Death Sucks

Naesala sniffled after a ice cold breeze had scraped the barren snowy field that spanned out in front of him and his collective. He had gotten a bit of a cold, but it wasn't anything that would deter him. Thoughts of a nice hot bowl of soup waiting for him on the ship gave his footsteps a sense of urgency and those who traveled with him matched his tempo. "Kind of crazy to see what was done to that town back there. All the guards killed like that . . . you sure that wasn't the village we went to the other day?" Naesala scratched his head in a skeptical manner a bit hesitant to believe that the damage done wasn't caused by him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that wasn't us, I've been mapping out where we've been. We even purposely avoided that town when we first left the ship, so we'd have a place to seek temporary refuge if need be." Naesala's head bobbed up and down agreeing to his ally's words. "You're right, you're right . . . Hmmmm I wonder who is on this island that did that then. I'll have to explore around a bit after we get back to the ship." They were like a herd, thirty five of them littering the winter wasteland, sore and wounded from battles already fought on the island.

"There's something up ahead." Naesala's vision went from blurry and unfocused to a crisper more precise image and he could vaguely make out a few shapes coming from in front of them. "More guards?" Naesala's collective had come to a halt as they spoke on what they saw. "I doubt it, they retreated to the castle to order an evacuation." "They might be who you were looking for Naesala." Naesala looked back a little, not displaying his full profile to the one who spoke, but enough to slightly display the grin on his face. "I'm not sure if it's today, but I'll just call this a birthday present if it is them." His full attention directed back forward along with his head's angling, he started pacing forward and the others followed.

In time the frames that were in front of them became clear and clearer until they could be discerned as refugees from a raided town. Naesala was a bit disappointed when he discovered this, but figured it was childish of him to have gotten his hopes up. "I'm assuming you're victims of the recent village attacks?" An older man stepped forward out of the group of depressed looking people and spoke on behalf of them all. "And I assume you're one of these damn pirates that are raiding our villages." Naesala's eyes strayed from the man to the people behind him, not in shame, but just examining the consequences of his selfish actions. "I am, as are those with me." He had no remorse for his actions or words. This was a world where the strong prospered and if you couldn't beat them, you were subjected to live by the causes of their actions.  "I don't think we're the one's who destroyed your town though, we are coming from the East." Naesala looked and pointed in the direction that they had come from and as he did so, the man punched him in the jaw.

He had no ill intent at first, but upon being struck by the man, Naesala gripped the male by his face and began to squeeze down on it like a vice. His hands to scale with his 9`6 fram, he could amount to such things with ease. "I would suggest that you all take another route of travel, because you'll find nothing but ruins that way." His voiced remained at ease as he spoke over the man's restless gasping and groaning as he continued to squeeze harder and harder. A single woman assumably a loved one of the man stepped forward when he was grabbed, but someone had extended an arm out in front of her stopping her from doing so. The man's skull giving way, Naesala's hand suddenly came closer to forming a fist and he could feel the warmth of the man's blood contrasting with the cold of Drum Island. Releasing his grip, the man fell limp to the ground, obviously dead and Naesala began to walk forward and the people parted as he did so. Terror plagued their eyes, hints of hate as well, but mostly fear as their gazes shifted between him, his company, and the fresh corpse.

As he walked through the migration of refugees however he felt something, there was someone within their masses who didn't belong. Not a black sheep, but a wolf hiding within their ranks. Stopping abruptly he looked around, scanning each and everyone of the people's faces hoping ti'd give some sort of indication as to who was the phony. "What's wrong?" "I get the feeling that the person we were talking about earlier might be here." His ally made a questionable expression at the odd remark. "That's an odd thing to just feel . . . Is it like when you feel someone looking a-" "I don't know . . . maybe it's just this cold setting in." With that he shrugged and kept walking with the rest of his group and discarded the thought, although lurking in that herd were multiple wolves belonging to a bounty hunting faction lead by Ondori Gilga.

Just as Naesala's group had just about passed the refugees, the assailants made their presence known. Roughly twenty in number, they launched a syncopated attack that took the lives of a few who followed Naesala.  A new wave of terror washing over the victims of the raided villages they scrambled away to not be swept up in the chaos, but remained close enough to observe. They were under the impression the one's attacking Naesala's group were their own, ignorant to the fact the very people who had destroyed their homes and killed so many people were traveling with them. Gun fire and the sound of blades being drawn summoned their attention, but by the time they turned to react many of them were victims of the attacks. Thrown on the ground and trampled as the assaulters advanced, Naesala's brows furrowed. Perhaps he truly did feel something, but that wasn't something to think of right now.

Call it a warrior's reflex, but the moment he knew it was time to fight his muscles began to contract and relax themselves when not in use allowing him to begin warming up immediately. Turning around to face the targets, his hair would safely flow from behind him to on the snow in front of him. Quickly the wave of his locks would slither up to fifteen meters forward seeking out his foes, being very selective with his targets. Though the hair swallowed the whole ground it wouldn't constrict or interfere with his allies movements, but the enemies that were in range would find the hair constricting around their legs and cutting into them. As he walked forward closer tot he heart of the problem, his range increased and his allies shifted more out of the way. "Judging from the way that attack was executed you guys aren't refugees are you?" Commanding his hair to slice deeper into their lower bodies, he kept his eyes on the few who weren't subdued.

"And you must be the one who's been going around destroying the other towns?" The voice carried youth with its call. Brisk and electric energy, the one who owned the voice was a swordsman no older than twenty-three and was rather confident in his abilities. Fast enough that his approach wasn't clearly perceived by Naesala, he came into existence in an aerial position on Naesala's right side. His sword was readied to slash and his face communicated that he was comfortable with killing.

From the hair that was spread out on the ground, a detachment was in route to meet Naesala's attacker in a spear like fashion. To defend himself, the behemoth of a man rose his right arm horizontally to meet the incoming vertical slash. Before this slash would meet his arm, the hair on the appendage would rapidly grow and wrap itself around his arm's length, only the outer layer of this new growth hardened. Durable as steel itself, as the sword made contact with Naesala's arm that was erected to stop the sword swing from harming any of his person, the detachment of hair sent from the sea of his mane, would  pierce into the youth's right shoulder, but not how he intended. The boy was sharp and saw the attack coming despite the angling making the black hair proceed at him with black surroundings. Torquing his body, so his right side twisted to the right away from the incoming strike, what was supposed to be a piercing strike was deflated to a graze.

The Ronin's right hand released from his weapon and his left hand bearing the sword against Naesala's armored arm, he moved his right hand to grab his secondary sword, but Naesala commanded the spear of hair to snake around this right arm and constrict it. "I was actually looking forward to fighting you, but this turned out to be rather anti-climatic." His hair was like mini razor wires as it curled around the length of his arm, making shallow incisions as it coiled about it. "Trust me, I didn't charge into a fight with someone worth five million, without a plan." As he spoke his blade against Naesala's arm began to flow with green flames and a sensation of cold began to envelop it. Retracting his arm, he saw the blade of flames was readied to be swung at his hair that was around the youth's arm. By reflex he retracting this length of hair as well. He wasn't aware that the flames couldn't spread, but he didn't want to have the cold flames burn his whole being up. That said to make himself a smaller target since his hair was all over the snowy field as of now, he recalled all of it back to its natural length.  

The young swordsman jumping back a few meters, blood dripping from his arm onto the snow, Naesala inspected his arm to see the cold sensation had left with the blade's touch. "Peculiar sword you got there." Naesala said looking from his arm to the sword in the youth's hands. From the design to the chilling effect it had, it seemed to have a life of its own. "Don't expect a moment to rest though!" Naesala respected the boy's tenacity and skill, but this was still a battlefield where Naesala wanted to express his superiority. A cloak of lightning tinted black enveloped his fram in an instant and in that same moment, he took off towards the nearly swordsman as fast as he could.

Only fifteen meters of snow between the two combatants, Naesala cleared the space in about a second, his open palm already reeled back to deliver a brutal right straight to the swordsman's face. Upon his palm strike being completed however, Naesala only saw open space and a small wave of disturbed snow. Eyes pacing to the drops of blood in the snow, Naesala quickly saw his opponent had moved to a position behind him and was quickly approaching. "Got a pair of good eyes two, this is the best fight I've had since I got on this island!" His hair having been retracted, his men and the men of the Ronin clashed on equal terms, while they both went at each other.

Turning to face the direction the swordsman was coming from, Naesala readied himself and watched his opponent closely. The lacerations on the youth's arm were shallow, so even though he was losing blood it wasn't enough to have any dire effects, but blood loss would kick in soon enough. About seven meters away from Naesala the ronin swung his sword two times into empty air. It was hard to see, but Naesala noticed faint distortions in the air. He was about to move, but his body didn't respond when the image of him being ran through with the youth's sword clouded his mind. It was only for a sheer second if that, but it was enough to make him hesitate and second guess himself. Sluggish, though he was int eh process of moving to the right he was too slow and one of the razors of wind collided with the left side of his lower torso. Grunting in pain, as he saw the ronin was drawing in closer, he released a burly punch with his right hand.

This cloak of black lightning still on his being, it concentrated on his right hand for a the duration of this jab into space. The product was a cannon of air from his punch, Naesala drawing back to jab was enough to dissuade the swordsman from coming any closer. The terrain itself was destroyed from the force of the cannon. It was a weaker application of one of his signature techniques, but still enough to buy him some time. "Looks like you're slowing down. It'll be good publicity and money when I toss your head to the marines." Naesala chuckled and clutched at his wound with his right hand. The ronin having jumped upwards to avoid Naesala's ranged punch. With his left hand he made a compact design where all his hand was a flat surface, all his fingers against one another as if he were preparing to karate chop. Looking up at the descending youth, his hair wriggled in anticipation for what was to come and Ondori's face went from confident in his victory to a bit worried or perhaps stressed for what was to come.

A shotgun spread composed of his black mane had speared upwards towards the swordsman. It would reach out 15m though the swordsman was only 8m above Naesala. Occupying a 5m spread, each follicle would be impossible to avoid unless combated with a technique with large surface area. Having observed the swordsman's fighting style Naesala deduced he relied on small surface area attacks that simply cut. A piercing attack would prove to be very effective and was. Hundreds of hair follicles or quills, made up this attack that Naesala administered and easily at least one hundred pierced the swordsman all over his body. Immediately his venom would seep into the swordsman's blood stream all over his body. The intrusions so small that not even a mist of blood was released when contact was made, all that there was was a gruesome groan in pain as it was like colliding with a very precise bed of nails.

His sword having already been raised in preparation to attack as he came within range and was about to bring the weapon down, Ondori let out another grueling shout in pain from the effects of the venom all over his body. Not only would his sword swing lack power, but it'd more importantly lack commitment from the distraction of pain and his nerves being overloaded with so much activity in such a small amount of time. A faint crackle of ebony lightning still tracing over his fram, to the eyes that spectated, Naesala would suddenly jolt directly upwards after he bent down in preparation for the jump. His left hand readied as a spear, when he jumped upwards and was within range, he'd strike upwards towards the center of the swordsman's chest, his hand going straight through his body and out the other end in a gruesome display. As he did so he released a grunt in pain from the wound in his side, but he was sure the pain he felt was nothing compared to what the swordsman had been experiencing in his last moments.

A bloody mess made of the snowy field, all fighting came to a halt as Naesala pushed the corpse off his arm and landed on the ground, the body of Ondori falling limp seconds later. "Boss!" Some of his associates called out in panic only to be slain during their distracted moments. "If he had some more experience under his belt, he probably would have killed me without a problem." Naesala groaned as he walked over to the corpse, his hair retracting and the stream of lightning gone from his body. "Don't touch him you bastard!" Naesala looked up from the dead ronin to a charging fishman gunman, his pistol drawn and fired just as Naesala looked at him. "Shit." The hair on left arm, knuckles and back of his hand included, wrapped around the mentioned extension that was hooked in front of his body to block the bullet. He could feel the shell dig into the armor of hair, still hot out the chamber. "Son of a bitch die!" The gunman drew another pistol off his waist, but as he did so Naesala extended his left arm and the hair that was wrapped around it stretched out and wrapped around the gunman's neck. He was instantly strangled and couldn't even grip his guns correctly, from the hair around his neck being hardened to steel like levels, thus cutting into his esophagus while choked him. When he retracted the hair it would then slide around his neck quickly and give him a steel wire version of rope-burn. In this case it left a very messy compilation of thin lacerations around what was left of his neck. Gripping at the messy wounds, the fishman gunman yelled out in pain and agony, cursing Naesala or at least Naesala thought he was cursing at him. He couldn't tell because the fishman's voice box was nearly completely destroyed.

Releasing a pent up breath he looked around and saw he lost a few allies, but they had won the skirmish all in all. "Looks like you had a tough fight on your hands too." The man talking to him had his whole chest bloodied and the way he was holding his arm told Naesala it was broken or at least fractured. "Yeah, he was the toughest person I've fought in a long time. It's nice to encounter such young talent, I was nowhere as strong when I was his age." The two looked down at the ronin's corpse, before Naesala squatted down and grabbed the curious looking sword he had. "Why don't you ever try to team up with the people you find strong?" Naesala examined the sword before speaking and grabbing the sheath from the dead body. "Seems like a waste. Like I get where you're coming from, but I like fighting strong people, well fighting in general. But if we don't fight till one of us is dead, then we can't see who's really the strongest." The man gave Naesala a questionable look to which he responded to with a laugh. "I know it's crazy, but this is how I chose to live my life. Not much else to do." Naesala shrugged it off with a smile and dismissive chuckle. Seeing as the wounded were gathered, the group continued with their travel tot he boat, they had lost a quite a bit of people, but it came with the life style.