Sakagami Kenzo
Kenzo felt his heart aflutter at her words. H-handsome? He couldn't recall the last time anyone said something so nice to him. If he wasn't already so red, he would have seemed to blush with that disty embarassed giggle of his. She was even more beautiful than he imagined...
As Muramasa charged, her blade was met with a crimson stream of steel brought down like deadly thunder. Swords clashed countless times, each strike was met with equal oppositin, sending sparks flying hundreds of times in a symphony of metal. Their strikes were no longer visible to the naked eye, nothing more than red and white blurs flashing like light over and over until it looked like they would intermingle.
While she used both her arms in a magnificent display of swordmanship, with one hand Kenzo's movements lacked such sophistication. While her grip was fierce and deadly, his was soft and relaxed. Their strength, speed and duress was about equal, but in a fight between swords such things meant little. Even if his arm sent waves after waves of gentle slashes, they were no less deadly than Muramasa's two handed strikes. Such a large sword would be ill wielded with one hand, and their difference of size would surely make wielding such a needlesly long sword all the more difficult.
Such a thing was only evident, and yet notions like logic and reason did not apply to that demon's swordmanship. It was unlike anything in this world. Strength, speed, power... such notions were meaningless when applied to swords. Kenzo was not simply wielding a sword, or swinging a sharp piece of metal.
Simply put, once connected to him, the sword was no longer an object and thus, it should not be swung with the brute force of an object. His slashes were both brutal and kind, both raw and pure in their beauty... and their deadliness.
His Benizakura was being woven freely around with one arm countless times, each exchange driving him deeper and deeper into the abyss that was the ecstasy of battle. Each exchange was both passionate, violent and soothing like a lover's exchange. There was no longer need for words, for at this pont the two would only speak through their blades. Such a communion suited both far better than any speech.
This is kinda fun.
Blood dripped down the floor of the dojo, equally carved by the demon's slashes which bore no discrimination between his enemy, the ground and the heavens. However, the oni had not been reached once by Muramasa. Despite her thick armor, this seemingly eternal and yet unbearably brief exchange had left wounds all over her body. However, he had not attacked her once, or rather he was still on the defensive. Each of his strikes were simply a product of their clashes, a reaction instead of an action. Kenzo had yet to sever her with his entire being, and was merely stalling their exchange.
He wanted to savor it himself, to enjoy this clash of souls to its fullest. To let the raging beast in him run amock would only impede that purpouse, so he did not attack. Indeed such small cuts were only superficial, no worse than paper cuts, however they spoke far more of his ability than any boast ever could.
The difference between his blade and hers was like heaven and earth. In a display of pure swordmanship, the moment that bumbling foolish Oni had drawn his blade, the strong and refined Muramasa had already lost.
