Heishuro glanced at Harvy - He was taken serious punishment for someone of his age, and Vossler didn’t seem to be tiring - Reluctantly, Maruchi dove back into the war zone.

Monroe had seemed just as awestruck as both Harvy and Heishuro about the earlier act of evil. The magic had been evil and daemonic… the thought of someone that wished him hard wielding that power wasn’t at all comforting.

Customized bone met the real thing as the fighter’s right foot poked into Vossler’s leg, setting the fencer of balance. He swayed unsteadily on the spot, trying to regain his footing, but finally accepted defeat as his sturdy legs buckled beneath him, giving way to the declining body above them.

Exchanging amused looks with the now spectating Harvy; the talented youth voiced his thoughts: “He’s no match for the two of us!”

Cracking his nimble knuckles, Heishuro returned his attention to Monroe; who had now risen back to his feet.

“Not taking advantage of a floored opponent ‘eh?” Maruchi could sense disapproval, disappointment and slices of dislike in his voice. He must be dissin’ me! he added in an afterthought; before chuckling heartily at his use of the old American slang.

It was once a second language to me… but this new world has changed everything. Feeling his expression change, the martial artist pushed away his emotions that his mind forced upon him and turned, once again, to Vossler.

It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a battle like this. He had insurance: If things got out of hand, Harvy would step in. He had a decent opponent: Monroe and Heishuro seemed evenly matched enough for them to both be wary of the other. But best of all; he had incentive: This wasn’t some fight against a weak Mexican; or a handicapped match to test his skills… this was a real battle in a real world. Against someone that really wanted him dead.

Wrapping the lightning chain of Xuriken around his fist; he crashed fiercely into Vossler’s defending blade, (with a little magical help from the winds) leaving the fencer and martial artist in a tension lock. Maruchi’s nunchaku were scraping ravenously against Monroe’s blade; forcing it back towards its owner.

Unable to contain his grin, he arched his lips upwards, boasting his strength to the fencer. But Vossler kept his nerve, and continued the losing battle of muscle.

A glance at Harvy revealed the same winning smile that Heishuro wore proudly. They couldn’t lose now, not with both of them opposing the weaker Monroe.

Alas, it was not curiosity that killed the cat; it was his overconfidence that his curiosity would go unpunished.

Within seconds of his teeth showing; his hair wavering; and his lips level with his nose; pain thickened in Maruchi’s eyes, his smile dying on his lips. He slowly gazed downwards, horrified at the chaos of silver and crimson. Vossler’s blade was buried deep in his chest.

Staggering backwards, Heishuro Maruchi’s memories flashed vividly before his eyes. They were so clear; he even reached out to grab them. But his fingers closed slowly around nothing, and he let himself drop to the ground, his loyal Xuriken beside its master. Smiling weakly, he recounted the blow.

He had been winning the battle of strength, but not of wit; as his blade turned on him: Monroe had shifted his weight backwards out of the death grip. Maruchi had been leaning forwards, so when Vossler had dropped to the ground, there was an exposed torso ripe for the bloodying.

Feeling his senses leave him, he silently marvelled the peace that came with perhaps his last minutes. The fencer walked towards the bloodied mess holding his blade, and lifted his sword from its resting place.

Placing a hand over the gaping wound, Heishuro turned to Harvy, who held a look of sadness and horror, and spoke a few frail words: “Harvy…” he managed. Hearing no interruptions, he continued, “get this bastard for me…” with some of the little strength he had left, he inclined his neck, gesturing at Monroe.

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