Tales of a Ninja Magician: Of Games of Body and Soul

The Legendary Trinket That Nobody Wanted

Even in the excitement of the growing battlefield, the noise of sorry whimpering and pain reached Mana's ears. The magician turned her attention away from the debris, wooden chunks and clouds of dust that remained after Erumo's and the remaining Chinoike clan members' entrance. It was the downed and crying, photosensitive Chinoike girl, conscious enough to realize that she was living her worst nightmare and do her best to attempt and cover up with the limited leather jacket laid on top of her but semi-entranced to the point where her movements looked limp and lazy.

Kouta moved away from Mana, trying to catch her eyes with his, what little corners of her boyfriend's glaze the magician did notice, she saw being full of regret, worry, and doubt of some sort. Mana's mind was set, she suffered from no such plagues. The healed magician disappeared from the initial location, something that Kouta pretty much expected, even if he didn't want it, the direction in which the young kunoichi dashed to, however, did surprise her beloved young man.

"There..." Mana muttered while placing her own, a bit dirty and in places torn blazer onto the still exposed and slightly burnt areas of Chisilla's skin. "I guess we need to find something more permanent to cover you, huh?"

Farther away, in the heat of battle, Erumo joined the side of her teammate in battle. Standing in the open was not a position she enjoyed but it was crystal clear from her determined expression that there was no one else she'd rather stand alongside and trust her safety to than Aozora Yushijin.

"How does this creep even have the hydration in his body to liquefy?" the trapster wondered.

"He'd have died, without a doubt had he used the Hydrification Jutsu," Yushijin said.

"Then... How?" Erumo remained baffled.

"Do you see any water amongst the ruins you've blasted out? Even in these immense temperatures, the Hozuki hydration does not evaporate. He must have used a simple Substitution Jutsu to replace himself with a busted piece of debris or something." Yushijin replied.

"That bastard really doesn't want to go down." Erumo cursed. The kunoichi continued to scan the battlefield for lingering clues of Mizoma's continued existence.

"It doesn't matter. He can only use such a cheap clutch once. His body is already at the limit, there's no way that he'll rest up to the point he can substitute again in this battle. Hydrification is also sealed off for him – he's cornered." Yushijin remained cool and reserved even when his opponent continued to spit in the face of overwhelming odds.

Despite Mizoma's valiant effort to commit genocide and the admirable devotion to his malicious goals, the absolute refusal to fold as well, there was no respect in the eyes of any of the opposing ninja. Normally, no matter how wrong a combatant's goals were, no matter how far they were off the beaten track, such might and sacrifice would have invited some. After all, ninja were not the lot that were known for remaining morally consistent for long in their line of work. Their morality depended entirely on that of their mission objective.

What kept the respect away from the eyes of everyone was the simple, primal sense of dread. The fear for Mizoma of the Seven Swords and it was panic well-earned.

Metallic clangs, slow and irregular in their repetition signaled Mizoma's appearance from the debris and whirlwinds of rotating grains of gravel and pebbles that spun in speeds that would have easily torn through the flesh of any living man as if they were tiny bullets. The goop dripping from Mizoma's wounds was much thicker as the proportion of water and blood in his release shifted much farther to the favor of the latter. The titan no longer had the hydration to spare despite wasting almost none. With death knocking at his door, the Swordsman of the Mist no longer could dance around the battlefield like he once could and did what he still had the strength to do – lingered and stumbled.