Immortality in DxD

"DIE FOR ME!"

The world slowed. Sound halted and color faded from reality. Two foes stood locked in mortal combat. One wielded both the power of his bloodline and an exquisite weapon made by some unnamed legendary blacksmith of old. His black kimono stock in mid flutter as a triumphant grin stretched across that catlike face. Ears laid flat and tail erect in anticipation

While the other didn't look like anything special. Average facial features and height. Only that long inky river he calls hair and sparkling blue eyes being the only thing that made him standout in the slightest. A wan smile on his face as he effortlessly swung a stick near the speed of sound.

Not even impending death induced by some magical blade to the head could slap away that happy go lucky look. Iori knew exactly why the man named Nakamura Sota had came at him with the intent too kill. It was the same no matter which cultivation society you found yourself in.

Honor.

Honor for his Clan. Son. Family. And most importantly, himself. Not only had Iori turned down the Clan's 'gracious' offer, but he had also beaten those juniors and his son. And with him pulling out that stick instead of a 'real' weapon, the little Yokai's pride was hurt beyond imagine.

So of course the only way to solve this slight, in his own opinion, was to kill the source of it all. It didn't matter if this man was The Yokai Leader's guest. Or how talented he was, or what his presence meant for the good of Yokai everywhere.

Letting such disrespect would weaken his own position in the Clan significantly. And if all it took for all those possible problems not to pop was for him to slaughter a single arrogant human, then so be it. A price would be paid sure. But in the presence of Honor, there was nothing more precious.

But contrary to the Nekomata's belief, his blade did not pierce through flesh and bone. Nor did it release an arc of red life force. It didn't snuff out this insignificant being's flame. That Damascus katana, with so much history, clashed against many of generals and slain a score of tyrants.

A blade truly worthy of being the Nekomata's keepsake.

Was deflected out of thin air.

Yellow eyes looked like they were ready to pop out of his skull. Tail and ears standing straight up in alarm and shock. Circulating his Youki, he stepped out of this reality and space twisted uncomfortably before he was a good distance away. Cold sweat licked across his spots of black fur patches. And the feeling that he had just lost of one his nine lives made itself apparent.

Bringing a finger away from his neck, he saw crimson staining his appendages. Looking down, he saw blood soaking into his kimono in a steady stream.

"What did you do to me?"

Sota rasped from a suddenly parched throat, already sending a stream of life energy flooding down to the wound. While it didn't heal instantly, it did stem the bleeding. But even with that surge of Ki, his eyes were still locked onto that damned mocking smile.

The immortal stood in the place, that damned stick waving gently through the breeze. He did not act that mortal couldn't have taken the Yokai's head clean off. But what really prickled at his cat like nerves was how the sunlight sparkled off the spooling line of string that trailed every leisurely movement. It made multiple figure eights and skittered off the surface of the lake, taking drops of water for a ride.

"Oh?" Iori quirked a brow," Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me mag-"

His snarls were interrupted by a searing hot line of pain running itself down his torso. It happened faster than his mind could even register as his kimono was opened up permanently as the pool of blood now ran freely. Looking down in shock, he immediately saw the thin line of blood going from his shoulder down to the opposite hip. Destroying not just his clothing but also severing the leather holding up the sheath and he could only watch as it floated gentle away.

Numbly, yellow eyes starred on in horror at the jovial man. His seemingly lazy movements now having an entirely different, more sinister motive.

"I'm no Magician, Gale Kitten." Iori chided airily," I am a sertified Senjutsu Grandmaster."

'By yours truly.'

He added silently. Who was going to correct him? All the other Grandmasters were most likely dead or too weak to challenge him on that claim.

But it seems the arrogant swordsman learned his lesson kept that foul mouth shut, already feeling the stinging pain increase to a crescendo of agony.

"Normally, I would kill anyone who tried something like this."

The immortal said idly, still completely entranced in the spinning drops of water. But despite how peaceful he looked, the words themselves were like a bucket a cold water. This was a more peaceful era and talking so casually about death was far from the norm.

Sota knew that his clan had aired that day and nearly dropped to his knees before to the powerhouse. Anything to appease the monster. His elders had told him about the terror of Ancient Practitioners and how they would take any grievances to the extreme. He still had nightmares of having his own Clan eradicated by a slighted Cultivator. And just as we was prepared to beg for mercy, honor be damned, the immortal spoke once more.

"You already know the deal. Kill you and everyone you knew so there would no chance of the heavens blessing some distantly related brat to slay me later on." He sighed slightly, as though such an occurrence was normal. Iori had read plenty of revenge stories with that exact plot and had witnessed it happen plenty of times in the past. Hell one of his disciples were literally akin to the protagonist in such a tale.

'I wonder if he ever did get his revenge?'

"You should be ever grateful to your leader, Yasaka. If not for her and my promise, your Clan would've been nothing more than a burning wreck." He said and seeing his 'foe's' slumping shoulders, decided now was the time to twist the knife," I will take your weapon as payment."

"B-But honorable senior!" Sota nearly shot up to his feet before thinking better and stay with his forehead pressed fervently to the lake's surface," The Boidokī (Void Key) is a family heirloom of the Nekomata Main Branch! The Elders would have my hide!"

"It matters not." Iori shrugged before twitching his fingers and sending that thin line of string out forward. And with barely any effort on his part, he plucked the enchanted weapon out of the swordsman's desperate grasp.

The Yokai only looked down at his now empty hand before gulping audibly in the silent clearing. With another flick, the sheath to landed in Iori's grip. He appreciated the masterful work before sheathing the blade.

'I'll check it out later.'

"Let our next meeting be fruitful." Iori said with a condescending smirk on his lips before turning and walking out of the clearing. His foot steps not even leaving ripples in his wake. The inky river trailing and just barely skittering across the surface.

But despite the hint of relief that filled the thoroughly outmatched swords(less)man at the Ancient Practitioner's departing figure, a feeling of want filled his stomach. And no matter how much he just wanted this situation to lie, there was a burning question that had to be answered.

"Honorable Senior!" Sota called out, hand now completely soaked in crimson. He needed to know. Had to know. It was like his ancient Yokai blood was screaming out for answer," I know I am not worthy, but please grace this fool with that technique's name!"

There was silence that seemed like it would drag on for ages until a single sentence was brought to his feline ears. A name that shook him to his very core at the profoundness of it all.

"Flowing River, Thrashing Eel."