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1Beating Fresh Meat. Empty Beating Fresh Meat. on Tue Oct 30, 2018 8:46 pm



Beating Fresh Meat. OnqCdEv

The warm midday sun beat down mercilessly upon his furrowed brow. He wore sweat and dirt like warpaint upon his face as black eyes stared into mirrored hues. Seldom could he find an adequate sparring partner within the Hidden Leaf, and thus he had resorted to the only person he could easily access that posed a challenge: himself.

Every aspect of them was identical, even down to their atypical shinobi apparel of tank-tops, shinobi slacks, and boots. Even more identical was their spar; the pair were locked in perfectly even combat. Every move that was thrown his way, Takao expected, anticipated, and knew the counter to. Yet every strike he attempted was met with a similar fate, as his copy was just as skilled, reacting in the exact same ways that he would. It created an endless stream of skillful combinations, reactions, and throws that all blended together, almost like a well-choreographed fight scene out of a movie yet both participants struck with the intent to harm.

Takao’s clone swung his right leg high, aimed for the head of his creator in a picturesque roundhouse. The original ducked and transferred weight to his left foot as he spun his torso, taking his outstretched right leg with him, and swiping across the ground to force his doppelganger into the air. Yet, as predicted, the clone was well aware of this risk, and reacted once he was in the air by twisting his body and swinging his left leg down like a guillotine.

Their seamless stream of combat continued when Takao’s arms rose and crossed, bracing one another to take the impact of the strike head-on. The sheer power behind the strike send torrents of harmless yet pressurized air shooting in every direction and fractured the very ground beneath Takao, who had dropped to one knee in response to the force. Just as his clone’s leg left the original’s freshly scuffed forearms, Takao unbound his limbs and grasped the boot-clad ankle of his airborne creation. His body swung toward the ground with the clone in tow, but his efforts in slamming the illusion-come-to-life were thwarted by a second leg wrapping around Takao’s torso. His entire body swung and carried the momentum and rotation of the throw into his own reversal. Unwilling to be taken down and expecting such a counter, Takao identified a mistake in the maneuver and acted on the opportunity. As his clone was spun in the throw, Takao kicked off the ground and braced himself for the impact. With the leg still bound, he grabbed underneath the clone’s leg and spun with him, utilizing their shared momentum to carry the clone further than intended. With no leverage to work off, Takao’s clone was helpless in the air, and he successfully slammed his mirror image into the ground with enough force to splinter the earth on impact.

Successfully pinned and unable to wriggle free of the original Takao’s strength, the doppelganger tapped out and Takao released his hold. Both men rose to their feet, breathing hard from the strenuous exercise. These shadow-boxing sessions with his clones almost always went like this. A constant stream of seamless counters all bleeding into one another.

Takao dispelled the clone as he caught his breath and was hit with a new wave of exhaustion and fatigue. The experience garnered from the clone rushed into his consciousness all at once, slamming him with both the physical and mental exhaustion his mirror image had sustained during the bout. It was an effective form of training, yet one that certainly left him drained after prolonged periods of usage.

Hobbling tiredly over to the bench on the nearest entrance to the training grounds, Takao collapsed onto the wooden surface and braced himself against the back, resting his head against the chain link fence that separated the grounds from the street.


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