[closed] wish there was something real

[anbu]

Who: Itachi Uchiha & various.
When: Throughout Maiuril.
Where: Several locations.
What: Catch-all.
Warnings: Probably some violence in at least one thread, will update as necessary.



[ooc: Feel free to send me a PM if you'd like to plot something! Open to 4th wall characters.]

Comments

@stiles, 5/20

[anbu]

[From his seated vantage on the roof of a storied building in the Residential District, Itachi has a clear view of the River Temese where it weaves toward the outer edge of the city. The wide channel is not overly crowded so late in the day; most boats are tied off at docks along the bank, although a sparse number of other vessels drift purposefully into the heart of Aefenglom, going about their usual business. The Bright Wall lies to the west, its gate funneling river water through a complicated mechanism. Itachi's eyes swing up to the discolored sky where Geardagas' two moons hang near the horizon, their thin slivers like hooks in a cloudless expanse.

He opens his left hand and pulls magic into it. It's a process more familiar now with near-daily practice, though still a shadow of what he was once capable. Tiny tongues of flame flicker into existence, hot against his fingers, casting frantic shadows over his arm. A month ago he hadn't had access to evocation spells; this is marked improvement. It became a priority after that first full moon where even these meager flames might have helped free him from that... humiliating situation.

The bundle of fire in his hand suddenly flares, crackling and bright, enlarging in a waver of unstemmed magic — Itachi's breath hisses between his teeth as he shakes out his hand. He presses his singed palm down against his thigh. The throb of pain begins to fade, but with it comes a persistent ache at both temples.

Getting worse. It's predictable, given how close the new moons are, but it's not a reminder he's keen to have.

Irritated, Itachi stands, looking around. Where did that stupid bird go now?


A few streets away, Stiles will find himself set upon by an overenthusiastic crow, interrupting him on his walk to some unknown destination. It wheels out of nowhere with a bright chirping cackle and lands on Stiles' shoulder, then begins to gently groom... his hair... with little nibbles of its beak, feathers fluffed up. If Stiles is at all familiar with this particular avian species, he might notice the crow is far bigger than average. Maybe it's being overfed.]

RUSSELL

[mensrea]

[ Late afternoon descends upon Aefenglom, raising Stiles from the dead. Though it took several weeks, his body has finally returned to its pre-shift form in the wake of Suigetsu’s attack. Rest has been difficult since; Stiles craves the makeshift, silken hammock that he’d taken to sleeping in. Unfortunately, the hammock has since fallen apart. God, just another reason to despise this awful transformation. Already needing to burn off some restless energy, he decides on a walk through the various neighborhoods in the Residential District, which is where the crow finds him. ]

Gah!

[ The last time he was this close to a crow, a murder of them were crashing into his classroom in an attempt to commit suicide, all to feed the Darach power through animal sacrifice. Needless to say, Stiles does not anticipate that this particular crow is here peacefully. He startles roughly when dark wings appear in his periphery, then tries to frantically push the bird off once it lands. ]

Oh god, HELP! It’s…! [ A beat. ] It’s…eating…me…?

[ As it slowly becomes clear that the crow isn’t about to peck out his eyes (Stiles keeps a hand in front of them anyway, mistrustful), he begins to reassess the situation. ]

Uh, hello? Is this anyone’s bird…? [ he calls out uncertainly to the few pedestrians in the area, all of who give him blank looks of confusion. ] No? Great. Just great. H-hey! Easy with the beak, porky!

[ Stiles stands there in the road, unfamiliar crow on his shoulder, and hopelessly waits for someone to come claim the animal before it shits on him. ]

LOVE HIM

[anbu]

[Unfortunately for Stiles, the unclaimed crow has decided on this permanent roost: talons grip over Stiles' shoulder as it settles down, plump and content to be ferried around wherever, nipping at any fingers that attempt to shoo it away. Its behavior is almost domestic—a clingy animal that doesn't wish to be separated from its owner—though there's no ignoring the sharpness of talons and glossy beak.

Stiles won't be rescued right away. As Itachi follows the magical tether between himself and the summon, then turns the corner, he immediately stops. Realization hits. For whatever reason, this bird's behavior has been erratic and unpredictable since he first attached himself to it... almost to a point of seemingly willful disobedience.

Naturally it would find the person he least wishes to encounter in the entire city and glue itself to them.

Itachi leans himself against the wall with one hand extended, takes a deep breath, then steps around the corner to intersect Stiles' path.]

... [He's going to feed this useless bird to Sasuke once he gets it away from Stiles.] It won't hurt you. [Probably.]

CRIES

[mensrea]

[ After several minutes of standing in the middle of the street in a random neighborhood with a frankly obese bird merrily roosting on his shoulder, Stiles surrenders to the strange fate that has befallen him and continues walking. Sure, this is weird – yet somehow, par the course for the casual insanity of his daily life. Jonas, who he was in the middle of texting before he became an impromptu landing pad, suggests naming the crow “Russell,” which is both absolutely unhelpful and totally brilliant. ]

Like the sound of that, big boy? [ he asks the bird, daring to tentatively stroke a finger down its chest. ] Russell Crow? Yeah, you do. You love it, don’t you? Good boy.

[ Stiles is starting to get attached. Starry-eyed, he envisions a world where an animal doesn’t hate his guts for once. A world where he has a cool pet to talk to every day, one that won’t get bored of the sound of his voice or frustrated by the whiplash of non sequiturs he introduces to the conversation. A world of animal companionship and friendship. A beautiful world.

And then Itachi creeps out from behind a building like the old hag in Snow White and the dream promptly crashes in a fiery explosion of messy betrayal. ]

Tell me Russell Crow isn’t yours. [ Is he pleading? It sounds like he’s pleading. Listen, Stiles has already considered where to build a proper nest for his new pet. This is no joking matter. ] Please.

[anbu]

[Itachi stares blandly in the face of that plea, a furrow of confusion at his brow. He's missed most of Stiles' cooing and gleeful naming, which is for the best, because otherwise this would be a much shorter encounter.

He's not entirely above destroying his crow summon and creating a new one—but it's not an ideal time when his magic is already unstable and he needs the creature's bonded presence as a conduit. Starting from scratch would be tedious and could even go awry. So, he's stuck with this retrieval mission.]

I don't know what you mean by 'Russell Crow'. [A partial lie. He gets that it's a name simply through context, but he's not accepting it.] It's my bonded familiar.

[So, very much his.]

Now release it.

[As if Stiles is holding it hostage and it's not just obstinately sticking to him, ignoring Itachi...]

[mensrea]

[ A familiar, just like a certain iguana back at the cottage. Dammit Jonas, you’ve done it again, you absolute madlad. Eddie the Lizard and Russell the Crow. When he sees Jonas next, Stiles will need to give props where props are due. Until then…

Stiles looks at Russell Crow. Russell Crow looks at Stiles. As one, they turn to stare at Itachi. ]

Okay. Sure.

[ Nothing happens. The bird begins grooming itself. Watching this remarkable display of unadulterated obstinance, Stiles decides he loves this crow and will protect it with his own life. ]

[anbu]

[Cease and desist at once.]

... [An awkward few moments pass, where Itachi's eyes narrow to irritated slits when the bird fails to obey. It's not Stiles' fault—not directly—but it may as well be. Itachi blames him. The crow has not clung stubbornly to anyone else quite like this.

He holds his arm out to see if perhaps it will swoop over onto the perch. It doesn't. Itachi just looks dumb.]

Stiles, put the bird on the ground. I'll take it from there.

[Please, cooperate, he's begging you (in the Uchiha way of staring with dead eyes and anticipating compliance).]

@dimitri, 5/14

[anbu]

[On the furthest edge of the Outer City, Itachi waits beneath a great, looming tree. He's almost impossible to spot without knowing where to look: a dark, heavy cloak is draped around him at odds with the warmth of the season, another folded over an arm. Perched on his left shoulder is a crow with beady eyes and sleek feathers. While Itachi stands utterly still, the bird is fidgety and restless, hopping from one side to the other and flapping its wings as if it might take flight at any moment.

Ignoring this minor annoyance, he keeps black eyes focused ahead on the path with expectation. They've only spoken once since that incident, and even then it was impersonal through the watches; this is fine by Itachi. The less known between them, the better. Or so is his current operating mindset. If he intends to bond himself to this man—even temporarily—it's crucial to keep that distance.

Still, Itachi's unable to completely eliminate the unease he feels. Perhaps it would have been wiser to bring his brother on this experimental excursion... but as things rest uncertain and precarious between them, he doesn't regret his decision.

And witnessing Dimitri's nature last time... there's a hidden depth there, one which can only be accessed through further observation.

As he waits, Itachi roots into his pocket for a thin vial, the potion's coloring pale and milky in the sheer darkness of the Wilde just past where he's standing. While he's holding the vial, the crow cackles and tries to snatch it. Itachi waves it off. Overheard, the two moons are half full in the darkening sky. The surrounding area goes momentarily black as a cloud passes over their silver faces.]

i love this crow

[boarddyd]

[Despite being dressed in black drab, Dimitri is not subtle in his approach. His footfalls are heavy and accompanied by the metal clacking of his greaves. Wrapped in a dark blue cloak, he's come prepared to shed layers should he come in contact with any contaminate.

Better to plan ahead for the spray of blood - it's just impractical to hope he can avoid it.

With two spears fastened to his back, a sword on his hip, and two days worth of jerky and dry bread in his pouch, he's come ready to spend as long as necessary in the depths of the Wilde.

He intends to help Itachi with his exploration, but Dimitri's personal reasons for the venture are simply carnal. To put it pleasantly, he's pursuing more combat experience against the local monsters.

To put it bluntly, he wants to rip into something.

Dimitri eyes the bird on Itachi's shoulder when he approaches, and feels his stomach turn in something like hunger. Surely, it's a pet...]

Good evening. [His gaze shifts to the bonding potion in Itachi's hand, but he makes no mention of it. He'll let Itachi decide when the time is right to partake - whether that be now or on the threshold of one of them losing themselves.

Dimitri would choose the later, if the decision was left to him.] Preparations are complete on my end - I'm ready.

it's a wild child

[anbu]

Hello.

[It's meant to be a polite address as dark eyes sweep over Dimitri's appearance, noting the array of weapons and additional layers. The foresight there is easy to recognize; that's good. He finds himself recognizing the boy's youth once again in light of new knowledge—a soon-to-be-ruler.]

Let's travel further in. I would like not to wait too long before consuming the potion, as I'm uncertain of its effects... before we reach a point of crisis, it would be better to get accustomed.

[Get accustomed, plain language to dust over the simple act of binding one to another. It's still truth. Itachi turns, nodding his head in the direction of the blackened woods, then begins to walk.]

This bird is my familiar; I've summoned it with magic and tied it to myself. If its... behavior irritates you, tell me. My intention is to have it serve as watch while we travel. Is that all right?

[boarddyd]

[Itachi's logic is sound, as always. Dimitri offers a curt nod in acknowledgement - his trepidation of bonding isn't worth risking their safety, or the success of the journey. Yet, he doubts the success of a bond that includes him and his too easily frantic mind.

But if there's anyone who will understand him - who can direct his fervor - it's this man.

Dimitri's footfalls behind Itachi remain heavy. He falls into step easily, but remains one pace behind. A soldier's habit-]

I don't mind. He reminds me of the hawks we'd take hunting. [Maybe less well trained, and probably more adaptable. Overall, better suited to this sort of excursion. In other circumstances, Dimitri may have offered the bird a small morsel of his rations, but darkness is quickly spreading over them.

He's alert, scanning the waxing shadows and understanding less and less the further they walk. Trees blend into the sky, and the temperature drops. He can smell better than he can see, and with that instinct he learns just how still everything is.

How alone they are.]

There's nothing here, at the moment.

[anbu]

[The difference in their learned training is starkly transparent next to each other: Dimitri's presence louder in the dark, Itachi a near shadow at his side. It's a strange complement. Not one he's used to - having only ever worked with other shinobi - although perhaps some of them were closer to Dimitri's demonstrated brutality than his own indirect methods.

When the boy speaks again, Itachi draws to a slow halt, anticipating he will obey.]

Your senses are likely sharper than my own, as a monster. [He glances over Dimitri, as if searching for any unnoted physical changes in the time since last they'd seen each other.] It'll be wise for us to rely on them out here.

[Itachi's black eyes sweep over the cold ground for a moment before he leans to pick up a bare branch. His other hand lifts, and a small tongue of flame licks into existence, alighting the end of the stick. It throws the features of his face into stark relief.]

We'll use the potion now. [He looks at the boy, gaze examining whatever he sees in that pale, blue-eyed expression.] Come here.

[boarddyd]

[Dimitri slows when Itachi stops, coming to stand a few paces beyond him.

Well covered, there isn't much to behold beyond a frame that's broader than before, and hands that are obviously larger than a man's when beheld in silhouette. His teeth have begun to grow, angling ugly and peeking from his lips more prominently when he speaks-

All changes he attempts to diminish in any way he can. His eyes, too, have gained an amber flecking, and their pupils shrink and grow more rapidly.

They're pinpricks now - his gaze fixed, wide, on the dimly burning torch. Dancing flames blot out his vision, and when he finally tears away, everything else is indistinguishable black. Dimitri can't yet force himself to rely solely on senses other than sight-

So he must simply exhaust it entirely.

The world around him grows, crackling fire and an impossibly long stretch of silence surrounding. He smells the wood burning, the crisp night air growing stale the farther it drifts into the forest...

Still alone. Still safe.

Eyes on Itachi's flickering shadow, Dimitri approaches and raises his hand, palm up.

His heart surges in his chest. He's far more terrified of being seen by anyone than roaming blind in the blighted forest.] Is this... your first time? [Itachi does not appear as nervous as Dimitri feels, and he doesn't expect to glean any sense of unease in his partner-

But in the very least, maybe they're equally inexperienced.]

@julian, 5/22

[anbu]

[It comes worse, as he expects, on the night of the new moons.

Itachi recognizes the danger in staying within the city's walls during this time. As the Coven bids, he finds his way into the Wilde, an expanse of territory sectioned off from both civilization and Cwyld-infected woods to provide relief for individuals in his predicament. The pull is intense — far worse than the previous month — and spellcasting a compulsion. It isn't pleasant. There is nothing to enjoy in the act of slipping control, magic like fine grains of sand overflowing from his palms and spilling out over the ground.

Tonight, the Wilde is cold and dark. Not even the wind stirs as he strides through the fringe of trees, alone, and allows himself the freedom to tap into that deep reservoir of unbridled power. Great jets of flame scorch the empty area, charring underbrush and blackening the earth; soot and ash are a strong assault on the senses. Heat shimmers visibly in the air, and the frost of the Wilde's wintry season melts beneath it, turning the world slightly damp.

Itachi is breathless at the end of the first hour. His stamina is not burdened here by illness, as it once was, but the sheer force of magic in him is overwhelming, a tide that rises at the very center of himself and gushes out unstoppered. He feels a ticklish trickle; one hand lifts to wipe blood from his nose, a shiny red smear across the back of his wrist like one broad brushstroke of paint. His body feels as if it's burning up from the inside. Feverish and hot, he does not feel the chill of winter, stripped to a sleeveless black shirt and thin fabric pants, feet bare.

Overhead, Itachi's familiar circles the sky, black wings spread in flight. It lets out a long, cawing cry — and his attention turns in the direction of the city, perhaps a mile out. There's something... or someone there.]

Come out. [His voice is hard and commanding.]

[rowdyraven]

[He shouldn't be out here, perhaps. He's aware of the dangers, both of the external and internal variety. Has heard that this isn't precisely the best time for monsters, but he isn't a monster yet. Or at least, the signs of his impending change remain small and easy to hide. Downy feathers just beginning to scatter his chest, in place of hair. An inky darkness around the tips of his fingers that he had - at first - mistaken for smudged ink. A notion he'd swiftly become disabused of when all attempts to scrub it away had only left his skin feeling tight and raw, but still tipped with deepening black.

All these signs remain concealed beneath the layers of clothes he's wearing, and once out of sight it's easy enough to keep them out of mind. More or less.

Nights are the worst. It's when darkness falls and the world goes quiet that the noise inside his head becomes loudest. When drinking and pacing and muttering to himself prove inadequate to task of quieting his concerns, it seems that only action will get him through. Action and movement and exploration have always been the things that keep him closest to sane, and so he's come out here to roam the landscape. To formulate mental maps, to get the lay of the land.

It is not his first excursion, and is highly unlikely to be his last.

Despite it all, he's mired in the thrum of his own hectic thoughts when the caw of a bird cuts through the night's deep quiet. Catches sharp at his attention, drags his eyes upwards towards the deeper blackness circling up above. There's a tang in the air, bonfire-sweet, and he'd thought he'd heard the crackle of flames some while before, seen the flash of something up ahead, heat and light in the chill winter darkness. Something he should - perhaps - have moved away from, rather than towards.

He never has known what's good for him.

The caw of the bird is swift-followed by a voice...but it's a voice he knows.

He steps out from behind a tangle of trees, lifts a hand. Smiles a sheepish kind of smile.]

Oh, hello. Fancy meeting you in a place like this, eh? Out er, out taking the night air?

[anbu]

[This man again. Recognition shines in brightly, matched against memory of their past conversations: in the dreamed cave and on the dock, in the gauzy and half-forgotten past of the Looking-Glass House. It seems he continues to find Julian in unexpected, precarious situations - and every time the man is unbothered by surrounding action or potential violence.

Here, it's as though Julian has caught him in a trance. Itachi looks him over critically, eyes black like stones, his entire person a monochrome color against Julian's comparative brightness. Except for the garish red nosebleed.]

No, [he says in a low voice,] I'm dispelling reserves of magic in a place quarantined from the city. It is designed to contain damage. [His gaze narrows slightly.] As well as protect civilians.

[The sharper, bladed edge to Itachi's articulate voice is not imagined. He drops a bloody hand from his face, forms a cryptic symbol with fingers, then curls his hand as if to snatch something - and the air blisters hot-white, shimmering into the shape of a slender sword made entirely of fire. Two long strides carry him to those trees where Julian is lurking, and he thrusts the makeshift weapon out, holding its guttering point mere inches from the man's pale chin.]

Monsters are weak this night. How can you know I won't kill you?

[rowdyraven]

[There's something cutting in the other man's voice, sharp as broken glass. He only has a moment to feel its edge - eye blinking in the near-dark, lips poised into the shape of an unspoken question - before Itachi closes the distance between them in two wide strides. The blazing sword that manifests in his hand rises swift towards the point of his chin, and Julian's head tilts up obligingly, both hands spread wide in a gesture of submission. He can feel the heat of it at this short distance, a bright ache at his exposed throat. Thickly he swallows, imagines how it might feel should it meet his skin, a searing pain that would fill him up and eclipse his thoughts, make of his mind something quiet and clean.

His heart, it beats a little fast, and his lashes fall low.]

I don't suppose I do.

[He answers honestly, his gaze on Itachi's face whilst he tries to push past thoughts of how that sword would feel buried inside of him, reaching for Itachi's words instead. Monsters are weak this night. He'd heard this spoken of, in the taverns of the Bright Bay, among the other Harpies he's made the effort to seek out, to better get to know their ways. Does he feel it though? He can't be sure. There's a heaviness, a lethargy in him, the weight of a bone-deep kind of exhaustion...but he so rarely allows himself to succumb to sleep that it could just as easily be attributed to that.

He tilts a smile at the other man, slowly shrugs.]

Will you, then?

[He doesn't sound particularly afraid.]

[anbu]

[No, he doesn't. They hardly know one another, after all. Yet even if Julian did know him, that would be no assurance of safety. Perhaps it would be less of one.

There's that same reaction again — the expression on Julian's face crossing into some unidentifiable range of emotion, and though his hand is not pressed to the other man's chest, he's certain he would feel an uptick of pulse beneath Julian's sternum. It's frustrating not to understand why. It's so atypical from someone who is not capable of fighting back, or at least not on a level that would match Itachi's lifetime advantage, that it becomes senseless to him.]

Why aren't you afraid?

[Like an accusation, Itachi keeps the flaming sword level with that strong jaw. The weapons blazes brilliantly in the pitch blackness of their surroundings.]

What is it about you?

[It isn't usual for him to feel so... unsettled by this, but he recognizes another effect of the new moons even if there's little he can do to control it: patience threadbare, agitation heightened, mind weakened to the deep trench of his own emotion.]

I apologise for him ;;

[rowdyraven]

[The blade remains poised close to his skin, flames licking bright at the point of it, and the heat is a fierce insinuation against his senses even at this distance. Perhaps he ought to be afraid. He's not as durable as he used to be, something that still slips his mind now and then, and there are people waiting for him back home. People who would no doubt prefer that he make it back to them in one, living piece.

But the prospect of pain so close at hand makes that a murky, distant thought, and instead there's the pulse of some dark longing in him, a heat down deep at the centre of himself that has nothing to do with the flames. His tongue flickers quick across the seam of his lips, the flesh there suddenly feeling dry, parched from a profane kind of thirst.

Itachi poses his question, and - soft as the night - Julian laughs.]

It's like I told you, my dear. Danger and I go way back, and in my line of work one can't be afraid of a little pain. One might say I have...intimate knowledge of it.

[The arch of his brow is decidedly wily, his smile a dashing slash across his face.]

Besides, I died once before, you know. In a sense. It wasn't that bad, really.

@sephiroth, end of month

[anbu]

[As promised, a message will find its way to Sephiroth's watch a few weeks following their agreed arrangement.

If you have any time to spare tomorrow evening at dusk, I will wait for you here.

Attached is the image of a map, a section of green space highlighted in a tight red circle. It is located on the edge of territory the Coven has barricaded off for both full and new moons; however, they're certain to have it to themselves so late in the month. Perhaps it isn't the safest place to choose. He doesn't think there's reason to be concerned.

And true to word — as the Wilde's cold winter sun sets over the canopy of trees — Itachi is waiting here, eyes on the path between him and Aefenglom. His crow overhead is wheeling lazily through the sky with an occasional, shrill bird call.]

i'm HERE, ty for waiting!

[supersoldier]

[The message is read and replied to -- in the affirmative, of course. If there is one activity that Sephiroth is the most unlikely to turn down, it's a chance to keep the rust off of his blade; and with someone he knows (someone with whom he's curious about, admittedly, as well), all the better for it.

Itachi reaches their meeting place first, a vast clearing surrounded by the high, shivering branches of trees, cast in cold light. Sephiroth's approach is easily seen, just a darkly-clad man amongst the treeline, the steel of Masamune glinting int he light with each step. The sharp call of a bird echoes overhead.

Nearing, Sephiroth offers his brand of greeting, which is never really much of a greeting at all.]

You had the foresight to choose someplace isolated. That's good. A SOLDIER's fighting style is rarely suited for close-quarters.

[It's half the truth. They are far too eager to take control of the space in which they fight to limit themselves.]

i will wait forever

[anbu]

[Upon the other man's approach, Itachi steps forward and out of the ring of shadow from the surrounding wilderness. His eyes pass from Sephiroth's broad stature to the silver flash of the weapon on his back. A sight alone that might intimidate most.]

I assumed that was the case, from what little I've seen so far.

[Not enough to make any sweeping assumptions about the SOLDIER's fighting style, not from that brief shred of memory, but still. The sheer reach of Sephiroth's weapon is a tell.]

I prefer privacy regardless. [Above head, the crow swoops down and alights on the bare branch of a nearby tree, beady eyes watching. Itachi stands still across from his opponent, slighter by comparison.] What are your terms? I have magic at my disposal, and you likely have additional advantages as a Monster.

In the past, [and so long ago now it feels distant and strange,] when I would spar with someone else... we would not stop until the other had either willingly forfeited or been incapacitated. Does that satisfy you?

[supersoldier]

[It isn’t too sweeping of an assumption, given the length of Masamune — that alone is proof of a fighting style that commands space, pressing advantage through intimidation and strength. Itachi is right to think so.

Eyes flick up to the barely-there movement of a branch quivering under the weight of a crow, the only observer of their brewing sparring session. He’s soon to return his feline gaze back to the other man, who stands directly before him and offers conditions not dissimilar to what he’s used to. SOLDIERs often clashed in ways that skirted the line between what was basic training and what was a war of wills, a test to see who would yield first. Itachi touts nothing new.]

That’s acceptable.

[He cants his head, intrigued.]

I would like for you to use whatever magic you have at your disposal. There’s no point in issuing a handicap for either party without knowing where our strengths lie. Don’t hold back.

[anbu]

That's true. Very well.

[This is as much an effort to learn the man in front of him as it is a need to exercise his own abilities in combat. It will be the first serious test of his magical capability in the last few months of day-and-night training, and there isn't anyone else he can imagine a better choice than Sephiroth in this regard, except perhaps his brother.

After a small measure of silence, Itachi extends one arm out—the sharp, electric sense of magic threading the air—and manifests a long black blade into his hand. Slender as a katana, it is a lightless and colorless weapon, shorter in length than Sephiroth's sword but no less formidable.]

Then let's begin.

[Where passive waiting was once his modus operandi, this time Itachi lashes out first. He teleports in a flash to the place at Sephiroth's left flank, swinging the blade in his grasp at an abrupt angle, intent to cut across the other man's back.]

[supersoldier]

[The sight of Itachi’s magic causes electrical pinpricks to crawl up Sephiroth’s arm, but the display itself draws the eye in a strictly empirical way. There is something curious about how a blade — a katana, at that — shapes itself from nothing, becomes a sharp edge of danger formed merely from the man’s will. He supposes it is no different than his own now-defunct elemental materia, though it is still foreign enough to his eyes that they almost linger upon the sight.

Almost.

He receives a three-world preamble before his opponent is gone, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, and it is only Sephiroth’s alien sense of hyperawareness that has him registering his appearance at his flank. It isn’t enough time to even fall into a proper defensive stance; barely enough time to twist his torso with his heels dug into the ground, bringing up Masamune’s edge vertically to block the attack.

It isn’t the first time he’s pushed back an assault without bothering to fall into form — but that had been, admittedly, to tease at his opponent. To illustrate just how little effort he needed to dance around their assault. Sephiroth would like to afford Itachi a small amount of respect before doing that much, and so he pushes back before Masamune’s steel can even stop ringing, meeting Itachi’s speed with blunt-force strength.

He follows up with a leap backwards, filling the space left behind with a strong sweep of Masamune to discourage pursuit.]

Fast.

[—he utters, more observation than a compliment, landing on the ground, then springing forward in a straight lunge of his blade.]