The wind shifted. The battlefield held its breath. ‘She’s not hesitating. Not anymore.’ Frost peeled away from her step, swirling in unnatural spirals as she surged forward—eyes flared, weapon raised high, a swing heavy with the weight of pride, pain, and purpose. Her Kanabo cleaved downward like a divine verdict. ‘Tch. So this is how you aim to break me?’
I moved. No retreat. No flinch. I let instinct surge and battle lust flood my limbs. My body tensed and released in perfect rhythm—the kind honed not by practice, but by wars. By the savagery of survival. My grip shifted. Fingers curled. Spear ignited. Haki crawled down Gáe Bolg in violent black veins. It hissed through the air as I thrust forward—not a straight jab, not a wild swing, but a coiling strike, alive with intent.
"Dragon’s Talon". The spear blurred. My control twisted the arc mid-thrust, a sudden redirection that lashed upward like a serpent’s maw snapping shut. Precision and pressure, strength and speed. The hardened tip collided headlong into her descending Kanabo with a thunderous crash.
Cu Str = 120 = Town Level + (DPR S, Dragon's Talon) 4 + 2 Hardening = Small Continent Level
Yamato = 120: 5. Town Level + A:+3 +3(CoA)=11. Small Continent Level (Kanabo)
Result = Draw though the area will take affect of the two attacks
[SFX: BOOM]
The world screamed. The sheer force of the clash ruptured the earth beneath us, sending cracks webbing out like shattered glass. Wind exploded outward in a massive shockwave, ripping through trees, flinging debris skyward.
And then—impact. I skidded back. Feet carved lines into the ground. My jaw clenched as my boots struggled to dig in. The recoil burned through my shoulders and rattled my bones. A grin cracked my face. ‘Heh. You’re not just some loudmouthed heir.’ The ground hissed beneath me, steam rising from the friction of the clash. I steadied my spear, spinning it once before resting its weight against my back shoulder.
“You swing with heart, I’ll give you that,” I muttered, spitting to the side, “but don’t expect that to carry you past a real killer.” Still… my blood was racing. ‘If every hit’s like that… then maybe I won’t get bored after all.’
As all this took place a ominous on looker watched his prey.
Yamato's claws were plunged deep into the earth, guarding her stance as she skid backwards from their terrible clash. Yamato had to split her focus although, she did not mind putting her all into this confrontation. Even though it would make a horrible splitting headache later, assuming she made it out on top in the confrontation, she still pushed strongly. Her determination shined brightly and fed her muscles through a massive spike in adrenaline, she feared nothing; even with her core temperature low due to the maintenance of her icy-shroud she stood with minimal anxieties.
She stopped herself, the ground forming a light permafrost as the humidity in the air solidified due to the sudden drop in temperature. "I'll accept your half-hearted praise, but I don't plan on stopping. Not anytime soon, I won't stop until your gone. Gone for good." She replied, cementing her goals and speaking truth into her spirit so it be made manifest.
She held her kanabo with great intent, she deeply inhaled and let off a relieving sigh to relax her mind. Her breathe misty from the cold. She spun her weapon, skilfully showcasing herself with a bright smile.
She dashed at Cú Chulainn, a she sharply inhaled as she help her weapon high, taking a keen advantage of the vantage point she was briefly given. She swung once again, to meet the spear man and to continue forging forwards! Her haki crackled showing a brim of advanced usage, she was passionate and extreme.
120: 5. Town Level + A:+3 +3(CoA) = 11. Small Continent Level (Kanabo)
The ground groaned beneath her frozen presence, a white haze rolling off her like steam from a boiling sea. Her momentum hadn’t died down. If anything, it sharpened—her spirit flaring as she closed the distance again, swinging that Kanabo like it was judgment day. Tch. Not wasting time. I spun Gáe Bolg in my grip, its haft pulsing under the strain of my own blood. My arm twisted, muscles tightening with an eerie slowness—measured, controlled. A reaction born not from panic, but instinct refined through battle. I didn’t care for her declarations. Words didn’t matter. Intent didn’t matter. Only what you brought to the strike.
I planted my feet hard into the earth, the tendons in my calves and thighs bracing for the weight of what came next. My tail flicked behind me, more from habit than emotion, while inside me, the toxins stirred—thick, ancient, and ready. They rose with my will, churning through every vein with a predatory hunger, not meant to disable, but to end. The spear in my hand felt it first, as if it understood. My breath came steady—cold, then hot—like venomous mist hissing through a vent. Fangs grit tight, jaw locked, eyes forward. The energy started to slip through my pores, a slow leak of sickly purple vapor coiling up my arm and into the weapon like smoke from a sacrificial altar.
My grip tightened. Gáe Bolg pulsed with life—my life—and that cursed haze bubbled outward, dripping from the edge like oil before a blaze. My Armament Haki surged to match it—pure obsidian black, shining faintly with the force of hardened will. I slammed the spear’s butt into the ground, the sound echoing like thunder across the broken field. That was the anchor. From the spear’s pointed tip came a swirling core of toxic mist, spinning violently and rapidly—then breaking open. From within that core, something monstrous took shape. A long, serpentine head, its mouth wide, fangs flared. Its body coiled violently, wings of vapor, scales of poison, eyes of death.
“Venom Dragon Emperor.” The name alone burned across my tongue as I thrust the spear forward, unleashing the beast. It snapped through the battlefield with the force of a cannon’s roar, each coil cutting through the air like a whip. The serpent, massive and fully formed, tore through trees and scorched stone with the mere pressure of its presence. The haze it left behind corrupted the air itself, a choking miasma of rot and ruin. Its form danced through the open field like it owned the world, and I didn’t need to guide it. It knew. My blood fed it. My hate guided it. That was enough.
The clash was fierce, enough to kick the breath from my lungs as the shockwave snapped across my skin and forced me back. I felt the ground slip beneath my boots, friction torn away under the pressure. I skidded, teeth gritted, dragging Gáe Bolg through the torn-up earth to anchor myself again. The blast had weight. She wasn’t just surviving—she was biting back. That was fine. That was what I wanted. ‘Keep swinging. Keep coming. But know this—pressure only builds... and poison only spreads.’
Without giving her room to breathe, I lifted my arms outward, the scales glistening as dark purple liquid began to seep from every pore like sweat from the underworld. I didn’t wait for the venom to reach the ground. With a brutal motion, I whipped my arms through the air—twice, fast and wide—launching arcs of poison into the sky. The vapor caught the dying light of the battlefield, reflecting sickly hues that shimmered between purple and black. I clenched my fists and focused the buildup of toxins now bubbling at my wrists, letting the rot settle heavy in my muscles.
“Dragon Venom.” I growled low, voice like gravel, as I thrust both palms outward. From the swirling mist above me, the venom answered my will, pulling itself together into a new beast—serpentine in shape, just like its predecessor, but wilder, rawer, as though born from hate alone. It hissed, howled, and surged down like a divine curse. A second dragon. Not crafted from form, but fury. The air bent around it, a wave of venom crashing forward in a torrent of blight. It wasn’t a technique of elegance. It was pure pressure, a hammer of noxious death sent to smother, to blind, to drown. The field turned violet. The cold? I didn’t feel it. Only the taste of kill in the back of my throat.
And then, the environment changed.
The venom soaked into the earth like ink into cloth. Grass died before it touched soil. Trees wept black droplets from their bark, some splitting open as toxins infected their roots. The air itself turned heavier, harder to breathe. Every breeze felt like a swarm of needles—burning, itching, clinging. Even the light above dimmed, not by clouds, but by the sheer toxicity in the atmosphere. The battlefield became a pit, an open wound where life was repelled by the presence of something unnatural—me.
Steam hissed from shattered stone where the poison touched ice. The permafrost beneath Yamato’s feet began to erode, pockets of sickly warmth spreading through the chill, melting through it with venomous contempt. Her battlefield was no longer hers. Not anymore. I was carving my territory into it—claiming it, desecrating it.
So let her come again. Let her charge. The field wouldn’t stay frozen. It would rot. It would choke. And when her lungs screamed for clean air, when her body burned from the inside... maybe then she’d understand--
--this wasn’t a clash.
It was a hunt.
Venom Dragon Emperor: Cu Base = 120 (Town Level) + DPR: S / +4 +2 Hardening = Small Continent Level
Venom Dragon Emperor would cancel the attack as equal DPR
Dragon Venom: Cu Base = 120 (Town Level) + DPR: A / +3 = Island Level
Venom Dragon Emperor would inflict Major Poison but choosing not to use the status incfliction of it
Dragon Venom inflicts Mild/Mid Poison:
Mid poison: does an average amount of damage (C rank). lasts for 4-5 turns. Requires at least 51 mastery
They clashed once again, vaporuous-serpentine like poison thrust that had encapsulated the complete might of Cú Chulainn. They whiplashed, the atmosphere screaming in agony from their intense confrontation, and she skid backwards once again spreading her light permafrost alas Chulainn wasn't finished, he came with a vengance, he had cemented himself as a viable adversary intent of triumphing over Yamato. He was the driving force that would push her to the brink of collapse and snuff out her glimmer of hope; he controlled and formulated the poison mist, he scattered poison into the skies, "What hell is he up to?!" she mentally acclaimed. She was worried, picking up her kanabo she took a defensive stance, this adversary was much akin to a viper. Quick and powerful thanks to it's potent venom, the rot gathered at his wrists and it took form Yamato's eyes solidified in focus and intent. "Another serpent!"
His movements weren't shrouded in mystery but the threat his poison posed made it difficult to approach, considering she was already battling it's effects with the sheer cold of her devil fruit, adding more to her being would put her in a grave situation. She lifted her back paw and further solidifying her stance, bending her knees and ankles like a coil, a spring ready to leap into action once more. In the time she had, she to concuct a plan, a plan to remain rooted in this battle. Rooted enough and to a sufficient point where her options weren't limited by the miniscule movements she had to take to avoid the poisons deadliness.
"My ice--" She briefly thought, the gentle breeze acting against her. An unintentional allegience only possible due to a coincidental shift in the wind.
She flowed her haki and coated her fists and subsequently her Kanabo, she enhanced the air around it as well, she can't risk improper contact. Her ice acted as an additional aid, a turning point in maintaining her footing within this confrontation.
“Dragon Venom.” I growled low, voice like gravel, as I thrust both palms outward. From the swirling mist above me, the venom answered my will, pulling itself together into a new beast—serpentine in shape, just like its predecessor, but wilder, rawer, as though born from hate alone. It hissed, howled, and surged down like a divine curse. A second dragon. Not crafted from form, but fury. The air bent around it, a wave of venom crashing forward in a torrent of blight. It wasn’t a technique of elegance. It was pure pressure, a hammer of noxious death sent to smother, to blind, to drown. The field turned violet. The cold? I didn’t feel it. Only the taste of kill in the back of my throat.
And then, the environment changed.
The venom soaked into the earth like ink into cloth. Grass died before it touched soil. Trees wept black droplets from their bark, some splitting open as toxins infected their roots. The air itself turned heavier, harder to breathe. Every breeze felt like a swarm of needles—burning, itching, clinging. Even the light above dimmed, not by clouds, but by the sheer toxicity in the atmosphere. The battlefield became a pit, an open wound where life was repelled by the presence of something unnatural—me.
Steam hissed from shattered stone where the poison touched ice. The permafrost beneath Yamato’s feet began to erode, pockets of sickly warmth spreading through the chill, melting through it with venomous contempt. Her battlefield was no longer hers. Not anymore. I was carving my territory into it—claiming it, desecrating it.
The poison dragon tore through the air, the warmth of the toxins melting her permafrost that covered the earth as it hurdled towards her. Her mind was taxed but she still honed herself, remaining composed enough to limit and free certain aspects of her person to ensure she wasn't placed at a disadvanatge due to a miscalculation. At the last second, she veered at the last moment shifting her body with a quick side step combined with a dowards swipe with her Kanabo, enhancing the weapon and projecting a bit of her haki to lightly deflect the attack! She confidently back stepped, the poison had spread even further, spraying more toxins across the battlefield to further expand Chulainn's territory but that was apart of her impromtu plan.
120: 5. Town Level + A:+3 +3(CoA) = 11. Small Continent Level (Kanabo)
Dragon Venom: Cu Base = 120 (Town Level) + DPR: A / +3 = Island Level
Verdict: Attack is 3 DPR higher: Overwhelms the weaker attack but loses 2~DPR
Poison was an organic substance and the warmth that it radiated came from the moving molecules present in it's basic structure, and due it's origin being sourced from a living body however most poisons work through infecting the circulatory systems of it's pray BUT once halted, it proves ineffective unless directly absorbed by the victim.
She whipped her head back, swallowing a deep inhale of fresh air as much as she could. Narrowly avoiding compound infection, ice still forming as a permafrost where ever she had stepped, her chest puffed up showcasing this inhumane intake and she swung forwards. In a strong breathe she shot a beam, a wide spray of ice, exclaiming with full confidence: "Namuji Hyoga!"
Namuji Hyoga (無侍氷牙ナムジヒョウガ Namuji Hyōga, literally meaning "Non-Samurai Ice Fang"): A technique where Yamato rears her head back, takes a deep breath, and then abruptly exhales forward a dense blast of cold air at her target of choice, ideally freezing that target solid. DPR S+: 120 Devil Fruit Mastery (Ranged AOE)
DPR: 120: 5. Town Level + S+(5) = 10. Large Country Level
10. Large Country Level vs 8. Island Level = Attack is 2 DPR higher: Overwhelms the weaker attack but loses 3~DPR
(Determines the effectiveness of freezing the warm posion solid)
Starting from her right side where the poison dragon presumably continued to fly, the poison being sprung into the air, she passed over it in a sub-zero ray freezing both the toxic sludge and the venomous air solid. Her core temperature plummeted and the air around her fell to frigid temperatures as well, ice formed all around her from the drop and she aimed her beam coming forwards as well providing a powerful division in the battlefield, walls of ice meters thick formed like sharp petrusions stabbing outwards shot from her beam. The brief drop in termperature halted the dastardly poison and stopped any chances of her being poisoned from here onwards, she ran out of breathe and stopped. She regained her breathe and took this moment to think, "I hope this serves as an incentive reminder--" she began to ponder. Re-affirming herself as she stepped forward and strongly. Her words transferred and left her mouth in a brutal cry, "I hope this serves as an incentive, a reminder--" an ancient growl bellowed from the base line from her voice, as the frozen air turned to mist from her frigid blast obscured her side of the battlefield, "--that you are no match for me!"
She proudly declared!
"This will bite me if I force him to lose his cool and I end up, losing the advanatage I so clearly discovered. Freezing the poison with my devil fruit before and whilst being infected diminishes it's effectiveness considerably but I must strike him down else all will be lost." She monologued, in the brief down time of this confrontation.
Breathing heavy, a low rumble echoed in my chest as my lungs dragged in the chilled air. Tch. Frost biting at my skin, the battlefield glazed over in a flash freeze — sharp, vicious, and tactical. She was better than I thought. My fangs ached at the back of my jaw, instincts scratching and clawing to be unleashed. The reptile in me stirred, thrashing against my ribs.
'Don't think. Move. Feel. Strike.'
I dropped my weight low, one hand brushing over the frozen crust of the earth. Eyes keen and slitted, I studied the battlefield; the ice was thick, but... not infallible. Cracks forming under the slightest pressure, fissures just waiting to be pried open. Cold may slow the poison... but it couldn't erase it. Not entirely. Not while I still breathed.
I clicked my tongue, a sharp, reptilian sound — my grin splitting wide with savage glee.
"Heh... clever, little cub. But I've got venom older than the bones of this world," I muttered under my breath.
I let my body slip into instinct, the reptilian half sharpening my senses, the battlemonger guiding my hands. Toxins welled under my skin again, my sweat turning slick and oily — ready.
I rolled my shoulder back, moulted skin sloughing off with every wide, brutal swing of my spear. Pieces of it scattered and spiked into the fractured battlefield. They hissed when they landed, the air shimmering purple around them — a trap field layered with my own discarded scales, buzzing and bubbling with lethal intent.
A satisfying hum filled the air ... indigo bubbles rose from where my toxic sheddings lay. Purple waves, fine and subtle at first, pulsed outward from each point. Step wrong, even breathe too close ... and the venom would seep in, devouring from within. This was no longer her frozen arena.
This was my killing ground.
But I wasn't finished as my forearms turned in hue, showing my will with armament haki.
Pivoting low, I jammed my spear deep into the frozen soil ... the sharpened point screeched through the brittle ice and struck the thawed earth beneath. I roared from deep within my gut, from that primal place that knew only domination ... forcing Toxia through the shaft and into the ground.
The soil shuddered ... a moment of silence ...
Then BOOM ... a corrosive shockwave exploded outward in every direction.
"Toxic Mine."
Shards of poisoned ice and soil sprayed high into the air, misting the battlefield in another hellish cloud of rot and death. The ground buckled, cracks spider-webbing outward, releasing purple vapors through the wounds I'd carved into the earth. The poison wasn’t just on the ground anymore ... it was the ground.
I turned her fortress into a coffin.
I licked a sharp canine as I stood, my silhouette framed by the dark, seething mist of my own making.
"Not bad, cub," I said low, voice carrying on the poisonous winds. "But you can't freeze instinct. You can't halt the blood."
My pupils slit tighter, honing in on her figure through the mist. A slow, deliberate step forward — the battlefield alive beneath my feet with my venom, eager, hungry. Every movement she made now would be watched, calculated.
In this game of monsters, hesitation was death. And I had no intention of dying today.
Toxic spikes is being used as a DOT, damage over time so just the status effect and will inflict Major Poison
Major poison: moderate amount of damage each turn and resets if they are hit by anything that can mid poison or above up to a max of 3 times (B rank). lasts for 5-6 turns. Requires at least 71 mastery
Breathing heavy, a low rumble echoed in my chest as my lungs dragged in the chilled air. Tch. Frost biting at my skin, the battlefield glazed over in a flash freeze — sharp, vicious, and tactical. She was better than I thought. My fangs ached at the back of my jaw, instincts scratching and clawing to be unleashed. The reptile in me stirred, thrashing against my ribs.
'Don't think. Move. Feel. Strike.'
I dropped my weight low, one hand brushing over the frozen crust of the earth. Eyes keen and slitted, I studied the battlefield; the ice was thick, but... not infallible. Cracks forming under the slightest pressure, fissures just waiting to be pried open. Cold may slow the poison... but it couldn't erase it. Not entirely. Not while I still breathed.
I clicked my tongue, a sharp, reptilian sound — my grin splitting wide with savage glee.
"Heh... clever, little cub. But I've got venom older than the bones of this world," I muttered under my breath.
I let my body slip into instinct, the reptilian half sharpening my senses, the battlemonger guiding my hands. Toxins welled under my skin again, my sweat turning slick and oily — ready.
I rolled my shoulder back, moulted skin sloughing off with every wide, brutal swing of my spear. Pieces of it scattered and spiked into the fractured battlefield. They hissed when they landed, the air shimmering purple around them — a trap field layered with my own discarded scales, buzzing and bubbling with lethal intent.
A satisfying hum filled the air ... indigo bubbles rose from where my toxic sheddings lay. Purple waves, fine and subtle at first, pulsed outward from each point. Step wrong, even breathe too close ... and the venom would seep in, devouring from within. This was no longer her frozen arena.
This was my killing ground.
But I wasn't finished as my forearms turned in hue, showing my will with armament haki.
Pivoting low, I jammed my spear deep into the frozen soil ... the sharpened point screeched through the brittle ice and struck the thawed earth beneath. I roared from deep within my gut, from that primal place that knew only domination ... forcing Toxia through the shaft and into the ground.
The soil shuddered ... a moment of silence ...
Then BOOM ... a corrosive shockwave exploded outward in every direction.
"Toxic Mine."
Shards of poisoned ice and soil sprayed high into the air, misting the battlefield in another hellish cloud of rot and death. The ground buckled, cracks spider-webbing outward, releasing purple vapors through the wounds I'd carved into the earth. The poison wasn’t just on the ground anymore ... it was the ground.
I turned her fortress into a coffin.
I licked a sharp canine as I stood, my silhouette framed by the dark, seething mist of my own making.
"Not bad, cub," I said low, voice carrying on the poisonous winds. "But you can't freeze instinct. You can't halt the blood."
My pupils slit tighter, honing in on her figure through the mist. A slow, deliberate step forward — the battlefield alive beneath my feet with my venom, eager, hungry. Every movement she made now would be watched, calculated.
In this game of monsters, hesitation was death. And I had no intention of dying today.
Toxic spikes is being used as a DOT, damage over time so just the status effect and will inflict Major Poison
Toxic Mine = Cu Str = 120 (Town Level) + DPR S = +4 + Armament Haki + 2 Hardening = Small Continent Level
Toxic spikes spread across the battlefield and poison swelled from beneathe her flash-froze ice. She twirled her kanabo and retreated, putting some distance between them, a frosted cloud emmanting from her body as her ice continued to dry-freeze the air. "This is bad, too bad for me to face head on." She thought, after five powerful back dashes she opened the gap between them spacing herself from the poison being spread through the air.
"What if I trapped him in a ball of ice, would he still be able to fight me? Trapping him sounds good but how, that poison is not something to be trifled with. The slightest shift in air can spill an even greater demise, even with the poison slowly circulating in my blood stream, the last thing I need now is poison in my lungs. I can't freeze that part of my body, the icey air would shred my lungs." She thought.
She took a deep breathe in, at her current distance the gaseous fumes of the Toxins had a minimal effect if there hadn't been a gust blasting them in her airways. Frost strongly radiated off her body, a light snow developed upon her snow and at her feet, frozen mist escaped her canine jaws. "Dammit, this will be risky but if I want to keep this battle going I'll have to force it unto him." Yamato affirmed herself and girded her loins, tightening her grip on her weapon. She "felt" her body, trying her best to detect any flaws or imperfections in her body's normal function. The ice slowed the poison in her body so she had ample time to act but for how long?
"This won't be a battle of endurance, so I'll have to cautiously take him on."
She exhaled, realizing her long contemplation had spoiled the breathe she took in. A thick mist of ice and snow flowed outwards. She breathed in once again and dashed into the thick battle! The pool of poison provided a thick cage for both parties to fight within but that was no problem, the speeds at which she could move and her strength, this coffin of death will be the eggress of her worries and burdens! She leapt into the air, the thick fumes of the poison made itself abundantly known. She frosted her nose to cover her nostrils, she came down with an immense vengeance and she exploded into a thick fray of ice! Frosted winds spread outwards as the poison pool froze over!
DPR: 120: 5. Town Level + S+(5) + Ryou (3) =13. Moon Level
Verdict: 11. Small Continent Level vs 13. Moon Level; Attack is 2 DPR higher: Overwhelms the weaker attack but loses 3~DPR
The air froze, the poison solidified and Cú Chulainn was the prime target for her wrath! However she was working on a tight schedule, this battle is a pre-determined bout, keeping Cú Chulainn at a distance allowed him to continue to ooze poison unto this battlefield and push the bout to his favor and so Yamato had a bold plan. With her feet now supported by the ice, the pool's threat minimized by eliminating it's surface area and freezing a majority of the fumes that followed due to her sheer cold. She dashed for Cú Chulainn amidst this time, not leaving a moment to spare for him to set up yet another attack! She lifted her Kanabo and struck from overhead!
120: 5. Town Level + A:+3 +3(CoA) = 11. Small Continent Level
My breath hit the cold air like steam rising from fresh blood. My chest heaved under the weight of the battle. Each inhale burned, and each exhale tasted like metal. The gash across my abdomen pulsed with hot agony—deep enough to kiss bone. Blood clung to my side, sticky and thick, running over scaled skin. I could feel the damage, each heartbeat a drumbeat in a funeral procession.
My reptilian side stirred, instinct coiling up my spine, hissing warnings into my thoughts. Move. Strike. Survive. I grit my teeth as I crouched lower, hand tightening around my spear.
I glanced at the battlefield. Poison crept like veins through the cracked terrain, the remnants of my Toxia staining the air and soil alike. But the cold… the cold had suppressed its spread. Smart. I hated that.
She's not giving me time. Good. Then I don't have to think.
But even as my mind sharpened, my body trembled. Not in fear—never that—but fatigue. I’d taken too many blows. My muscles ached, every motion drawing on a reserve that felt dangerously close to empty.
Still, my vision sharpened. My heartbeat slowed. Focus surged.
“Let’s see if you can read this.”
I surged forward, channeling the heat of my blood and the haze of pain into motion.
"Dragon's Talon."
My spear twisted unnaturally in my grip, the shaft glinting under the strain of mastery. Ryou—advanced Haki—coated its surface, an invisible pressure pulsing from the point down the length of the weapon and into my arm. I twisted my hips and drove the attack forward, then—just before contact—redirected it with a jarring snap. The spear bent through air like a serpent, its trajectory veering as I commanded.
A colossal shockwave exploded from the clash—dust, ice, debris, even the lingering threads of frozen poison were hurled into the air like discarded paper. The ground beneath us cracked in wide veins, spidering out with a thunderous crack. Even my knees buckled under the force.
Pain radiated from my abdomen—my own body rebelling against the ferocity of my technique. I nearly fell, the spear shaking in my hand.
I staggered.
Blood dripped from my chin.
Then—a memory.
The taste of iron. The smell of grass and ash. The first time I fell. The first time I lost.
And across from me, standing quiet and resolute… was him.
A boy with ancient eyes and a sword that hummed with memory—Link.
He offered me his hand. Not in pity, but in respect. I remembered slapping it away.
"You're strong," he said.
I remembered those words because I hated them. Because they felt wrong. Because it meant I wasn’t strong enough.
Never again. I snarled to myself.
I couldn’t suffer another "2" in my ledger.
I couldn’t lose—not here. Not now.
With a guttural growl I raised my spear one final time, pouring everything I had left into the thrust. I channeled every last ounce of Ryou into the barbed point, the advanced Haki pulsing and flaring like a furnace in my hands. The very air around the weapon warped from pressure, thin lines of blood running down the handle from my torn palms.
I lunged—
"GAE BOLG! - Barbed Spear That Pierces With Death."
The world shrank to a single thrust aimed straight at the heart. Not the surface. Not the chest. The heart.
The path was sealed. The barbs would twist, pierce, and rupture. That was the curse of this spear—once cast, its mark was inevitable.
I felt the recoil. The backlash of channeling too much power into a body already half broken.
My knees hit the frozen earth.
My breath left me.
My vision swam with red and white haze.
Damn it…
Even my instincts were dulled now, slowed by blood loss and exhaustion.
But the strike had been made.
Whether it connected or not—I had no more left to give.
And I would not… could not—
Allow myself to taste that bitter ash of defeat again.
Not ever.
Your first attack that is Moon Level - 3 DPR = Small Continent Level
Cu Dura = City Level
Result = Super Effective
My spear twisted unnaturally in my grip, the shaft glinting under the strain of mastery. Ryou—advanced Haki—coated its surface, an invisible pressure pulsing from the point down the length of the weapon and into my arm. I twisted my hips and drove the attack forward, then—just before contact—redirected it with a jarring snap. The spear bent through air like a serpent, its trajectory veering as I commanded.
A colossal shockwave exploded from the clash—dust, ice, debris, even the lingering threads of frozen poison were hurled into the air like discarded paper. The ground beneath us cracked in wide veins, spidering out with a thunderous crack. Even my knees buckled under the force.
Pain radiated from my abdomen—my own body rebelling against the ferocity of my technique. I nearly fell, the spear shaking in my hand.
The two clashed, an explosion of force and wind drew them apart and Yamato stepped backwards. Cu Chulainn staggered, his body clearly taking on a defecit considering their difference in strength. "My strength won't dwindle, not now, not until I have completed my duty. I am Kozuki Oden!" Yamato coaxed her consciousness, taking on the burden of keeping the circulation of poison in her blood to a minimal through precise control over her ice and sheer cold, "He's strong and he's persistent. The poison is nothing but a nuisance and not to mention, my--" Yamato had to take on an additional burden.
Her mind was being lost to the mythical dog that had been gifted to her by her devil fruit, and just then, Cu Chulainn was given the perfect opportunity to strike.
With a guttural growl I raised my spear one final time, pouring everything I had left into the thrust. I channeled every last ounce of Ryou into the barbed point, the advanced Haki pulsing and flaring like a furnace in my hands. The very air around the weapon warped from pressure, thin lines of blood running down the handle from my torn palms.
I lunged—
"GAE BOLG! - Barbed Spear That Pierces With Death."
The world shrank to a single thrust aimed straight at the heart. Not the surface. Not the chest. The heart.
The path was sealed. The barbs would twist, pierce, and rupture. That was the curse of this spear—once cast, its mark was inevitable.
I felt the recoil. The backlash of channeling too much power into a body already half broken.
My knees hit the frozen earth.
My breath left me.
My vision swam with red and white haze.
Damn it…
Even my instincts were dulled now, slowed by blood loss and exhaustion.
But the strike had been made.
Whether it connected or not—I had no more left to give.
And I would not… could not—
Allow myself to taste that bitter ash of defeat again.
Cu Chulainn's might, garnered in a singular and powerful thrust. The air pressure rippled violently and his haki only added extreme testiments to his power however Yamato had been pushed into a corner, time was running out on her end of the battlefield. Gae Bolg released, she read his incoming movements, poised to dodge. At that distance and the hesitation she had due to her powers put her at a grave disadvanatage one that would not allow her to leave this interaction unscathed.
The surrounding temperature about the two began to fall, Gae Bolg released but it did not hit it's mark!! Yamato stepped into his strike, although risking killing herself she instead sacrificed a chunk out of the side of her flesh! Her focus dropped immensely and her fortitude broke, silently though her last moments of cognitive consciousness she tugged with the control of her person.
"I am Kozuki Oden!" She declared to herself, the deterioation was quick, much to quick for her to garner words. It was like a wild animal at the very center of a storm, it was quick and like a thief in the night it had come for her body. At the very corner of her mind, the Okuchi approached Yamato, it was a snowy valley surrounded by steep pure-white mountains. She stared at the mythical dog as it's graceful snout lowered to her.
"I am Kozuki Oden!" She blared at the dog, she was bewildered-- that seems to be the only thing she was capable of saying. Her mind so fixated on her desire and dream and sense of duty that, it only recalls the admiration for the great samurai who had stood against her father all those years ago, she looked up to his nobility and sacrifice, she urged herself to exude similar qualities to honor his name. Now, that declaration will be the only haunting thought filling her mind.
Her soul screamed in agony, it's words not being translated to conscious thought.
"I am Kozuki Oden-- I AM KOZUKI ODEN!!!-- I AM KOZUKI ODEN!!!"
"I AM KOZUKI ODEN, I AM KOZUKI ODEN, I AM KOZUKI ODEN, I AM KOZUKI ODEN--"
Her beastly body enlarged whilst blood profusely sprayed from her open wound, Cu Chulainn's spear hit apart of it's target but did not strike her down. Permafrost froze atop her fur and solid ice filled the gap in her side. Her eyes grew red, the smoke cloud ring surrounding her torso warped and grew black. Her teeth sharpened, her eyes reddenned and her claws grew astronomically sharper. Acting in the small space she was given, her jaws sprung wide open and her powers formed large sharp ice jaws-- She spoke, muffled and bloodlusted, "I am Kozuki Oden!"
Mythical Dance: Druid Maw of the Ice Fang!
Mastery: 120 Devil Fruit Mastery, 100 Strength, 100 Speed
A twister dash, she leapt at Cu Chulainn in attempt to clamp down upon him with the icey jaws she had made. She would then death roll with such an intensity that she'd spin like a twister, ripping and tearing at his flesh whilst dragging him through the earth, hard frozen poison!
Amplified to a point in which it's a super effective attack upon Cu.
DPR: 120: 5. Town Level + S+(5) + Ryou (3) =13. Moon Level
Blood poured freely from the ragged tear in my shoulder, hot, thick, and endless, like molten slag gushing from a ruptured forge. I could feel every drop as it escaped me, slithering down my skin in sickly warmth, soaking into the dirt below like it was trying to feed the hungry earth itself. My fingers clawed at the wound, trying to contain it, but there was too much damage. Bone jutted out, slick with crimson, shards of it grinding against each other like shattered glass being twisted in raw muscle. The agony was electric. Every twitch of sinew, every shift of skin, was a fresh scream. My hand spasmed. My breath hitched. The smell of my own blood was iron-heavy and bitter, mixing with the fetid stench of ruptured flesh. Every heartbeat echoed like cannonfire in my skull. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. A war drum heralding the edge of consciousness.
I staggered, but I didn’t fall. I refused to. My body trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of my own hate. The pain had long since stopped being a warning. It was now fuel. My lungs dragged in ragged gulps of air, burning with each inhale. My throat was raw from snarling. My vision swam in a haze of red and black. Yet even through this carnage, my mind was sharp. Focused. War-honed. I laughed through broken teeth, blood leaking from the corners of my mouth, warm and syrupy. "So this is what dying feels like," I muttered, voice gravel-thick and shaking. My heart beat faster, each pump forcing more blood out of my body in rhythmic spurts that soaked the earth and stained my legs. I should’ve dropped. I should’ve. But I’m not like the rest of them. I’m Cú Chulainn. I’m the spear. I am war.
Ryou surged through my body in thick, pulsating waves, black and bruising in color. My Armament Haki boiled out from my very bones. It clung to me like an oil slick, dirty and venomous. I felt it rise from deep in my gut, crawling up my spine like a serpent coiling around my ribs. My veins lit up, bulging, as I forced every drop of aura into my right arm. I could feel the skin tighten, feel tendons tear and regrow under pressure. Poison—followed it, crawling along the surface of my spear like a million invisible insects, fangs bared, waiting to feast. My entire body screamed, my nerves flaring like wildfire, but I grabbed Gáe Bolg and locked into my final form.
I remembered that first loss. That one stain in my record. That moment—the first moment I tasted failure—haunted me like a damn ghost. A flash of green. A boy with eyes full of purity and pain. Link. His blade struck me down in the past, but I had vowed: never again. There will never be a "2" in my losses. Not while my body still breathes. Not while my rage still burns.
With a roar that cracked my throat raw, I hurled "Gáe Bolg, Soaring Spear that Strikes with Death."
It screamed through the air like a banshee, unstoppable, reality itself trembling in its wake. The ground split open beneath it. The sky seemed to warp around its path. Everything—every sound, every breath—went silent in that instant. The very forest stopped moving. The world seemed to hold its breath.
And then.
My Conqueror’s Haki vanished.
It didn’t fade. It disappeared. Snuffed out in the split second before impact, like a candle crushed under a boot. I felt it tear away from me like a vital organ being ripped out. A hollowness replaced it, cold and terrifying. My eyes widened, instincts screaming. I tried to will it back, but it was gone.
The spear met its mark and clashed headfirst with something massive and monstrous.
A colossal boom erupted, a thunderous detonation that tore across the battlefield like a divine explosion. The impact overwhelmed my attack. Gáe Bolg shuddered, cracked, and was engulfed. The pressure from the opposing force collapsed it inward, swallowing the venom and Haki in a burst of raw power. The detonation blasted blood across the clearing—my blood—splattering the air like red fireworks. The force of the collision slammed into me like a tidal wave made of fists and fury.
I was flung backward.
The trees didn’t stop me. They shattered on contact. One after another splintered like toothpicks, bark erupting into a hurricane of wooden shrapnel. My body twisted unnaturally, limbs flailing, spine contorting midair. Debris exploded outward from the impact trail, branches and stones blown apart as my form carved a destructive arc through the forest. The force drove me into the ground with such violence that the earth cratered beneath me. Rocks cracked, roots snapped, and a spray of soil and blood erupted like a geyser.
When I finally stopped, I was barely a shape. Blood trailed from the point of impact to where I now lay, a long, grotesque smear across the forest floor. Bones jutted from beneath torn muscle. My jaw was split, chest caved. My right arm twitched, still trying to lift Gáe Bolg’s ruined shaft. Breathing felt like drowning in molten glass.
And yet, in the smoke, in the ruin... my eyes remained open.
"Not yet," I hissed between shredded lungs. "Not dead yet."
The colossal overflow of haki attracted Roland, Grog, Kurama, and Namor who were alerted and made a beeline to the scene with Vergil watching in the shadows smirking noticing a weakness in the one who called herself Kozuki Oden.
Cu's attack total would be Large Country and your attack is +3 higher in DPR, but deciding to take the brunt of the Moon Level attack bang on and make it super effective.
The rampaging beasts jaws clamped down on it's pray, an ice twister ensued and it tore through the terrain as light frost scattered above the ground. The poisonous coffin once set by Cú Chulainn, was of no concern to her. They travelled quite a distance from the heart of the toxic clouds and with the damage he had sustained he couldn't reignite the technique, although something did catch the beasts attention. As their opponent tried to recover, it noted a slight prick. An attack that once radiated with powerful haki had quickly diminished, it seems as though he planned to trade blows but lost his strength after being mauled by Yamato.
It pricked her fur, not enough strength or potency to put a dent in her defenses. The beast spat out Cú Chulainn's flesh, blood dripped from her snout. "I- I am Kozuki Oden!" The beast growled, stepping closer to her adversary.
10. Large Country Level vs 101-119: 6. City Level
DPR 2 or more higher than dura: super effective
Or so it believed, Cú Chulainn's spear thrust was a glorious attack and it had struck her again in her torso on the outer skirts of her sides.
This was an internal struggle, Yamato's abilities had fully consumed her however she was still strong. Strong enough to stand in opposition without proper cognitive thought. The beast breathed, each breathe telling a powerful tale of exhaustion and exhertion. It had been using it's all, maintaining the ice within it's body and toughing out the Gae Bolg that had pierced a hole through it's side. The spin, although potent, forced the torso to stretch and so dislodged a bit of the ice of the first Gae Bolg she had taken, and so both wounds were opened and gaping.
The beast covered it's exposed side, it recoated the wound and merely breathed it's icy mist into the air.
"I- I-"
"I- I am Kozuki. Oden. I am Kozuki Oden!" She roared, in it's brief downtime it shared no more intentions of relief. Cú Chulainn was an enemy and he needed to be erradicated. She took a deep breathe in and garnered her ice breathe, this technique wasn't same as before. To not leave herself exposed and vulnerable, she took a different approach. A variant, if you'd like to acknowledge her creativity--
Namuji Hyoga: Single Shot
A variant to the regular Namuji Hyoga, Yamato fires a cannon ball of breathe at a targe to quickly freeze and encapsulate them in ice. It is much quicker than her regular breathe and leaves her much less exposed. DPR S: 100 Devil Fruit Mastery
DPR: 120: 5. Town Level + S+(5) = 10. Large Country Level
Everything’s wet. Not rain. Blood. My blood. The taste of iron coats my teeth and throat, choking me with every ragged breath. My heartbeat is slowing, thump… thump… each beat like a war drum echoing inside my skull, louder than the world around me. I can't move. My arms twitch in pointless spasms. The wound where her jaws tore through me pulses with a heat that blurs my vision. Frost clings to everything, even my skin. My blood steams on the frozen earth. It’s beautiful, in a way, morbidly beautiful.
This is my second loss. Second. And it’s not the pain that gnaws at me the most, it’s the shame. The humiliation. The rage. My body is a ruin of scars and frostbite, but it’s my pride that’s truly shattered. And yet, even through this agony, some twisted part of me smiles. Because now I’ve seen it. The way she fights. The way she loses herself. She’s strong, undeniably, but the beast she becomes doesn’t think. I do. That gives me the edge.
Still, the pain is maddening. Every breath sears, every twitch sends bolts of lightning through my nerves. When I thrust Gáe Bolg, it was perfect. Haki surged through me like a rising storm. But as the moment came, it vanished. Gone. My strength slipped away like water through cracked stone. Her jaws came down, bones cracked, and she spat me out like filth. Blood erupted from me in torrents. I tried to hold the gash closed. Futile. The warmth of life just kept spilling out.
Then came the light. Four forces breaking the cold. Kurama's crimson whip cracked like thunder. Roland’s gunfire shattered the ice mist. Namor hurled his trident through the storm, and Grog's axe, sheathed in black haki, slammed down in front of me, a wall of salvation. That monstrous cannon blast, the one meant to finish me, was diverted, snatched from the jaws of death by comrades.
I couldn’t tell if I was breathing or just trembling. I saw them, my allies, stand between me and the beast. Kurama and Namor led the charge. Kurama’s voice was sharp, snarling, “No more.” Namor followed, calm but firm, “You’ve won today. But you won’t kill him. Not here.”
Then, a challenge. Namor stepped forward, his trident crackling with Busōshoku no Haki, his expression composed yet fierce. "Enough," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the sea itself. "He’s lost, but he will rise again. In one week's time, or a month if you wish it. No more bloodshed in Kano. Just a duel. Him against you. One-on-one." He paused, eyes narrowing. "A fight in the way of the warrior. Something Oden himself would honour."
Behind him, Kurama gave a slow, deliberate nod, the whip coiled around his arm still humming with crimson energy. Roland, bloodied but standing tall, tipped his gun just enough in silent agreement. Grog, hulking and grim-faced, lowered his axe and nodded once, a deep grunt vibrating through his chest.
Their resolve was unwavering. They weren’t pleading. They were declaring. A pact of steel and blood.
My vision blurred, but through the red mist, I smiled. A real, blood-soaked grin. I’ll live. I’ll return stronger. I’ll fight her again. And next time, I won’t miss.
The heartbeat in my ears faded. The world dimmed. Cold swallowed my senses whole.
I couldn’t tell if I was breathing or just trembling. I saw them, my allies, stand between me and the beast. Kurama and Namor led the charge. Kurama’s voice was sharp, snarling, “No more.” Namor followed, calm but firm, “You’ve won today. But you won’t kill him. Not here.”
Then, a challenge. Namor stepped forward, his trident crackling with Busōshoku no Haki, his expression composed yet fierce. "Enough," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the sea itself. "He’s lost, but he will rise again. In one week's time, or a month if you wish it. No more bloodshed in Kano. Just a duel. Him against you. One-on-one." He paused, eyes narrowing. "A fight in the way of the warrior. Something Oden himself would honour."
Behind him, Kurama gave a slow, deliberate nod, the whip coiled around his arm still humming with crimson energy. Roland, bloodied but standing tall, tipped his gun just enough in silent agreement. Grog, hulking and grim-faced, lowered his axe and nodded once, a deep grunt vibrating through his chest.
Their resolve was unwavering. They weren’t pleading. They were declaring. A pact of steel and blood.
My vision blurred, but through the red mist, I smiled. A real, blood-soaked grin. I’ll live. I’ll return stronger. I’ll fight her again. And next time, I won’t miss.
The heartbeat in my ears faded. The world dimmed. Cold swallowed my senses whole.
The beast halted, it's mouth still encapsulated by the cold. Icy mist steamed from her ajar jaws, "Oden" the only word capable of reaching deep into her subconscious. Her body shrunk and her beastly rage was calmed, although fully conscious the whole battle she did not have control of her person. Now, she did. Standing before her were Chulainn's allies, they had lived did Chinjao and Sai fail to protect Kano? Had the island fallen whilst she labored away at this adversary? "You make heavy demands, asking me to spare him to decide the fate of an Island you don't even own." She uttered, the taxing exhaustion of her Zoan capabilities slowly creeped upon her.
"If it wasn't for my own fatigue--," her sides pulsated. The wounds reopened when she had shrunk down to her regular hybrid form, "--if I wasn't so spent I'd take you all on, however I will accept. The honor and legacy I carry on through undertaking the name Kozuki Oden shall not be left to be trodden under, not by me. Not ever!" She exclaimed. She fell to one knee, she dug her kanabo into the earth, using it as a support to keep her standing.
"Yamato!" Yelled Don Sai, he lived his encounter and so had Don Chinjao. Though Chinjao did not escape unscathed, the two martial artists ran to her aid. Don Sai became her support whilst Chinjao, a mediator. "As demeaning as it may be, my grandson and I suffered great defeats. We were not capable of upholding our ends of the bargain and so we apologize. In exchange for our spared lives we offered our services to teach them martial arts however with this last bargain, you can do what it is we could not."
"You there! Allies of the spearman, since we are both under a truce maybe our cease fire can lead to shared recoveries--," Suggested Chinjao however Yamato was not appeased with that decision.
"How dishonorable!" She blared. "I may have been poisoned and the two of you may have failed your missions, they have no reason to help us. Did you forget what they've come here for?!"
"She was poisoned?!" Thought Don Sai and Chinjao. Shocked and surprised to know that she was.
Yamato was feisty but her body was at it's limits, the poison was circulating through her blood once more as she could not maintain the cold. She had lost consciousness from the severity of her injuries, she was strong and determined but the physical body does not always carry on the will of it's soul. She had shrunken back to human form and fell on her face, Sai and Chinjao were quick. Retrieving their ally and Chinjao continued to plead on their before albeit Yamato's disdain.
"No matter what honor upholds, we have agreed to teach you both. To teach you the secrets of Haosshoken, by your kindness help our friend. She had been poisoned. Heal her, let us teach you and we will all rest until it is time to settle it all with a final battle between our strongest." Chinjao's words out of humility, hoping that their adversaries possessed grace as well as might.
The battlefield had quieted, though the echoes of conflict still lingered in the blood-scented breeze. Kurama stepped forward, his movement precise and deliberate. There was no rush in his actions, only clarity and control. He raised his hand, asserting his role without need for permission.
"I will tend to her wounds," he said, voice even and composed. "She has been poisoned. If only to uphold the terms of this ceasefire and secure the integrity of what follows... she must survive."
He knelt with silent grace, examining the woman before him. His eyes moved quickly, discerning the signs of venom and trauma. The tools he withdrew from his coat were clean, ordered, and rare. Alchemical compounds, carefully chosen. There was no hesitation, only the cold certainty of action.
Namor remained motionless, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed ahead. He did not question Kurama's decision. Authority did not require declaration between them. They understood one another, each bound by principle and pride. Where Namor's pride surged like the tide, Kurama's intellect cut like a current beneath the surface.
"We did not come seeking war," Kurama continued, his tone sharp but calm. "We came under attack. Fox Hound struck first. We responded. It was defense, not aggression. Pushed into Kano by their hand, not our choice."
His words were not for sympathy. They were facts, unclouded by sentiment. Roland gave a quiet nod, one hand on the revolver at his hip, his eyes never resting in one place for long. Grog, hulking and silent, nodded once with the weight of unspoken trust.
Kurama’s hand paused as he observed a shift in the woman's breathing. The antidote was working. The rhythm was stabilizing. He stood, brushing the dust from his coat with a single flick of his wrist.
"She will live. Our part is done. We leave."
But far from the circle of warriors, deep in the shadows of the forest, someone watched.
Hidden among the trees, unseen and silent, an unknown figure had been observing the entire ordeal. Their body melded with the dark, their face obscured but their grin unmistakable. It curled with menace, their eyes reflecting a cruel interest in what they had witnessed.
They waited, unmoving.
The hunt was not over.
It had only just begun.
Kurama turned to Chinjao, his voice cool and measured, yet laced with purpose. "So once both Yamato and Cu Chulainn are healed... where do you want this battle to take place? Just let us know."
The battlefield had quieted, though the echoes of conflict still lingered in the blood-scented breeze. Kurama stepped forward, his movement precise and deliberate. There was no rush in his actions, only clarity and control. He raised his hand, asserting his role without need for permission.
"I will tend to her wounds," he said, voice even and composed. "She has been poisoned. If only to uphold the terms of this ceasefire and secure the integrity of what follows... she must survive."
He knelt with silent grace, examining the woman before him. His eyes moved quickly, discerning the signs of venom and trauma. The tools he withdrew from his coat were clean, ordered, and rare. Alchemical compounds, carefully chosen. There was no hesitation, only the cold certainty of action.
Namor remained motionless, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed ahead. He did not question Kurama's decision. Authority did not require declaration between them. They understood one another, each bound by principle and pride. Where Namor's pride surged like the tide, Kurama's intellect cut like a current beneath the surface.
Chinjao was relieved by Kurama's willingness, but what about them? Don Chinjao and Don Sai, whilst Kurama tended to their wounded commander of the resilience what will they do? Their ends of the bargain had yet to be fulfilled.
Don Sai had more experience with the red haired fox and his cold intellect and sharpness when it came to his words. He did not respect him for it, not from the very basis of his heart. "To be so tactful yet merciful, a quality of someone has killed many before." He thought, he squinted his eyes in subtle disdain. His wounds along with his grandfather's were long tended to, they had to teach their oppoisition the secrets of their martial art. "How could I have lost to them? Perhaps I wasn't strong enough, no. Kurama doesn't have the physical capability to out perform me and his subordinate isn't much weaker than I am, I was bested by their smarts. I wasn't smart enough to take them down and I'm guessing gramps was the same."
Both men stood on guard, they watched with patience and skepticism as Kurama examined and treated Yamato. "Yes, our ceasefire outlines a full recovery of both our fighters. Whilst they rest I will teach you both the secrets of Haosshoken." Declared Chinjao.
"I cannot risk a second loss, so whilst I train them; I will condition Sai and myself. Just in case Yamato were to fall." He thought however Kurama had much more to say pertaining to the situation--
"We did not come seeking war," Kurama continued, his tone sharp but calm. "We came under attack. Fox Hound struck first. We responded. It was defense, not aggression. Pushed into Kano by their hand, not our choice."
"Deception at this point in our agreement will not save you, if you had come opposing the idea of war then your actions wouldn't have lead to this battle. Nor my injury and the mutilation of my grandfather's arm. Yamato wouldn't have a need to face this poison monster if War wasn't your aim. Your choice of defense is firing a gun at robber after he attempted to shoot you, that is the very essence of war. Your actions are just as justified as our own, to fight for the sake of our own beliefs and motives and unfortunately I failed." Aggressed Don Sai.
"We don't need to argue with them, we are both reasonable fighters. Do not bite the hand that feeds you, Sai. This party as well as the others showed formiddable strength and it was by our failure we are in this mess, who threw the first punch doesn't matter if each confrontation was met with the same tactic. Yamato agreed to fight for it all, to decide the final fate of this island; honor it and stop picking fights out of nothing." Answered Chinjao in the stead of their adversaries, Sai had no need to come at their foes no matter who's perspective it may be. There was a conclusion underway and they all needed to prepare for it.
But far from the circle of warriors, deep in the shadows of the forest, someone watched.
Hidden among the trees, unseen and silent, an unknown figure had been observing the entire ordeal. Their body melded with the dark, their face obscured but their grin unmistakable. It curled with menace, their eyes reflecting a cruel interest in what they had witnessed.
They waited, unmoving.
The hunt was not over.
It had only just begun.
Kurama turned to Chinjao, his voice cool and measured, yet laced with purpose. "So once both Yamato and Cu Chulainn are healed... where do you want this battle to take place? Just let us know."
"Let their battle be settled in the ashes and scars they had torn into the earth, before they wake we will clear the area of ice and poison and they will face one another in these damaged conditions. It's befitting and poetic considering their current confrontation, let them meet a sound conclusion at the very place they had met." Replied Chinjao.
"Where would you like to be taught our Martial Art, you held up your end of the bargain and now I will do my part to make things right." He asked.
Don Sai was disgruntled but this was the reality of the situation and the things that will blossom thereof, if they do have to raise their fists once again to meet them as combatants then both Chinjao and Sai must utilize the advantage of knowing the faults of their adversaries.
The clearing had quieted, Yamato’s body still but no longer trembling from the poison’s grasp. Kurama closed the cap on a vial with precise motion, his silver eyes narrowing slightly as he finished binding the last of her wounds. “She’ll live,” he murmured, rising fluidly to his feet. “But her body was pushed well beyond its current threshold. I estimate no less than two weeks for her to regain full functionality, provided she sticks to treatment and discipline.”
From a hidden pocket, he retrieved two small, tightly wrapped packages—powdered herbs and pale violet capsules. “These are for you two Don Chinjao and Don Sai. A compound that encourages tendon repair and nerve regeneration. One dose at dawn, one at dusk. No more than that.”
His tone was cold and exacting, but there was no venom, only clarity. With his instructions delivered, he turned and headed toward the others. Roland sat casually on a fractured slab of stone, idly spinning a coin in one hand, his shirt torn and singed at the hem. Grog leaned on the handle of his axe, a visible bruise swelling across his collarbone like stormclouds under skin. Namor, statuesque as ever, bore only a dry, shallow cut along the jawline.
Kurama approached them wordlessly, beginning with Namor. The antiseptic stung faintly as it cleaned the wound. “Hold still,” Kurama said. “Shallow, but enough to scar if left unattended.” Namor said nothing, nodding once.
Next was Roland. He held out his arm dramatically. “Ah, the fox returns to patch up his war-weary players. Do tell me, do we get an encore after this? Or just the curtain call?” Kurama inspected the gash quickly. “You’ll live. Unless you reopen it with one of your overly dramatic flourishes.” Roland chuckled, grinning like a man on a stage. “My dear, you wound me deeper than this cut ever could.”
Kurama ignored the quip and moved on to Grog. The bruising across the big man's chest was angry and purple. “I’m wrapping this. Don’t move,” Kurama said. “I ain’t flinchin’. Unless you’re about to stab me with something sharp,” Grog muttered. “Only if necessary,” Kurama responded, binding his shoulder tight.
When he finished, Kurama rose to his feet, brushing off his hands. “Thank you. Both of you. For helping. For being dragged into this chaos.”
Roland shrugged, nonchalant. “It’s all just theater in the end. Better to play fools on a grand stage than sit in the audience bored.” Grog cracked his neck. “I’ll say thanks after a glass of liquor.”
Kurama gave the faintest hint of a smirk. “You’ll get your drink. In time.” His eyes shifted to the field around them, where Yamato still lay unconscious. “Once both Yamato and Cu Chulainn are healed, we wait one month. No shortcuts. No interference. One on one. A proper conclusion. If necessary, we relocate the fight somewhere remote. Away from anything that can’t be rebuilt.”
Roland dusted himself off and looked toward the others. “So. Is there a dojo or something where we’ll be learning this Hasshoken?” His voice played with the word like it was part of some theatrical performance.
Grog’s eyes lit up, practically vibrating with excitement. “Hashy-chokin’? Wait wait wait, is that the thing with the fists that shake mountains? I wanna punch a mountain!” He stomped his feet like a child preparing for recess.
Kurama exhaled through his nose, offering no correction to Grog’s mangled pronunciation. His expression sharpened as he turned, making his way across the debris-strewn field to where Cu Chulainn lay. Blood soaked through the spearman’s chest, leaking from two massive gashes that had torn into muscle and flesh.
Without hesitation, Kurama knelt beside him, producing cloth, salves, and a hooked needle. His hands moved quickly, cleaning the area and applying pressure to the most dangerous wounds. Blood continued to seep as Kurama worked in silence, eyes cold and precise. Cu Chulainn had not stabilized yet, but Kurama didn’t stop.
The clearing had quieted, Yamato’s body still but no longer trembling from the poison’s grasp. Kurama closed the cap on a vial with precise motion, his silver eyes narrowing slightly as he finished binding the last of her wounds. “She’ll live,” he murmured, rising fluidly to his feet. “But her body was pushed well beyond its current threshold. I estimate no less than two weeks for her to regain full functionality, provided she sticks to treatment and discipline.”
From a hidden pocket, he retrieved two small, tightly wrapped packages—powdered herbs and pale violet capsules. “These are for you two Don Chinjao and Don Sai. A compound that encourages tendon repair and nerve regeneration. One dose at dawn, one at dusk. No more than that.”
Don Sai and Don Chinjao, watched Kurama carefully at each stage of his methodology. He tended to Yamato's wounds and she was laid to rest safely and soundly on a softed patch of soil free from debris. Chinjao had undertaken the leadership role amidst their group, Sai didn't have enough experience to step up and naturally submitted that responsibility, "Two whole weeks until Yamato's back up on her feet? What kind of battle did she go through?! The poison that lingered and the stench of stale organic matter-- I can only speculate what it is she'd faced." Thought Chinjao. Kurama, the perceived medicinal practioner raised his hand to the Don's offering them some tightly wrapped packages.
"Your kindness is well appreciated, Doctor." Chinjao replied, meeting his adversary with kindness as he had been shown the same. The instructions were brief however they weren't difficult to remember, Chinjao turned to his grandson and whispered, "Write down the dosage for me. We will definitely need this later."
Sai looked at Chinjao and his face sank, he sulked and replied, "I didn't even pay attention to what the red-head said."
Chinajo stared at his grandson, his expression blank and innocent with eyes wide open. A strange silence befell them and Chinjao smacked Sai straight into the ground, head first. "Foolish Grandson." He kindly uttered, his fist clenched so tightly his veins pulsated with steam and power. His face was gentle but his actions screamed otherwise.
Kurama gave the faintest hint of a smirk. “You’ll get your drink. In time.” His eyes shifted to the field around them, where Yamato still lay unconscious. “Once both Yamato and Cu Chulainn are healed, we wait one month. No shortcuts. No interference. One on one. A proper conclusion. If necessary, we relocate the fight somewhere remote. Away from anything that can’t be rebuilt.”
Kurama had dealt with them relatively quickly, only wasting a mere moment to the return his attention to his crew. They were a group of very interesting individuals, their personalities and individual themes mended exceptionally well painting a powerful kaleidescope as well as cementing them as an interesting menagerie of people, however Don Chinjao couldn't help but over hear their plans. "One month, the cease fire would last for that long? Surely Sai and I could prepare in the mean time, if anything were to happen and promises are swiftly broken what will happen then?! Will we simply roll over and die after Yamato fights once more?" He pondered whilst Sai struggled to pluck his head from the earth. He was very unhappy.
Cartoonishly marching over to his grandfather, his polearm raised overhead as he prepared to strike, only to be halted by the sudden movement of Chinjao's palm. Chinjao gestured for Sai to come closer, and he did. Lowering his weapon and regaining his composure; he sensed the severity of Chinjao's contemplation and so acted accordingly. "What is it?" He whispered.
"We're going to have exactly one month to help prepare Yamato for the final clash. We too must be on our guard, however I'd like to help her to ensure that we come out successfully. We're going to teach them Haosshoken, as I said before we're going to analyze them and we too will cultivate. We will act just in case they decide to double cross the promise and the cease-fire." Chinjao whispered to Don Sai.
"I'm not in opposition to that plan, so you don't have to keep telling me. What really garners my opposition is teaching them our fighting style. If we analyze them whilst they learn how to fight like us, who's to say they won't analyze us as well. They had already defeated us before, what will training change if we're going to be observing and absorbing one another."
Chinjao paused, Sai brought a very interesting perception to his sight and it's something that Chinjao may have overlooked. "You raise a very interesting point, Grandson. I will contemplate it."
Roland dusted himself off and looked toward the others. “So. Is there a dojo or something where we’ll be learning this Hasshoken?” His voice played with the word like it was part of some theatrical performance.
Grog’s eyes lit up, practically vibrating with excitement. “Hashy-chokin’? Wait wait wait, is that the thing with the fists that shake mountains? I wanna punch a mountain!” He stomped his feet like a child preparing for recess.
Kurama exhaled through his nose, offering no correction to Grog’s mangled pronunciation. His expression sharpened as he turned, making his way across the debris-strewn field to where Cu Chulainn lay. Blood soaked through the spearman’s chest, leaking from two massive gashes that had torn into muscle and flesh.
Without hesitation, Kurama knelt beside him, producing cloth, salves, and a hooked needle. His hands moved quickly, cleaning the area and applying pressure to the most dangerous wounds. Blood continued to seep as Kurama worked in silence, eyes cold and precise. Cu Chulainn had not stabilized yet, but Kurama didn’t stop.
The conversation peaked the interest of not one, but both Haosshoken masters. Sai was attentive and his hearing was sharp, Chinjao was as well. "I don't think I'd like for them to see all of Kano, we must isolate them since we are still enemies. This cease-fire is only temporary anyway," thought Chinjao. Sai contemplated allowing them to see the dojo as well however learning it in such an open terraign would be much more benefitial at minimizing damage but also refraining from infringing on the perceived battle.
"We can do it here, We'll train in the area cleared by yer' strongest and ours. So that if any injuries or ailments arise we can have easy access to medicinal help from the red-head. I trust that his expertise is precise and well-sharpened, and he would need to monitor our wounded just incase anything unexpected arises." Proclaimed Sai.
Kurama’s hands moved with controlled urgency, his crimson eyes unwavering from Cu Chulainn’s brutal injuries. Blood still surged from the twin gashes carved deep into the man’s chest. Each second was critical, and the scent of copper and broken flesh filled the air like incense in a shrine of war. He adjusted pressure, cleansing the exposed muscle and sealing open veins with surgical precision. His mind filtered through every calculation and possibility like the slow turn of a puzzle box, seeking the perfect sequence before time slipped through his fingers.
Kurama’s reply came without pause, his voice composed but firm. "This is not an act of kindness. It is a necessity. Sentiment can wait. Lives cannot."
The wind stirred dust and blood-soaked leaves across the ruined terrain. Cu Chulainn’s pulse was weakening again, erratic beneath Kurama’s fingers. A slight frown touched Kurama’s face. He was close, but not close enough.
He shut out the noise. He focused.
His Kenbunshoku no Haki expanded like a pulse beneath his skin. The battlefield, the voices, the energy flows—he felt them all as an orchestra of presence. Every vibration told a story. But within that field of overlapping sounds, murmurs began to thread through—two whispers, sharp and deliberate.
"We're going to have exactly one month to help prepare Yamato for the final clash. We too must be on our guard, however I'd like to help her to ensure that we come out successfully. We're going to teach them Haosshoken, as I said before we're going to analyze them and we too will cultivate. We will act just in case they decide to double cross the promise and the cease-fire." Chinjao whispered to Don Sai.
"I'm not in opposition to that plan, so you don't have to keep telling me. What really garners my opposition is teaching them our fighting style. If we analyze them whilst they learn how to fight like us, who's to say they won't analyze us as well. They had already defeated us before, what will training change if we're going to be observing and absorbing one another."
Chinjao paused, Sai brought a very interesting perception to his sight and it's something that Chinjao may have overlooked. "You raise a very interesting point, Grandson. I will contemplate it."
Kurama’s hands didn’t stop. He registered their words, but offered no comment. He took what he needed. Their tones, their energy, their worry it formed a clearer picture. Pressure here. Rotate the wrist there. Slide the needle deeper, thread faster, clamp tighter. A silent revelation formed. He adjusted one last wrap, a stabilising brace against Cu Chulainn’s sternum, and then the pulse normalised. Just barely, but it was stable.
The redhead exhaled, calm but aware this was just the beginning.
“Namor,” Kurama called sharply. “Take Cu Chulainn back to the ship. Keep him warm. Elevate the torso slightly. No sudden movements. He’s stabilised, but not out of danger.”
Namor didn’t hesitate, nodding and moving towards Cu’s body with practised care.
Kurama turned next to Chinjao, his tone still precise but laced with expectation. “Yamato needs to be relocated. A safe zone where she can finish recovering without interruption. She is strong, but the body demands stillness when the wounds run deep.”
"We can do it here, We'll train in the area cleared by yer' strongest and ours. So that if any injuries or ailments arise we can have easy access to medicinal help from the red-head. I trust that his expertise is precise and well-sharpened, and he would need to monitor our wounded just incase anything unexpected arises." Proclaimed Sai.
Kurama stood, adjusting his gloves slowly as the blood dried across his sleeves. “I will heal anyone in need,” he replied without hesitation, “but my priority is ensuring Cu Chulainn makes a full recovery. As yours is to ensure Yamato does the same.”
His gaze shifted between the two men. “Right now, Cu Chulainn’s condition is far worse than hers. I’ll stabilise her again if I must, but if this truce holds, then I suggest we focus our energies wisely.”
The fox-faced medic’s words hung in the air with the clarity of steel. No theatrics. Just the truth.
Kurama’s hands didn’t stop. He registered their words, but offered no comment. He took what he needed. Their tones, their energy, their worry it formed a clearer picture. Pressure here. Rotate the wrist there. Slide the needle deeper, thread faster, clamp tighter. A silent revelation formed. He adjusted one last wrap, a stabilising brace against Cu Chulainn’s sternum, and then the pulse normalised. Just barely, but it was stable.
The redhead exhaled, calm but aware this was just the beginning.
“Namor,” Kurama called sharply. “Take Cu Chulainn back to the ship. Keep him warm. Elevate the torso slightly. No sudden movements. He’s stabilised, but not out of danger.”
Namor didn’t hesitate, nodding and moving towards Cu’s body with practised care.
Kurama turned next to Chinjao, his tone still precise but laced with expectation. “Yamato needs to be relocated. A safe zone where she can finish recovering without interruption. She is strong, but the body demands stillness when the wounds run deep.”
"He's right." Thought Chinjao, only now realizing that Yamato needed proper care. His thoughts revolved around a subconscious desire for redemption, he felt shame losing his battle but he still lived to see a next day. A grace given to him by God, Don Sai's race revealed a sudden attentiveness to the notion, he was much later to focus in on the situation. Chinjao volunteered himself-- once again, "I will see to her proper relocation. My grandson will see to it your subordinates receive their recompense in my absence." He said.
Sai peered over to his right, watching Chinjao as though he carried disdain for the decision, regardless of how he felt one of them had to relocate Yamato anyway. Chinjao's huge stature was much more suited for it given her size and her injuries. Although he would initially struggle since he had only 1-working arm.
Sai stepped in to help Chinjao, meticulously lifting Yamato with the utmost care to ensure that she'd remained safe amidst her unconsciousness. Chinjao departed, heading deeper into the island to lay her to rest.
Kurama stood, adjusting his gloves slowly as the blood dried across his sleeves. “I will heal anyone in need,” he replied without hesitation, “but my priority is ensuring Cu Chulainn makes a full recovery. As yours is to ensure Yamato does the same.”
His gaze shifted between the two men. “Right now, Cu Chulainn’s condition is far worse than hers. I’ll stabilise her again if I must, but if this truce holds, then I suggest we focus our energies wisely.”
The fox-faced medic’s words hung in the air with the clarity of steel. No theatrics. Just the truth.
Roland’s laughter echoed through the cracked terrain, the sound theatrical and irreverent, a stark contrast to the scorched aftermath around them. He spun a stick in one hand like a conductor’s baton, gesturing broadly with exaggerated flair. “So, is this where we start cracking skulls and dancing through vibrations? I hope you’ve brought more than grunting and foot-stomping to the lesson.”
Grog snorted with excitement, shadowing Roland like an oversized eager pup. “Hashy-chokin? Smashy-chokin? Whatever it is, I’m ready. Grog learns with fists,” he declared, smashing his hands together with a thunderous clap that sent a nearby rock crumbling.
Roland clapped slowly, mock admiration gleaming in his eye. “Poetry in motion, truly.”
Kurama remained crouched beside Cu Chulainn, methodically tightening the final binding around the warrior’s chest. Blood had dried into a crusted sheen across Cu’s skin, two long gashes crossing over his torso, deep enough to expose the white beneath flesh. Stabilised. Finally. But far from healed.
As Cu Chulainn lay unconscious, Kurama's sharpened Observation Haki picked up a whisper carried on the wind, hushed words that piqued his mind. He didn’t speak, didn’t turn, but each syllable was noted and filed away, weighed against the variables he already accounted for.
He didn’t react outwardly. Instead, he adjusted his gloves with care and reached out to pluck Gáe Bolg from the cracked earth. The spear hummed faintly with a dark, radiant energy—streams of black and red leaking in slow pulses from its body. Haōshoku no Haki, unmistakably raw and fresh, yet dormant for now.
He stood. Cu Chulainn was stabilised. That was what mattered. Kurama’s crimson eyes watched the wounded warrior’s shallow breathing, the calm between heartbeats, before he called out evenly, “Namor. Take him to the ship. Quietly. He’s stabilised, but I need him where I can monitor him properly. He’ll recover faster with distance from this field.”
Namor responded with silent action, lifting Cu Chulainn without delay and vanishing down the path towards the shore, his gait resolute and smooth. Kurama turned his attention once more to the landscape. This clearing was torn and ruined, frozen soil and shattered stone scattered from the previous clash. The terrain mirrored the stakes they now prepared for.
Then Roland chimed in with his usual flair, eyes scanning the wreckage like a critic appraising a stage. “Dojo, anyone? I’ve still got my limbs attached and a bit of madness to spare. Let’s give Smashy-chokin a spin.”
Kurama closed his satchel calmly, then dusted his gloves as he walked past them. “One month,” he said, his voice steady. “Not a day sooner. Until then, we prepare. No distractions.”
The midday sun poured through the wooden beams of the ship’s infirmary, casting golden shafts of light across the quiet room. Cu Chulainn stirred. A wince broke across his face as pain raked through his chest. His hand instinctively reached toward his ribs, now heavily bandaged, his muscles still sore and weak. He sat up with a grunt, eyes adjusting to the world once more.
Sat beside him, silent and attentive, was Kurama.
“You're awake,” Kurama said without turning his head.
Cu Chulainn opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. He looked around in slow recognition. The silence between them was brief.
“You awakened something, during that fight,” Kurama continued, finally meeting his gaze. “It wasn’t just rage or instinct. Your spear responded. You’ve awakened Haōshoku no Haki.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and unflinching.
“You’re going to need control,” Kurama said. “And in two more weeks, you’ll have your chance to use it.”
Outside, the waves lapped against the ship, calm now, waiting like the storm that would come.
The midday sun poured through the wooden beams of the ship’s infirmary, casting golden shafts of light across the quiet room. Cu Chulainn stirred. A wince broke across his face as pain raked through his chest. His hand instinctively reached toward his ribs, now heavily bandaged, his muscles still sore and weak. He sat up with a grunt, eyes adjusting to the world once more.
Sat beside him, silent and attentive, was Kurama.
“You're awake,” Kurama said without turning his head.
Cu Chulainn opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. He looked around in slow recognition. The silence between them was brief.
“You awakened something, during that fight,” Kurama continued, finally meeting his gaze. “It wasn’t just rage or instinct. Your spear responded. You’ve awakened Haōshoku no Haki.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and unflinching.
“You’re going to need control,” Kurama said. “And in two more weeks, you’ll have your chance to use it.”
Outside, the waves lapped against the ship, calm now, waiting like the storm that would come.
In the reserves of Kano country, back in the barracks where the warriors chose to reside amidst this confrontation. The lingering intensity of the Silver Vampirates' initial invasion caused a loaming emotional burden on all involved, including the citizens however the brief silence of the last two weeks granted them a short relief. They wanted more, they expected more-- however questions flew like wildfire; "What happened?!", "Is it all over?!", "Where is Yamato!! You said she was our last hope, where is she!?", the people were inquisitive. They aimed to flood the barracks but they were kept at bay by barriers and a local task force mobilized to keep things even.
"Why'd you have to bring me to such a noisey campsite?" Groggily questioned Yamato, her eyes had opened. Finally, after two long weeks of silence she had come to.
"I had to keep you within travelling distance, since apart of the arrangement that kept you alive was training their men in Haosshoken. It's a noble enough sacrifice to give us a second chance to fend them off." Replied Don Chinjao, he sat comfortably at her bed side. His massive from loaming overhead within the dimly lit but well ventilated tent. "Was your rest comfortable?"
"Considering that my mind was lost to my inner beast and that I was unresponsive until just now, I'd say yes. I feel heavy, my muscles are stiff. Not dead but stiff." She replied, she was exhausted. Slowly but surely, like a freshly booted computer her senses awakened little by little. The wounds in her torso that once ached and burned like lava were nothing more than traumatic psychological manifestations. Miraculously, she could feel it the flowing blood and the twitches of her muscle fibers.
The people gathered and the uproar resounded in her ears. "What's up with them?" She innocently questioned.
"They're worried. Well, they're rowdy because our confrontation hasn't concluded just yet. As anyone would be, in regards to the general safety of themselves, their families and friends. A local task force was formed to keep them at bay but we can't exactly disclose what's going on because of the agreement we had." Replied Chinjao
"I'm surprised you can even speak so fluid, are you sure it's just your muscles that are stiff?"
"Wait-- agreement--" it had slowly come back to her, just before she had collapsed from the severity of her injuries, "You didn't--" she screamed, she jumped up from the comfortable bed. The sudden movement sent a shark shock throughout her torso, it was clear she needed to wait a few more hours, maybe a day or two, until her body was is in any condition to move. She held her stomach and leant back on her left hand to keep her body upright.
"Yamato, your injuries!" Exclaimed Chinjao, reaching inn but hesitating. He wasn't sure how to help her since she had herself supported just fine. "Yes, I did. We had to, their forces were too much to take on in a confrontation at that time. We agreed to train them and we had agreed to a final battle. One inbetween you and Cu Chulainn, that's why you're still here and I am still alive. You're our only hope of victory."
Yamato went silence, she contemplated. Everything was just too much to take in at once, the sensory stimulus, the uproar of the people, the responsibilities. "He didn't die in our last confrontation?" She pondered. "He's alot tougher than I thought, the poison and the way he forced my hand. I no longer have poison flooding my blood and now I am concsious, making an extremely slow recovery. Can I really do this? I have to face him again, should I go all in from the start? This is a too much to think about after just regaining my senses--", amidst her anxiety, the sole thought that had kept her sanity resurfaced. Like a blessing from the Lord God, "I am Kozuki Oden." as though the veil of responsibility was lifted from her shoulders she granted a unique and stilling peace. She smiled, although she had just woke up for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could do anything!
"Okay-- I hate that you went and made that agreement behind my back but since it was done, there's no point in running away now. I'll fight for the sake of everyone, I'm scared considering how much I have to carry but I'll do it for the sake of Kano Country, for I am Kozuki Oden. How long do I have until I'm expected to fight?" Her new spirit rising and shining within her, it radiated a lovely confidence.
Done Chinjao marvelled at her resolve, her calmness. Yamato's amazing, she is an inspiration-- His praises were silent and his silence only conveyed the shock he had. "You have two more weeks until you have to face Cu Chulainn again, we're going to focus on training you until then. Are you up for it?"
"Didn't you hear me the first time? Of course I am! I am Kozuki Oden!" She exclaimed, for the world to hear. For the people to faintly glimpse from within the tent. The uproar only ceased for a moment, however it plumed once more!
-[Two Weeks to come and go, the preparation for the times]-
Yamato had awoken only just recently, training in secret to slowly regain her bearings. To sharpen her dormant senses, to whip-her back into shape to face Cu Chulainn, the Poison-spearman. Chinjao and Sai innacted their little scheme, training Cu Chulainn's allies in Haosshoken whilst also studying their abilities and moves. Their habits and unique approaches to fighting, it was good insight and it took time to study however the long awaited confrontation was soon upon them...
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