Chapter Text
There's a familiarity to the way the greatsword cleaves through the corrupted, an aggressive charge that took Watanabe right down memory lane to his construct training years. The jarring feeling of seeing who was actually holding the sword was akin to turning the corner of your old neighbourhood to see your childhood home had been renovated.
“You’re not Kamui,” he remarked, sending his blades spinning away. And it wasn’t, unless Kamui had picked a propensity for glowering while he was shopping for new hair dye.
“And what of it?” The look-alike sneered, the action marred by the muzzle strapped to his jaw. “Is it something you should be distracting yourself with?”
Watanabe quirked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t move your head.”
The look-alike’s face darkened, just as Watanabe thought it would. Textbook, almost. He looked like he was about to start snarling, but the slight movement he made to do so resulted in one of Watanabe’s returning blades nicking an ear on their way back to their owner’s hands.
“I told you not to move,” Watanabe reminded, sheathing his blades. He saw the look-alike’s eyes flick to the trail of corrupted corpses behind him, and the fire in his eyes seem to quiet. He was looking at Watanabe now- properly, appraising, judging, he realised. Not an entirely textbook creature then.
Watanabe turned his back to the hooded construct and started ordering his men to gather themselves- the corrupted hadn’t derailed their vehicles too much, but night was still approaching. And night in the desert had as much mercy as the day did. He didn’t expect a word of thanks for clearing off the remaining corrupted, offering none himself, and sure enough when Watanabe cast a glance over his shoulder, the look-alike was gone.