A low, guttural growl built in his throat as his eyes locked with Pon Foh’s, who stared back calmly and coldly. Embers of rage had lit in his gut and every second spent looking at his face only fueled that fire. His grip tightened on the earth and his digits curled into the stone, cracking and fracturing it with the sheer strength of his tensing hand. Slowly, a lopsided smile built onto his features, in a coy and twisted sort of expression.
“Here I was thinking we had some warrior’s honou-kghh--!” His quip was interrupted by the heel of Pon Fah’s foot slamming into his ribcage. The earth in his grip shattered unintentionally from the reactive force of his hand as he was sent tumbling against the sand.
Although he steadied himself by extending a hand into the sand that he was thrown across, the give of the loose granules made it difficult for him to recover so easily. Even so, Takao landed on his feet some five meters or so away.
“Honour is for the dead and the weak that try to level the playing field,” Pon Fah responded, his left hand rising and beckoning Takao closer.
“I am neither.” He finished.
Takao’s wry, lopsided smirk returned and he rose to his feet. The loose granules fell from his clothing as he cast his gaze downward. The wound sustained from the spike of earth was superficial at best, and the pain it brought was easily ignored and endured. Blood had still soaked into the cloth of his shirt and bound it to his skin beneath, and the location of the wound made certain movement uncomfortable, yet he would have to deal. With his self-analysis complete in what had looked like a passing glance, Takao returned his gaze to Pon Fah.
“Cheeky,” Takao said as his fists rose.
“Since you seem to be taking this so seriously, I guess I will too.”
With his declaration finished, Takao pushed off against the sand and sprinted into range of Pon Fah. With his arm outstretched, their forearms clashed, and neither gave under the other’s strength. Takao landed and Pon Fah struck first with a flurry of blows; his strikes were primarily aimed at the head and jaw, and Takao responded with minimalistic effort. Rather than outright blocking the blows, he opted to move his body just enough to narrowly avoid them or deflect them with as little energy as he could. The sound of his strikes acting against the air filled the silence of their battle with ambient noise. This subtle noise gave Takao queues on the position of the strikes, allowing him to react through the sound of the swing whilst his furrowed eyes kept a lock on Pon Fah’s gaze and body. The slightest twitches of muscle and the way his body moved gave more information on where he would strike than his eyes did, and simply paying attention to the subtleties of movement was enough to allow him to react easily.
The first strike to his head was evaded with a simple movement of his head. Pon Fah’s hand recoiled and swung wide again, this time coming in from the side. Takao tilted his head to the side and ducked down so minutely that the ends of the hairs on his head shifted from the wind his strike carried with it, and sprung back up to proper form when his hand soared fruitlessly overhead. Pon Fah’s left coiled back and his right swung upward, which Takao caught ahead of time by paying attention to the position of his shoulder and watching how it dropped and rose just before he swung. The back of Takao’s right hand swept it to the side and in the same motion, utilizing the momentum of his torso twisting clockwise, he swung a powerful straight at Pon Fah’s head.
Pon Fah evaded with a large stride, shifting his head to the side and ducking down to ensure that the blow was evaded with ample space. With his prepared right, Pon Fah grasped Takao’s outstretched wrist whilst it was in range and pulled him closer, extending his left and striking hard at Takao’s unprotected rib cage.
Takao could feel bones crack under the force of the blow yet fought through the stinging pain as though he hadn’t sustained it. Only the passing expression of discomfort that decorated his visage for less than a second was any indication of injury. Pon Fah spun counter-clockwise in an attempt to capitalize on the opportunity of Takao opening his opposite side, but was met with a hard block by both of the raven-haired shinobi’s forearms. Flawlessly recovering from the hit, Takao ducked under Pon Fah’s second strike as he spun back clockwise and swung a backhand aimed level his head.
Both their hands met as Pon Fah struck with his right and Takao swung with his left, and the pair blocked one another with the opposite hands. Catching movement from below, Takao’s left leg rose instinctively when Pon Fah’s had begun to swing upward and stopped it before momentum could be gained. As Pon Fah’s leg recoiled, Takao’s bent at the knee and he utilized the motion of dodging Pon Fah’s next strike to carry into his own. Pon Fah thrust his right hand forward in a simple straight for Takao’s head, who leaned backward to evade. It was a much broader evasion than he had done so far and this was intentional. As he did so, the momentum of his upper body swinging down provided momentum for his lower body to swung up-- his left leg in particular. The heel of his boot slammed into Pon Fah’s lower ribs and cracked some from the force, but his assault was not over yet. With his hands thrust into the sands, Takao swung his right leg up and around, fanning his lower body in a flurry that made his movements difficult to predict. With Pon Fah unable to locate where the strike would land and still recoiling from the blow he sustained barely a second ago, Takao’s legs swung down and swept his feet out from under him.
Pon Fah was thrown from his feet and landed flat on his back. Takao finished the sweep by landing on his right foot and immediately launched into another flip, twisting his body and sending his left foot down toward Pon Fah’s jaw like a guillotine.
With distance between them, he was afforded more time to react, and Pon Fah rolled to the side and onto his stomach. He pushed off the ground as Takao’s foot slammed into the sand where he had fallen and landed back on his feet just as Takao recovered.
Pon Fah charged Takao and swung with a wide right, baiting Takao to evade or block, which he did. Takao’s left arm rose and swung upward, catching the strike and misdirecting it. As he did, Pon Fah’s left cocked back and rose quickly, striking Takao in his unguarded ribs. Another cracked formed yet they hadn’t broken completely, allowing Takao to continue fighting through the pain. As Pon Fah’s left retreated, Takao swung a wide haymaker of his own, and Pon Fah ducked under, striking Takao again on the opposite side of his ribs.
Takao’s teeth clenched as his lower ribs fractured under the stress of the strike. The damage hurt; surely he could shrug it off and ignore it as if it weren’t there at all, but that wasn’t how Takao fought. It angered him. Each punch he took, that flickering, waning ember grew hotter and bigger. Every hit Pon Fah landed was like a drop of gasoline, gradually fueling him more and more, and it became increasingly more apparent in the last few strikes.
Inadvertently and unintentionally, Takao’s body had begun to leak chakra. It was not yet to his benefit, but rather a precursor of what was yet to come. Those nearby could feel a pressure building, not unlike one might feel before a large storm would pass yet not so subtle either. It was clear that Takao was the origin as well, for the pressure he exerted was strongest where he stood-- the epicenter.
H̷̗͈̆̃Ẽ̵͉̩ ̷͚̌W̷̪̜̃Ị̶̐̋L̵͓͖͗͘L̶̤̓̃ ̵̳͠K̵̞̎I̶̞͓̐̍L̸̯͎͐L̸͎̘̃ ̸̹̯̅͝Y̵͉͑̊O̴̤̔U̷͉͖͗
A pang of pain pulsed in the back of his head. The chorus of voices that he had blocked out thus far were growing in confidence and volume. It was not uncommon at all when he fought for them to try and drive him from the backseat, urging him in mostly unhelpful ways that merely acted as distractions. His jaw clenched and his eyebrows furrowed, knit close together in an attempt to stave off the migraine for as long as he could, for it would make each hit he took that much worse.
Pon Fah would not relent and Takao would not be afforded a modicum of solace in their fight. His right arm shot forward like a bullet, carrying wisps of wind in its wake as Takao backpedalled, keeping his footwork proper to narrowly evade the strike without compromising his ability to react further. Two more strikes, left and right, were swung and carried over Takao’s head as he ducked low. Pon Fah used the momentum of his left arm swinging wide and hard to twist his body and swing his left leg up around, performing a lightning fast reverse hook kick aimed for Takao’s jaw. Takao tilted his head back and leaned just out of range, feeling the fabric of Pon Fah’s trousers graze the smallest of hairs at the very tip of his nose.
Ỳ̸̰̕O̸̤̬̓Ù̴̧̱̊ ̴͈͝C̸̫͇̾A̷̪̕͘ͅN̷̙̩̉́'̸̨̚͝Ṱ̷̤͒̕ ̶͙̪̇̑B̷̪̞̐͠E̸̝͐͑A̸̋̾ͅT̶͙̂ ̵̪̊̆H̸̓͜Ȉ̴̱͕M̶̰̜̀̆
J̵͕͂̕U̸͕̘͆͛S̵̯̫̾Ț̷̿ ̷͉̺̿̑B̸͕̕U̵̫̹͐R̴̺͛͒N̵̢̢̾̋ ̷͓͝I̴̹͊͜T̵̺͕̉́ ̸̥̝͐A̷͎̹̒̚L̸͚̒L̷͙͚̓
Y̸̦͍̋̏O̵̧͈̓̈U̵̢͓͐ ̶̙̓͜S̶̺͎̈́H̵̱͘ͅỌ̶̙̿U̸̖͠L̵͉̱̐D̵̰̓ ̶̦̘̈́D̵̲͍̂̌I̷̹͘E̵̤̞̊̂ ̷̗̀Ḧ̶̗́Ȇ̷̼̀R̷͎͑E̵̲̩̓͠
Gritting his teeth hard enough to tear the muscles in his jaw, the voices persisted to annoy his subconscious with their incessant chorus of misdirection. Pon Fah could tell that something was distracting Takao, for the expressions on his face did precious little to hide it. Fatigue, mistakes, inner thoughts, it mattered not-- in battle, an opening was an opening.
Pon Fah recovered from the kick and capitalized on Takao’s reluctance to attack or otherwise lack of offence and swung his right leg low, sweeping at Takao’s feet. Takao lifted the leg that was in range just out of reach and stepped back just as the same leg that swept reversed its momentum and swung back at him in a form-perfect roundhouse. Takao had just shifted his weight and couldn’t evade so easily, and instead lifted his right arm to block, catching the strike with his left bicep. The force cracked his humerus just slightly, enough for Takao to notice but not enough for him to feel over the growing pain in his head.
H̷̗̏E̸̦͝'̸̩͛̆Ş̵̊͋ ̷͔͍̈́̈F̶̨͍͊͐Ă̷͝ͅS̴̨̡͒T̸̼̙͒̓E̷̩͌̈R̵͎̲͋͘ ̶͎̃A̶̦̍N̴̦̍͝D̶̮̽ ̴̩̐S̸̛͚̯̉T̷̲̱̀̈́R̶̫͂Ö̵͕N̷̫̠̄́G̶͖͗Ḙ̶̉R̴̻͒
J̴̡́̒Ū̶́͜S̶̪̜͋̓T̴̡̾ ̷̥͓̈́̓L̵͚͖͑̾Ä̴̜̹́Y̷̛̙̆ ̸͍͔̿Ḋ̸̘Ò̴͉Ŵ̸̹ͅN̶̬͙͊ ̸͎̆A̷͓̋͋͜N̷̻͠D̶͎͔́ ̷̩̼͝D̵̲͂Ì̴̧E̵̫̾
B̵̜͒ͅU̵̡̙͂̓Ŗ̶̲͗N̸̬̪̿͆ ̸͙̑̔H̴͖͠͝Ȉ̶̬͙M̷̳̫̌̀ ̶͍̥̆͠D̸̯̦͛Ô̴̰̆Ẅ̸̦́̂N̴̋͊͜ͅ ̶̭̀͠Ḯ̵̭̅N̷̞̆T̵̬͋̕O̶̦͝ ̵͓͋̄A̸̜͉͗S̴̕͜͝H̴̱͗É̷̹S̷͈̤̒̒
S̷̤̗̑H̷̫͍̾́E̴̘̚ ̶̡͕͋C̶̟̗̈O̸̡̺͐Ũ̵͇̻L̶̬̤͛Ḏ̵̆̕ ̶̙͝B̶͍̹̓Ȅ̵̫͐A̴͖̝̐T̶̢̩̀̈́ ̶͇̒H̴̺̑̉I̶̙͒͠M̵͉̚
Takao’s movements were becoming sloppy, and Pon Fah could see it. He swung with another uppercut and Takao only barely managed to evade it-- not in his usual method of doing so intentionally, but only catching the movement at the last second. Pon Fah swung with his other hand and almost caught him again, Takao managed to evade but only by an unintentionally small margin. Then Pon Fah struck with his left and landed on Takao’s jaw, rattling his head hard enough for his vision to momentarily blacken for a split second as though he had blinked, yet he hadn’t.
The flames of rage grew wild and unrestrained like a bushfire. The pressure around him grew exponentially yet not to its fullest extent-- yet. Pon Fah was unfazed by the pressure that he felt and continued his advance, swinging his left leg up and lowering his torso to gain momentum in the strike. Takao’s right arm rose again and blocked it less effective than before, worsening the crack in his humerus but not yet breaking or hurt to the point where he could no longer use it. Pon Fah braced his body with a hand in the loose sand beneath him and swung his left leg up and around. The bottom of his foot slammed into Takao’s arms, which had crossed at his chest to block the strike, yet still threw him back from the sheer force.
Y̵̧̡̟̐̚Ò̷͎͇̼͜U̶̢̻̣̫͈̥̐́̈́͂̀͒͠ ̷̢̅̈H̴͔̯̗̦̮͚͍͗̀̐̉̒͂A̶̹͇̻͔̞̹̔̓͂̓̚͝V̸͙̀̒̂͒̈̋͝E̴̢̧̡͉̮̳̠͌̏̚͘ ̵̡̢̪̞̭͐̀̀̑Ṱ̸̫̗͌̈́̍̽̽͝Ơ̴̡̱̗̯̲͝ ̶̧̝̪̰̲̹̄̍̾͆̉̏̚Ĺ̷̛͖̌͘Ę̸̅̎̅̈́́Á̶̧͙͎̭̂̀̃̀̋͠R̷͓̝͚̱̲̐̈́͌̽͠N̵͇͛́
S̸̨̖̓͜ͅH̵̞̗̹͛̀Ȩ̵̈́̽ ̷̡̨̤͂͒͑͒͜W̷̺̅̏Ã̵̞͓̲͛̕Ṡ̸̤̯͕ ̸̛̭̺̑́̕Ả̸͙̯̹͆͠L̶͖͔̤̿W̸̲̪͙̅A̵̹̺͍͒̃͝Ȳ̵̭̪̖̈́͛̓Ŝ̷̢̟̗̜͝ ̵͈̘̆B̸̞͇̐Ȩ̴̯͓̫̋̍̈́͠T̷̘͉̩͆̀͊́͜T̵̮̦̠̈́̐̿̿Ẻ̸͓͖̘͒R̶̳̲̘̀͊
Ḧ̶̪͚̯̝̖́̎̈́̄͛͘͝E̴̡̢̳̦̰̣̟̒͋ ̵͙̻̺̖͛̽̐͌͠W̸̮̱̝͈̊͑A̵̰͗̄͝S̸͉͆̅ ̶̭̮̈́́̐̒͌̅͝R̵̖͖͕͓̫͓͓̈́͌͒́̾I̴̧͓͒̾͗͂̄͒G̷̨̨̣̻̖͈̝̬̉H̷̨̏̍̊̊̍͘͠͠Ṯ̶̣̺̗̫̕͘
S̸̤̽͑͠H̶̩͓͙̙̺̟̘̾̂͆Ò̷̮͍̩̺͓̖̉̚U̸̡̻̥̣̗͇͍͐̎͑̅̊̚L̷̢͎̭̭̹̑͊̀̀̎ͅḐ̴̣̰͉͍͈͔́͂́͌̊̐ ̷̹̰̤̠͇̲͇̉̑͒͌̈̓̓ͅH̸̛̻̞̫̙̮̗̫͕̾̔͛͑͑̄̍A̸͉̫̮̼̪̘̅̀̑̉̄̓̚V̴͕̇̒͋͐͒̆͠ͅĘ̴͚̳̝͍̦̗̖̆̀̾͑̊ ̷̘̻̿́͐͝͝D̸͉̥̤̖͕͔̀̌̌̎͌͊Į̵̧̦̜̣̮͇̓͝È̵̢̢̳̟̮̱̅͜͠͠͠ͅD̴̙̓̌̕͝
C̶̲̔Ò̴̤U̴̟̐L̶̟̃D̷̰͊ ̵̢̾D̶͈͑O̵̟̕ ̷͜͠Í̵͚T̸̞̽ ̵͙̏A̵̭̕T̵̝̚ ̷̋͜H̴͈͋Ạ̶̍L̷̦͝F̴̹̆ ̴͈͒Y̵̻͋O̷̥̎U̸̢͑R̵͔̔ ̶̨͋A̸͓͂G̶̺̔E̸͚̿
I̸̩̒T̸̫͚̾ ̷̥̭͘W̵͖͓̔Ä̶̭́̎S̷̭̙͑̚ ̸̙̌͘Ẏ̷̡Ǫ̴̮̂̅Ȗ̵̱̽͜R̴̨̗̎̐ ̶̂̋ͅF̷͚̝̑A̷̺͗Ų̵̛͇L̸̙̔T̸͖͍̊
J̸͋̈́ͅŲ̷̭̋S̴̛̩̥T̷̙͂ ̶͉́D̴̥̺̃̅Ì̶͆͜E̷̲̾,̷̨̍ ̵̙̦͂̚Ẏ̴̩ͅŌ̶͍̈Ư̸̮͋'̵̡̤͐̀R̶̞͒Ȩ̵͌̕ ̸̝͔͛Ẉ̴͘Ò̵̦̂R̸̫̫͆̈́T̵̗̺͆͂Ȟ̸̗͝L̴̒ͅÈ̴͉͉͌Ŝ̶̪̳́Ś̶̖͖͒
Ỳ̶̬͜O̴̰̲̚Ủ̵̢̲͌ ̸̦̹̒Ć̴̨̗̊A̸̹̽N̸͍̈̋'̶̛͎̱͝Ṱ̷͐ ̴͉̭̆D̷̟͗Ò̸̺ ̷̭̭̈́͘A̶̰̾̈́N̶̘̣͘Ẏ̷̖̽T̸͎̹̒Ḧ̵͖͇́I̸̦͆̃N̷̥̭̾G̸̹̽
B̶̬̰̂͛͝ͅȔ̴̙̥͇̻Ŗ̵̘̝͕̻͓͌̈́̋͝N̵̥̟̹̱̾͒̂͒̀͊ ̵̱̘̋͝Ị̴̩͔̙͗̐͝ͅT̴̢̞̩̾ ̴̰̤̀͆̃̒͑̈́A̵̹̮̿̎̚L̴̻̹̥͌̍́L̴̙̪̾̾͠͠
The voices in his head were in full swing, and the wildfire of rage that had built had overtaken him. Visibly shaking, Takao’s fists clenched tight and the veins in his arms and neck bulged. He was trembling-- not with fear, but with pure, seething anger and rage.
The pressure that had been gradually building in the air became oppressive in an instance. His chakra had finally seeped out in its entirety and cast a cruel, overwhelming, overpowering aura in a ten-meter radius around where he stood. Small as it’s most volatile effect might have been, the sense of dread and oppression that the aura carried could be felt for over a quarter of a kilometer outward, with Takao standing at the center of it.
Pon Fah was frozen in place. Black Origin Threshold had taken hold of him and left him unable to move, only struggling against it in vain. Steam billowed from his mouth and nostrils and the flames of his rage became literal and physical within his gullet. Their bout had taken a very sudden and drastic turn that Pon Fah hadn’t anticipated. He was caught off guard, and in a life or death battle, doing so was a fatal mistake.
As he exhaled, a massive tsunami of flames was carried with his breath. Struggling against the oppressive aura, Pon Fah managed to just barely bring his hands in time to combat the forty-some meter tall wall of flame that encroached on his position some twenty meters or so away from Takao.
A wall of earth rose from beneath the sand and just barely managed to shielf Pon Fah from the volatile flames, yet the wisps still burned his arms and singed his suit. In less than a second after the flames had collided with the earth wall, however, it crumbled under the force of something else. Takao had launched himself into the flames, his body coated in a veil of shimmering fire, and slammed his chakra-ridden leg through the wall of stone. It crumbled beneath the might of the attack and subjected Pon Fah to the auxiliary effect. Beneath him, as a result of the force of the kick, thirty-meters of sand exploded outward as a crater grew. Flames cooked the granules and melted them into twisted shards of glass, turning the crater into a bed of razors.
But Takao was not done. Fueled by his unquenchable rage, Takao had already built more chakra in his lungs, partially breathing in the flames that still surrounded the pair. This was what he excelled at the most-- raw, violent, and powerfully overbearing flames. Pon Fah was little more than a victim subjected to Takao’s wrath as he exhaled. A massive ball of flames, fifty-meters in diameter, shot from his mouth as a primal, guttural, rage-filled roar deafened the sound of the fire in comparison. This plume of fire slammed into the ground and melted the glass further, turning into a column of fire that rose fifty meters or so into the air, twisting and coiling.
Several minutes would pass before the flames would display even a modicum of faltering. Slowly they retreated to the ground, and wisps of fire were left lingering at the center of the massive crater of molten sand. When the blast had cleared, only Takao was left standing, Pon Fah had been utterly and unconditionally reduced to ash, mixed into the molten sand that hadn’t dared to cool and harden in Takao’s presence.
Flames danced across his shoulders as steam rose from his skin and molten, glowing saliva dripped from his agape maw. The fire hadn’t left so much as a singed hair on his body, a testament to the resilience of a Kimura’s blood. With chakra in the soles of his feet, he slowly walked up the side of the molten crater, which had been far enough away from Chigetsu and Verdandi’s bout to not risk them being harmed yet still uncomfortably close.
Each breath he took exhaled small plumes of smoke that billowed out from his nostrils and corners of his mouth.
He had done his part.
[ THREAD EXITED ]
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Hokage: 
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