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May 12, 2012
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(Contains: violence/gore and strong language)


        "Are you certain you wish to go through with this," a man questioned softly, dressed in an elegant kimono and tall boots.
        "Man, shut tha' fack up already. Talk with your fists an' not your gayass mouth," the other man returned curtly. He was dressed all in leather and also sported stylish tall boots.
"Mmm, before we get started...tell me, what is your name?"
        "Why tha' fack does a dead man want to know my name?"
   "It is quite simple, really—you are a formidable adversary, and I should like to know the name of the man who could possibly take my life in heat of battle."
        The other man guffawed, vanity humming in his nerves like honey on the tongue of a grizzly bear. "Well, since ya put it that way...I guess tha' least I could do is tell you my name before I pound you into oblivion."
        "I am honored," the other man bows his head courteously. A lock from his sleek silver hair fell over his forehead, as though was the meager depth to which the man's disrespect and threats affected him. "My name is Kadomaru."
        "Tha' name's Surge," a malicious grin curved his lips, "pleased to kill yah."
        "Surge, it will be a great privilege to do battle with you. Word of your superb swordsmanship has gotten so far as the south. You have quite a reputation."
        The man stifled a chuckle and pushed his shades up from his eyes to his perfectly shaved head that gleamed in the light of the sun. His light brown eyes, which were the same colour as his skin, were fixed upon the ground. But suddenly he leered at his fairly composed prey, and was infuriatingly disappointed when he didn't win a compromise.
        "And I assume you're from tha' south, right?"
        Kadomaru nodded his head.
        "Ah, well I must commend you for travellin' so far to meet your demise. 'S been a while since a fight's been brought to me. As your reward, I'll play around with you for a bit before chopping you up into tiny bits."
        Kadomaru slowly brushed that one loose lock of hair back into place, his face ever calm. "Then the sun shall set on our duel here and the moon will rise with the victor, illuminating all that is dark upon this land which will be the loser's grave."
        "You piece 'o shit!" The man was livid. "So, you're a damn racist, too! I'm gonna put you in tha' ground before the moon can illuminate the darkness."
        "Only one of us shall bask in the moon's radiant glow this night," the samurai returned coolly.
         The wind gusted suddenly, and then silence fell over them...like a shroud.
        Invisible yet potent, their spiritual energies of contrasting colours clashed, like two massive swords wielded by a pair of powerful rulers. They could but hear the strident rasp as the rigid steels collided, and see the sparks of fire.
        Something snapped between them, a trigger, that only the furthermost strongest and experienced of warriors could identify.
        Snarling, Surge took off toward his provocatively collected foe, the ground crumbling an inch deep where he stood. And the close hand-to-hand combat commenced when the burly tyrant threw the first ferocious punch.
        With nimble sidesteps in the tall green grass, Kadomaru effortlessly dodged the blow, his eyes closed, always closed. He could have retaliated, immobilizing the man permanently where he stand, but he desired a longer, more amusing fight.
        "Stand still, you li'll insect, so that I can break each 'n every bone in your feeble body," Surge sneered in frustration.
        "You may indeed have a larger build than I, but you are at a greater disadvantage, as I was disciplined in Bushido: the art of the samurai. I am blessed with speed, grace and flexibility. While quite frankly for you—the bigger they are, the harder they fall."
        "I'll crush that proposition, 'n with it, you!" The man roared, having thrown five more jabs with all of them missing their mark.
        Before Surge could lean forward after his sixth jab and build some measure of momentum with his right foot, Kadomaru's eyes flashed open with murderous intent, but only for a brief moment. And it was within this fleeting moment, with blinding speed, did he execute a forward thrust—his sword straight and firm before him.
     Time slowed to this explosive moment. Surge but glimpsed the blinding flash of the man's sword and heard its beautiful, high-pitched howl as it sliced through the wind and his flesh.
In an echo to his cry, blood spewed from the giant's side, which he made haste to put pressure to with a shaky hand. "You bastard," he managed to say past the pain.
      "Food for thought: never—under any circumstances—should you underestimate your enemy," Kadomaru straightened his posture before flashing the stain of blood from his uniquely crafted sword and sliding it back into its black sheath. "It is not a severely deep wound, but that does not mean it is still not likely for you to bleed to death."
    With his fang-like teeth bare, and his small beady eyes sharp, Surge started thinking despite the sharp sting at his side. He had to admit, he had terribly miscalculated the man's prowess—well, not that he was taking the bastards advice or giving him credit—and it was crucial that he ended this fight as soon as is possible. He had a lot of muscle, so he should be able to clobber the man with a single strike.
   Slamming down a smoke bomb between them, Surge leaped into the air, like a rocket. The man was about fifty feet off the ground. It was incredible! But in spite of the screen, Kadomaru was still aware of his whereabouts through his sensory capabilities.
     The smoke screen was indeed a smart move, but ineffective as I can still pinpoint your exact location. In addition, you have only rendered yourself at a disadvantage since you are airborne.
     Gradually easing the smoke away by rotating his extremely massive, cleaver-like sword, as though it were a propeller, Surge plummeted toward earth.
        "It's too late," he roared menacingly. "You're already dead!"
He brought everything down in this single attack—all his strength, his fury, gravity's fury, speed, and resentment for this man. Yet, the samurai was able to defend against the assailed with his sheath...using but a single hand.
        Impossible! He was able to ward off my attack, merely by usin' his sheath...
        Time was a rickety old train for Surge in this instant, and it slowed to this moment, as Kadomaru sank into a crater caused by the destructive clash of their weapons. But his posture was still firm and strong despite the evident pressure of the impact.
        As for the mighty tyrant, he was shocked, and refused to believe this puny man could absorb his powerful attack without losing his poise, or even his bloody breath.
      "I could have defeated you the instant your feet left the ground, but I placed my faith in the slight probability that you would eventually make this challenge a bit more amusing for me. You did not." The man's eyes slowly sparked open, and then time accelerated again.
        With a swift strike, upon withdrawing his sword using his right hand, Kadomaru slashed through not only the man's leather jacket and armor-like vest, but his chest. Blood sprayed from the wound and painted the grass as Surge staggered back. And he made no delay to apply pressure to the fresh cut after dropping to one knee and jabbing his cleaver into the ground.
        The man was exhausted, perplexed and despairing. He had heard the high-pitched howl of the man's sword again, as it cut through the wind, but this time it sounded dull. It was his senses that dulled.
        A human's entire body is made up of approximately 70 percent water and one only had to lose a third of this water, in Surge's case, blood, to die. Just how much had he lost already? And how far was he from death?
    "Admit defeat," Kadomaru advised. "You have lost far too much blood; the possibility of killing me is beyond your reach now."
        "You arrogant bastard," Surge panted. "You managed to get two hits in, 'n you're already declarin' victory."
     "I am merely being realistic," Kadomaru looks to his pride wrought of steel and then flashes the blemish away that painted the weapon. "My master always told me knowing when to admit and accept defeat is not only a manner of strength as a warrior, but a symbol of wisdom."
        "Fack your master," Surge retorted, scorn dripping from each and every word that formed on his tongue. "Fack your master...'n—"
      He suddenly bawls out in spasm of pain, a severed thumb spiralling in the air before dropping lifeless in the grass. The man cupped his wrist and squeezed, as if hoping to mitigate the degree to which pain kissed his nerves. He frowned; he snarled and breathed hard through his flaring nostrils as beads of sweat trickle down his face.
     "I would be most grateful if you did not speak ill of my master."
        Surge's eyes went wide—and panic fluttered in his gut—when he realised that the man was but a couple of feet away behind him. Startled, he spun around and made more distance between them. But he abandoned his sword.
        Dammit! He decided to err on the side of caution, but ended up doing something stupid in the process. Now he was completely defenseless against another attack.
        "Heed my words, or face my wrath," Kadomaru continued. "I will bring down upon you the pain and suffering of a thousand vengeful souls."
The wind gusted for what seemed like forever, as it surveyed the battle at hand, caressing the massive trees that surrounded the gallant warriors.
        Surge swallowed hard of the sweet summer breeze, yet it burned like bile in his throat. The man was infuriated, and the excruciating sting of pain added to his anger. Although he did not speak, a tantrum was brewing inside of him, the likes of which this forest has never seen before.
        "Surrender while exists, is still a chance for your survival," the samurai warned. "With your thumb severed, you can only harness roughly 40 percent of your sword's power using your left hand."
    Panting while thick, crimson blood squirted over the stub that was left of his thumb, the man's face scrunched up into a heinous frown. And his eyes burned.
        "I don't fear you; to hell with you 'n your master. After killin' you, I'll find 'n kill him, as well." By this time, Surge was hysterical. "Next, I'll go after your wife 'n kid. Yes, I know about them," he grinned sinisterly, "I'll rape your wife in front of tha' boy before killin' them both slowly. And I'll enjoy every single moment of it."  
        Kadomaru stood speechless, evidently less composed than he was at the start of this battle. Something erupted inside of him, on a nuclear level, but he did not allow this power to consume him; he did not allow it rob him of his rationality. Instead, he condensed it, harnessing its enormous power. He would utilize it. And past judgement upon this man who was without honour. The Gods demanded it. And he would personally see to it that the deed is done.
    "This sword was given to me by my master," Kadomaru informed. "Beautiful, is it not," he questioned absently as he inspects the intricate details embedded on the blade's shaft. "It was forged from a crystallized form of a deity's spiritual energy. For centuries, it has been past down to each generation within the Zeichi Clan." His light blue eyes slowly beamed open, which instilled a paralyzing sense of fear in the other man. "And I do not intent to let that cycle be destroyed by you."
        Assuming an offensive stance—his eyes piercing—a blue aura slowly began emanating from Kadomaru's body. His power grew exponentially. And the intensity of his spiritual pressure drove the other man to his knees.   
    "All this time," Surge winced as the strain of the man's power affected his wounds,       "you've been in a whole other league; you were toyin' with me from tha' start. You facker! I'll kill you!"
     When Surge took off toward his weapon, slow and groggy on his feet, Kadomaru drank a spot of sake that was in a small gourd tied to his sash. Lifting this weapon to his face, he spat the liquor along the blade of his sword, and then whispered: "Burn, Firaga," before dashing off toward his foe at incredible speed.
      Before Surge could tighten his grasp around the hilt of his cleaver, to yank it from its place in the ground, he found himself without a hand to perform the deed. Everything from the wrist down was gone.
        He let out a long, eerie bellow as pain coursed through him—unforgiving and unsympathetic—like hot, steely rods piercing his flesh and bones at the joints.
Unlike his other wounds, this did not bleed, but it pained him far more, almost unbearably. It felt like his hand was on fire, his flesh melting.
        There was only so much that a man could endure, only so much weight he could withstand on his mentally. He was about to snap. There was but a couple of threads holding his mind together—and there were wrought of pride, rage and fear...the fear of death.
Defenseless and despairing, the dread of being cut again coiling around his insides, like a cold embrace, like a snake around its intoxicated pry, Surge started crawling. He needed to get away from this man. He was a demon, one summoned from the deepest depth of Hades' fiery kingdom to fetch him. He could feel the man's blood lust, and the horrid darkness in which his power roots. The darkness taunted him. It told him of otherworldly pain and his impending death.
      Help me, a voice rose in his mind, husky and shaky. I don't wanna to die.
     All of a sudden, Surge saw the devil over him. And without hesitation, the fiend drove his sword into his leg, which staved the ground beneath.
    "Ahhh," Surge wailed as the hot steel melted his flesh away and pierced his bone like it was a mere stick of butter. "Spare me," he pleaded without thinking. The words just rolled off his tongue. Instinctive. Fluent.
      "Feel my wrath," Kadomaru returned calmly, his eyes passive and empty but for glaze of murderous intent.
        Snapping the man's ankle with a heavy stomp of his foot—and relishing in the disturbing sound—the samurai clasped the hilt of his sword. And using his power—rapidly heated its blade.
        Surge could only roar and clasp a turf of grass with his four remaining fingers in agony. He gritted his teeth; he tightly closed his eyes; he twisted; he turned and pleaded to be freed of this suffering.
        Aye, by this time, the threads of anger and fear had already snapped, which held his consciousness together. Only the fear of death remained, after which, his mind would have been rendered to nothing but shambles, sending him into shock.
      Just when he thought the pain couldn't get any worst, Kadomaru severed that leg. Surge had but a microsecond to yelp, before he was kicked in the stomach. His body completely left the ground at the force of the man's blow. While he was 5 feet in the air, stunned, Kadomaru stormed him with a series of impetuous blows to the gut and face, which sent him flying 80 feet away, through a tree and smashing into a boulder.

        The burly tyrant only knew pain now—that otherworldly pain of which the darkness spoke. He coughed at the dust that filled his lungs as he lay motionless amidst the rubble. His body ached—though, that seemed like a terrible understatement. It felt like every bone in his body was shattered. And he had already lost more than a third of his blood, yet he clung to life still, flailing in an endless sea anguish.
        Trembling, every nerve-ending in his body short-circuiting, he raised his head and looked at his leg. It was as if the agitating sight reminded him of how to feel. He cried out at the top of his lungs—a weak, unsteady cry that echoed throughout the forest and off the side of the mountains. About a hundred startled birds up and flew away.
   "Kill me," Surged pleaded once more, when the demon had sauntered over to the spot of ground where he lay, his breathes hard, his eyes swollen. "Kill me already...please."
     "My sword, Firaga, was crafted from a beast that was fire natured. Merely by injecting my spiritual energy into this weapon, I can manipulate fire. The marvel of this sword is that I can cut you down slowly, knowing you will not bleed to death as the fire from the blade clots your blood and burns the flesh upon impact. It is the most perfect weapon to administer torture."
    "You   piece   of   shit!" Surge insulted raucously.
        "Mmm...I am surprised you still have the strength and audacity to speak as such," he man said quietly. "Feel my wrath."
        Surge heaved a boisterous laugh, despite the excruciating pain that throbbed in his leg and arm that was severed by the man's transformed blade. "Your wife will feel my wrath while am stranglin' and fackin' tha' very life outta her. And your kid," he chuckled, a mixture of fright and amusement. "He'll practically be beggin' me to kill 'em after what he's witnessed."
       With his chin held high, Kadomaru looked down upon the broken man, not in pity, not in remorse, but with intent...dangerous and merciless. And his eyes gleamed with malice, which was in the shape of a sword etched in his iris.
        The air got denser, Surge soon realised, and it was harder to breathe. Murderous intent rode upon the wind, stinging his skin, taunting him incessantly. It was here. He could feel it in his fractured bones—the imminent death of which the darkness spoke.
        And he was ready to embrace it.
       Blood bubbled up in his throat and escaped through the corner of his mouth, as his body was met with a vicious barrage of slashes and stabs. Surge's senses dimmed, his body arched and jerked, and his eyes started turning over, his cornea lined with rigid veins.
        The overwhelming fire from the samurai's sword consumed the oxygen from his lungs, and his body. He was suffocating, and floundering in a realm that was the embodiment of pain.  It felt like billions of miniature needles, hot and hard, were piercing every single cell in his body.
        Stifled gasps, moans, yelps and the sound of tearing flesh filled the executioner's ears. And he chuckled wickedly above it all, relishing in the sound of the man's suffering. The sword seemed enraptured, as well, for it glowed in a bright crimson hue and appeared to sing as it sliced through the thick atmosphere evoked by its master's blood lust.
        Blood was everywhere. It dyed the grass red—trickling down their long, slender leaves—and stained Kadomaru's kimono, even his face, but he did not care.
        Through sheer adrenaline and a futile will to survive, Surge started crawling again, desperate to get away from this savage animal of a man. But the fiend showed no sympathy or signs of ceasing. He kept carving symbols in the man's back with his blade, allowing the demonic steel to slake its thirst for blood.
      Surge shifted the weight of his body—trembling frantically—and started pleading for mercy again. But no sooner had he turned around than Kadomaru pierced the palm of his hand with his sword. Pain moved over him, like a steamroller. It induced something. The man started going into shock.
        But before the probability of losing consciousness, before his body could recline to the ground, Kadomaru withdrew his sword, turned on his heels—in a swift, graceful motion—and cut his abdomen open. A light circumference of dust surrounded the man's feet, at the velocity of his sudden movement.
Then, he spun around, offering the man his back.
        Like a horrifying scene from a scary movie, Surge's stomach and intestines spilled into his battered hand. But Kadomaru was not yet finished.
        Jabbing his sword behind him with both hands, he stove a hole through Surge's eye socket, the blade exiting through the back of his head.
        These last two finishing moves induced no response from Surge. By the first, he had already went into shock and lost consciousness, and by the second, he was no longer of this world. It was an utter disappointed, Kadomaru thought, that battle ended so soon and that the man didn't scream in torment until the very end. And it was a part of his moral code to give his adversaries the privilege of demanding on final wish or last words, but his anger made sure this one hadn't such a privilege. In any case, with this, his task was complete.
     A wild wind blew past them, as if declaring the supreme victory of this brutal duel. It whispered secrets, secrets of this samurai warrior—but in a dialect that no mortal understood.
Kadomaru's power dispersed, and his eyes softened. Then he sighed, blood staining his cheeks. He could have a least survived until noon so that I might have some sake right after the battle. A battle is not official unless commemorated with a bottle of delicious sake.
        Abruptly pulling out his sword—allowing the man's lifeless body to fall to the ground—Kadomaru flashed it to be rid of the blood. And then he retrieved an ivory length of cloth from within his kimono, engraved with an identical crest that was upon the torso of his clothes. With a single stroke, he wiped the blade clean until it glittered in the sun's radiant light, obviously deeming it more important than the condition of his face. He sheathed his sword.
        Disposing of the cloth upon what was left of his adversary, Kadomaru started on his way with one final phrase: "The deed is done. He who was without honour has fallen. And with that, I shall move on to the next."
You can read this story on my blog with color-coordinated dialogues and a bigger and better looking font at: [link]

Hiya, guyz, this is just some random story that I wrote sometime back. And, indeed, it has the potential to go somewhere, don'tcha think?
A Samurai's Plight. It has contents that may not be suitable for readers under the age of 13, even with adult supervision, lol.
There is a lot of blood and foul language, that is, if you regard the spelling that I used as ill.

This story is pretty short and it features two swordsmen having a fierce duel, one a genuine samurai and the other...well...he's just a hothead with a massive cleaver in his clutches, lol.
I wonder who will best who in this intense battle?
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:icontanukitagawa:
TanukiTagawa Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2012
:bulletred:A samurai in a revenge journey.Yeah,seem that many things even will happen! :nod:
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:icontakimastsu:
Takimastsu Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2012
Y'know, I actually wrote this in response to my friends' accusation that I can only write stories about romance. Well, I sure showed them, right? Lol!
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:icontanukitagawa:
TanukiTagawa Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2012
:bulletblue:If I were you,I donīt care with the people say about your works. :shrug: Until now,I did five fanfics.All are about supernatural things,and I intend keep going this way. :nod: However,if you wanna diversify your work,do it too! 8-)
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:icontakimastsu:
Takimastsu Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012
I know what you mean, but I also figured I should have written something of a different genre for a change, to share with my friends that followed up on my work. So, I did just that.
My original story, though, mainly gravitates around fantasy, Si-fi,action-adventure, science fiction and so forth--the supernatural. I just haven't gotten to any awesome fighting scenes yet, that I could share.
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:icontanukitagawa:
TanukiTagawa Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012
:bulletblue:I will cheering to you do a great battle scene someday. :eager: Now,do you like know my stuff? :greetings:
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:icontakimastsu:
Takimastsu Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2012
Thanks, bro...I really hope so, too.
And I'll check out your work, as soon as I'm done writing this fanfic. You want to know what happens between Naruto & Hinata, right?
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:icontanukitagawa:
TanukiTagawa Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2012
:bulletblue:With sure! :nod: Now,when you finish this work,get in touch with me to receive the links.Some fanfics that I did have close connections with works made by others DA members,and to understand better the stories,you should read my journals. :greetings:
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:icontakimastsu:
Takimastsu Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2012
You can count on it. I'll contact you the moment I'm finished.
Okay, I'll do that :3
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(1 Reply)
:iconl33tn3rdz:
l33tn3rdz Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
My OC and D&D Character the Crimson Demon is a very brutal and grisly samurai warrior. He is a large and is constantly covered in the coagulate gore of his enemies. This is how he brags about his battles. He loves details GORY details. Plus the Crimson Demon is also a halfbreed demon who has a primal lust for battle, blood, and gore. See Baraka.

You sir, are a genius. You talk just like him.
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:icontakimastsu:
Takimastsu Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2012
Lol--that dude sounds vicious and merciless, especially since he's a halfbreed demon. I bet he has emotional issues because of this, too, and his love for battle and blood is unrivaled. It would be awesome if one of his motivation for killing is that it makes him feel alive; it proves his existence; erasing a live brightens that of his own.
I'll be sure your read your work and post my comments. Thanks for "your" comment, it's much appreciated x)
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