Breaking Rust [Fantasia, Andrew]

She'd been here before, this metropolis of innovative architecture and cutting edge technology. The stories she'd heard about them all being constructs formed from the contents of a powerful being's mind were true: it was all birthed of Shadin's Imaginary Computation, which was an ability Fantasia Nevermore didn't have the capability to comprehend at the moment. She wondered about his humanity, his mortality, for these were now powers of normality... but these thoughts were discarded from the teen's mind with a shake of her head. It was a beautiful day and she had other things on her mind. The sun had struck noon and there was not 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. Reiterating the fact that she had been here before, it was an honest truth, but the Imaginary District was just so grand in scale, split into several different sections. Today's journey brought her deeper into the F District, a place she was told reveled in combat.

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 of this District, marvelling at the blocks and blocks of abandoned buildings here. Thus far, no zone within the Imaginary District looked in such a state of disrepair, but this was the fact. Apparently the dilapidated structures were nothing more than terrain generated for the sake of the fighters here, and could be just as easily replaced by Shadin's abilities when the need arose. She could hears sounds of explosions and gunfire in the distance of each direction, though since she hadn't been in here too long Fantasia had not yet run into any combatants. Not minding a little spar for the sake of the workout, she'd hope somebody would come along and challenge her. This was especially pleasing to her considering that she'd finally have a reason to utilize all that training Yoruichi had given her in the past months.

She delved further inwards with an everpresent smile on her face.

Given the time and distance, she'd eventually come ever closer to the sources of all the aberrant racket that had been going off from the moment she stepped one foot into this District. Again, explosions and gunshots were by the far the most common amongst the various sounds, suggesting it might be a fight. And when Fantasia finally rounded that last corner she'd come to bear view with someone shooting lightning from their finger and sending it to some point directly in between a pair of enemies. Normally, one bolt would be incapable of taking out multiple targets, especially if they weren't lined up for it. However, this sudden stranger caused it to hit the ground at their feet and then use the resulting explosion to blast them away. This in itself was interesting, but then so was the fact that the enemies faded away into pixels before evaporating completely—no blood, no wounds, no corpse. Ah, they were just more computations, the blond thought to herself, slightly more comfortable with the fact that they were just dummies and not actual people taking injuries from that assault. Seeing that no more of these apparitions hanging around, and the boy looked like his training had come to a close for the time being. Fantasia's smile widened and she began to jog towards the stranger at a healthy pace. Her black cloak billowed in the quicker momentum, and each step caused the teen's heavy Claymore to jangle around audibly on her back. In her rush she let go of the folds of her cloak, so that the article of clothing would become more of a cloak as it trailed behind her, as the strange light armor she wore below (same color) was revealed.

About halfway there, she caught the boy returning her attentions, waving her way as he saw her coming. Fantasia responded with a brief wave of her own before running the rest of the way there. She treaded heavily to a stop a couple meters away from him, no indications that the jog or the run had been the least bit tiring. Her gray hues stared into the brown ones of the man and she just now was realizing how much older he was as she craned her neck up slightly to look at him. From a distance he could have been mistaken to be much younger, but now he could see the figure he had and the face he possessed; he was over a dozen years her superior at the least. Still, Fantasia was never one to let those things bother her when it came to challenges. After all, Yoruichi's words still rang in her head to give her that much-needed and much-appreciated morale booster. She'd never considered herself beyond the ordinary, but her mentor had always told her that she was nothing short of a prodigy, being only fifteen years of age and almost at the level of some of the top dogs. With that note, Fantasia would hug her arms around her chest and speak in her friendly tone. "Go on, take your break, stranger. After that, we'd like to challenge you to a spar." Fantasia would then proceed to roll back and forth on the balls of her feet, the movements subtle and idle. Then something popped into her mind as she just remembered it. "Oh! Also, our name is Fantasia. Fantasia Nevermore. It's nice to meet you."

When Fantasia graciously gave her name, the man would see fit to return the honor and gives his. Andrew Takahashi, he called himself as he returned the greeting and accepted her proposal for a spar, the latter of which pleased the girl very much. He showed a sense of eagerness by opting to take the smallest of breaks and simply engage after the pleasantries were exchanged. Also, rather than wait a little, he would suddenly release a new power that Fantasia hadn't seen in him when he was training; only thanks to the education she had been recieving did she know that the phrase he spoke was a release phrase for a Zanpakutō, the first released form of a Shinigami's sword. Now that Fantasia knew about his race, she knew also that he was capable of using Kidō, Hohou, and Hakuda as well—This was good; Yoruichi told her that gathering information on your opponent and getting to know him would increase her odds to victory. Thus, when his simple katana began to shift into a weapon much smaller, Fantasia took keen interest... though she did back up to a safe distance and drop into a battle stance with bent legs and elevated arms at the ready. Her gray hues observed the light of Andrew's first release subside, to witness the unorthodox knife-like weapon solidify in the man's hand. Dagger came into her mind once, but deeming it a knife just felt more appropriate; still, it was a knife like no other she had ever seen in her lifetime. For the most part it was made out of metal, but Fantasia thought she spotted some sort of fine grain plastered to the blade—an oddity.

She didn't want to take too much time observing, and then be unprepared for the actual fight at hand. She was not as fast a thinker as most when it came to critical things like this. It would seem as though she gave it up, trading that ability off in order to gain a different mentality. After all, Fantasia seemed to react to instinctual situations in fractions of seconds, in the heat of battle when it really counted. So, she may not have been the most intelligent person, but at least she could fight well. With this security in the teen's mind, she reached over her shoulder with her left hand to acquire a firm grip around the hilt of her sword, Edge of the Legion. In one controlling and uninterrupted swing, the massive sword was wrested from its hilt on her back and presented before her as a stark contrast to the small knife her opponent weilded. The weapon's blade was no shorter than four feet long, all of it an iridescent silver metal that shone brilliantly in the light of mid-day. Then there was the crossguard, each quillon appearing as the feather of a bird, yet just as practical as a normal guard. The hilt completed the weapon at approximately a foot in length, suggesting that the weapon is two-handed, and yet Fantasia is holding it with only one. Not only was she using just one hand to carry her weapon, but the way she swung it suggusted that the weapon was no more cumbersome than Andrew's own knife, not seeming the least bit burdened by her Claymore's weight.

Her leg muscles twitched, one reflex desiring forward movement, while rational thought caught that and appealed with rationale. Fantasia remembered more of Yoruichi's lessons, Yoruichi's many lessons: Getting the first attack in is always fun, and especially effective in stealth operations... but in a situation like this, where we've already revealed ourselves to our opponent and given him time to prepare, it would not increase our chance of victory at all. It was better to let him attack first. Fantasia's thoughts carried on them much more wisdom that they ever had been capable of a month ago, thanks to a certain someone. But still, the adrenaline of battle called to the blonde, and she couldn't help the smile that persisted on her face, nor the deliberate walk towards her opponent. She very well wanted him to attack first so that Fantasia could show she was learning what had been taught to her, but there was the chance that he could be thinking the same exact thing. If he didn't send out the first strike, she certainly didn't mind taking his place; she just wanted to be a little bit closer than the distance she had initially caused herself. So, if he refused to throw the attack, and if he allowed Fantasia to get within striking reach of her Claymore, only then would she initiate this spar. And if she would be the one to do that, then it would begin with a lunge, propelling her sword's tip forward at Andrew at high speeds.

The warrior in black held her sword steady with her singular hand, at the forefront of her posture where she could parry an frontal offense against her at the slightest notice. Her free hand remained back like a cautious parent, ready to step in when the situation went dire. All the while, her gray eyes were scrutinizing whatever occurred before her to make sure she was creeping forward into a mess she couldn't handle. The journey was slow but the destination was sure; the man with the scraggly burnished hair, who apparently fought with a chef's utensil—strange but never under-estimated in Fantasia's case. The vigilance could be detected in the female's every move, since for a while it was a stand-off between the two... it had to end eventually. Thus, Andrew made the first move, as Fantasia wanted him to, but it was not an attack as she would have expected. The man would pass his hand over the reddish-brown accumulation of grain she had noticed before, apparently collecting some between his fingers before placing it in his mouth latterly. Now although Fantasia was not the keenest of individuals, the actions was fairly open for discretion. What exactly had happened was confusing, but the female could only guess it was either a consumable that boosted his prowess in some fashion or something he could spit out and somehow harm her if she wasn't careful.

Though that was not why the female paused in her advance. It was the cheeky smile from Andrew that accomplished that, as though he had something up his sleeve. He made another move, pointing the tip of his weapon downwards so that the length of the knife was perpindicular to the ground. Then, like Excalibur in reverse, he shoved the blade down into the Earth to expel a sizable cloud of that powder all around him, covering him from all angles rather definitely. Fantasia was already prepped for an attack with her bent knees, so she hightailed it out of the proximity of the cloud, kicking up dust from where her feet once stood as she did so. She landed several meters away with a light tunk, a gentle ruffling of her fabrics and hair. Edge Of The Legion was now carried in the security of both Fantasia's hands, only out of worry. But, thankfully evading contact with the powder worked, as she felt no lashing consequence upon her telling her she'd failed to dodge. Now came the benefits from having one's opponent attack first, for now Fantasia knew something—albeit minimal—about her opponent's capabilities, and could act accordingly. The whole fight needed to work like this, with Fantasia evading or blocking anything that came her way, analyzing what she could in the process so to better know what she was up against. Then, she'd have to follow it up each time with a counter-attack; hence, her next move.

Through a concentration of internal Reiryoku, Fantasia's body began to defy reality. The female 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 positions in a slight flexure around the man, each keeping out of range of the cloud created by him. 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 through the rust-colored plume, throwing caution into the wind. To each their own abilities: Fantasia had her own unique gift. Many times before had she been questioned as to why she spoke of herself as plural instead of singular, and if anything her powers explained why. She was not just one person, but dozens, hundreds, thousands all locked up inside one entity.

This suddenly-suicidal clone was willing to sacrifice herself for the good of the whole, playing the part of a test subject to figure out what this powder could do. There was no effect for the most part, given the sheer amount of clothing she wrapped herself in, but she could feel the beginnings of a burn tingling on her hands, and the sting in her eyes that made them water uncontrollably and blur her vision. She didn't care. The clone continued forward with her sword held high, charging the now-blurry figure of Andrew with unstoppable intent. The sound of her armored shoes thudding on the ground was only overwhelmed by the battle cry that came from her throat. As soon as she was within range, this one would bring her massive blade arcing down at her opponent with both hands, with force enough to shatter the asphalt street they stood upon. Hell, even if she missed with her Claymore, the excess force of the strike and the debris that flew outward from the site of impact could harm him as well if he wasn't careful. The cloud too, would probably be blown away by the shockwave. The clone, however... Once she completed her attack, she would fall to one knee and drop her sword to the ground as she huddled her head against her chest. The pain in her eyes was suddenly overpowering, and she couldn't even open them anymore. She could move, but whether or not she could fight with this hindrance was left to question. Still, even if one was taken out, four more stood up and unharmed, pointing their weapons at Andrew to show he had a long way to go.

"Owwww..." whined the blind Fantasia, rubbing at her eyes fruitlessly.

The asphalt of the street was but a brittle plane in the face of Fantasia's unrelenting force, her silver blade plowing straight through and creating a small fissure in the once flat surface. The subsequent shockwave would have been felt concretely by her opponent even though he may have dodged the direct attack. Because of the additional force, he'd be knocked back further than he intended, making sure that he would not be in close proximity to the fallen warrior after the attack had failed. Though, it would seem that this fellow of an opponent was agile enough to keep himself from falling down or anything unceremonious as that, therefore saving himself a bruise or two. That's the moment when the first doppelganger of Fantasia withdrew to her knees with the feeling of searing skin all over her face. Needless to say her eyes were rendered practically useless as the spice made contact, drawing tears and causing the female to clench them shut. The Claymore, a weapon just having been used as an impending force of destruction, now lied uselessly on the ground beside the equally incapable girl, down, but not out for the count. That is why, through the waning wisps of sickly rust-colored spice the visage of the man was seen preparing for a grand finale, to dispatch the clone for good. He consumed something and took a deep breath as if preparing to blow outwards, sending the other four replicas into action.

Just as the fevered light began to propel out of Andrew's mouth, one Fantasia was rocketing toward her beaten ally with an arm outstretched, the intent to save her from certain doom was quite clear. However, the ability of Fantasia to learn from the past was evident, as her free arm reached back to pull her hood over her head and then block the opening slightly with the sleeve of her loose cloak. Of course some got through as she made her mad dash, but it was not nearly enough to subjugate the warrior. She caught the downed clone at the waist with her arm hoisted her along with as she rushed out of the path of the jet of flame, not losing a bit of the momentum. The swords of both were left behind, but unlike Fantasia, it could survive the heat of a flamethrower. Once the two made it out of there alive, the goal was to pull her away from the harm altogether, so that their opponent simply couldn't go in for the kill a second time. But the question was raised; why bother? Wasn't she but a clone, and one who could not fight at that? People who asked those questions simply did not understand the girl at all, as these were more than mere clones. Each entity was a part of her: An ally, a friend, a member of a family. In war you did not leave your injured comrade on the battlefield to bleed out and die, and Fantasia had the same mindset. She may have originally sent the clone in as a sacrifice for the greater good, but now that she had done her task and was capable of being saved, the choice was obvious.

Meanwhile though, action occurred with the three remaining clones of Fantasia, or perhaps one was the real her? Regardless, they needed to stick together and gang up on him, using their superior numbers to defeat him; or at the very least keep him occupied. Making sure to avoid running right into the path of the flames, the three charged and lunged from three different directions on the man's right side. It was not simultaneous, as one attack came after the other just as it was soon followed by a third strike. They were all slashes, relatively easier to see coming but all the more deadly if they managed to hit. The purpose was to take advantage of his misaligned focus: he was busy looking at his target, hopefully too busy to see the massive assault coming in from the right where only his peripherals could see the movement. He may have been able to dodge this one, but to block all three attacks was doubtful. Fantasia knew this; she knew he would have evade if he desired to keep his limbs a part of his body, and so she already had a follow-up plan. The third attack in the sequence was a downward slice, and so once the blade fell through, the sword's owner immediately grasped the hilt with both hands now, and reversed the momentum of the weapon. With the same strength as their very first strike, she slashed upwards hitting nothing but air. Yet, even without a direct attack, the indirect force was just as deadly. The air itself became Fantasia's weapon, a sharp projectile heading straight towards Andrew. It could not be seen, but the damage it caused could. It rampaged forth while cutting through the ground: If it hit the man it would most definitely leave a deleterious laceration right down the middle of his body.