Ken Itano
He could smell ash. Could feel the heat strong enough to lick his skin unbearably.
He couldn't pay attention to the scream of terror emanating from the village about him, not while clawed hands held down his pitiful child body by the head and body. Even then he continued to struggle, with gritted teeth.
Garbled laughter, like dangling a mouse by its tail.
"I wonder why he's struggling so hard!?" "I wonder what he thinks he can do!?" "I wonder why he's so serious!"
Thick fingers pried his mouth open, letting something sharp into his mouth, resting against the inside of his cheeks.
"He should smile more..."
"No, no..."
The grip of his face adjusted, so that it held the top of his head, palm covering his eyes. A pin prick of an edged point rested on his cheeks, under each of his eyes.
"He should be crying more..."
Snickers and giggles.
Suddenly, "Why not both? Humans are such contradictory creatures... they can't decided when to be happy, or sad... they should express themselves more!" "Indeed."
"Indeed!"
Snicker-snak.
It went dark. He couldn't tell whether he screamed first or not.
When he awoke, a blanket of ash fell off his body, and he watched the morning sun rise over the mountains and into the lifeless village, save one boy with a bleeding face, watching it all.
That was the first time he learned of things like Pain, which pressed against all mind, body, and soul.
Something inside broke.
Five years later, he thought he had risen high enough to never feel that kind of Pain ever again.
But he was feeling it again. Every limb smashed, his face a mess, his head spinning, his organs heaving. He was all over the ground, choking with rage.
"Come on, guys. He's done."
Done...!? DONE!?
A blade bit into the ground, and he managed to lean on it enough to manage standing on the smoking battlefield.
"THOUSAND MASTER!" He screeched.
They turned around, the one in the middle first, with his crimson hair.
"You think... this is OVER!?" He wheezed, his mouth running red down his chin, onto his neck and the ground.
"Pull that stick out of your arse. You've lost." The Man of a Thousand Spells snorted.
"Shut up...! If I can kill you... If I can kill you! The great invincible hero...! I'm the sword god! I'm a force of nature! I'm not stopped by... flesh and blood...! So be a good boy... Springfield and-"
He was met with a Welsh right hook that sent him spinning in place. Before he collapsed, the hero that had defeated the rampaging "sword god" grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him until they were face to face. He found himself staring into furious eyes. Wide, with twisted eyebrows.
"Sword god? Force of nature!? Don't make me laugh! Who the hell do you think you are!? You think you're above people!? Bullshit! I can tell! You think you're strong!? You're anything but that! You're Pathetic!"
"You piece of crap...! Who do you think you are-"
"You're playing god so you can run away from whatever you're running from! Like a coward! You don't even bother trying to face it, and you just take it out on people who aren't even the issue! You're just a kid having a tantrum! And you think you could beat me!? All those people you hurt... you're the worst! You pathetic... piece of-!"
Something in that voice, full of vehemence and raw fury at something offended greater than himself. He looked at all of it, the anger in the man's eye, and actually yelped in fear, shutting his eyes in expectation to receive the next punch that was rearing back.
"Stop it, Nagi."
"What?"
"It's over. He's done. Let him go." "Hmph."
"Don't worry, he's learned his lesson." "Whatever. You better hope thing are different if we meet again."
He was dropped, and he let himself fall on his back, still. He spent the night on the battlefield, staring up at the night sky. The man was right. These wasted years... what kind of life had he lived?
The fire of the hero's words helped reform that thing inside that had been broken, but not completely. Just a tenuous hold back together, a crippled thing, which he crawled away with, wondering about himself.
Many Years Later -
Granicus was a regular dust-bowl of a city, located in the southern hemisphere of Mundus Magicus. To say it was lawless would be a bit too strong a term. But regardless, Granicus was still a city where words like "profit" and "opportunity" were ones for everyday, and ones like "equality" and "fairness" were... adapted, to say the least.
Along these sand trodden streets, aside the teeming masses of merchants, bounty hunters, and other RPG classes, there was a certain tavern that made its home. This dank repository of drinks wasn't much different than others you'd see. A little more cutthroat, but fighting wasn't good for business. So for all the dubious personalities that cooled their heels, nursed their drinks, sat down in dark places, this bar was surprisingly peaceful.
The bartender, a rather unmoved fellow, was thus able to get about his business. It helped that he had a natural ability to intimidate rowdy customers into silence, thanks to a large pair of brawny arms that came out bare out the sides of his apron.
"Yo! Can I have another one?" A particularly needy patron called out again. The bartender wasn't annoyed though. He had a type like him, everyday, who came into his bar, acting like some yuppie that wanted to show of his advanced knowledge of liquors and cocktails.
"Yes sir, what'll it be? More Guinness?"
"Hmm... actually, do you have any Sake? Just a little bit, like, two cups full. Oh, and can I have a little more fruit slushy, too?"
The tender reached under the counter to pour out the drinks this yuppie needed. Though, despite the man's tastes, the bartender couldn't really call him out as a young city slicker with too many money, naivety, and presuppositions of what "adventure" was like.
He wouldn't admit himself, but this customer that sat before him cheekily on a stool, made him wary.
Whatever of his body could be hardly seen, since he was buttoned down in a large tan overcoat that came down partly to his shins where simple pants and shoes, the color of dirt and dust, continued on. On his hands were tough gloves lacking fingers. Upon his head was an uncharacteristic top hat, broken into checker shapes alternating between red and black, until it hit the black brim. Rust red hair came out unevenly out the back, like a crumpled rug. His eyes were a green so brilliant it was questionable whether it was even natural.
Then there were the scars.
Massive rips that ran across his cheeks all the way to the edges of his lips, like once upon a time he smiled too violently. Now healed back together uneasily, leaving a thin trail of bumpy reddened skin in a curve that looked like some ridiculous extension of the lips.
Two more lacerations ran down from the lower lids of the eyes to meet near the mouth, too, as if one day he cried so hard his skin couldn't take it. All that was left now were ribbed red gouges that slowly narrowed into tips near the end, as they touched the scars on his mouth.
Those were terrible wounds to be put on that face that seemed to be trying to smile. This man had experienced something that no regular "yuppie" could ever have imagined. The bartender was afraid of asking what the story was, though.
Then again, all and any nervousness was quickly mollified at the sight of the scarred man practically gushing at adding another more alcohol and crushed ice to his strange concoction. It was some kind of strange layered, rainbow colored drink that had no logic, and seemed to be 20 percent alcohol of varying makes to the remaining 80 percent fruit drink, ice, syrup, and little paper and toothpick umbrellas.
It was a little strange to see everyone else trying to build a tough guy image with all their hard alcohol, then all of a sudden, in the middle of all this, a man daintily sipping from a wide martini glass, with a straw.
"Ah..." The scarred man sighed contently, "Nothing better~."
"You know, I'm surprised you've got the guts to try and drink something like that in a place like this." The bartender finally admitted to his patron.
The scarred man's nose crumpled in disdain, "What do you want me to do? Drink something I think tastes bad just so I can look tough?"
"Wouldn't you want to look tough?"
"If there was a point to it, then maybe, yeah." The scarred man snorted, "But being tough doesn't equal being strong."
The bartender smirked, "Oh, yeah?"
"Of course! If you're not strong while being tough, then you're still weak. Just it'll take longer to beat you up. But that's it. There are people who enjoy making minced beef out of jerky, you know."
"And what about you? You think you're strong?"
The ends of the man's smile curled up slightly, "Me? Naw, I'm made of glass! I'm not anything, really."
His eyes lost its focus for a second as he began to talk to himself.
"...But, I'm looking for what it means to be strong, I guess."
"You think you'll find it?"
"Who knows...?"
"Hey, don't give me an indecisive answer like that! People should know what they want!" The bartender exclaimed.
"...You know, you remind me of my father." The scarred man deadpanned with a straight stare.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. You do..." Suddenly, the man's scrunched up, and he gave a soft, melodramatic sniffle, "I miss my dad... why did you have to go away...!? B-Barberry flavor... comfort me with manliness! Nyguh-huh..."
With that, the scarred man went back to weepily gulping away at his spiked fruit slushie through his straw, giving off overacted sobs of despair.
The bartender looked at his patron for a second, before shrugging and going back to cleaning glasses and wiping the counter. Near the bar counter, a screen hung from the ceiling, showing TV programs catered to the interests of the male patrons. In these times, that mean the screen was almost consistently set to the Sports, with near constant highlights and updates coming from the annual local gladiatorial matches, the Granicus Cup. Today was no exception, and neither was the winner, as a bat-wing reporter appeared live on television.
"Astounding, Ladies and Gentlemen! Once again hopes were raised and lost, expectations shattered! You heard it here first! The 20th match up was cleared with a flawless victory from Team Nagi once again, as Nagi Springfield and Kojiro Oogami utterly wiped out another pair of local favorites, the Grausam Valkyries, Selvaria Bles and Alicia Melchiott, with style, power, violence, and grace! Here I have him again, the mystery man himself, our very own local legend, Nagi Springfield! How do you feel, Mr. Springfield? Your winning streak is unmatched! You're not even tiring out?"
"Ah, well... no?"
"Ah-ha! Just like a Nagi Springfield thing to say, huh? Say, if it's not too personal, you mind telling us the reason you joined up this tournament?"
"Well, I'm hoping to get to the top, and hopefully participate in the final tournament."
"Oh! The Nagi Cup! Dreams of grandeur, Springfield?"
"Ah, no. I'm just... hoping I can win the grand prize. I really need the money..."
The bartender hummed, folding his arms, as he found himself witness to another report of yet another victory by the handsome young man on the screen.
"Strength, huh? And meanwhile, we have the kid here tearing it up. People all over the world are wondering who this Nagi is. Reincarnation, or whatever, hah..."
The bartender chuckled to himself, considering the wild theories being tossed around. He had no interest in it, though. What this Nagi Springfield was mattered little in his line of work.
Then, there was sudden crash of breaking glass, the shocking noise running up the bartender's spin and making him jerk slightly, before turning around to the source of the noise. The martini glass in front of the scarred man had broken in his hand, leaving flavored slush and alcohol all over the counter top.
"I take it you're not very fond of the kid?" The bartender ventured.
"Ahh... I'm sorry! This was completely my fault! I must have not been paying attention, and I squeezed too hard or something-!"
The bartender waved off the scarred man's apologies, as he took a thick wash cloth to wipe the mess and the glass together, off the counter and into a small bucket he also had handy under the table, "Eh, don't worry about it. Part of the job. Your hand alright?"
"Ah, I think...?" The patron waved his hand in question a few times to see if there was any glass dug into the skin, "I think my glove helped."
"Good thing."
The scarred man sweated a bit, as he fumbled into his pockets, trying to pull out coin money for the trouble, "I'm really sorry about this, but, uh, I think I should get going... I hope this is enough for the glass, too-"
"Don't worry about it, this place got more cups than we'll probably ever need."
Several coins clattered onto the counter top regardless, as the scarred man stood up and tipped his hat, "Well, I guess that's all for today. I'll see you later, then!"
"Sure. Don't get into trouble out there."
"Eugh, you sound a lot like my dad..."
Nagi Springfield. Nagi. Springfield.
Hearing the name televised was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Tasted like bile and old saliva playing with the memories of dirt and blood.
He had to walk off that feeling. Nagi Springfield was the division between his past and present, and remembering the name... the man behind the name. It was like sitting back on that fence, where it was so easy to fall forwards or backwards.
Nagi Springfield... was a name that was to be revered by history, not flung about as some name in some toy championship, playing pretend-war...
The scarred man walked through the streets, and would have dismissed this bloodcurdling thoughts.
Then he saw Nagi Springfield cross through.
Of course, the boy was taking the pain to cover his shape under a fairly large cloak and cowl, but the man could not be fooled, especially after seeing reruns of the boy's fights over the course of weeks. People carried things in and out of their battles, and the boy carried much, as if he was always expecting a battle to come soon.
The scarred man could recognize the boy by his walking, which seemed painfully obvious to him it was a slowed down version of his movements in the arenas. The intentional focus of the weight towards the front of the feet, to be the first to initiate a dodge, the slightly wide walk to ensure balance, the stiffness of his shape.
Probably based off a Chinese martial art. This Nagi hadn't used a staff yet. Still, videos let the scarred man divine this Nagi was a Magic Swordsman, had a preference for delayed spells, Light, Wind, or Lightning, augmenting or supplementing close combat either directly or to have a surprise attack.
The delayed spells implied that though this Nagi was an expert in his martial arts, his initial magic training had encouraged a western style of combat, wherein a mage functioned as a long range support within a combat unit (either others, or he had his own Minister Magi, potentially that Kojiro fellow), and this Nagi was still awkwardly marrying his spells with his fists.
This was the same Nagi Springfield that passed in and out of the Granicus Cup like nobody's business.
Nagi. Springfield.
The scarred man's teeth pressed against each other, the sight of his ire taken such physical shape to the point he thought he was flaunting in front of him. His feet soon found himself following after the hooded character, his green eyes trying not to drill his hatred through the gladiator's head.
Nagi. Springfield.
What did this person dare think, to be Nagi Springfield? Did he just believe that being powerful would make him convincing enough to carry that name? Did this person have the sheer ignorance to forget what that hero did for the whole world? For him, himself!?
Here was... a boy... fighting only for money. Only for some cheap glory. Using that name and identity so flagrantly, pretending to be someone... infinitely greater in deed. Nagi Springfield was... much more than some Thousand Master.
A Gladiator posing as the Hero of the World...!? The man who saved him, himself... This... insult... this...
Thoughts on the fence, dangling between the world of carnage behind him and the image of the hero before, as he stood talking to some burly figure in a cloak, sitting in an outdoor cafe. Discussing something about price rates and copyrights.
So much hatred it made his heart ache. His stepping sped up, and before he knew it, there was little else he could see but the seething red before his eyes, and a two handed Jian falling out of his sleeve and into his hand. The crowds parted before the man as he charged the white cloaked form.
"NAGI SPRINGFIELD!"
Down the street, "Nagi Springfield", felt a malevolent intention suddenly flung onto his shoulders from another, which was summarily interpreted as "I will ram my fucking hand through your head."
Then he heard the scream, and air currents parting before his neck.
Nagi, as the world knew him, immediately jerked to the side, letting a blade narrow pierce where his head might have been only a second before. The attack only continued, a stab flowing into a slice to follow after Nagi's neck, which prompted the young gladiator to swing his whole body towards the floor, crashing onto the dirt on his back.
Nagi saw a scarred man attacking him, with the grip on his sword expertly flipping about into a backhanded grip to stab down at Nagi again. From under the cloak, Nagi's legs instinctively lashed out, one to collide into the man's wrist, deflecting the blow so it only stabbed into the earth, while the second kick followed the same motion again, with enough force to send the sword flying out of the man's fingers.
With the man disarmed, Nagi flipped backwards, onto his feet, cautiously regarding his sudden attacker. About them, a crowd always ready for excitement gathered at a safe distance. Nagi's cowl had slipped off his head in the last move, leaving the people to gasp.
"Hey, it's Nagi!"
"Nagi Springfield from the cup?"
"Some idiot's trying to take him on!"
"Oh, he's finished, man. It's Nagi!"
"70 on Nagi!"
Of course, neither paid much attention, as Nagi only questioned, somewhat carefully, somewhat dumbfounded.
"Who are you!?"
The scarred man returned with an easy "smile" as he stared back at Nagi, almost predatory.
"Jester of Ruin. Sword Circus. Bloodsport Fairy Tale. The Apocalypse's Opening Act. The Carnage Carnival. I've been called those before. Though, at this moment, know me only as Ken. Itano Ken."
The crowd seemed to recognize that name, as they began to back away from Ken with a sense of unease.
"Wait... isn't he the several million bounty...?"
"...The one that can't be caught...?"
"...The sword god...!?"
"...That psychopath that tore up whole villages during the war years...!?"
"...I'm putting 100 on Ken."
Now, Nagi was worried. Ken however, wasn't as he sneered his way around the boy with several easy steps.
"What's the matter, Nagi? Fame and Fortune suddenly doesn't taste so good anymore...? If you think you're anything strong enough to start trying to pretend being the Thousand Master, you should be ready to reap this whirlwind...!"
"Wait! There are people here-!"
Another jian fell into Ken's hand from his sleeve. Nagi bit back a curse, realizing that this place was about to become a war zone if he didn't find away out of here.
Charging magic to his feet, Nagi left the ground in a plume of dirt, heading towards the empty roofs of Granicus.
Ken grinned, before giving chase.
Back at the cafe, the burly figure smirked and folded his arms.
"Sooner or later, he would have shown up, I guess. If that boy is really who I think he is... he should be able to hold him off for a bit...."
Ken scrambled onto the roof, lunging after Nagi, who was rapidly pulling off his coat, and twining the thick material around his right arm, past the elbow and over the hand. The swordsman was already rapidly calculating.
Cloth as a shield over the right arm. Probably can be charged with magic to increase effectiveness, though it won't last if I keep at it. Right arm is this boy's strong arm. Putting the cloak there means he's taking a defensive stance to me? Wait, there's an enchanted ring on that left hand. Might be considerable to a wand, meaning he can perform magic.
True to his thoughts, Ken took a multitude of swings, each impacting against Nagi's makeshift gauntlet that warded away each blow with a loud ring of steel meeting magic. As such, their expertly timed dance of back and forth, Nagi still defending while Ken blitzed on, continued to a point where in a strong stroke towards the gladiator's neck suddenly left Ken extending his attack to nothing but air.
Instant movement. Not bad.
Behind the still recovering Ken, Nagi appeared, his one free fist cock backed with several magic projectiles rotating around. The boy was eager to end the fight, and was more than willing to land his blow from behind if it ensured him a point-blank.
Before any of that could happen, though, Ken already twisted his head around, and his free hand already had a new sword flying out his his sleeve, swinging the fresh weapon backward at Nagi. The boy jerked back in shock, before forcing his shield arm up, sword leaving another sizable gash against the magically empowered cloth.
"Sagitta Magica!"
Nagi relented with firing his three magic bolts at Ken, his initial attempt thwarted. With his two swords, Ken batted away one, tilted out of the way of another with another half-formed smile, and leapt completely away from the third, twirling to higher section of another roof. Unwilling to concede the higher ground, Nagi jumped to another rooftop equal in height.
Three swords already from under his coat... there's no way those swords could have been stored normally. He has to be using some kind of artifact to be able to keep getting more...
A chuckle from Ken brought Nagi out of his analysis.
"That look on your face is hardly a Nagi one, whoever you are... don't be so serious! I thought you liked fighting, since you're hamming it up in those tournaments! Fight free and happy! Smile! Smile!"
Ken's grip on his blades suddenly loosened considerably, while his arms became a blur, sending the two Jians hurtling through the air towards Nagi.
"Cantus: Vente!"
The quickly uttered spell produced a brief, but powerful gale that blew the trajectories of the projectiles ringing away to either side of Nagi's head.
There must have been a large amount of magic infused in those blades to be able to maintain that straight line, even when being blown away...
As far as Nagi was concerned, Ken knew how to use magic to degrees, but he was only a swordsman with magic talent, rather than a mage with sword skills. If he didn't know spells, he must not have had a proper education in the theories of magic.
Then he isn't aware of the drawbacks of using so much magic inefficiently. Humans can't infinitely pull more mana as they please. He shouldn't be able to jump this distance, then. I should have enough time to cast something to finish this...!
"Cantus: Ēvocātiō Spīrituālis de Septendecim Valcyriīs Mortiferīs-"
There was the sound of ground smashing that cut off the rest of Nagi's chant. Suddenly, Ken was in his face, both his arms drawn back.
Both of the swordsman's hands were fingers entwined around three swords each.
How did he-!?
Nagi's thoughts switched to warding his face from the six swords that dug into his cloak cum gauntlet. A slight crazed stare from Ken told him that he had been out maneuvered somehow.
The swords this time slid though the cloth of Nagi's brace, leaving the gladiator shocked, while a cry from Ken led the two of them pulling away from each other, the cloak between them tearing apart in the grip of Ken's blades. While Nagi managed to save his right arm from the same fate, darting back and leaving his temporary shield for loss.
That energy... he can use ki as well...!?
Well, this certainly was not good.
All of Ken's blades stabbed towards Nagi. The gladiator mage was out of options for close combat against swords-
"Emitto!"
A bright spike of magic energy covered Nagi's right hand, extending roughly a foot in length past the balled fist. Ken's rosebush of edges collided against this, to Ken's humming surprise, as he ruminated it quickly.
Oh-ho... this Nagi's good enough to try using a Sword of Conviction? But this isn't a perfect one... hardly sword enough to be any sword at all except a fool's glorious suicide...
"Still... you are becoming more and more interesting, Nagi Springfield!"
Ken forced his blades forward, irregardless of the strain they were being put under, being pressed against sheer concentrated magic. Predictably, the material weapons shattered, but the resulting shockwave both parties to be knocked off balance. While Nagi began to stumble backwards, Ken simply grinned, though his waving and empty arms were out of range of attacking the boy, even if they had swords.
Then the swordsman used his off balance momentum to swing himself around into a spinning roundhouse kick that still would have had his heel just swing short of Nagi's neck.
That was, if it were not for another sword sliding out of the man's pant leg, magically affixed to his heel.
Nagi choked as the edged kick slashed into his neck-
Nagi fell apart into conjured ice. Ken snorted.
"He managed to finish and hold onto that Valkyrie spell that long? Tch, delayed spells. He better not be running or hiding...!"
Not far from where he had faked out, Nagi landed heavily on his feet. It was yet another roof, yet hopefully the combination of the raised canopy and stairwell would provide cover for time enough for the boy to catch his breath. His neck sported a bleeding cut that, by some miracle, Nagi had managed to avoid letting slice through anything vital. Adrenaline surged though his brain, leaving him giving off rapid, shallow pants.
This is a real life-threatening duel... It's an actual fight to the death. I can't find an opening for a counterattack. It's just like fighting Master. No. If it weren't for Master's training, this would have been over in an instant.
"This guy..."
"NAGI!"
The gladiator was sent tumbling through the air as the roof exploded from a top hatted, swing swinging meteor. As Nagi flew, his thoughts continued to thin out, while his adrenaline kept rushing through his body, sending him crashing onto a circular roof of a drum shaped center.
Is the real thing... He's strong! A genuine, formidable opponent!
As Nagi stood again, all his anxiety suddenly melted away at that realization. There was only a sudden clarity that it was now just him and Ken, and nothing else really mattered.
Thus, Nagi almost smiled for a second, before mustering all the magic he could in a great yell, the energy even visibly whipping around his body and clothes.
Ken closed in, some surprise marking his face as he leapt through the air.
The atmosphere is changing... this Nagi had this much magic power!? His stance is changing... he wants to meet me head on now...
"Heh, whatever he thinks that can do-!" Ken laughed it off, and continued to soar in at Nagi. The gladiator jumped upward to meet the challenge. With no ground under the swordsman, Ken was free to pull more swords out, two attaching themselves at the ankle, while, three went back to each hand. Twisting at the waist, Ken began flipping around towards Nagi, becoming a confusing mess of limbs and blades that would not reveal which would attack first.
It came when Ken gave a predictable over head swing at Nagi's head with his three swords. The gladiator leaned back sharply, letting the claw narrowly miss his face. Ken had been waiting for that move, though. The swordsman's apparent overly strong swing turned the downward slash into one more tumble, letting his legs come overhead, the two blades on the legs scissoring together to close on Nagi, who was trapped still in the midst of avoiding the last attack, with no new kinetic energy to swing out of the way.
So he didn't.
Ken felt his legs suddenly stop in mid swing. Looking down his body, he choked at Nagi simply having grabbed both of the swordsman's ankles, holding the legs to either side of him. Ken was now left him as the one trapped.
He saw through... he can keep up!?
"...in Meā Manū Ēns Inimīcum Edat-!"
Eye's widening, Ken quickly bent himself at the knees, dragging his upper body towards Nagi, so that he could plunge all his six swords into the gladiator-
"Fulgurātiō Albicans!"
A fistful of lightning simply broke through the swords, made it's way over Ken's chest, and settled itself nicely into his scarred face, with a satisfying Crunch.
"Plghegrgh-!"
Nagi let Ken go, leaving the scarred man dealing with his rattling teeth and bloody nose, while began an even faster chant.
"Ēpōidē: Kenotētos Astrapsatō de Temetō! Dios Tukos!"
With this, Nagi swung his left arm down, releasing a wave of pure electricity onto his enemy. Suspended in mid air as he was, Ken simultaneously disappeared into a silhouette ignited by the magic charge, while being plunged earthward. The electrified shape hit a rooftop with a loud crash, dust sent spiraling into the air.
Nagi, though, now lacked any tact. He was willing to follow through with this until Ken was begging surrender. With that in mind, the boy dropped from the air, with the intention of landing, both feet on the scarred man's face.
Before that could happen, though, the veil of dust burst into a fierce maelstrom of wind, turning Nagi's dive bomb into a pitiful body flittering away in the gusts. Out from the winds, several dozen blades flung themselves towards Nagi. The gladiator threw up his arms forming a multi-tiered shield that let most of the projectiles glance harmlessly off. Two punctured through, though, one grazing Nagi's shoulder, another slashing his side.
Nagi dropped onto the edge of the roof, wincing.
More of both that magic and ki... does he really have that much that!?
From the last of the clearing dust, Ken stood grinning with reddened teeth. His hat disappeared somewhere in the last attack, leaving his wrinkled red hair exposed.
"You never told me you were this good, Nagi...! You had this speed and strength that you never even used during the tournaments! There really is more to you! We finally meet for real, Nagi Springfield!"
"What are you even hoping to accomplish from this fight, anyways!?"
Ken snorted, "Who cares at this point!? I don't care! I just... haven't felt this good in ages... all that matters is who's going to win or lose!"
He looked Nagi straight in the eye, "Now, there's somebody I want to try my best against, too..."
Energy began to burn in either of the scarred man's hands. One violent and roiling, the other svelte and flowing.
"Magic goes in the left, Ki goes in the right..."
Nagi looked on in increasing shock as the combined energy exploded around Ken, throwing the edges of his overcoat upward, the loose bits of his clothes fluttering violently, and his eyes still that almost alarming luminescent green.
This is the same technique that Takahata... that Asuna uses...!?
"C'mon Nagi... don't you enjoy fighting...!?"
Uh-oh.
There was the sound of steel ringing, and Nagi hissed as he found his hands moving for him, palms clamping around a Jian that Ken was trying to push forward into Nagi's throat. The steel was now nearly glowing with the power of Kankaho, the energy searing Nagi's palms, the gladiator's face twisted with pain.
Ken grinned, a deft hand movement suddenly had the sword in his hand shooting forward, as if having been thrown. Nagi, attached to the sword, was flung off the edge of the roof to another while he tried to keep the hurled object from sinking into him.
He's faster than before!
"Aren't we just about even now, NAGI!?"
Nagi looked up to see Ken high in the air from a gigantic leap, his hands full of swords he held by the blades, arms raised above his head. Nagi quickly planted both on the ground, flinging the sword away from his hands, while sending himself skyward in the same instant Ken's arms came down. Nagi's body twisted around as many blazing edges as he could, though it was inevitable much of his body came away gashed from the swords, even as he swung his leg around to kick Ken in the head as hard as he could.
The two battered bodies crashed to the ground, but just as quickly jumped to their feet. Nagi, perhaps when he was thinking more clearly, would have been concerned about the length the fight was dragging out. But now, he was fighting, and even enjoying it.
Ken, inevitably, would always be Ken.
"NAGI SPRINGFIELD!"
"KEN!"
Nagi's magic charged fist made its way into Ken's stomach, doubling him over his arm. That would be a mistake.
In moments, Nagi heard the sound of steel churning through flesh, and felt a spike of agony lance through his arm and into his brain. The gladiator blurred away, sans his right arm, which Ken continued to hold in his hand.
"So this is the limit of this Nagi...?" Ken taunted.
Nagi grunted, clutching the stump of his limb, before charging forward again, "I still... I STILL HAVE MY LEFT!"
Ken held forward a sword in one hand, smiling crazily, and throwing away Nagi's missing arm, "Come have it then, you nearly-but-not-really-NAGI!"
The two, bleeding to pieces as they were, would have continued, sword and magically empowered fist ready to meet each other when a third burly figure suddenly interjected, his hands grabbing both Nagi's fist and catching Ken's sword with his fingers.
Both were visibly shocked at the new figure that had the strength to stop the brawl in a single move. This giant of a man that towered over both Ken and Nagi, with his bronzed muscular frame that was hidden only by an open jacket and a pair of pants, and his wild mane of wheat blond hair.
"Heh... That was a pretty good match. But I'm taking care of this match now!"
Ken recognized the man, which immediately precipitated in letting go of his sword and jumping several feet back.
"Rakan!? What are you doing here?"
Nagi Springfield seemed surprised to hear the name, "Rakan... as in...?"
Jack Rakan turned to Ken first, tossing away the abandoned sword idly.
"You seem to be the same as ever, Sword Circus. Still all itchy for action, huh?"
"Why... why are you defending that Nagi!? That cheap imposter that fights in tournament for cheap fortune and glory!" Ken snarled.
"Oh? But it looked like he was good enough to make you almost forget that, huh?"
Ken gulped, realizing that truth with some embarrassment.
"Still-!"
"Don't worry about it, you punk!" Rakan smirked, before dropping a hand atop Nagi's head, almost affectionately, if one didn't notice the boy was a wreck, "Nagi here is my pupil!"
Ken's eyes bulged as he spluttered, "P-Pupil!? HIM!?"
"That's right! So, kid's under my protection. If you want to deal with him, do it like a grown up and deal with it in the arena!"
"Tch, the arena is the place that's immature... play fighting..."
"Speak for yourself, Sword Circus."
Ken choked, wanting to growl in sheer frustration. But something reality snapped back to him, forcing him to hold his head, seemingly pained. With that, Ken leapt away from the battlefield without a world, leaving "Nagi Springfield" to collapse into the arms of his "teacher".
A day later, a scarred man in an overcoat, sans his checkered top hat, stood in the alley, visibly pained, panting, arms planted into the wall as he tried to recollect himself.
Ken swore to himself, "I... did it again... my blood lust..."
There was the sound of feet shuffling the gravel and sand as they came to a stop near Itano Ken.
"You're still trying to fight your instincts, huh?"
Ken turned a glare towards Rakan, who stood with folded arms a bit back. The swordsman refused to fight him. He was not Nagi, and fighting him was suicide.
"What do you want...?" Kan whined.
"You dropped this."
Ken reached out a hand to grab a crumpled top hat that was tossed his way.
"Rakan, why are you defending some cheap impersonator?"
"Well, I think it'd be natural to try and save every poor fool who thinks pretending to be Nagi would be easy, from someone like you. What would my poor buddy think? That little brat from years back that he gave a hiding to, now pining after him and kicking down the doors of every poor con-man's soul? You know, I think Japan has a name for character archetypes like that... What was it? Yandere?"
"...You're avoiding the question."
"Hmph, touchy, are we? That Nagi there isn't as superfluous as you think. His name is Negi Springfield. He's his son."
"Son!?" Ken was startled by the revelation.
"Same, yet the different, right? Same enough to certainly make you enjoy that fight, I'm sure."
Ken snorted.
"Negi... that's the name of the fellow that took out the Messembria Port, or so it's been said."
"The kid's buddies are lost all over this world. Negi's found three of them, but they're stuck as debt slaves. That's why he's aiming to win the Nagi cup at the Ostia festival, a month from here."
"Surprisingly... noble."
"Yeah, what a guy." Rakan's lips curled a bit, in amusement, before straightening out, "After all these years, you're still trying so hard to stop killing, are you getting any better?"
"...Minus the Nagi bits, well..."
"Though in the end, even if the reasons are good ones, you've become attached to violence. You feel best swimming in it."
"Eugh..."
"Ken, it would be good to have you on our side, soon."
The scarred man chuckled cynically at that, "Bloodsport Fairy Tale has no place on any side. I'm working hard enough just trying to disappear into history."
"That's only if history could stay down. Ken, Cosmo Entellcheia's on the move again."
The name of that organization caused Ken to seize up, and he turned his gaze on Rakan.
"They're back? But he-"
"There's a new kid. He's calling himself Fate Averruncus, this time."
"So that's who's behind all the Gateports..." Ken deduced.
"The last one's at Ostia. Same place where the Nagi cup is going to be. If that's not a locale for a grand finale, I don't know what is. So what do you say, Ken? I need all the help Negi can get, at this time. We're in the middle of something big."
Ken pouted as he fixed the hat back onto his head, and leaned against the wall, "Well... I need to practice doing the right thing, I guess. Maybe I can make it up to the kid..."
"Yeah. But a proper match between you two may still be the best test the kid can have, after me. If you do join the Nagi cup, every one can be happy."
"Hmm. True. I guess I'll check out the festival then."
Rakan nodded, "Go on ahead to Ostia then, I'm gonna give the kid some training after the doctors finish patching him up. You didn't have to cut off his arm, did you?"
Ken shrugged, "I dunno. Seemed reasonable at the time."
"I'm sure it did."
Name: Unknown
Known Aliases/Epithets: Itano Ken, Jester of Ruin, Sword Circus, Bloodsport Fairy Tale, Apocalypse's Opening Act, Carnage Carnival.
Weapon of Choice: Sword Circus
Admires: Nagi Springfield
Points of Interest: Peculiar Facial Scars, Kankaho Proficiency
Profession: Psychopath (Semi-retired)
