[OceanEyes28]

The sound of simmering flesh crackled and snapped in her ears. A few moments into the battle, and already she had made a mistake. She had seen the first strike coming. Pivoting on her left foot, she watched the first acidic spike fly past. That was close… he's really fast, she thought to herself. Then she sensed something coming from behind. Thinking it was Taere, she turned, sword ready, only to find another liquid green spear being hurled at her. "Shit!" she screamed, trying to scurry out of the way. She failed, and the attack hit her between her shoulder blades, driving into her spine. She fell to her knees and tried to catch her breath. Her lungs expanded impulsively, soaking up too much stale and dusty air in their spongy tissue. She coughed and spat, her muscles flexing and causing more pain to the wound on her back. But there was no blood. The burnt skin would not bleed, and her demon remained in check. Oh, but it longed to be set free. It pressed against her eyes and ears, and she could smell the familiar stench of blood. A swirling madness raging inside her head, drowning her reason and self-control. She could not let that happen. Goddamnit, Ouri, you have got to focus!

She thought back to her last battle. A powerful demon soaked with desire to regain her lost honor. Ouri had felt sure she would lose. And for a while, it looked as though she would. Her opponent had the advantage of experience and that of a cause. And what of Ouri? Trained by a friend and… what was she fighting for? It was not honor. All that had been stripped from her already, and she had forgotten how to care. It was not love, for Damien was far away, and it would not matter to him if she won or lost. It was not for the joy of winning. No, all that meant was that she would have to fight again. What, then, had saved her? The will to live? What life? Did she even have a soul anymore? Looking at herself through a microscope, all she would see was an empty shell, she was sure of that. An ugly, disgusting, vile attempt at humanity with the foolish delusion of hope. Despite her lack of cause, she still had hope that she would find one. There had to be something. Perhaps that could be her cause. She was fighting to find something to fight for.

Ouri looked to her opponent who was watching her anxiously, waiting to see how effective his attack had been. He had managed to burn a hole through her clothing, that was for sure. "Interesting attack," she said. "But I assure you, it won't work twice. Anyway, I am interested to see what else you have in store for me." She got to her feet and tossed her head, letting her red hair catch the glowing firelight as it fell behind her. The black blade ached in her hand, begging as a child would to have its fun. She closed her grip around the hilt, and took a step toward Taere. "I suppose it's my turn." Whatever confidence she had, she was putting it forth now. She stood as tall as she could, back straight, with her sword in front of her in a protective, yet strong tilt. Her sharp olive gaze was a startling contrast to her soft features, and a beautiful one, though she would never recognize it herself.

I won't win using just my sword techniques. He's too powerful for that. He's obviously fast, and I bet he has a lot of strength in his swing as well. And as much as I hate to do what that demon wants, it seems as though I need magic for this one. As soon as the thought entered her mind, her pulse quickened, and her sword began to glow a hopeful indigo. The pressure against her temples increased, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled with a rush of adrenaline. It felt wonderful and terrible all at the same time. It would be very easy to let the sword take over. She knew she would be more powerful that way. For as long she was suppressing that bloody temptress beneath her skin, she was fighting two opponents. And yet, while she became more powerful, she became equally more dangerous to her opponent and to herself. It didn't matter whose blood it was, for the demon was only a parasite, and her body could be disposed of as soon as it stopped serving its purpose. Either way… I need to attack with something.

Then she thought of it. Her eyelids slid shut, and she let herself plunge into her own abyss of emotions. Her heart cried out as she forced it to remember the day she killed her father. When she realized he was dead, and that she could never truly leave that memory behind, an overwhelming flood of guilt swam over her. It rose to cover her head with a sea of regret, choking her and pushing itself down her throat, killing her screams. The knowledge that she had done the unthinkable and could not take it back no matter how much she pined for forgiveness. This was the emotion she chose to attack with. All of her attacks were her own emotions made tangible. None were lethal, because an emotion, no matter how intense, cannot kill unless the person with the emotion wills it to. By giving up and letting that emotion that is only one part of themselves take hold of their body and have the body purge itself of its own life. Ouri had yet to accept that defeat, and the dark urge to leave the world behind was one emotion she could not bring herself to attack with.

Taking this feeling of guilt that still haunted her, she focused it within her sword. With the introduction of this new energy, it took on a scarlet haze. She aimed it at Taere, and felt a sudden yearning to apologize for what she was about to do. Her lip quivered with this increased feeling of guilt, and her whole body was trembling beneath the weight of the energy being pumped through her veins. But she stood firm, and the sword surged with power. Then--her voice sinister and in an odd way plagued with sadness--she gave the name of the attack, and signaled the energy to move. "Crimson Tears."

An attack that aimed for the eyes, it seeped past the surface and went behind. It found the brain and planted the seed of guilt. It then stabbed at the eyes from beneath, activating the tear ducts. The target would shed tears mixed with blood, giving the attack its name. The pain that had been hers would become his as well.

And as she watched the attack slice through the air to find its victim, she was further weighed down. Because for a moment, as the heavy emotion left her, she had felt relieved. Release at the pain of others. Now, more than ever, she hated herself completely.