The Man in the Saloon

The man entered the saloon.

He was drenched in water from the pouring rain, droplets slid down his jacket. The puddles outside reflected the neon glow of Tokyo in big bold smears.

The man began walking towards the counter, his tactical boots leaving trails of water. The once rowdy saloon was dead silence. Every eye followed him, and the only sound was the pounding of the rain outside.

"Sakura tea please."

The bartender, an old but still very physically fit man, nodded in understanding.

Finally someone broke the silence.

"Who invited this son of bitch?!"

The owner of the voice was a big burly man. His muscles were almost comically large and towered over everyone else in the saloon. He was wearing a black leather jacket far too small for him, and his abs bulged very visibly.

"You're clearly not one of those rando civilians who just happened to wander in here..." he said eyeing the two katanas sheathed on each of the man's sides.

"...But from the looks of it, you're not part of any clan I recognize"

He leaned from his chair and was up at the man's face so closely their noses almost touched. The man did not even face to look at him. The burly man flashed a grin.

The corners of his mouth reached over the ends of his ears. 4 tusks protruded from his mouth along with his countless razor sharp teeth. His pitch black pupils began swirling like a vortex and were fill with interest but also violence. The lights were dim, but on close inspection, his skin was red, a deep crimson like blood.

He wasn't human.

He was an Oni.

"maybe he's part of a new clan!" squeaked a scrawny man behind one of the tables.

There was a murmur in saloon.

"can't be!" cried another voice "why would a single member of a new clan come into one of the most dangerous saloons in Tokyo all alone?"

The murmur grew into chatter.

"look here, mister," began the oni in a low gravelly voice "this here establishment is quite a prestigious saloon so I recommend you

GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I BASH YOU SKULL IN" he roared and stood up from his chair. He towered over the man, over two feet taller than him.

The man just stood there stoically, still facing the counter. He hadn't moved an inch even as a literal monster who could snap an arm like a twig was breathing the same air as him.

The crowd started buzzing. Everyone was chatting now, and people started picking up their drinks again.

This was why the Neon Cat saloon was so popular. Members from all different gangs would all gather together just to see Ibara the oni captain pummel some unfortunate victim every week. It was violent, bloody, and a feast for the eyes of Japan's criminal underbelly.

In less than a blink of an eye, Ibara's arm was flying at full force towards the man's head. To Ibara and the rest of the saloon's surprise, the man was able to unsheath one of his katanas and raise it up to block the full force of Ibara's blow.

Gusts of wind flew all over the saloon at the impact. Ibara's speeding palm was completely stopped in its path by the flat end of the katana. Even more surprising, he did it all without even turning his head.

Ibara staggered in surprise but quickly gained his composure.

"You think your stupid fucking toothpicks are gonna stop me?!"

He grabbed the outstretched katana with both of his humongous hands. He was putting all his weight into it and was trying his best to bend the weapon. But the katana didn't even gain a single dent.

Ibara couldn't understand what was going on. He could bend steel bars double—even triple the thickness of that measly katana, yet it stood firm.

Out of his periphery, he sensed danger. He let go of the katana with his left arm and caught onto another oncoming katana just in time.

Gusts exploded throughout the saloon again.

Ibara was panicking. That katana was fast, unbelievably fast. Ibara's reflexes were quick even for oni standards, yet he was only able to block it right on time, a millisecond slower and it would've been planted in Ibara's left shoulder.

The man was facing him now, his face stoic as it has been. Both his katanas were now at his hand, and Ibara was gripping onto them. The blades were slowly digging into his palms, but Ibara knew they would heal within an hour easily. He was more concerned with how the man was able to match his strength and without even a hint of struggle at that.

If oni could sweat, Ibara would have been as drenched as the man.

Suddenly the katanas flew out of Ibara's hand, and because he was putting his full weight into it, he fell face first onto the floor, his huge hands collapsed besides each side of the man.

The man was spinning the katanas with his hands and raised his arms up as he gripped onto the katanas again, this time, pointing downwards. 

Ibara cried out in pain as the katanas punctured the back of both of his hands. Blood began sputtering out like a broken drain.

As Ibara slowly pulled his head off the floor to look at the man, who was, ironically, towering over him now, he saw the figure raising his blades by the opposite shoulder.

For the whole fight, the man's eyes were hidden behind the shadows of his cowboy hat with an crescent samurai crest. But for the first time he saw the man's piercing brown eyes and understood what death truly means.

Both katana's arched towards Ibara's neck, and the last thing Ibara felt was the powerful gusts of wind.