if the little man couldn’t flex what little power he had? He never stood a chance against the king of shadows; Adrastos just liked to make them think they could defeat him. The dark king launched himself forward, feeding magoi into his sword.

“Summ-”

Slice! One arm was gone.

A scream ruptured the silence.

Slice! A leg was lopped off.

The scream intensified to a shrill cry of alarm.

Thud!

Adrastos picked up the man by one of his ears, lifting his bleeding body as he weakly struggled as blood gushed from his severed limbs. The dome vanished only so that others could witness the priest’s demise at the hands of the dark king. Being able to see this man in such despair was a delight to the sword-wielding magician. “If your clan wasn’t so persistent in testing me more than once,” he whispered, “You might have lived.” The priest, despite being gravely wounded, did not seem to fear his impending death. Adrastos was annoyed but not surprised. These types of people were so reliant on their beliefs that the fear of others did not easily consume them. The fear of death was not something they understood. These people were dangerous.

The blade sliced clean through the priest’s neck. The body fell to the ground with a lifeless thud. Looking at the head of the priest up close, Adrastos still saw no fear. His eyes narrowed as he fed magoi into one of his rings. The head shriveled up into a dry husk which he tossed aside with little regard. “If they want to live on their knees, then so be it. Just makes it easier for me to tear them apart.”

Adrastos sheathed his sword and wand. His kimono was now covered in blood, and upon realizing this, the magician discarded to blood-soaked garb. The cloth floated down to the priest’s corpse where the fabric would soak even more blood. His silver eyes looked at Khalik. “You weren’t wanting a piece of that fanatic, were you?”



WC: 1,079/1,500
Magoi: 420/480

Battle Log: Priest used Firefox, which clashed with a scaled Aqua Canno (B-Tier damage [30 Magoi]). Air Blast dispersed the flames [10 Magoi]. Shadow Realm was used [10 Magoi]. Priest cast Fox Tears. Adrastos protected himself and Khalik with Borg. Adrastos used Flight of the Valkyrie [10 Magoi] and took off an arm and a leg with A-Tier basic attacks each. A-Tier basic attack used to severe the head of the priest. Dessicate used on the head [10 Magoi].

Spells Used:

"Noise goes on clean-up duty," the young assassin mumbled beneath the strong roars of the High Priests Foxfire.

Khalik had watched the oncoming battle, to the best of his capacity, in a polarizing swing of emotions. Fear departs to excitement. Excitement spoils to dread. Dread burns away for astonishment. Astonishment gifts clarity to the mind.

After all, it was no longer the little healer girl which ignited old superstitions, but Mr. Slasher whose grandiose prowess once more ascended before him. This time, it was not by the grace of his thrust or the might of his cleave, but the clever incorporation of magic into his onslaught.

Indeed, his fear had doubled— no— tripled— NAY— the neurotic reaction known as fear as be amplified by a vague, abstract quantity raised to the infinite power of the numeral N. In short, death via a panic attack could easily be induced through a proximity of 100 km. For Solomon's sake, a mere passing rumor of the silver-haired magician-warrior hybrid can invoke pure hysteria now.

However, there was a peculiar calm as he witnessed the fight climb to its peak. It was as if his mind had found the pivotal eye within the storm— centered with a red rain that soaked sacred grounds once more. No, it was not some sort of delusion of budding friendship beneath the protection of his silver-haired acquaintance, but it was there before him.

From the patch of grass he lied upon, he rose to his shaky legs to witness it.

There it was, in the unfettered geyser of blood, birthed from amiss appendages, which kept his sanity in check... Or perhaps set it free.

Killing and Assassination; on the surface, they were hardly different. In fact, they were little more than the same from the perspective of regular folks. However, it was those same sniffling commoners which could not comprehend the magnitude of this monumental moment for the young assassin. Killing and Assassination; with confidence he could dispute the claim of "commonality" which links them, and it all comes down to two little cretins called "Time" and "Freedom."

Killing was timeless, its arrival spontaneous. People can decide to kill each other on whims; on fleeting emotions viewed from the cracked lens of personal wrongs. It was sudden, and therefore independent from the stringent preparations of its counterpart. It could be said that killing was a "Free-form assassination style" where the necessary "steps" are ever-changing in a hurricane. However, the transparent steps of killing obscures a concise vision to draw the last breath; and therefore, by extension, it is a wasteful practice aching with inefficiencies. Its true, simply gaze upon the atrocious steps Adrastos has made to kill one peon of a priest. Quite a mess indeed.

Assassination, in contrast, was very much rooted within the times as assassination was like tending to a rose. There was no personal attachment, only a dutiful promise for some Huang. Where was the target now and where will they be in the future? How many people would also be there, and of those how many served security for the target? Could the target defend themselves in a head-on confrontation? What was the best means to assassinate the target? What was the optimal location? The angle? The speed? It was a needy sprout which requires meticulous hands and an attentive mind to give blossom.  


In the visceral aftermath of each cut an inkling to the I-sabbah's long tradition, the Killing Art, became more clear to the young assassin. After all, it was all there in the name: "Killing Art;" an art which intends to optimize the free-of-form act of killing with the application of traditional assassination techniques. So, even if his plan A were to fail, a back-up would be readily available and adaptable to whatever the circumstance is.

"You weren't wanting a piece of that fanatic." the words pierced his conscious like the blade to the priest's throat.

Spaced several paces back, the young assassin snaps to reality. Adrastos has since apparently lost his robes and likewise the acolytes have lost their voice. He supposed they weren't connected, but it was amusing. Khalik gives a friendly flicks of his hand at Adrastos's demented display of consideration for him; killing Magicians were a pain merely ask his great grandfather.

"No thanks, my shrunken head collection is full," he joked with his hands behind his head. Any creeping sensation of fear has been shuttered with a purpose. His eyes perused the silver-haired man's wares— most notably, the sword in his hands which drips with crimson. A gentle knocking on the mind signals another hint, yet now was not the time to rudely dawdle with his eyes. Celebration— now that was what they had time for.


"However~" he cooed. "That makes two for you and zero for me. Riding on your coattail has been fun and all, but now I have to work twice as hard to earn my dinner." Khalik turns on his heels to leave, but stops short to throw a cheerful look over his shoulder.

"So why not let me buy you two rounds and we call it even? Sounds fair?"

WC: 1500+/1500

Adrastos cleaned the blood from his sword silently before sheathing the blade to his waist. His wand was strapped securely to a wrist guard on his inner right arm. He smirked at Khalik’s little joke. The kid had potential, maybe, but so did everyone else. The dark king clicked his tongue as he looked up at the sky. Least now there wouldn’t be any more stupid tests.

However, now that the tests were over with, what would the dark king do with his time? Investigating the other clans seemed like a viable option. Learning more about the Morihana for sure. Adrastos sighed as he slicked his hair back from his face and kneeled next to the severed cadaver. He rotated and picked up each limb, weighing each part as he examined them. The bones were too brittle, too light. He couldn’t use any piece of this man for anything, even for his throne. Tossing aside each piece, Adrastos showed little respect to the dead. If he wanted to stick it to this religious group, he’d sew the man back together and reanimate him just for fun, to see the disgusted looks on the other people. Or would they be more angry than disgusted? The blue magician didn’t care to put that much effort. The effort took to kill the man by chopping off his limbs was more than enough along with the moisture being drained from the priest’s severed head. Thinking back on it, Adrastos walked to where he threw the skull aside. How did the priest have fox ears? Was he a dungeon beast? The previous priest also had the same physical feature, but neither of them screamed dungeon beast to the magician. Adrastos gathered his discarded robe and wrapped it around the head. Now bundled, the head was attached to his waist like a bag. Adrastos figured there was something to look into, perhaps see why both priests had animal-like features and how they obtained such attributes.

The dark king rose to his feet once more when Khalik offered to share a couple of drinks. He wasn’t one to mingle with others but figured there would be no harm in this instance. “I suppose we could call it even,” Adrastos responded, following the little assassin. “Though, is your life worth as little as a drink to you?” Adrastos could have let the kid die, or at least struggle before doing anything. Part of him thought that would have been more amusing now that it was all over. However, if that made this young man happy, Adrastos would entertain a drink or two with him before parting ways indefinitely.

WC: 1519/1500