Warning: this is the result of an English class and should thus be treated with extreme caution. And leather gloves.
InuYasha and the Shichinintai do not belong to me.
The sound of the battlefield surrounded Bankotsu as he slaughtered the foot soldiers standing before him. Around him, battle raged. He heard the sound of soldiers being lifted into the air then crushed by the giant hands of Kyoukotsu, the gargled sound of soldier dieing by Mukotsu's poisons, the huge bangs of Ginkotsu's machinery, accompanied by Renkotsu hand-cannon, the slice-and-ripe of Suikotsu's claws, and the singing of Jakotsutou as its wielder, Jakotsu, cut through the enemy lines. In Bankotsu's own hands was Banryuu, his beloved sword. He felt a slight tremor running threw it, as if it was as excited as its wielder to be in the midst of the carnage of the battle. Banryuu cut and cut and cut, taking down multiple opponents with one stroke. The Shichinintai were out numbered one hundred to one, but Bankotsu knew that he and his friends would prevail, because they always did.
Because the Shichinintai never died.