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KingFisher [God Of Highschool/DxD]

Discussion in 'Creative Writing' started by Shirazad, Apr 15, 2019.

  1. Threadmarks: Ταφος 1.a

    Shirazad Sapphic StoryTeller

    Oct 22, 2018
    Likes Received:
    Cheonggyecheon Bridge - Seoul

    I found myself surrounded.

    …an ambush’, I thought.

    It came from out of nowhere, just as I was making my way to the hospital for a visit like I often did most Tuesdays.

    A tentative count of… eight ‘students’ popped up from cover under the stone-arch bridge, behind roadside shrubbery, one even jumped down the stone-bridge onto the dirt-bank from the railing where he’d been standing. More arrived in moments - seven of them, riding on six bikes with a passenger on one, bringing the total to fifteen, that I could see.

    The riders, minus one passenger who stayed seated and contented themselves with spectating from a distance; not a fighter then, I observed - disentangled themselves from their color-themed bikes, red and black with flame decals – tacky, as they arrived onto the scene to join their cohort.

    Four flanked me, two in the front and two to the rear, steel pipes dragging along the ground and aluminum bats in hand. Neither pair made to move against me, seemingly content to keep me boxed in, all the while the rest stayed back a fair distance – spectating or waiting for their turns.

    One amongst the like faces stood out – he was in the back of the group and was making his way to stand in the front

    He had a rat’s nest of black-brown hair, brown eyes, and a thickly built figure that was more muscle than fat - oblong-shaped face, with a hint of stubble on the chin.

    Their leader I correctly assumed.

    He strode forward with a sense of confidence that uplifted others, a well of gravity to him that pulled them within his influence - their confidence bolstered by his sheer presence, and a swagger in his every step.

    “Yo… Seung Gyu-ha,” he called me out, casually and very informally too, “… that you right,” rude of him to address someone without honorifics - it's not much of an issue nowadays but traditions are to be observed… and I was digressing, he was also still talking.

    His voice was rough and rumbled with baritone, indicative of age well past the teen years… he was, paradoxically to my theory of his supposed age-group, wearing a Hag-won school uniform. Pinstriped grey with a red tie - for second-year students.

    Factoring in his physical age and the uniform, he must have been a repeat student, I observed.

    I sighed, drooping my shoulders slightly to dislodge my sling bag and let it fall to the ground. I took a step back, and schooled my thoughts, ignoring the minions’ snickering.

    “Evening…,” I tried to remember his name, but I drew a blank on that front – his face was memorable enough – but he was unfortunately one of many, too many to bother remembering names.

    I don’t quite know when, or how it came about but one day, I suddenly found myself holder to the title of strongest in the area – Jjang. The tale, if there even is one, probably fit the pages of a manhwa better than it did reality no doubt.

    “Today’s the day,” he announced, with the same pomp others before him always have before we began our dance.

    I didn’t even bother escaping, it was par for the course at this point.

    Every now and then, some ambitious few like him gather up and ally to challenge me, in hopes of… ‘dethroning’ me as it were.

    “Sure,” I mumbled as I balanced myself on one leg, tapping the toe-end of my runners against the ground considerately, adjusting and priming myself for the inevitable conflict to come.

    Monotonous as the constant challenges got sometimes, what with beating up the exact same faces day-in and day-out, I treated the experience like the exercise in control that it was. An opportunity to go back to the basics, cementing what skills I’d already mastered by fighting opponents weaker than myself that I’d need to hold back against, so I relished the chance by indulging these challenges.

    I took a step back, mindful of the person immediately behind me as well as the three others in my flank and direct front.

    “I’m going to make you eat dirt today,” he said, throwing his hands up and outwards in a motion signaling the start of our dance, “… after I’m done with you, I’ll be the Jjang.”

    Muscles tensed, as I welcomed the familiar rush of adrenaline.

    The four surrounding me started to circle me like vultures on carrion, their intentions clear and weapons brandished.

    The one behind me attacked first – bleached hair, and top-heavy, wearing the standard pinstriped black-and-grey of our school.

    He was, maybe… ten paces away from me at the start, far away enough to not need to run he’d figured, so he leisurely jogged within range as he built up momentum, and swung down at me with a bat.

    I heard the ~whoosh~ of weighted steel against air, rushing for my head and I ducked down under the swing. Surprised, my assailant gasped and stopped in his steps, assessing and trying to make heads or tails of the situation – he had deliberately kept himself outside my peripheral and hadn’t expected me to dodge at all, much less anticipate him as I had.

    In his moment of surprise, I pirouetted in place and retaliated with a sweeping kicking, connecting the ball of my foot to the back of his knees, breaking his balance.

    [Basic Trip]

    Like a house of cards against a stiff breeze, he crumbled and fell to his knees where his face crashed into my awaiting knee by the chin as I was finishing the last arc of my pirouette.

    [Traditional Knee Kick]

    Eye dazed, and face contorting in confusion he fell unconscious with his back against the hard ground.

    A pregnant pause fell, and everyone stopped, gawking and staring in abject… I’d say terror, but their expressions were much closer to regret.

    No matter, I thought to myself. One down… and what, thirteen I think – passenger not accounted for, left to go.

    I shifted in place, right leg forward and left leg bend by the knee in a stance – just in time to sidestep out of a pipe-swing, and duck underneath an overhead bat-swing from my flank.

    Others made to capitalize on my moment of distraction, as they moved sedately, surrounding me and circling me in such a way that I was forced closer and closer to the canal’s dirt-bank each time they completed a revolution… I imagine they’d hoped to box me in, with the shallow waters of the canal behind me and the wall of bodies in front of me.

    The strategy was not sound, at all… it was flawed beyond reason, but it had miraculously worked – though only because I let it.

    The position they were trying to push me toward was more advantageous to me than it was to them. With the water behind me, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone approaching from my rear, so I’d willingly fell into their pace.

    Pipe, one of my two most immediate assailants clumsily swung his misshapen pipe my way in a downward slashing motion. Which irked at me something fierce - that was the exact wrong thing to have done with a blunt weapon. I’m not even a weapon user and even I knew that.

    In my indignity, I didn’t dignify Pipe’s attack with a block. I simply stepped into his range and let his falling arm rest against the soft of my shoulder by the unfurled elbow, subsequently arresting the swing’s momentum before it even began building up.

    An elbow jab to his belly and he fell to the ground unconscious in a twitching, dry-heaving heap.

    ‘Too much force,’ I observed with a grimace at the sight by my feet. I re-adjusted myself just in time to intercept his other friend with the bat, who fell within seconds from a deliberately glancing blow to the chin by way of a straight punch.

    I braced myself for a follow up that never came. Couldn’t help but notice how it spoke wonders of today’s group that no one was stupid enough to come charging at me.

    It wasn’t an accomplishment to be lauded or bragged about, but today’s crop was by far the some most… alright I’ve faced in all the times I’ve done this, not great… that went to a select few. I could even see some of them assume almost proper stances and grips on their weapons as they advanced. They were coordinated and seemed to attack in pre-arranged groups which was another plus in their favor.

    Wordlessly, two more approached me. One from my right – behind me, just beyond sight and the other from the front.

    Both were unarmed but somewhat skilled.

    The first of the pair – a punching striker, came at me from the front with his fists tucked inwards as he rushed towards me in an explosion of motion that left a slight dust-cloud in his wake.

    The second - a grappler from his stance, curled his legs in and dipped low before taking off in a standing, rush start – his approach was almost shuffling, unrefined but well-executed regardless. No doubt aiming for my torso with a crash-tackle and most likely hoping to follow up with a shoulder barge driving me to the ground - grapplers, outside a confined ring with strict rules of engagement, were rather predictable like that.

    I recognized their styles - stock-standard Jujitsu and Karate respectively, both of which were of the mall-dojo variety. Both were utilizing the respective versions of movement techniques, not to any degree of mastery, but well enough to provide results.

    The karate-ka arrived first, fist cocked in a winding punch that I side-stepped. The grappler followed suit and slipped to my unguarded rear where he attempted a grapple as predicted, aiming for my torso, and almost succeeded too had I been a moment too late in my counter.

    Before the grappler’s hold cemented, I jabbed him in the gut with my elbow and leaned back into him, pushing him away from me.

    [Basic Elbow-Counter]

    A straight punch whizzed by my cheek, grazing the top-most layer of skin as it harmless sailed by.

    Another one fell, going for my other cheek – I bobbed and weaved under it in a classic, stock standard boxing dodge and fell into a rhythm as I suffered assault from the karate-ka, who favored his fist more than he did his legs, punching at me over and over with reckless abandon, with me ducking and dodging his every attempted strike.

    Futile though the attempt seemed, it worked favorably for him in that I was being forced further back to the edges of the dirt-bank from all the backpedaling I had to do, into his still recovering grappler friend’s tender mercies.

    Behind me laid a trap, I concluded.

    It wasn’t too hard to deduce after a moment’s deliberation.

    I wasn’t sure what the trap was. It was something about the canal, I knew that much at least… in the water itself maybe… no, it probably had to do with the canal.

    I cracked a smile at the karate-ka, a little amused at his group’s attempt.

    I had no intention of driving myself into their trap any further than I’d already done, so I changed pace and went on the offensive.

    A low, flat-footed kick to the karate-ka’s shin had him staggering back and his punch-rush interrupted.

    I returned him the favor with a punch of my own.

    I struck his unguarded cheek with a simple left hook, the blow resounded and he staggered back again. He panicked and tried to pull a crossed-arm guard to his face, which I bypassed completely with a follow-up hooking-uppercut to the chin that went under his elbows and past his guard.

    His grappler friend recovered the next moment.

    No longer gasping and sputtering from the glancing blow to his solar plexus – he charged at me, arms tightly tucked over his belly and just over the armpits. Another bull-rush.

    More joined the melee, six others I think - hard to keep track of people in the chaos that ensued.

    Punches were thrown, weapons swung, and dirt kicked up in a confusing mess of flailing bodies and pained screams as they tried to dog pile me.

    Shouts of, “get him,” “hold him down,” “cave his head in,” and the like were called out as they advanced upon me.

    “… stay in formation dammit,” the sole voice of reason shouted from the sidelines, “stick to the plan – push him into the wat…,” but no one save for me, heard him.

    A kick to the temple and someone fell, I hadn’t had the chance to commit to memory their features, just that they had been unfortunate enough to be within my range at the time.

    Grappler slipped in through the mess of bodies, capitalizing on a momentary opening… an admirable attempt, one that I punished him for. I saw him approach and raised a knee. The moment he got within range I whipped a kick across his face. A harsh ~crack~ resounded as the kick connected at a slight angle. As he was positioned low - in an almost crouch, the sweeping-kick drove him face first into the ground and sent him sliding all the way to the edges of the canal bank.

    [Angled Brazilian Kick]

    I was slipping, and using more force than was necessary.

    I ducked under the swing of what looked to be a hockey-stick and lashed out at the wielder with twins jab to the stomach, before pulling them in towards me by the scruff of their collar to use as a shield against a particularly skilled kicker in the mix, then pushed them back into the mess once they finished serving their use, braving a dropkick to the face in my place.

    [Street Fighting – Human Shield]

    The kicker slipped once his momentum was spent on Hockey stick’s face, he staggered and nearly fell on his rear but he collected himself quite well for an amateur and assumed his stance once again. His moment of recollection, however, had left him open enough for me to attack with an upward kick to the under-chin with the flat bottom of my feet as the striking surface. Bringing my leg high and straight up, he flew into the air and fell into the shallow water with an impressive falling arc.

    [Traditional Taekkyon - Lifting Kick]

    “Holy shit!” someone exclaimed in surprised awe, and a spray of cloudy-water blanketed the area as the kicker fell into the water with a forceful splash.

    I spared a glance the canal’s way curiously.

    Ignoring the sputtering and flailing boy, my eyes wondered further in,

    The water was dirty,’ I observed.

    The local river-canal water was freshwater… treated freshwater. The canal was artificially constructed sometime in the sixties, and was connected to an actual river some few kilometers outside the city limits, which means that it was almost always clear – the beige coloring of the water around the bank was suspicious, suspicious enough I’m surprised it wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

    Further inspection of the dirt-bank revealed drying mud placed in a mount just out of sight under the bridge.

    It looked almost as if someone…

    “Did you dig a trench in the water?” I asked the gathered out loud.

    Predictably, no one answered. The resulting flinch I got from the leader and the silence from his followers was answer enough.

    W-was that the trap they were hoping to catch me with?

    A trench?

    Albeit, an underwater one, bit still.

    How would that have worked out I wondered? What exactly was the intended result?

    I thought long and hard on it and… I suppose if the trench was deep enough, I could get one of my legs… or both, stuck within which would leave me open to assault… not much of an opening, but good enough that If capitalized upon properly, they might manage to get a few significant hits in without retaliation.


    Maybe… if I decided to spontaneously forget how to fight that is.

    The chances of it working were astronomically low I’m not even sure how the plan was conceived in the first place.

    “Really – a trench,” I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Was I fighting the allied forces?

    There were so many things that could have gone wrong. So many things that just did, as a matter of fact, with that plan of theirs. To start, it was too one dimensional and entirely, overly-dependent on me not finding out about the trap until the last moment, much less anticipating it in the first place.

    I anticipated a trap, and I found out about the trap - even if I’d fallen for it, It wouldn’t have helped much, not against fighters of their calibre.

    “tsk,” with his ‘plan’, if it could be called that, having failed before it could lift off, the leader clicked his tongue in annoyance, and advanced towards me, pushing anyone in his way aside with a hand.

    “… what part of distract him did all of you not understand?” he barked. Silence, grumbling and the pained groaning of my waking victims was his answer, “… weaklings, all of you!” he shouted as he advanced on me.

    “If you want something done right,” he said, motioning for my entourage of attackers to back away, “… you do it yourself.”

    Picking up their incapacitated friends on the way, they proceeded to surround us in a tight circle, maintaining their distance and spectating – which worked out well in my favor, fighting multiple opponents had never been a strength of mine anyway.

    “~Kick his Ass~,” someone in the peanut gallery shouted.

    It was a short, round-faced and black-haired girl with oversized polarized-aviators perched on her face, wearing the tight-fitting girl’s uniform of our Hag-won high school and a fabric carry-case for what I assumed to be a sword slung over her shoulder…, “~Go, Fight, Go~,” she chanted in… Japanese with a flourish, arms spread out wide and ample chest puffed out.

    The girl was either his girlfriend or his sister? Why would he bring her here?… I wasn’t sure which was worse to be honest.

    Hyung-Jun grinned and rolled up his shirt, flexed his exposed biceps then winked at her and she swooned… literally. She slumped into the passenger seat, a hand held over her chest and another to her forehead in an over-exaggerated show of swooning.

    It was so over the top, it almost seemed fake. One-sided affection maybe… trouble in paradise… I didn’t pay much mind to it; their relationship was their business and none of mine.

    ~pop-pop-pop~ he cracked his knuckles, first the right hand then the left in a show of what I assume was meant to intimidate me.

    “… whatever happens, no one interferes,” he said to the crowd, though not really, his eyes were to the girl in the bike when he spoke.

    ‘Curious,’ I thought.

    “Hope the warm-up was enough to get you into high-gear,” he said, as though his previous strategic shortcomings were intentional, all the while the girl kept watching him with blank-faced intent – judging him, and me for some reason.

    “Sorry kid,” he said as he burst forth towards me with frankly impressive footwork for someone his size.

    His style was unrecognizable, it looked to be a Hodge-podge of various disciplines – taking the most useful aspect of many styles and gluing them together into an incoherent whole. It was unpredictable - the only good thing about it, but ugly and easy to take apart with keen observation.

    He threw a punch, and I slipped under it as he overextended, coming out the other end on his side where he attempted to elbow me – I leaned out of the way and backpedaled to safety a few steps away. Left, right, left, right – without relenting, he jabbed at me again and again. I danced to the tune of his body as I weaved out and under each punch thrown, working up a steady and easy rhythm of my own all the while.

    [Jab Rush x20]

    After a while, his arms tired and his breathing became leaden, so he changed pace and threw a left hook blindly. It caught me almost by surprise... almost, but honestly, I’d simply grown complacent and lost myself in the one-two-one-two pace we’d worked up. The blow grazed me right on my left cheek, which stung something fierce from the force - a light welt no doubt forming there.

    “Not bad kid,” he said… complimenting me, I think. Beads of sweat already forming on his brow.

    A single rush attack was all it took to wind him up. All that muscle on him, and not an ounce of stamina in him - it was an all too common problem, limits of the human body I suppose... or the stupidity of muscle heads like him.

    Oblivious to their leader’s predicament, his crowd cheered for him - to them it must have looked as though he was beating me.

    He rushed at me again, fist cocked backward in a painfully obvious wind-up for a hook.

    Instead, he surprised me yet again when he flicked a jab at me – my saving grace was his size, and his prominently defined musculature which, through his shirt, let me see the flow of his muscles as he changed course, shifting and bulging this and that way to accommodate the abrupt action.

    I let the jab pass by overhead, as I brought myself low to a near crouch and burst forward with a flicker of motion into his range, and beyond, slipping to his unguarded back.

    When I came to on the other side, I was already in perfect position to execute the deciding blow - standing in a flamingo stance, right leg firmly planted aground, acting as the central point, and the left raised up to my chest by the knee, tilted at an angle.

    Energy built up as I spun in place, flowing like an electric current from the ground up, passing through the central point that was my right leg… through to the knee, pelvis, waist and to the other leg, going in reverse order until the current of energy reached the tip of my left foot as I finished executing the kick.

    The front of my foot struck the soft bit of his shoulder with a resounding ~smack` as well as the bottom bit of the neck in a horizontal slashing motion.

    I didn’t fully commit the kick and retracted my leg before I could go all the way through, he wasn’t anywhere near sturdy enough to handle it.

    Had I committed just a smidgen more energy into the kick, I’d have risked dislocating his spinal disk, breaking his neck like a twig and twisting his head completely the other way around.

    All the way through, and I might have torn his head off from the shoulders.

    [Gyu-Ha Original – Jeoldangi (Headhunter)]

    There was a good reason I called it ‘headhunter’.

    Hyung-jun fell to the ground, knees first then harshly face-planted into the dirt, most likely unconscious or in a lot of pain if not.

    He spasmed a little when he fell, his legs twitching in little jerky motions before he went still – he was still breathing of course, albeit in heaving and trembling breaths as his unconscious-self fought back bile that was building up in his throat.

    “Oh Shit,” I panicked a little.

    He twitched again, his arm lashing out at nothing as he then proceeded to expel his stomach’s contents into the ground, smearing his face with bile and god knows what from the splash.

    “Oh shit.” Did I break something? I was sure I hadn’t. I’d used the exact amount of force needed to bring him down - height, weight, his musculature and age all accounted for. I’d committed just enough energy to not break or dislocate bone. I pulled back and everything.

    “OH SHIT!” I just about shouted as I dropped to my knees.

    Careful not to touch any of his sick, I tested him for a pulse and got a healthy thrum of blood flowing in return, his breathing was a little heavy but that was just from exhaustion and from lying flat on the ground face first…probably. His neck looked perfectly fine too… no bones sticking out or anything like that, a red welt was forming but otherwise he was fine.

    So why?

    Why was he flopping like a fish out of water?

    “Relax,” a voice said, right behind me – it was the girl.

    How did she…

    “He’s just in pain-induced shock,” she observed, “not many mundanes can handle blows like that. Too much, too soon in the system and the brain just kinda…,”she snapped her fingers and made a ~pop~ noise, “...shuts down y’know… rebooting and all.”

    The girl took a crouch beside me and poked the prone body of her… boyfriend with a pen she’d fished out of her breast-pocket – she did it once, twice then a bit a more and when she finished doing that, she moved on to patting him up and down with her open palm, always in areas around the neck and spine.

    She patted and squeezed the area around his neck, which was now turning an angry red and hummed thoughtfully to herself.

    In between her molestation… there was no other way to describe what she was doing, she sighed to herself and muttered, “…thank the Ancestors, almost drew a blank?”

    When she was satisfied with her ‘ministrations’ she stood up, and pat down her dirtied knee socks.

    “…hmmm, he’ll be out for the next few weeks or so. A crick in the neck, and some severe inflammation for a while but nothing long-lasting,” she diagnosed rather expertly.

    “That last kick of yours… what style was that? Your rhythm was all over the place.”


    “I mean… you dodge almost like a boxer, move like a jeja (taekwondo practitioner) and kick like a uh… hmm, like something I've never heard of… its so unique. It sounds almost like French Savate, but not as stiff.”

    … heard?

    “… shouldn’t you be worried about your boyfriend?” I asked her, a little incredulous at her nonchalant reaction to his fall.

    She turned to face me, face deadpan and blank, and my own sleepy expression reflected on her oversized aviators. I needed a haircut, my hair was getting uncomfortably long - almost reaching my shoulders and silver roots were starting to show as well; I’d need to dye it again as well.

    Her blank expression changed to something unreadable, her lips curling upwards into a little grin as she chortled to herself… chortling which turned to giggling, and giggling into full blown laughter.

    “…you thought…,” she said in between huffing breaths, “him and I… no, no, no, Ancestors no.”

    “Chaff like him ain’t worthy of a Kushinada’s hand - especially if he needed a baker’s dozen of armed minions and stupid traps to handle one unarmed fighter… albeit, a genuine one, but the point still stands,” eloquently this time, she added after composing herself.

    “They were raring for a fight with some big-shot around these parts and looked interesting, so I hitched a joyride to see what all the fuss was about.”

    Speaking of - why weren’t the minions attacking me en-mass, I wondered. I was distracted, crouched down and wide open to attack from any side, I might as well be swiss cheese from all the holes in my defense.

    I turned to look behind me, expecting to see the minions advancing on me or at the very least watching in abject terror after I almost seemingly killed their leader.

    What I wasn’t expecting, however, was the massacre I beheld.

    ‘Did she do this?’ I wondered, passing a scrutinous gaze the girl’s way.

    All fourteen had been taken down swiftly with neck-chops and strangleholds, then piled atop each other in the likeness of a funeral pyre. And from the looks of it, not a single one had resisted - there hadn’t been any sounds of conflict or I would have heard nor were there scattered footprints on the ground save for drag marks all leading to the pyre, no sign of a struggle at all.

    The six that I’d already dealt with had not been spared either, they too had been double tapped and knocked back into unconsciousness.

    ‘Ruthless,’ was the only thing I could say about the girl, despite her cheery demeanor.

    “I noticed that you mostly used the basics of the basics,” she said. “I think you could have ended that mockery of a fight much sooner if you pulled out more techniques like that kick.”

    My response was a shrug, I didn’t have an easy answer to give her, at least not one I could put to words… and she didn’t take my silence very well. The lack of a verbal answer seemed to unsettle her, so much so she stared, and stared, and continued to stare at me in silent prompt until it got uncomfortable. Thankfully she was wearing aviators which covered her eyes, so the effect was lessened without eye-contact.


    “…I could have, yes,” I answered.

    “But you didn’t. Why?” she prompted, moving closer to me… uncomfortably close.

    “... going back to basics,” I answered, deciding to give her my honest answer.

    “… hmmm,” with a step she appeared next to me, in front of me.

    She was right in my face... and poking me, same as she was doing earlier to her… not-ex-boyfriend - patting me down and poking me; chest and belly first, arms next and legs last, “wow - steel washboard indeed,” she said, breathlessly, “you have good form…. solid foundation too…,” then added with incredulity, “-and already a master too, at your age.”

    I raised a brow at her.

    “You don’t talk much do ya,” she stated, her hands and fingers in my face, tracing lines every which way with her thumb.

    “…you didn’t answer my first question too. What style do you practice? And I don’t mean your secondaries, I mean the flowy one you clearly specialize in, the one with the kick,” she asked, still running her fingers in my face and through my hair which she seemed to enjoy the feel of, as she would pinch locks in-between her fingers and comb upwards.

    “I’ll give you an answer if you stop doing that.” If there was ever a point where something went beyond awkward, I was sure we’d long since breached it at this point - she didn’t seem to care though,“…please.”

    She stopped, her palms soft against my jaw and chin. “Just a bit more and I’ll be done,” she said, resuming her ministrations.

    I took her hand by the wrist and pushed her back – the face touching was just getting weird now.

    Impressively enough, she resisted and pushed back.

    She stood at about five feet four, about average height for late-teenage asian girls, and looked as though she weighed half what I did, at least, from what I glimpsed at a glance.

    There was no reasonable way she should have had enough strength to overpower me, but overpower me she did.

    Her hands were soon back on my face again, running down my jaw and over my closed eyes and lips.

    “…half-gaijin. Hmmm…. alright, I can work with this,” she announced as she retreated, hands no longer in my face. She was smiling, “I can do more than just work with this.”

    “…” I wasn’t sure what to make of her rambling.

    “You’re rather handsome, aren’t you?” she announced, fixing an odd stare on me.

    “…thanks,” I replied, uncertainty in my voice – was that a question or a statement. “I think.”

    “You’re strong too. Really strong. A real, genuine fighter…home-taught and unaffiliated with a unique style,” she said, “A real gem in the rough – a potential treasure even.”


    “You really don’t talk much.”

    “!!!,” I do talk… just not very often, I let my action speak for themselves.

    “…hey?” she started, “wanna go out with me?”

    A resounding, instantaneous and unflinching “No,” was my reply.

    All I had to do was look to her not-ex-boyfriend on the ground… angry red mark on his neck where I kicked him, face covered in dirt and vomit, and his limbs still twitching like the death throes of a fish out of water - my answer came to me much easier than I thought it would.

    Was I misunderstanding the situation? Most likely… no, definitely, but I didn’t care much for it. I refused to bend to the whims of fickle women, lest I share the same fate with… whatever the man twitching on the ground was called, I’d already forgotten.

    Almost affronted by my refusal, she paused and stared at me – again with that unreadable expression on her face, “…w-why not?” she asked.

    “Got places to be,” I answered dismissively, giving as honest an answer as I could in place of an excuse.

    I had enough weird things in my life already – the constant challenges taking the top, with those weirdos from the supposed ‘national homeless association’ as a close second.

    Despite her admittedly very stunning, pop-star… Idol standard looks - the distinction wasn’t important, she was half-Japanese and half-Korean, going by looks and accent; becoming her ‘boy-toy’ was not something I wanted.

    I retrieved my sling bag from where I’d dropped it on the ground and slung it over my shoulder after a brief pat-down and wiping it with a tissue. It was covered in a layer of dirt and splashes of water, enough to turn the dirt muddy but not enough to seep in and ruin the package within.

    Careful not to get any dirt on my uniform, I pat down the dust off my bag and climbed the steps leading out of the canal walkway, and up to the bridge where I would cross onto the main road and walk the rest of the way to Lord’s Mercy.

    ~tik-tik-thok~ the sound of tapping followed me, up the stairs, and well into the upper walkway before curiosity got the best of me and I turned around to find the source.

    It was the girl again.

    She no longer had the fabric carry-case slung around her shoulder, instead, she had it haphazardly stuffed in one of her skirt-pockets where it stuck out… skirts had pockets apparently - I’d be lying if I said I didn’t stare gobsmacked… and what I’d originally assumed to be a sword was held in hand in front of her. Instead of a sword, it was a short straight-staff/cane, with a mostly wooden body and metal-tipped at the end with a wrist strap at the handle end.

    ~tik-tik-thok~ the walking cane probed the area in front of her as she walked close behind with careful, yet confident steps.

    “...are you blind?” I blurted out

    At my question, she stopped and looked at me with a calculating gaze.

    “… If the answer to that question is a yes, will you go out with me?” she asked, lowering her aviators to just below the nose and revealing a pair of unseeing, silver eyes staring blankly at me, all the while, wiggling her brows at me.

    … I felt stupid for even asking.

    I inhaled a sharp breath and turned my back on her as I walked away from her faster.

    Impressively, despite using a walking stick to navigate, she kept up with my pace somehow.

    “Stop following me,” I half shouted as I picked up the pace to a light jog.

    “Where are you going?” she asked, matching me stride for stride.

    “…places,” I replied vaguely, I wasn’t going to tell her where.

    She slowed down mid-stride just as we passed a sidewalk crossing, and did something with her walking stick… running the ball end of it along the bumpy surface of a bright yellow marker on the ground with truncated cones as she passed it by, “You’re going to the hospital, aren’t you?”

    “…,” how?

    “I recognize the road you’re taking,” she answered my unspoken question with a shrug. “If we cross here, we can cut through those apartments…” she raised her cane and pointed the metal-tipped end in the general direction of the renovated commercial district, she was off by a few degrees, but I knew which one she meant - the newly finished complex which took up a whole street, “instead of using the hospital road. It’s a least five minutes shorter.”

    “…fine,” surprising even myself, I didn’t take the opportunity to run as I should have like a sane man. I followed her back to the crossing and watched as she fumbled for the crosswalk button, before she found it and pressed it.

    The moment I got close to her, she attempted to take my hand in hers… and succeeded. How and why, I didn’t know, couldn’t say either, but she was fast… so fast that by the time I reacted, she already had an arm wrapped around mine and her chest pressed against it.

    “Kushinada Mikumo,” she spoke, filling the silence.


    “My name,” she added, clarifying,“but… you can call me Miki-chan and I’ll call you Hisui-oppa,” flashing a toothy grin and an Idol standard V-sign by her cheek with her free hand. She had pouty lips I noticed.

    “... come on, I’ll show you the way,” she said, pulling against my hand and I relented, letting the blind girl lead the way.

    When the lights flashed green, I was wrought with many regrets - the least of which, surprisingly and perhaps more worryingly, wasn’t from letting her lead the way.

    ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟​

    Hanguk-eo is not my first language, I don't even speak much of it but I love God Of Highschool. Enough to write this AU crossover with Highschool DxD with mostly expy characters from GoH.

    Seung Gyu-Ha(성규하) - Victorious Summer Jade
    Jjang - the best
    Jeja(제자) - A practitioner of Taekwondo; literal translation is disciple.
    Oppa (오빠) - affectionate suffix used by girls to refer to an older brother or significant other.
    Jeoldangi(절단기) - literal translation is either cutter or guillotine
    Jiu-Jitsu - A grappling based sports martial Arts specializaing in close-range subjugation in which most forms of significant strikes are illegal.
  2. awkane

    awkane Getting out there.

    Aug 3, 2018
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    The story seems nice, but is this one of those where the mc becomes a reincarnated devil? :(
  3. taovkool

    taovkool No.

    Sep 22, 2014
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    So, wait a second. Is this a crossover between GoH and DxD, or a crossover between GoH and Kenichi? You sure you're not mistaking it?
  4. Shirazad

    Shirazad Sapphic StoryTeller

    Oct 22, 2018
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    Kushinada is a name tied to Japanese mysticism and divinity, like Tsuchimikado and Douman - I always going to use it, and I chose Mikumo for its meaning of Beautiful Cloud. I'd say it was a coincident, but I probably chose the name for the same reason Matsueda Syun did. I haven't finished Kenichi, I mostly just watched the anime and read the manga up to the Pencak Silat prince and dropped it. I'd almost forgotten all about it until now.
    ArsMagna1337 likes this.
  5. zebrin

    zebrin Chopping trees down, and making elves cry.

    Jun 4, 2018
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    An interesting start.
    I have very little knowledge of the GoH setting, so I am likely to be a little lost until I wiki walk the story or something, but it seems like it might be worth checking out.
  6. Zawar

    Zawar send me lewds

    Aug 17, 2018
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    finish it, it has some extremely important things to do with martial art also I myself would enjoy being able to talk to somebody about that series also have him learn or at least try and get him to the level of the demon fist jenzard from kenichi if you want your character to live in the dxd universe