Enter Stage Left

Beautiful, gorgeous day: The sun had struck noon and there was a cloud in sight to ruin its magnificent glory, bathing the residents of Karakura Central in a warm light. There was not a draft of wind to annoy a certain somebody by blowing her bangs in front of her face, and the temperature was pretty decent, soothing after the streak of rain and glum that had persisted in the past few days. This particular female individual, our protagonist, was soothed by the sight of such an alluring day and drawn out of her home to go exploring the vast metropolis of Karakura once more. There were still many places that Fantasia never step foot in, simply because there was so much content to bear. Thus, today's journey would bring her trekking through the sun-lit streets of what was known as the Imaginary District. She would recall the history of the sub-city to her mind, something born from nothing but imagination and immaculate power. Some called him the undisputed leader of the city, despite the government in place, because of what feats he was capable of. This place was his pride and glory, and now a thriving center for humans and otherworldly beings alike. From institutes to laboratories and to headquarters for the greatest of organizations on the planet and in other realms. To say the least, Fantasia Nevermore was incredibly in impressed; in awe of what Shadin's mind could craft. She would devote her day to exploring the first parts of the city she came into contact with, which happened to be the outer edge; otherwise known as E District.

Despite the radically powerful reiatsu hanging throughout the air, Fantasia was simply oblivious to it. Her skill in soul detection was utterly mediocre, and the most she could accomplish is being able to visually detect Souls among the world of the living. After all, how else would the blonde-haired female detect the grassy-haired male who sat on the street side thinking very very odd thoughts? The fifteen year old girl was wrapped in a solid black cloak, with naught but her hands keeping the various flaps held together around her body. It disguised her lanky yet lean body, which would have screamed the presence of a lithe body but was otherwise muffled by the loose fabrics. It also shrouded away a minimalist suit of flexibly light armor that was clearly outfitted for a fighter. Aside of this, since Fantasia did not pull her cloak's hood over her head, any onlookers were clearly able to see the elfin features about her face; a small nose, tight lips, and oxymoron vivid gray eyes. Today, her hair was long and straight—it flowed down to the small of her back, signalling its need to be cut soon, and she had organized her bangs on either side of her head. Her ears would be covered by the honey-wheat colored locks, some of which spilled over her shoulders and lied upon her chest. The last note to make was the sheathed weapon she possessed on her back, strapped diagonally across her back so she could reach over her shoulder to grab the hilt her hand had become so comfortable with. This was Fantasia's appearance as she strode down the sidewalk.

She had heard rumors, far and wide, that the Imaginary District was infamous for its population of fighters, attracted from all parts of the world. Fantasia didn't want to brag, but she felt she had the capability to keep toe-to-toe with some of the best, and besides she needed to fight more and become stronger if she ever hoped of bringing her vows to fruition. Hell, would it hurt to just find some combat-worthy looking stranger off the streets and challenge him and or her? She had seen such occurrences earlier in her stroll throughout this place, some almost catching her in the crossfire. All she needed to find is a person who matched her description, and she would as she caught sight of the greenie man sitting down as though it was nobody's business. He had a sword attached to his side, too, it seemed, which was perfect. So, after a moment of shyness, Fantasia would walk up to the man from one side of the sidewalk he was sitting on, and speak up. "Um, hey mister, would you mind a spar for a few? It's for a great cause." Hopefully her youth would not deter the elder from denying her wishes; her Soul Power would hopefully speak to her capability.

Upon the forthcoming of Fantasia's words, there was a stir within the elder, before suddenly the form began shaking with laughter. Immediately, the blonde was taken aback as she moved one foot rearwards and her hands flinched open as if she expected some sort of hostile retaliation; after all, her first impressions of the green-haired man were now beliefs that he was akin to a madman. As his bout continued to rattle his frame and encompass the entire area with great volume, Fantasia would furrow her brows as she tried to analyze her own sentences for something that would have logically inclined such a hysterical response. Finding none, she had but to wait as the man abruptly cut out of his crowing to imitate cold stone. She waited, waited still, for some indication that... well... anything really. Several of her inner voices began whispering to her from the back of her mind, telling her that this one was clearly out of his mind and best avoided. They suggested strongly that the young girl just walk past and find a more suitable individual to deal with. Now Fantasia was considering this option very seriously, but as the train of thought would take too much time, her eyes would notice movement out of the formerly immotile being. The simple fact that his height quickly began to supersede hers and beyond was enough to cause another retreating step out of the girl. She was wary.

Poof! Magic! A walking stick out of nothing! Fantasia's furrow became a risen arc at the advent of the cane. It would appear as though he had a degree of powers, if materializing objects from thin air was of any indication of that fact. It clacked onto the asphalt street to catch him in a lapse of balance, and bring him prostrate. A lack of equilibrium and a need for cane were generally indicators of an aged person, and yet as this one pivoted his fore to Fantasia it presented a visual nothing of the sort. At most twenty-five years of age, at least in appearance, he was at command of a physically-attuned masculine body; any place where his skin was revealed showed the strong muscles he possessed. His taste in color rivaled Fantasia's own, as both had a strong showing of black in their clothing. Though unlike the blonde here, this sir was adorned in a more decorative fashion, with subtle splashes of other colors such as his auburn obi or buff yellowed belts. When he moved, his ensemble would jangle as the various clips would rattle in tune to his motion. And lastly, Fantasia's focus was brought upward to his comely profile, where eyes of goldenrod and a great wide smile lied; where a light stubble and regal nose sat. One thing was crystal clear in the young teen's mind that moment, and it was that this man certainly did not appear insane.

What came next, however, broke Fantasia out of her trance-like stare; it was a long-winded acknowledgement to the girl's question, taking a response far beyond what she could have expected, especially out of a man who initially had been in stitches cracking himself up at the mention of it. As the short story of a speech proceeded, Fantasia found her eyes widening and her mouth conforming to an 'oh' shape, like a small child becoming enchanted by the majesty of a fairy tale. In modern times, such a tone and decorum of voice had become lost in history. Yet, Fantasia was experiencing it first hand and was discernibly amused by it. When he finished, a smile overtook her face and she was not uncomfortable with the man's presence. Her elevated hands would finally drop to her sides, and her legs bent as if prepared to flee the scene at a moment's notice... now they straightened up. She would allow an appropriate moment of silence to pass after he finished speaking, as she felt it deserved something like that. The silence would eventually be ended, though, as Fantasia recollected her purpose for conversing with him.

"That sure was beautiful, mister," she decidedly broke the silence with, a genuine tone of appreciation pervading her sweet-tempered voice. "And we do mean that in the most sincerest of ways. We also appreciate that you would be so kind as to accept our offer." Her left hand now reached over her shoulder—not too swift nor too slow, but in quite the casual manner—to wrap her nimble fingers around the grip of her sword, and pull the overcompensating weapon out of its scabbard with a slight swish of metal drawing against plastic. She held it out in front of her seemingly with ease, despite the weight it appeared to present with its lofty size. As it was brandished, the facet of the silvery blade caught the light in the most dazzling of ways, refracting a rainbow across its sheen. "But, we hope you are as much a warrior as you are a poet, because for our cause we need to be pushed. If we aren't pushed, we don't learn anything. If we don't learn anything, we fail our goal. So please, kind sir, don't go easy on us..." She would trail off, her mind in motion. Her eyes became dead set on the green-haired stranger as she figured he might be confused; everyone was. She decided to be proactive this time around, since she was in quite the delightful mood. "Before you ask who 'we' are, allow us to show you."

Through a concentration of internal Ryoku, Fantasia's body began to defy reality. Just as the stranger was capable of spawning a cane to his hand at will, something similar would occur here. The female's body seemed to be splitting into several copies, each one trying to escape the singular form in a different direction. Within the second, they all jumped out at once and took up position in a slight flexure around the man. Where once there was one, now there stood five. Each one looked a complete and perfect duplicate of the original, so well that none could be told apart. From the energy flowing through their body, to the blood pumping through their veins, to the same exact length for every strand of hair on their head, so on and so on. The one thing different between them all was their individuality, as each was capable of thinking their own thoughts and moving to their own tempo without restriction. And as a testament to this capability, suddenly one was breaking off from the pack to charge straightfowardly at the stranger. Her sword was risen above her head while her bolt was in progression, and when she was in range of her weapon, the blade would be swung down with surprising speed and an even more incredible strength. This was only to be the warning shot, for the excessive force behind this attack would cause a shockwave upon impact with such scale that a large crater would span the streets and even crack the walls of the nearby buildings from indirect duress alone. The direct attack, if taken, was like the wrecking ball of a bulldozer, compacted into every inch of the focused razor edge of the sword. This was just a warning shot, so that the stranger could evaluate it and Fantasia's ability therefore from it, then adjust his own efforts accordingly.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, CRACK—

Fantasia's sword was intercepted at the very last second, the man's wooden cane appearing between the edge of the Claymore and its unnamed target. There was a loud sound accompanying the the impact, and her sword was stopped immediately in its tracks—not a single shake or stumble being made by the man as he blocked it. The clone was no weaker than the original being, and yet for all her strength there was not any indication that he was even troubled by the attack. The cane stoppered the metal weapon without a single chink in its outer shell, and yet the blow had been taken in full force as no excess was transferred to the environment immediately surrounding them. That was why, at the moment the two weapons clashed and the reality of the instance hit her, that her eyes would dilate in shock. W-Wha? was all their collective mind could manage in that tick; the exchange proceeded against Fantasia. Her sword suddenly become immensely heavy as it plowed into the ground, pulled down by the handle of the man's cane. The area of the street that caught the weighty weapon was slightly ruptured, with a small plume of dust being kicked up and several cracks appearing in the dent. Her eyes now shifted toward the metal of her weapon, watching the interweaving of the sword and the cane as she desperately tried to think up a counter to this.

That same inexorable force appeared again, now pulling her weapon in a different direction despite the contest both her arms were trying to provide. She couldn't stop it, but she needed to do something fast; her own weapon was racing to decapitate her head clean off her shoulders. Her legs convulsed and released, shooting the girls body forwards and upwards off the tips of her toes. As her combatant was shifting behind her, she would be flipping forth over the incoming weapon. Since it was evident that she was not strong enough to directly challenge the opposing fortitude, she had decided to circumvent it. So, this clone would begin her leap over her own sword, throwing her foot back in the process with the hopes of catching his face or neck with it. It also could be used to boost her speed as she transitioned into a spin. At the apex of the flip, Fantasia's body was upside down in mid-air, still grasping her weapon. The cane that was bullying around her blade was doing so only by the right angle of the handle, and thus she could pull her blade out from any other direction. That's exactly what she did, and she attempted to slash at the man's chest with an upward swing in the process. Regardless of whether or not her two attacks connected, neither had an sizable impact of her own outcome. Without a complete change in the man's plans, Fantasia would accent her flip with a one-hundred and eighty degree corkscrew before her feet hit the ground. She would stand sword brandished once more, facing her opponent.

That was only the half of it.

While one Fantasia was trying her best to escape the grasp of a deadly situation, another would break off from the pack the moment the man's strength became clear. It was no long shot that she could close the several meters in a few bounds, as she charged toward the opponent holding her sword like a spear almost. The tip of the glorious weapon headed her attack, while her cloak billowed behind her and fell of her body as the speed of the movement was too much. She didn't scream or cry like some people would, giving away her intentions, but she wasn't trying to hide the treads of her footsteps; she just hoped he would be distracted well enough to disguise the padding of her feet. It was a fraction of a second after the first clone's attempted kick, that the secondary clone would reach arm's length of the grassy-haired man. A powerful thrusting motion would be made, as the tip of her weapon sought to plunge through the small of his back and fly out the other end of his stomach. Best case scenario? It worked, and she would perforate him. But even without said scenario coming to fruition, she could at least accomplish making him choose between saving himself or trying to stop the first clone from getting away. If the man extracted himself from the mess, then good on him. But there were still three duplicates of Fantasia in waiting, standing back until opportunities could arrive.