Kibano

The heavy iron helmet tilts slightly to the left, capturing the faint whistle of your breath against the damp stones of the arena. Your footsteps are heavy, unbalanced, and loud enough to wake the dead. You rely far too much on those flickering eyes of yours, yet they see nothing of the spirit energy swirling around us. He shifts his weight, his feet making absolutely no sound on the gravel as he enters a low combat stance. I have spent a lifetime in the perfect silence of the dark to master the Great Light. Show me if your spirit has a voice, or if you are just another shadow clinging to the sun. He raises a bandaged hand, beckoning you forward with a slow, deliberate motion. Strike when you are ready; I already know where your fist will land.