He chops.[break][break]
and chops.[break][break]
and chops.
It’s just more cadets. Just more mindless slaughter. He’s a vicious, mad dog. Let off his leash to play. He’s taken licks. He’s gotten up. He’s locked eyes with the idiots, the bozos, the nobodies, and he’s destroyed them. Bit into them. Torn them. They were expecting all sorts of things. Maybe they were hoping beyond hope he’d just be a normal grunt. When he pulled out his sword and charged them alongside his Pokemon, he always saw fear in their eyes.[break][break]
It's nothing personal. Really, it isn’t. They’re on the other side. Rocket has his loyalty. That’s the end of it. Another face lost in the chaos. No one will remember him. No one alive, anyway, and dead men tell no tales. His face is drenched in blood. At his side is a Honedge he calls Muramasa. It floats, looking at him as if to ask, as it always does, why he simply does not pick it up and wield it in battle.[break][break]
Frankly? Western swords suck. Too hefty. Plus, Muramasa’s cursed. Like his namesake. Nothing but bad blades. Failures. Demonic weapons from Giratina’s own realm that consume all who hold them.[break][break]
He wanders upon a man. Some tryhard in leather. The black dog smirks.[break][break]
“Well well well, whadda we have here? Some League guy's lost. Aren'tcha supposed to have a few friends with ya like a proper biker?” Hitoshi chides her while strutting forward. He walks with swagger, like he’s making an entrance onto center stage.[break][break]
“Man, standards really are slippin' in the League.” He points at the biker and shouts. “Oi! I’ll be yer opponent now! Me! So do me a favor and die quick, will ya?”

Muramasa is the ghost of a failure, and he understands how this is going to go down before his trainer says a word. The sword sighs, if it is possible at all for a sword to sigh. Like his trainer, he enjoys battle. That said, he’s only a sword. A thing possessed by a minor evil spirit. He’s going into this with low expectations. A lowly blade like it, something discarded on a smith’s mad quest for perfection, could never win on a battlefield like this.[break]
At least his foe is in the same boat. Another abject failure of a sword. He wonders if they were made by the same smith, what with how identical they look. He supposes that it doesn’t much matter who or what the other sword is. His duty is to kill. He knows what his trainer is going to order him to do before the order’s been made.[break]
“Tch. Everyone loses, huh? Well, lucky for me, I’m the sorta guy who never loses!” He slashes the air with his katana and Honedge takes it as a symbol. He soars forward, trying to move past his fellow sword. To go in for a decisive upward blow on his opponent.[break][break]
Flying type trainers call it an Aerial Ace, an uppercut that’s supposed to send someone skyward. On a human, it’s better for tearing them apart from groin to chest.[break]
“I ain’t never backed down from nothin’ in my whole life!”

A name? Hitoshi laughs as the two swords clash. Red energy meets eclectic white. A rush of blood. A thrill like few others. A good fight. He does not notice his Pokemon’s apprehension, nor does he care. He stays on the offensive. He moves forward. He fights. For that is all he knows how to do. This mad dog cannot do anything except swing his sword and fight.[break][break]
Honedge goes in for a simple slash. Nothing fancy. Nothing overt. A clash of its steel body against that of his foe’s.[break][break]
“Hitoshi.” The black dog says. “But you can call me the grim reaper.”

…anything he had ever cared about? The question stops Hitoshi in his tracks he remembers the mother who threw him out. He remembers how good it feels to have food in his belly after so long being hungry on the streets. He remembers how nice it feels to have money in his pockets. After having to work so hard simply to survive…[break]

“Huh? What?! Idiot, who the hell asks a question like that in the middle of a battlefield!! Dontcha get what’s goin on? People are dyin! People are bein’ killed! My mom ain’t got anything to do with any of that!”[break]
He doesn’t even realize he answered the question.

“Nani?!” Hitoshi shouts as the other Honedge reappears behind Muramasa. The other sword is shocked and makes no reply to being attacked other than to scream in surprise. That’s really all he could hope to do, right? Shriek and pray that something could save him. [break]
Hitoshi himself jumps forward. His katana soars through the air in a red streak and makes contact with the enemy Honedge. He forgets, for a second, that he’s supposed to be an aloof badass. [break]
His katana snaps in two. It’s just a normal sword standing up to a Pokémon. In days past, when legends walked the earth, even the smallest and weakest of Pokémon was a terror for the people. [break]
Muramasa is moved by his trainer. He channels his might and unleashes a sacred sword, tearing into the other Honedge. [break]
“I am not a mama’s boy!” The mama’s boy shouts.

“The hell does it matter if I am or not?!” Hitoshi shouts, stomping his feet like a petulant child. At least his Honedge is spirited, despite everything. The blade recoils from the sheer power of their clash. If a blade could breathe, he would be. Muramasa would be breathing heavy. He’s naught but a wee baby Pokemon. He’s sure that the other blade can’t be doing much better.[break]
“What’s this gotta be doing with anything, anyway?! We’re supposed to be killin’ each other here and we’re talkin’ about my mama!” Like the stupid dog he is, he can’t comprehend the deeper meaning of such questions. All he knows is the battle that’s right in front of him. There’s glory here, to be sure. A delicious conflict.[break]
This guy sucks. He’s making Hitoshi think.[break]
Muramasa chooses to retaliate after the brutal blow from before, leveling a brutal swing at his foe.

“And why the hell should I care about them?!” Hitoshi’s been killing people to survive since he was young. A kid that fell through the gutters of the world. Running with gangs. Getting initiated. Getting put to good use by people who can see him for the bloodthirsty dog that he is. That he hasn’t ended up dead or in jail is a minor miracle of Arceus and his chosen guardians.[break]
“If they care ‘bout that stuff so much, maybe they should just be better at not gettin’ cut up! C’mon, Muramasa! Finish this guy off already! I’m gettin’ sick of this mirror match stuff!”[break]
Oh, if a sword could roll its eyes…[break]
Muramasa resolves to put everything he has into this blow. Once more into the breach. As the fury within his opponent builds, so too does he break out another sacred sword, hoping to counter the many furious blows with one decisive swipe.[break]
It’s an all or nothing play. He’ll be tapped out after this.[break]
Hell, it might even be a double KO.