Seven staggered back, chest heaving, sweat running down his cheek.
"Let me guess — you saw your own death, didn't you?" Denjuro's grin widened as his hand tightened around his blade. "Try a different angle. See where that gets you."
Seven swallowed hard and began circling, hunting for even the smallest opening. With a sudden burst, he darted behind Denjuro, claws forming at his fingertips as he swiped. Denjuro turned smoothly, parrying the strike and thrusting forward, his blade aiming for Seven's ribs—but Seven twisted past it and drove a heavy punch into Denjuro's face, sending him skidding back.
"Oh? I thought it'd take you longer to land one," Denjuro said, already rushing him again. He slashed in a relentless pattern— wild in motion yet razor-precise in intent.
Seven vaulted upward. In an instant, Denjuro's body jerked toward him, pulled by an unseen force. Using the momentum, Seven hammered his fist into Denjuro's jaw, launching him toward the ground. Seven extended his hand—threads of matter coiling from his fingertips, weaving into spiraling spears that snapped toward Denjuro.
Denjuro's eyes lit up. "Ah— so you shape and control strings."
The spiraled drills screeched toward him. He inhaled deeply and cut through them one by one until only the final spear remained — a thicker, denser one. It crashed into his blade, forcing him down, cracking the arena floor as it drove him deeper and deeper.
Gritting his teeth, Denjuro vanished from beneath the pressure, appearing behind Seven in midair. His kick struck Seven's back, and he followed with a descending slash. Seven hurled himself toward the ground and met the blade with a scaled fist, the impact bursting with force.
He unleashed a flurry of blows— each one intercepted by Denjuro's blade — but he refused to let up. His eyes burned with effort.
"There's that spunk I wanted to see!" Denjuro taunted with a smirk.
"Lion's Song."
He vanished. A heartbeat later, he stood far across the arena, sheathing his sword.
A wide cut bloomed across Seven's chest. Blood poured out before his strings snapped into place, crudely stitching the wound shut. Seven hissed in pain, sweat dripping off his chin.
"That's downright unfair," he muttered. "I hate swordsmen."
"C'mon already— attack me. Or are you too scared?" Denjuro stood with both hands open, smirking.
Seven clenched his teeth. The man wasn't even holding a weapon, yet Seven couldn't find a single opening.
"You're cautious," Denjuro chuckled. "But caution won't save you here."
The strings at Seven's feet slithered upward, twisting together until they formed a full humanoid body — an exact clone of himself. Denjuro raised an eyebrow.
"Did I miss a memo? Can everyone make clones now?" He cracked his neck and let his right hand hover over the hilts of his twin blades. "Maybe I should use both..."
His hand tightened. A crushing pressure rolled over the stadium — dense, suffocating — before he scoffed and released it.
"Nah. That's overkill."
He drew a single blade.
Seven and his clone surged forward from opposite sides. The real Seven fired three threads in a fan pattern while the clone darted in with a heavy kick. Denjuro exhaled, sliding his blade along one of the nearly invisible strings, letting it guide his movement as he spun behind the clone. His slash narrowly missed its throat.
"What a drag~."
Seven's boot crashed into his neck, driving him straight into a punch from the clone. A string reeled him back in, and Seven's knee sank deep into Denjuro's gut, forcing him to drop his blade.
Seven whipped a dagger from his boot and dropped down, aiming to drive it straight into Denjuro's skull— but Denjuro jerked his head aside at the last instant. The blade cut a shallow line across his cheek.
"You're a crafty one, aren't you?" Denjuro said, eyes narrowing. "A hired assassin, maybe?"
Seven froze. The way Denjuro read him — too quickly, too accurately — sent a chill down his spine.
"You... who are you really?" Seven asked, his dagger still buried in the arena floor. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. "You're not Denjuro Samura... are you?"
Denjuro burst into laughter.
"You're sharper than your strings. Force me to use aura, and I'll answer your question."
He kicked Seven away and scooped up his sword in one fluid motion, swinging with enough force to hurl a visible wave of air. Seven braced himself, but the blast shattered through his guard and sent a jolt of shock across his face.
"You swordsmen are too unpredictable," Seven muttered, rolling his shoulder. "I hate it."
Heat began to pour off his body, steam rising from the wound he had stitched. "I'm warmed up now. Let's see how long you last without both your swords."
Strings crawled up his arm, coiling from shoulder to fingertip. He pointed straight at Denjuro.
"Overheated... Snake Shot."
The string fired outward, twisting into the shape of a serpent, its tail glowing with an orange heat as it hissed. Denjuro's eyes widened. He raised his sword and met the attack head-on. The snake slammed into the blade and drove him back— skidding across the arena floor, inching him toward the edge.
He glanced behind him and grit his teeth. One more step and he'd be out of bounds.
A guttural yell tore from his throat as he shoved against the attack, trying to force the serpent away. Seven closed the distance, sprinting toward him— but Denjuro only grew more fired up.
"HYAAAAH!"
With a violent upward swing he redirected the snake, sending it spiraling into the arena's barrier. The collision shook the entire stadium.
Denjuro threw his head back in manic laughter as he reached for his second sword.
"I'M INTRIGUED, SEVEN! I WILL REMEMBER YOUR NAME, WARRIOR!"
He unsheathed the second blade in a blur. Both swords angled outward as a crushing wave of chi burst from him, washing over the stadium like a storm front.
"SHOW ME A GOOD DUEL!" he roared with a wild grin. "THIS IS MY DOMAIN!"