The exchange between the dark man and the skeleton was absolutely fascinating. Kumori found himself studying it, analysing it coldly, with a detached mindset. How could such a bond have formed between two beings such as these in the first place? The relationship they had was almost tender. Kumori could not remember the last time he had had these feelings displayed to him, or the last time he had given these feelings to someone. Such was the path he chose, a path of loneliness, a path of frustration, a bitter, howling cold path that slowly ate away at his soul.
No wonder he was so empty inside.
He had built up these walls for so many years, for so long, that it was near impossible to get through them now. There were no cracks, no weak points. Kumori had effectively barricaded himself in his own fortress of ice, so that the longer time passed, the more detached, the more frozen he became.
A sardonic smile tugged the edge of Kumori's mouth, as he heard the dark being accuse the skeleton of being a coward.
He could so easily go in there now and finish them off, whilst the man was incapacitated by the vines. Such odd behaviour for plants, Kumori thought. The vines had literally sprouted from the ground in the blink of an eye with growth so accelerated that one could not see the dirt, for the vine leaves. All of the sharp points had missed the dark man; but the tendrils had found their prey and clung to him with a ferocity that was alien to the tame nature Kumori had always been accustomed to.
"I cannot let you pass, so if you wish to fight, then free that man," Kumori intoned in a booming voice to the skeleton. "If you wish to avoid antagonism then you will leave him be, seeing as you are unlikely to leave this island without your goal."
He was offering the skeleton a choice. All he felt for the animated bones was disgust, but Kumori was a fair man, normally much more passive. Normally, he would distance himself from any action. But here, in this isolated island, there would be no one else to help the one who the two dark beings before him was after.
Shifting slightly, the light glinted off the blade of his sword, reminding the others of Kumori's weapon, which was still clasped in his right hand. His left hand was sore, still stinging from the contact made with the spore. Red welts had blistered in a spidery pattern from the point of contact, making his flesh appear puffy and swollen. If he noticed any pain, no expression on his face betrayed it.
It had been so long since he had last fought properly. In fact, the last time he had fought had been the day he almost died, the day they found him and tried to rebuild him. He had been all too happy to die on the battlefield, to ride the wings of the warrior and fly with the eagle towards the setting sun, towards a sun that was stained with the blood of the thousands of other noble warriors who he had fought with or against. That had been the last time he was truly happy. To lie there, bleeding to death, knowing that he would enter Valhalla with the might of one who was great and who had died in valiant battle.
And then he had returned to this abomination; this atrocity, this abhorrent excuse for a body. Chained to this world, tethered to this life, Kumori's feelings slowly ebbed away until he was nothing but a wanderer, a shadow. But he was sure he could still remember how to fight. He was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but maybe this could be the time when he...
No.
He wouldn't let them win. It had to be a fair fight. He could not want death. It had to be given in a fair duel, a duel with him giving his all, giving his best. Otherwise it would not be an honourable death.
Kumori's eyes darkened for a split second, and then all was clear, as he watched to see what would happen next.
