Devoid
Every move he made was brand-new, and divergent from every move he made before.
There were no patterns.
He had no inclinations.
No preferences.
No inclinations.
No biases.
He was a blank slate.
This was what his instincts had warned him about. Yet it was only after he began going all out with the pattern recognition system that he realized what was wrong.
The man's combat style was devoid of patterns.
Rui didn't understand.
The patterns in a person's movements were part of who they were. It was the essence of one's being manifested in combat.
They were inevitable. The sources of one's strengths and weaknesses.
He gazed into Ieyasu's eyes.
They were hollow.
Empty.
Two endless abysses of nothingness.
'No...' Rui's eyes narrowed.
That wasn't quite right.
He saw himself. Reflected in the man's pitch-black eyes.
WHOOSH!