Mikalo's Rampage.

[Mikalo]

The night glows as the warrior arises slowly, the crimson red cloak fluttered in the winds and patted against the wet grounds of the area. His optics covered by the hat of wood that loomed and overshadowed his facial features almost completely. The long odachi blade had whipped through the air, zipping and cutting through unseeable particles in the atmosphere, then letting its base land across his shoulderblades.

Aphrodite lay upon his anubis that he lay out onto his right side. The eagle spread its wings outward, and cawed with much determination, raising its head out high to show its beauty and determination to strike enemies with fear. And that is just what she did, when the mercenaries rose from the endings of the hill.

The odachi blade had slowly been unsheathed, and the golden hearted protection for the obsidian sword hit the ground below. With the removing of his blade from protection.. he had now shown that he wanted the blood to be spilt. Though, through the crowds, he could see that another war had already begun, with a blade similar to his cutting through the meat.

A figure, unsheathing his blade once more parted from the depths of the rotting bodies. The brown eyed creature had shown himself to be, Outlaw Mikalo.

[Mikalo]

The swords clashed, as did the sharper minds of the two well-known fighters. An Outlaw of the land, an assassin, but a protector of family and those weaker of his. And then, the red cloaked, shadowy individual with the golden-hooded odachi sword. Unbeknownst to the both of them, they had both been ones who never left a body living after a fight.

Outlaw Mikalo's eyes fluttered side to side as he parried, his energy burning out from the muscled-up construct of his brachium that had began to become weak in every second of batting away the side of a sword. Out of practice, and out of shape. He knew that this fight would not turn all the way in his favor. But he knew, of course, that his overconfidence and cockyness would lead him through the air and into victory. And destroy the concentration of his newfound foe.

The crimson individual himself had done nothing but keep his eyes on his foe, who he knew was growing weaker, telling by how slower his hits got. He used his own strength to batter against his, testing his own might against his opponent. But with a surprise, this samurai was tripped into the yonder above, and then into the dust below. Mikalo's sword had drawn through the air, but of course blocked by the sword of his opponent, who would not obviously go down without a fight.

His enlarged middle knuckle smacked with fierceness against the other individual's middle-eye region, sending his cloak flying outward into the air. The caelum had now lustrously shown its color of blue, and soon, without warning, bloody red consumed the clouds to then reveal the rain that bounced off the Outlaw's straw hat. This gave him an advantage, he had trained well in wet areas.

His phalanges pushed foward, sending his sword onto the head of the dazed man who stands in front of him, sending the top of his cranium flying into the red yonder and then bowling into the vegetated sod below himself. The ground shook compellingly as the thunder sliced through the skies at mach seven, sending his ears to be popped like a yawn coming from the prison of his chapped and bloodied lips. The crimson individual lays down.

The katana sword sheaths solemnly, and the samurai turns his head, dispersing into the shadows once more, leaving bloody bodies behind him.