Deadstride heard the marching before he saw them. The cadence of boots pounding the concrete battered away the silence. Within moments, several dark uniforms spilled out of the shadows and flooded the empty stretch of pavement in a heartbeat.

They phased into formation and dropped down on one knee aiming polished rifles more advanced than what the officers were supplied with. Deadstride felt the laser dots swarming his chest like fireflies.

He heard more soldiers lining the rooftops, guns nestled into their shoulders, taking stance one by one with flawless precision.

He met their gazes.

Spirit pressure filled his body, invigorating him as it ebbed through his skin.

“Easy boys.” A voice rang out.

A soldier strode out of formation with a large hammerhead blade resting on his shoulder, smoking a cigar.

His hair was cropped and tilted slightly. A mere tank top stretched across his chiseled abdominal muscles, revealing a hairy chest and broad shoulders. The rogue suddenly appeared less intimidating.

The soldier left the cigar in his mouth, smoke shooting through his nostrils. He shrugged the sword off his shoulder and let it hit the ground with a bang, then placed his hands on the hilt.

No one said a word for a while. No one even blinked.

The rogue suddenly burst forward using a technique commonly known as ghost step.

The soldier was quick to react but the force of Deadstride’s blow nearly bulldozed him.

At once, their blades began to flash and screech as they broke into lethal combat. While Deadstride contended with his new opponent, he had to remain cognizant of the gunmen who were exceptionally good at near misses.

Not that they had poor aim, but the rogue had a way of moving quickly, phasing through scores of soldiers while the supposed captain pursued him, hurling the large sword with ease.

He drove Deadstride back with a series of blows until he broke his posture, intending to finish him with an axe chop.

Deadstride vanished abruptly and the blade struck a large rift in the concrete.

The soldier looked up and saw his foe on the rooftops, flogging his soldiers and paddling bullets like pong balls.

The other squad on the building across the street fired vigorously. Deadstride took hold of one of the soldiers by his collar and used him as a meat shield until the gunmen had to reload. The captain suddenly appeared midair attempting to bring his sword down on the entire building itself. Fury was in his eyes. His dog tags were briefly suspended, glinting in the streetlamp. They read; BRADLEY.

Deadstride lit his meat shield on fire and tossed it at the captain. The soldier kicked the burning corpse and came down on the building, tearing a huge gash from the top down. Bricks, plaster and miscellaneous content came spilling onto the street.

Deadstride was already gone. He soared several feet above the other soldiers, his hand engulfed in an orange flame with a gel-like consistency.

He cast it upon his victims and the substance exploded upon contact. Bodies went flying left and right.

Few made it out alive, watching the orange inferno upend the premises. Dobbs was on one knee after diving off the rooftop. He looked over his shoulder, seeing bodies fall from the night sky and the rogue walking out of one collapsing building while Bradley walked out of the other.

They collided again, the sound of metal grating Dobb’s eardrums.

He stood up and started pacing down the street with a slight limp. He found his rifle on the ground, picked it up and racked the chamber.

He turned around, aimed and fired a few times.

The target seemed unfazed. Probably bulletproof.

“Whatever…” He grumbled, dropping the rifle. He went on his way, stepping over debris.

In a nearby alley on the other side of the street he heard cats fighting. Both of them came scurrying out, followed by some kid in a jacket holding an expensive looking sword.

“Whoa!” Hanzo cried, astonished by all the death and destruction. ‘What the heck is going on over here?”

Dobbs looked at the guy. “Hey, pal. You’d better head home. It’s dangerous out here.”

Hanzo just noticed the soldier, fully clad in uniform looking rather impressive despite the air of defeat weighing on his shoulders.

Ultimate Soldier? He thought with surprise. The sound of clashing swords caught his attention again and he was able to see two figures duking it out in front of the library he’d been searching for.

The concrete shattered beneath their feet as they battled on, sending waves of spirit pressure through town.

Deadstride moved efficiently, countering his adversary’s blows without fail.

He slashed for the soldiers eyes and the man recoiled, feeling a sharp wind trim his eyelashes.

Bradley rejoined with a heavy downward chop. Deadstride reached up and blocked but the blow forced him on one knee.

He was deadlocked, trembling as he tried to heave the slab of metal away from his body. It was futile.

The soldier threw all of his weight forward and in a flash of sparks, Deadstride’s blade snapped and the greatsword ripped through him like butter.

Hanzo’s jaw fell.

There was a brief silence as Bradley stared at his halved opponent with a look of triumph in his eyes.

That triumph morphed into bewilderment as dust spewed out of the corpse.

“Above you!!” Dobbs shouted.

The soldier looked up and saw Deadstride descending with his sword submerged in flames.

He struck the concrete and set off a riveting explosion. Debris flew like bullets, shattering windows, bouncing across the street and pelting the two bystanders shielding their faces.

The soldier went tumbling like a barrel and landed on his back.

Dazed, he shook his head and started to stand, realizing he’d lost hold of his weapon. He reached for his pistol.

Before he could seize the grip, he saw his own sword rippling toward him.

Quick as lightning, his palms clamped the blade with a loud whump. He skid backward into a wall, sinking into a horse stance to keep himself from staggering.

The head of the blade had no tip but a razor sharp edge that fanned out in both directions like an axe, just hair’s length away from splitting him in half.

Gazing down at himself, he suddenly became aware of Deadstride’s sword lodged through his heart.

The man squinted as though he were seeing things, unable to comprehend his predicament.

He coughed. A piercing agony ripped through his frame. Another cough. This time, blood.

No. He thought. This isn’t how I go down.

The soldier dropped the greatsword and gripped the hilt of his opponent’s weapon with both hands.

He hardened his expression, tightening his jaw, veins bulging from his temple as he pulled the long slab of steel out of himself.

Deadstride darted forward and sent the man through the building with a jolting front kick to his chest.

The sword sprang free and fell back in the hand of its owner.

The rogue stood there for a moment on one leg, assuring his victory as he stared into the hollow past the collapsing brick and exhalation of dust.

Slowly, he let his foot down.

A sudden flash of emerald caught his attention.

It blinded him partially, coalescing into a violent wave of energy.

In a quick burst of movement, he shot back, looking to see where the attack came from.

He saw Hanzo holding his sword in an offensive stance, his eyes as green as the northern lights.

“Heads up, fool!” Hanzo shouted.

Deadstride stared at the boy and then looked at Dobbs. Dobbs checked his watch and started walking away.

He was a smart guy. The other guy, not so much. Still, Deadstride wasn’t sure how the attack got so close to him.

Not that it made much of a difference.

“Who the hell are you?” He said.

Hanzo stood and put his sword across his shoulder, then he grazed his nose with his thumb as some sort of confident gesture. “Hanzo.”

“Hanzo…” Deadstride echoed. “And what do you want? You don’t look like a soldier or a cop.”

“I could be undercover.” Hanzo suggested.

Deadstride’s gaze went flat. Then, it narrowed on the black sword.

“Is that…?” He began.

“What?” Hanzo frowned.

“Where did you get that sword?”

“What sword?” The boy replied. Deadstride smiled wryly.

Without warning, he moved forward at phantom speed. Before Hanzo could defend himself, Deadstride was already beside him with his blade on his throat.

“Who are you?” He asked in a darker tone.

Hanzo swallowed, staring down at the icy hot steel below his jaw.

“Yo…I ain’t nobody, man. I’m just messing around.”

“Then why are you out here?” The warrior kept his weapon on him, unmoving, unflinching.

Hanzo looked at him eye to eye with a hint of aggression.

“I was just going to the library. It’s not my fault you were out here murdering people.”

“The library? For what?”

“A book.”

“What kind of book?”

Hanzo paused before answering. “The…The House of Swords.”

Deadstride looked away for a second. He seemed confused.

“Who sent you for it??” He asked.

“Some guy named Oscar.”

Deadstride was not familiar with an Oscar. He took his sword away from the boy’s throat and ran his fingers through his styled hair.

Hanzo somehow felt as though a yoke had been removed from his neck. What kind of level is this guy on?? He gasped, I could barely move!!

Without another word, Deadstride turned away and sheathed his sword. He surveyed the piles of bleeding and burning corpses, collapsing buildings, upturned vehicles and any general devastation he’d brought upon the broadway. The scene was splashed in a wild palette of oranges, blues, reds and a bit of green.

Most of the people here were dead but there were a few fortunate souls moaning and stirring, crawling out of oblivion.

“Deadstride.” A voice called out from above.

The warrior turned around. There on the edge of the building was a shadowy figure with an astute gaze.

A swift breeze blew the ends of his divided trench coat, offering a glimpse of the rectangular sword strapped across his lower spine.

He reached back and grasped the hilt firmly leaving no certainty as to when he would draw.

“Aiden.” Deadstride smirked wearily. “You still got a score to settle, huh?”

“Did you think you’d lose me that easily?” The man replied.

“No, I just thought you found something better to do.”

“Indeed.” The warrior replied. “To think you lost your precious satchel…”

“Let’s not get the youngin caught up in this.” Deadstride said. Hanzo wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or condescending.

Frankly, he was fairly clueless as to what was going on but he kept his sword handy just in case the fans started spinning.

The swordsman named Aiden looked like yet another tough bastard.

“You’ll have to go through me if you want Deadstride.”

He challenged, setting his foot forward to show he was ready to scrap if need be.

Aiden scrutinized him with a gaze similar to Okami’s.

“I will be more than happy to kill you once I’ve finished with him.” He replied.

Hanzo felt his skin go cold. Yeah right, He thought, despite himself. If he even bothers to try, I’ll waste his ass the same way I did Jirako The Hunter.

He chuckled at the thought.

A gale of spirit pressure sent him reeling in shock.

Aiden plunged on Deadstride like a bolt of lightning and they both coasted across the street, carving a deep scar in the earth. Hanzo scrambled to his feet and started gunning for the library as they broke into combat.

He heard a startling bang and the sound of boots sliding across gravel as Deadstride crashed into him by accident.

Hanzo careened into a wall and spilled onto the sidewalk.

The warriors traded blows ever rapidly, beginning to transcend the limits of gravity with all the acrobatics and murderous swordsmanship. Their jackets rippled and swayed like the plumage of two angry pheasants.

Hanzo was aghast. He wasn’t quite sure if what he was seeing was real.

These guys weren’t just some average steel swingers.

A peculiar distortion at the corner of his eye caught his attention after several seconds. He glanced at it and went back to watching the absurd melee.

As if someone slapped him in the cheek, he looked a second time as his eyeballs registered the glistening form of Skeeter.

“What the freak?!” He almost shrieked.

The spirit stood beside him with his arms tightly folded, collecting various light contrasts from the environment like one of those glowing water fountains.

His surface quivered under the blustering winds of spirit pressure, otherwise he seemed relatively undisturbed.

Deadstride and Aiden took to the rooftops of Skerratic with their violent tango of death, strangling the hilts of their swords as though they were holding live snakes.

There was of course the obligatory display of fireworks shooting off the two blades, making Hanzo wonder what they were made of and how long it would be before one of them snapped.

The cockfight soon bungeed onto the great dome of the Machridian library, reminding Hanzo of why he was here in the first place.

“Skeeter!” He snapped. “Make yourself useful and go grab that book for me.”

The creature just stood there. He wasn’t even watching the fight.

Worthless sewer spirit. Hanzo growled, rising to his feet. I oughta’ flush this clown down the toilet back to where he belongs…

He observed the thrashing warriors with a new set of eyes. His fingers closed around his sword, coming to some kind of resolution.

His heart started beating faster and faster yet.

Noise from behind caught his attention. He turned and saw a platoon of soldiers filling the street with their rifles trained on the library.

There were more on the rooftops as well.

“Now listen here, you bunch of pasty ass, good for nothin’, fresh-outta’-A.I.G.E.-camp, sons of potato diggin’ bastards!”, came the loaded cry of some unknown commanding officer. “I want you to open fire on anybody you see that ain’t wearing a uniform!!! You hear me??”

Hanzo dropped to the ground and clamped his hands behind his head.

The deafening gunfire and cascading bullet shells ruptured his ear canals.

Rounds pelted the space around him, whizzing and popping in rapid succession which prompted him to start low crawling.

The firing became less chaotic and the soldiers started advancing.

Hanzo yelped in shock as a hand squeezed his bicep and pulled him to his feet.

It was a soldier. “The hell you doing, private? Haul ass.”

The tough looking guy slapped a pistol on his chest.

Hanzo clutched it and watched him hustle after his group shouting commands.

He looked at the new weapon.

A handsome machination designed and assembled with astute detail.

It had a nice weight to it and fit very comfortably in his palm.

He found the magazine release with his thumb and pushed down on it.

He observed a clip full of green bullets, much to his fascination.

Reminding himself of the mission, he closed the mag and hurried after the platoon.

They sent bullets at the dome, chipping away at the exterior and missing the two figures as they grappled through the air and crashed landed on another building.

Grenades went off by the dozens.

Deadstride sprinted across the rooftops with gunfire chasing him.

Aiden was nowhere to be seen, lost in clouds of black smoke.

The soldiers raged through the streets with a vengeance, keeping close tabs on their target.

Deadstride dived from the heights and crashed through an office window.

He rolled to his feet and kicked a door open with concussive strength.

Aiden appeared in the hallway, catching him by surprise.

They went at it again, destroying the building from the inside out.

Wall portraits were sliced in half, bookshelves truncated, the rug caught on fire and windows shattered as soldiers infiltrated.

The two rogue warriors danced violently, bouncing off the walls without any regard for their environment.

Soldiers opened fire from the safety of half open doors, sending flares to light up the small confines.

And never had a place felt so small.

The backside of the office building exploded and a great dragon headed flame burst into view.

Aiden reeled through the air and fell on his back as the blast nosedived right on top of him.

A second explosion shattered the alley and sent every well laid stone into the skies.

Deadstride sauntered through the blaze, seeing that his adversary had dived out of harms way.

They came to blows for a third duration, battling down the alley at such speeds that the soldiers struggled to keep up.

The dark uniforms gunned through the narrow aisles of town and Hanzo followed close behind, not sure if he should have checked the library for the book first or catch up to Deadstride to be sure he didn’t have it already.

He hadn’t fired a single shot yet.

It probably wasn’t necessary since trained soldiers couldn’t even nail the wild bastards with automatic rifles.

He couldn’t help but speculate a ‘what if’ scenario in which he got lucky enough to pop one of them in the head.

Until then, he followed after the disorganized platoon, glancing at the all of the narrow gashes scarring the scene.

Deadstride and Aiden careened out of the alley onto another main street, Brotos Ave.

The collars of their jackets were bunched in each others fists as they tumbled across concrete unaware of a large inn towering above them.

The glass doors burst inward showering a recently mopped marble floor with glistening shards and they both slid across the lobby, crashing into the receptionist’s desk.

A small sculpture toppled over.

A large vase fell and exploded into a thousand pieces.

Outside, the soldiers emerged and crowded the area with hot barrels leveled at the dimly lit edifice. There was a metal sign above the entrance titled Stepp Inn, which Hanzo thought was an incredibly stupid name.

“Alright, boys!” Officer Dillard shouted.

“This is the land stand! Open fire!!”

Walls of bullets drilled through the entrance and perforated the walls, the pictures and statues, the piano and the sofas.

The receptionist’s desk was obliterated, reduced to some unrecognizable heap of splintered wood and powdery clumps of marble.

The deafening volley ceased. Clattering bullet shells followed and then the roaring echoes traveled through the night sky.

Silence returned. Albeit for a brief moment.

Soldiers rushed into the building, and branched out in different directions, performing a full sweep of the room.

All was silent and there was no sign of the two rogues.

Dillard marched inside the inn with his pistol handy. He glanced to his left. He glanced to his right and then looked up.

There on the first balustrade was a strange shadowy figure whose face was hidden beneath a remarkable straw hat.

He was adorned in silky olive green robes and dark pleated trousers that resembled a dress of sorts.

He was armed with a curved sword tucked in a sash with the sharp edge facing upward.

Dillard blinked, not sure what to make of this anomaly.

“Hold on boys…” he squinted. “Looks like we got a bogie.”