Hitokiri Battōsai faces the reborn.

The wind blew, a mildly soft breeze sweeping the summer air as the sun's rays beat down endlessly on the paling grass, with no rain to relieve them of their parched thirst. The clouds absent overhead, the pasture lonesome excluding the small, frail bodies of animals which scurried to random locations. An endless sea of trees posing as barriers around the oval-shaped plain, steadily becoming empty as these small animals began to depart for their homes. Squirrels, Chipmunks, Badgers, Skunks, Bears, Deer, Moose, all of these sorts quickly returning to the safety of the trees. Their forms becoming hidden from view, it appeared as a blaze of movement, one after the other piling with no order into their homes, others arguing over themselves if another had taken their spot. Fights broke out, but this were not important. Like clouds parting to reveal the sun, with nothing to mask his visage there sat a lonesome man, his legs folded under him, hence he was sitting on the back of his legs. His eyes were closed and his hands folded neatly into his lap, fists unmarked his fingers remaining visible.

His long, smooth red hair responded with the breeze with a small sway of motion, it being tied back in a ponytail doing no effort in concealing the length of his hair. It stretched down to the mid-section of his back, an unusual length for a man, nothing to say of its color. There on the left side of his cheek were a pair of scars, a horizontal mark which reached near the left side of his nose to his left ear, and another, partially shorter scar reaching from his temple and down, an inch in length, the longer being perhaps an inch and a half in length. Other than this particular feature, his facials were very feminine, soft skin yet with a hint of being pale, yet only to a certain degree, that being the slight sense of tan visible were somebody to step closer to him. His clothing consisted of a red kimono, uncontrast to the white Hakama bearing as his lower body apparel. Tabi bore upon his feet, the white cloth covering all skin until it reached just above the bone on the ankle. Other than this, he wore no shoes, something unusual for somebody that were to walk in grass.

The wind picked up for a small fraction of a moment before settling down once more, whispering something quick to him, a foreboding sense of gloom overcame him as his eyes shot open. He knew the danger were approaching quickly, possibly targeting him for assassination, as this would not be the first time he was targeted. His hands tensed for a small moment, fingers curling under themselves, his attention clearly earned. He saw nothing but his sixth sense was kicking in, telling him of the oncoming danger. He had to believe he could deal with it were he to act accordingly. As if in response to his suspicions, the wind picked up and swept across his face, hair pushed from his brow and his kimono revealing the Sakabato hidden inside the left-hand side of his garb. It fell forward, his eyes catching its movements and knowing what it meant. He was to face danger prepared. His eyes closed once more as his right hand crept to the handle of his weapon, gripping loosely at the nearest point to the Sakabato's circular handguard.

His left leg instinctively swept from under him, the bottom of his foot sliding against the ground until it was in front of him, his sitting position transforming into a crouching position. His right hand gave a tug at the sword, its glint of steel shining against the brilliant sun as it released from its scabbard a mere portion, awakening it from its slumber. Finally, his other leg left supporting him from falling moved, his other leg acting as his body shifted forward in preparation, seizing him from falling either way. He slowly stood up, his body tilting forward until he stopped in mid-point. He was now at the point that only his right foot's toes were touching the ground, the knee bent in a right angle with the left as his leading leg, held in an obtuse angle. His body was tilted forward and down, the grass below his feet visible through peripheral vision. He now had a perfect view of this place, scorched by heat, beads of sweat trickling from his brow without his notice. He took it into accord that the heat would make a normal man fatigued through intense effort, he would have to make this quick in case he got tired during battle. This took the same effect on his opponent, he would make sure to use this as his advantage.

He took another look at his blade, half-expecting the blade to be on its outside. He was relieved to see he was not making a mistake in killing his now target, with the blade held on the inside. This meant he would fracture the bones of his enemy without killing, keeping true to the virtue of no more killing which he had promised so many years ago.

It was time to begin.

The young-appearing middle aged swordsman stood without a word, even with eyes closed his senses picked up the presence of a young, obviously inexperienced female. He cared not for the battles he lost, or the battles this opponent had won, but on this day he would not lose again. His ears picked up the sound of metal slipping from a sheath, and then another, analyzing in his mind that this person had two weapons, a fatal accident occurring to one not prepared to face the master of the Battosai. He planned out that it would take approximately two slashes before this duel would end without giving the other a moment of prayer. His thoughts only focused on the one event of drawing his weapon, of course it was natural for one that would not know of the art of the Battosai that they would lose given the smallest fraction of a moment. This however left him the risk that this person knew its power and thought of movement ahead of time, but as he would be in the middle of motion would give them little to no time for a counter-attack before he would announce his next movement.

The Battosai abilities had been passed down for generations, now held within the capable hands of this warrior, whom although have promised not to kill from that certain day, would be forced to do so on this day were he pushed to his utmost limits, which he claimed impossible from such a small child compared to him. He heard the speech of this warrior but paid no mind to it as he already had plans of dealing with a fellow swordsman. He attempted to make out the appearance by listening to the sounds she made, as his eyes were still closed since he was in deep concentration, meditating on the thought of easy victory. He heard the sliding of cloth against a metallic substance, giving the assumption that she was wearing some armor however little it was. Still hearing the sound of her voice he made her to the age of less than twenty or so, though if he had been wrong at this it would not be the first time, as others judged him to be much younger than his actual age of mid-to-late thirties. He had heard the scrambling of animals as their instinct drove them to leave the path of the warrior that approached him during her ascent to just around his range, their running making a path invented only by the sound of their small footsteps as he concentrated more.

He had to imagine the way in which she drew her sword also by the sound it made. By drawing a sword, most swords would emit a small sound only visible if drawn with haste, which the warrior in question had not done so. He imagined her holding her swords to her sides as a newbie would do, yet the feeling of this comedy not expressing itself about his demeanor as he remained frozen still, the only way of his form expressing animation was the small wind which picked up and fluttered through his kimono, a cold breeze against his pale skin which would shiver most men, yet not fazed him. It caressed his smooth hair as he let it flow along with the breeze, the redness made into perfect harmony with the setting sun still overhead as nightfall had began its subtle approach. He took no worry for others in his preparation for battle in such a solitary environment, as was why he had been here in the first place: to escape. The feeling of Society nowadays brought sorrow to him, knowing very well the era of the Samurai was well on its way to the end, the proof now standing before him with two swords and armor. He would figure disposing of this one would be in equality to bringing honor to the name of Samurai, but stood against his code of not killing his opponents, however evil they may be. There were occasions when he had lost control, events he himself would rather forget, when he had broken his code and killed many men, even being able to not feel sorry for them afterwards. But that did not change the fact that he wanted to forget about it. Even pushing the subject into conversation would set him off with ease like throwing gasoline onto a fire in an attempt to drown it out.

The wind died out for a small moment before picking up less than it was before, perhaps the upcoming cold night air was rendering his skin too frozen to feel the wind any further? He could not feel the grip of cold against his skin though it was reaching to him with tremendous might, realizing this he laughed in his own thoughts and told himself he would require a coat to warm himself with. But being so focused, he did not care if he was in the Antarctic or near the Equator. All that mattered to him at this moment, was simply that. The moment. The wind picked up as if to assist him by rolling both his sleeves back, exposing his long slender arms, the bone structure visible through such thin muscle frame, appearing quite feminine to others much to his own irritation. His long fingers still gripped about his sword and the steel still drawn, now it had been precisely ten seconds after the other had drawn her two swords, and the man's eyes remained unopened as if he was asleep, added only by his lack of motion.

Several seconds later his eyes shot open as was his initiation to motion, he held low as his leading leg pivoted which shot him forth with his stance held not much taller than the grass, or so it appeared as to how fast he was moving. His body became a blur of motion in a small moment, and one could hear the ease of a sword leaving its scabbard as he approached his opponent. His motion and direction accommodated his sword swing as his body twisted as his right hand tugged at the sword and his body surged upward in a simultaneous fashion, giving his sword swing a severe increase in speed and power. The way he had been tilting forward allowed his drawing motion to occur from his opponents right hip which would force her to parry in an awkward motion as she had her sword pointed the complete other direction, his cut ending with a glide to the left side of her neck, and to some surprise there was no piercing sound as it ran through the thickness of the air, and upon closer inspection his Sakabato had the blade on the inside of the blade rather than its outside, meaning that if it connected it would only incapacitate his opponent, leaving her unable to continue the fight while he stuck true to his code of not killing the enemy, no matter what happens. With the slight risk of the first factor coming into play his arm would thrust as it left his target, only moving across the chestplate without risk of breaking the sword during contact, but of course landing into the lower portion of her neck which could cause her shoulder structure to crumble, yet only if contact were made.