Mirror Match

The temple had grown empty of people from the passing of the winds of change and time. He stopped marking their graves when they counted in the hundreds. Their faces may have been lost to flesh and bone but their names remained engraved upon his heart. He who remained faded into vague legend and vengeful bitter spirits.

Kenichi’s boat took to the water surprisingly well, riding the waves without too much issue. They were far into the Pacific, far from any island around, much less Osaka. The gate had closed behind him, leaving him stranded on a boat in the middle of a vast vast ocean.

In spite of this, it didn’t take long for Hitode to find him. All he had to do was follow the lights.

Little balls of fire floated just above the water, their snaking slithering tongues of flame twisting and contorting into angry little faces. And in the middle of them all, the Historian lay,

upon a bed of tumultuous ocean, floating carelessly upon a swell..

“Aren’t the lights so pretty?” said the Historian, tickling one with his finger.

“I’ve never really been fond of Sogenbi,” replied Hitode.

“You always ran away from tragedy.”

“You act like that’s a bad thing.”

“Someone has to do it.” said the Historian. “We all have our part to play. Besides, if you really immerse yourself in life it can be a real…blast.”

As soon as he said blast, the two Soogenbi flew and detonated towards Hitode.

The Historian clapped at the massive splash like a deranged otter on its back. However, when the splash subsided and the steam cleared, an angry Hitode held a charred and cracked oar.

The Historian clapped even louder,

“Can you tell I’ve wanted to fight you for a while? It isn’t a fight if there isn’t a challenge right? And you are fighting well…I would absolutely love an explosive performance,” cackled Hitode.

As he said explosive, three fireballs hurtled towards Hitode. He just barely managed to deflect them all, sending three massive splashes towards the Historian, knocking him into the ocean and burying him under water.

The Historian swam back up, treading the water with a shiver. “Don’t you know how cold it is under this water? I ought to drop a bombshell on you right now.”

Hitode tensed up, but nothing happened. But as soon as he relaxed a fireball whizzed toward his face. He just barely managed to deflect it into the water. It sent his boat spinning and skipping across the waves.

“Did you really think I would have them trigger at bomb puns? Do you think we’re that stupid?”

“Yes! I would’ve found it funny.”

“Well get ready for this primer!

A dozen or so glowing balls of fire manifested in the air around him, but as he did so, all of a sudden, the dark clouds above them were cut open and began to rain, smothering the fireballs down beneath the waves.

“Okay, maybe we really are dumb” exclaimed Hitode.

“Yes, you are.” smiled the Historian.

There was a bright glow beneath Hitode’s boat. He only had a second to jump away before the boat was sent flipping through the air a dozen meters away from the massive explosion.

Hitode found himself face to face with his enemy, who was still very widely smiling.

“I’m so glad it’s come to this.” said the Historian.

Suddenly, something came up from under both their feet. It was a large soft black belly. A large Umibozu had given his body to be their arena.

“Thank you, Umi-san.” said the Historian. “This is quite literally a dream of mine.”

“I didn’t peg you for a fighter.”

“You know you love it too.’

“Not when honor is on the line.”

They both lunged.

The philosophy behind fighting between two immortals can be quite difficult to wrap one’s head around.

Much of the traditional conventions like lethality and brutality become much fainter in presence. Skill and sheer power however, still maintain their presence in such fights.

By pushing himself to his absolute limit, Hitode is able to close the gap. He distract his opponent, then builds up momentum, striking the defending arm with a blunt and powerful kick.

Normally, when this hits a regular ulna and radius, they shatter into twelve different pieces.

However, like before, Hitode found kicking the Historian very strange. He lacked all the right proportions. He lacked all the right positions.

“Your muscles are weird,” said Hitode.
“Thanks for noticing! said the Historian” I grew them myself.”

He stripped off his shirt to reveal a horrific amalgamation of different parts all over the body.

He began to stretch them in a variety of ungodly ways.

“They’re quite flexible and supple. And most of all, as durable as any battlearmor. It allows me to operate at full strength without any risk of excess wear and tear.’

” However, the Historian wasn’t the only monster. For the first time in a good long while, both men feel like they can go to their utmost limit.

As the Historian tries to grab Hitode, there’s this terrible crunching noise that came from Hitode’s ankles and a horrific blur that drifted backwards.

There’s blood on his fingers, but not his own. It’s a scratch on the Historian’s face.

Suddenly, the two groups go berserk and begin to rush each other. The battle is phenomenally close, but key differences were noted within their battle styles.

The Historian focused more on orthodox fighting, using a carefully guarded stance, ready to counter and aggress at a moment’s notice. On the other corner there’s the unpredictable beast, rapidly moving about the battlefield with their natural bones as weapons, staves and cudgels.

The Historian was confident. Though he was barely landing any full hits, his opponent was still taking heavy damage from his own attacks, muscles shredding with every passing moment. He would be done for soon..

But, as the moments passed, the onslaught did not diminish. In fact, it only grew harsher.

“How are you hitting me first? I have the superior body.’”

“It’s simple. Motivation. I’m willing to throw my life away. You aren’t. Now, fall!”

He struck him in the chest with his boney arm, causing heavy bleeding.

The Historian wildly swung, forcing Hitode to step back. The Historian advanced, seeing his opportunity, he swung, breaking past his limiter and shredding through the muscles in his own arm. If anyone had been struck by this, they would have been completely.

However, Hitode dodged with ease.

There was a distinct pain as the Historian noticed the loose needle hanging from his arm.

“Attacking like that telegraphs your movement,” said Hitode. “You have too much muscle to pull it off.”

Suddenly, the Historian’s arm went limp.

“And now it’s drugged.”

“So it is. How crafty!” said the Historian.

“We knew you’d have some sort of countermeasure against magic but not against human poisons.

The Historian just laughed before ripping his arm off. “Can’t let that circulate through my body.

Mass from the left arm was transferred to the right, replacing the lost limb.

“Shall we keep going.”

Hitode readied the needles.

This time it was the Historian’s turn to dash forward, however, as Hitode moved to counter, he only found air. Force had been directly applied against the Umibozu’s belly., forcing them to sink.

Seeing this opening, the Historian grabbed Hitode, and the two of them were submerged together.

As they remained intertwined, Hitode knew that if he kept playing on the Historian’s strengths, Hitode would lose his grip first and be unable to swim back to the surface while the Historian escapes.

So he simply changed the parameters.

He didn’t need to win. He just needed to make sure they both lost.

It wasn’t a pleasant choice. It wasn’t a good choice by far. But it was the right choice. And somehow, the Historian knew this too.

They drifted into the dark together, both ready to be consumed by a conscious oblivion—when, suddenly: Heat. Light.

The water began to boil around them

Looking up, where the silhouette of a small girl floated, Hitode knew to push away.

The sun began to rise underwater.