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Marrock was rushing in, with no fear or ignorance of his own ability, the first slice he used was slow, light power and was meant merely as a test of skill: He was disappointed. The Kenpachi brought his sword up to block with the blade collar of his sword, that few inches of sword from out of the sheath, the two clashed together and was met with little force, he wasn’t thrown off balance it was basically an inwards defense then with Marrock’s second slash downward, the blade was fully out of the sheath and connected into the mid second of marrock’s combat knife. He felt no strength behind any of kenkaku’s blow’s, the blades deflected from one another, this man thought the Captain Commander was slow, that the armor slowed him down so much that he couldn’t fight a fast opponent but there were ways around this, but most importantly he wore this armor for the sake of his opponent, to keep them from dying to quickly: As the world always seemed to slow in his eyes, this man was no different.

He felt the cockiness in the other’s movements, just from the clashing of a blade he could feel this man’s ignorance, it showed how much he knew and that was nothing. “Oh look at that, a woman that doesn’t know any better. What’re the odds?” Marrock thought’s concerning the other’s thoughts of victory, it was all too simple to beat such a low level of skill and his speed was nothing to write home about. Like a great chess player he would calculate the moves, the moves needed to win, and substitute for the opponents actions: this was no different and the man’s brash way of fighting gave him so, so, so many options to choose from. His first attack was a downward slash to the left shoulder, he saw this a mile away, his eyes dilated, the world came to a crawl as he was standing off to the right of the man. He stepped forward to the right swinging his arm up like a blade to connect with man’s sword, armor wasn’t always as bad as the other made it out to be, he knew his own speed and it was easily on par with the armor less swordsman.

His blade was in his left hand, the others sword was against the vambrace on his arm neither giving way of force unless his arms swing used just enough force to stop the blade but not send it too far away, he had a plane and according to the other man’s fighting style it fit perfectly. The Captain Commander stepped off to the right as soon as his arm and the others blade clashed. Then on his right heel he spun just before the man would try and jump back and when he did he felt the solid wall that was the man’s vest and shoulders, before giving the man time to react and exactly as he spun around him he drove his blade towards the man’s spleen, but a few inches to the right, pretty much in the stomach. The attack was almost simultaneous with his spin, which was almost split seconds after deflecting his first attack. Considering the man was going to step back if Marrock tried to attack, this seemed a fitting attack to step back into. These movements all happened within several precise movements, the other not knowing how much his armor weighed, how fast he truly was with it, or even the real force he could put behind his attacks or the speed at which he would attack: Kenkaku made too many assumption’s, not knowing your enemy but knowing your self was only one half the key to victory.

There was a point in battle when he felt the need to take off these weights, to release his mind off every thought that hindered him, slowed him and simply free himself from the burdens of the world: If only life were that easy. He wore the armor to remind him of who he was, his past and why he kept fighting, even if the opponent was faster, stronger, and more skilled in every aspect but he kept fighting and he was still standing today. The armor was dual sided; it provided protection, that even though the world may weigh heavy on his shoulders that there will always be something to help him through it: Namely his Will of Fire. The moment he felt his blade miss, the second he saw the others body step out of the way to miss the strike he brought his arm back, the blade in hand, readying himself into a quick stance. The right arm was brought up flat palmed behind his blade, with his elbow up and muscle’s tense he was ready to strike or move like Hermes the Greek messenger god. His armor kept him from leaving open spots in his defense; with the slightest of movements he could bring any armored piece to the aid of any indefensible area on his body.

He emptied his mind, to be faster than an opponent was impossible at this moment, he was losing options but the one most prevalent in his mind was a defiant battle cry that wouldn’t allow him to stop fighting. His breaths slowed, his heart pumped like a machine, the adrenaline flowed, something he’s learned to control throughout the course of hundreds of years of battle, the world could slow for him to a crawl but seeing the attack was not the problem hear, keeping up was. His eyes shut, there was a blind samurai whom challenged him many years ago, he learned a lot from that encounter and perfected the art of fighting blind many decades ago. The world became sound, the air was his ears and suddenly the other wasn’t so fast, not as he believed. Using the sense of touch; He felt every little vibration in the ground beneath his feet, the creaking of wood as they fought. He used his hearing to ‘see’ the air being sliced open by kenkaku’s blade, the others clothing ruffling within his own movements, his breathes, his heart beating like a drum. Then finally he could draw off the smell of the room, the change in the heat as someone would exercise they grew hotter in body tempters and it clashed with the rooms.

The world was drowned in darkness, with the Kenpachi’s movements the only thing in his mind, all other distractions was blocked out with an iron curtain. He aimed low, his mind instantly running through every unarmored spot on his body he found the thigh to be the most dangerous, but it was too simple to stop. He twisted, with little time to react, and brought his knee up to deflect the blade clear off the side. He would aim the thick metal plating of his greave’s to hit the blade perfectly and send it veering off past his hip. He could have easily at this point, use his own weapon to strike down towards the arm, the elbow, the shoulder, neck, it was all but to easy and he chose not to, when saying the least. He used a simple Shunpo back at least three yards. The warrior dropped to his butt, crossing his legs as he centered himself opening his eyes, he began slipping off the vambraces, pulling them off first then tossing them to the ground a few feet away. The single chunk of armor dented the ground, cracking straight through to hit the concrete beneath the floor board, even leaving a small crater in its wake. “Now its time to finish this…”

Next came the left vambrace, he kept them in a pile, tossing it next to the other armor piece with the same result, a large thump and a small denting in the floor panel. These were the lightest set of armor he wears, the vambrace that is. He unstrapped the right greave, holding it up he tossed it to the right side, this time it was nearly double, it flattened the ground breaking straight through the wooden planks and busting several others on its own. He took off the left greave and found his legs were free from the grasp of skeletons, the weight of the world and his past disappearing like the air from his lungs. It hit with a thud and sent a cloud of dust spiraling around the set of greaves, which left only one piece to remain. He untied his Commander haori, placing the weighted sash, though severely less than the armor, neatly on the floor, even folding it first. His vest, chest piece, the weighted chest piece was all that remained, he lifted the heavy thing with a small “Umph” a testimonial to its great weight, it was the heaviest of the five armor pieces, nearly quadruple the greaves and eight times the vambraces. He held it up for a moment, and then set it down next to his sash, simply by setting it down the floor was cracking from its pressure, and the Captain Commander scooped up the haori placing it back on his shoulders: It may have been the only thing keeping him from floating off into space.

There was an inner piece about him now, his body flourished with spirit pressure, his muscles grew, and his mind was sharper than ever. His chest rose, his haori lifted as his body tightened just from taking off the weights he felt faster than ever and even somewhat stronger. The weight of a freeman was weightless, any doubts he had, any distress, any anguish that plagued him was beyond erased. His problems were solved within moments, his arms moved in such a slow motion it was looking odd, but looking closer those hands faded away, his hands were beyond blurs as he moved them in small circles. He picked up his blade, the short sword or long combat knife, became an instrument, the instrument that would begin a symphony of destruction. His legs parted slowly then faded, their solid form was one foot in front of the other, the right foot planted forward for strength, the left behind for stability, his right hand pushed forward with the combat knife securely in his right hand, the left was stationed at his stomach flat open like still waters.

He was right handed, he wasn’t even using his dominate hand through out the short life or their fight, but then again he was also wearing weights and using about fifty percent output in most attacks, but this is where the fight began and also where it ended. There was an enormous amount of controlled spirit pressure resonating off of his body, pulsing like a living spirit, he was finally putting spirit energy through is weapon and his movements not that they needed them at all. He dashed forward with the speed of a winged footed messenger, the opponent was his objective, straight forward was simple enough, but he wanted to drag out this feeling of euphoria in his speed, he so rarely took off his weights. The warrior was dashing forward, watching kenkaku as if the world was on pause, and spun around him simply running past him, but at a speed the eye cannot perceive, a speed the senses were dulled by, and found himself standing behind the swordsman his blade up and striking down toward the back of his left shoulder.

It was not over yet, whether it hit or missed, was dodged or blocked, the blitz followed up by dashing to the left then right, then down in a diamond pattern, after images appearing before he was even heard, before the floor cracked beneath his strength of heel, before the eye could comprehend his quickness. He attack from the right this time, aiming for the arm, then all at once disappearing, riding the wind he was to the left of the man’s body, slashing towards the same place; the bicep. He moved from sight once more attacking the back, a barrage of stabs, at least a dozen aimed for the sides of the spine missing that vital piece just by inches. If they hit or missed he would continue on before this boost ended, and again out of no where he would appear for only a split second to attack, aiming for different places each round. His after images were surrounding the swordsman, staying for several seconds before fading into another position or attack pose. He didn’t follow a pattern or path, but attack the main eight directions attacking the arms, back chest wrists, hands, joints, legs, knee caps and of course the back. The final move before his enormous boost ended caused him to disappear this time appearing over head; jumping above him, the Commander spinning like a saw at least a dozen times in less than two seconds and dropping the back of his heel, which was a metal framed combat boot, towards the top of his head, if it hit the other would be sent down to the floor, face first. After this last move he would blitz back to the center of the arena, his sword in hand, his back straight, legs parted to the shoulders, not a beat of sweat or look of concern, but his blade was at the ready as he would be: like a Commander needed to be.