“****!“ Maruchi bust his door open, tossing his head side to side.

Yet the halls were empty.

Gritting his teeth, he turned the to his left side, the opposite of where he had come from; and bolted down the hall. He felt the bond of his weapon tug uncomfortably inside, and set down the hall with haste.

Desertion played to his favour at this point, for Heishuro flailed his arms powerfully as he sprinted down the corridor. Squinting, he vaguely made out a black spot, bobbing vertically.

“Hey!” he yelled out, an extra burst of hope expressed vocally.

He slowed his pace with his shout, but the dot gave no such gesture; a dark cloak flailed as it disappeared through a pair of colourless doors.

Sprinting down the hallway, he drove a forearm through the doors as the fighter reached them, feeling a strange haze of peace shroud his anger upon impact.

He found himself gazing into a labyrinth of boxes; of all the shapes, sizes, colours and materials imaginable.

“Get back here!” he yelled wildly; and found himself amused at the echo.

Receiving no response, he stumbled through the cardboard variety, knocking them astray with insignificance: his mind was set on his other half in weaponry.

Stopping dead, his mind fell upon an idea, and he silently cussed at his own idiocy for not earlier musing it. He let his beat soften, his mind wander and his limbs hang as he recognised the tangibility of the link between himself and Xuriken. A mental voice tugged at him, and Heishuro set of in said direction, continuing in his earlier blunders.

Squinting as he trekked, Maruchi bared a tooth in a amused grin as he saw a cloak whistle through a pair of silver doors—about ten feet away.

Ramming into yet another pair of doors—with pointlessly restrained difficulty—the martial artist continued the pursuit.

OoC: Bleh.

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