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| Topic Started: Aug 12 2016, 11:40 AM (112 Views) | |
| Cooler | Aug 12 2016, 11:40 AM Post #1 |
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Experienced Member
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[dohtml]<div align="center"><div style="width:600px;font-family:georgia;font-size:13px;text-align:justify;color:white;padding:3px;">There was a battlefield. War was present in every aspect. Anywhere you looked, you could find it. It was in the blackened skies, constantly darkened by the smoke of perpetual fires. You could see it in the smoldering remains of what was once a house. It breathed in the collapsed buildings that were now nothing more than piles of twisted steel and crumbled brick. It thrived in the litter of countless bodies decorating the cracked roads and burning hills that previously made up the foundations of the Earth town of Holloway.<br><br> Death had a name in Holloway and it was the Steel Legion. The sentient machines had risen and moved under the direction of a sole protocol: eliminate any and all that were not one of them. It was mass genocide on a galactic scale and it all started here, at home, on the little blue marble known as Earth. They were one and united and wouldn’t stop until they had subjugated the entire Universe underneath their shiny metal thumbs. <br><br> “Okami!” A stern voice barked. “On your left, look out! Seven tin cans approaching!” <br><br> A lone figure stood on the crest of debris-laden hill. At first glance, the shape of this Okami might have been easily mistaken for another one of the death robots that marched on Holloway - but that was not the case. From head to toe, a character protectively sheathed in technology who viewed the war-torn world through an opaque visor that gave no hint to the monster that resided behind it. No, the colors that proudly decorated the hydraulic, mechanized armor worn by the soldier beneath were those belonging to the Paladins of Avalon. <br><br> Okami focused his faceless glare on the throng of Legion that began to ascend the hill upon which he stood; a reflection of a nearby fire glimmered in void stretched across his armored helmet. Within the darkness, he studied their static, predictable movements as the distance between them dwindled. <br><br> “Did you hear me?! Okami! Respond!” the voice from before screamed again. <br><br> The voice that responded was rough. It was haggard from the days of strenuous fighting. It was raspy from the countless hours of absent sleep and hardships that had been overcome. Yet, it was strong. Its strength was bolstered by a power that came from deep down within. It wasn’t the strength of the body – it was the strength of the soul. <br><br> “I’ll take care of them,” the voice, obviously belonging to a male, responded solemnly. <br><br> As spry as a playful pup, Okami vaulted forward into the squad and went to work. A clash and clang of opposing metal rang clearly among the sounds of chaos that filled the town. The Paladin lashed out with a series of explosive fists that collided with a force unseen amongst his peers. Whenever a punch landed, a member of the Legion dropped. <br><br> That didn’t imply that this Senjō no Ōkami was a herald that brought victory wherever he stalked; it was actually quite the opposite. The Paladins were fighting a losing war and this one, like many, many others, was just another losing battle for the books. <br><br> Soon, Okami stood on a mound of torn apart robots that twitched and sparked with fleeting life. His body heaved up and down with staggered breathing as he surveyed the area. What he saw was not ideal but it wasn’t completely unexpected, either. Another regiment of the Legion had made their way toward the border of Holloway and once again, now outnumbered the Paladins with a ratio that wasn’t worth mentioning. <br><br> “Okami, there’s—“<br><br> “I see them. I’m pulling out.” Okami interrupted. <br><br> His foot crushed down on the head of the robot it rested upon and didn’t stop until the satisfying crunch and sizzle of its internal circuitry – or its brain – frazzling out. Okami took to the air without the use of the rocket-propelled flight module inherent to the mech armor and hung there momentarily to take one last look over the area before he took off. <br><br> That’s when he saw them. A mother and her two little girls trapped in the dilapidated remains of their home with a fleet of Steel Legion bots zoning in on them. There was no way they were going to get out without intervention and Okami knew that. Apparently the voice on the other end of the line knew that, too. <br><br> “Don’t even think about it. Get out of there!” the voice bellowed. <br><br> “I can’t leave them there! I can get them out!” This was the first time that Okami’s voice showed anything other than contempt. It now voiced compassion. He knew the odds – it was likely he would be able to get them out but it was not so assured that he would be going with them. It wasn’t even a question of if he knew the risks; he was going to take the shot anyway. <br><br> “I’m going in!” Okami roared back and blasted in the direction of the family. The hands of the Legion were outstretched and ready to peel them apart. <br><br> Before he could act upon his instinct, though, the decision was made for him. In his periphery, he saw it – a blinding white light filled his vision and the space where the Legion and the cornered mother and daughters resided. That searing light grew and grew until it was all that existed and then –<br><br> <hr> <br> Yamcha awoke with a shocking start. He involuntarily shot up into a sitting position upon the bed roll he had been sleeping on, narrowly missing the fallen joist that hung haphazardly just a mere half inch above his head. His breathing was heavy and came in spastic spurts as if he had spent the entire night running a marathon. The sweat that lined and descended along the curves of his face from its originating point on his brow seemed to suggest the same thing. It wasn’t only perspiration that streamed down his face and upon dabbing the crest of his cheeks with his fingertips; the secluded martial artist discovered he was crying. At the moment, he was delirious and could hardly comprehend what was happening. <br><br> After a moment, once he placed where he was at and reality came funneling in, he realized. <br><br> Crying? Oh yeah, it was that dream again. Whether or not the dream concluded, he couldn’t say for certain but either way, it was absolutely a bad way to start the day. <br><br> Soon, his heavy breathing started to calm, leaving him to just sit there while his fit gradually subsided and clarity washed over him. Yamcha dropped his head into his coarse hands and cradled it as the pads of his stretched fingers rubbed at the sides of his face and the top of his forehead. He felt tired at a point in his life where he couldn’t afford to be tired. Due to the savage nature of recent storms, as well as a little bit of his own savagery, the Wolf School of Martial Arts he had been building had been almost completely leveled. What little structure that still remained standing had been compromised by the elements and wasn’t worth building upon – it would need to be torn down, as well. <br><br> When he moved to stand up, he immediately hit his head on that low hanging beam he just barely missed before. Yamcha flew into a rage straightaway and punched the downed support with a heaving fist; the impact of the blow exploded the damaged wood into a cascade of raining splinters. Whatever that dream was – it clearly had left a bad impression on him and likely set the tone for the rest of the day. <br><br> Before long, Yamcha was munching on a stale piece of bread for breakfast while contemplating how he wanted to tackle the monumental task of rebuilding his school. No matter how he looked at it, it was an incredible amount of work but he had no right to complain – this was the path he chose for himself. Regardless of how long it would take him, or how often he had to start over again, the Wolf would build the school and his legacy. However, in order to do that, he would need to take that first step and put the hammer to the nail, even if it was the second time he had to take that step. As he swallowed down that last lump of crunchy starch, he haggardly rose to his feet with the quickness of an old, beat up tortoise. <br><br> I’m getting old. I might need to trade in the ol’ bed roll for an actual bed one of these days. I don’t think my body can handle sleeping on the hard floor much longer. <br><br> <hr><br> Yamcha went to work and continued working throughout most of the day, only taking the occasional break to drink water and rest his arms from carrying and single-handedly supporting massive pieces of lumber while he nailed them into place. He knew when he woke up that morning that it was going to be a bad day but he truly didn’t realize just how bad it was going to get. That hot sun was beating down on him since it hit the high sky just before noon and seemed to follow him no matter what building he was working on. Sweat poured from him as he lifted a supporting joist above his head and mounted it across the top of a framed out construct that would eventually become his living quarters. In one hand he held the beam while the other relentlessly struck it with a well-aimed hammer; once to set the nail, a second time to drive it completely in. All in all, if the long-haired warrior wasn’t cut out for being a teacher of fighting, he certainly had a shot at a top notch job in construction. <br><br> It was then that he first felt the unexpected presence of someone lurking in the forest behind him, heavily concealed by the large trees and overgrown bushes that littered the perimeter. The familiarity of the signature made Yamcha feel uneasy; while he couldn’t readily pick out the person the energy belonged to out of a hat, there was a certain quality to it that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise anxiously. Despite that feeling, after a brief moment to collect his emotions, he continued to place lumber and hammer it in as if he had no clue that he was being watched. As he racked up another support, he finally heard the rustling of leaves and the snapping of a twig as a commanding foot crushed down upon it and broke it in two. That someone beyond the covering was making their approach. <br><br> “Well, well, look who it is. The little lost dog of Earth.” <br><br> Yamcha froze as soon as the man spoke up. Lucky for him, the way he was positioned made it seem like he was just holding up and inching a piece of wood into place; it was almost impossible to tell that his spine had gone rigid. That voice and the tone that it carried were unmistakable. The moment that little condescending remark fell openly into the air between them, Yamcha knew who he was dealing with. <br><br> “Not surprised to find you here with your tail between your legs. I’ll admit it wasn’t the first planet we thought you scurried off to; we thought you were smarter than that. Who runs to the most obvious place they can think of when they go AWOL?” <br><br> The Wolf went back to work lining up his support before locking it into place with a few nails. Slowly, he descended the ladder he was standing on; his back was still to the aggressive intruder when he finally spoke up. <br><br> “It couldn’t have been too stupid if it took you this long to find me, Ramses.” Although this Ramses couldn’t see, there was a light grin curving gently to his lips. That look was hidden away before he turned upon his heel to face his accuser. <br><br> “That’s Commander Ramses to you, dog. It’ll be High Commander as soon as I drag your mangy ass back to Avalon and throw you in the pit. If you’re lucky, they’ll lock you up until the day you die. If you’re really lucky, they’ll execute you on the spot for treason.” <br><br> Ramses, too, smiled but the malicious intent in his was clearly visible. <br><br> “Both options sound pretty good to me. How do they sound to you, Okami?” Yamcha took in a deep, slow breath as he gently set the hammer clenched within his hand down upon the rung of the ladder before him. The backside of his forearm was drawn across his brow, wiping away the accumulation of shining perspiration and matted ebony hair to one side. As he exhaled, he was finally able to focus and be the driving force behind his actions rather than simply reacting to the vile emanating from Ramses’ mouth. It was then that he realized that Ramses wasn’t alone; he had brought back up. <br><br> A whole lot of back up. <br><br> “My name is Yamcha. If you were half as good as a Commander as you think you are, you’d remember that. There isn’t a battlefield anymore, Ramses. There is no Wolf,” Yamcha reprimanded his former Commander. <br><br> “That’s where you’re wrong, Okami. Just because there isn’t a war doesn’t mean there isn’t a battle to be fought somewhere. There’s a lot of lost ground that Avalon needs to reclaim. There’s still a lot of clean up that needs to be done,” Ramses said with authority. His voice was low and deep with a bark nearly as loud as Yamcha’s. <br><br> After a moment of respite, he spoke up again. <br><br> “That’s not your concern anymore. You ran from your duties. You betrayed Avalon. You—hah,” he laughed angrily. “You’re as good as dead.” <br><br> Yamcha’s face immediately twisted into a vengeful vision of anger. Ramses had pressed a button that he shouldn’t have and it triggered something within the former Paladin that he had not felt toward another being in a long time; pure, unadulterated hatred. What came flowing out of him was chaotic and unrefined. It was nothing more than the ire that had been buried down deep within him since the Steel Legion started their assault across the galaxy. As much as Yamcha hated the synthetic scourge of the Legion, he hated Ramses more. <br><br> “I betrayed Avalon?! Avalon betrayed itself by putting monsters like you in charge! How can you sleep at night knowing the things you have done?! You can’t wash away the blood on your hands so easily, Ramses!” Yamcha roared. Something sparked inside of him at that moment though he did not realize it through the raucous torrent of emotions raging on the surface. Ramses accusations were the tinder upon which the fire kindling inside him burned. However, he was blinded by his own passions; everything between his ears was white hot noise. <br><br> “Hahaha,” Ramses laughed at Yamcha. The Wolf’s words seemed to have very little effect on him. “Don’t forget; you have blood on your hands too, Okami. There are a lot of dead Earthlings out there because of your actions. Do you think you’re innocent in all of this? You’re just as guilty as I am, dog.” <br><br> Yamcha shook his head. The anger inside of him was still thriving but an expression of sadness shot through his features for the moment. <br><br> “I- I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t be everywhere at once. If I knew the consequences of what you were ordering me to do, I would have disobeyed a long time ago. It’s not my –“ he stammered. <br><br> “Don’t give me that “I was just following orders” bullshit! What the hell did you think was gonna happen when you blew up a factory of those tin cans? Did you think it was gonna fall over like a wet paper sack? So some civilians got caught in the blast radius and you killed them – it happens. It’s war. Casualties happen.” Ramses crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest and continued grinning. <br><br> “You told me it was clear! You said the city had been evacuated! Your order condemned them to die – just like in Holloway!” he bellowed in response. As he spoke the words, the scene from his dream flashed before his eyes. <br><br> [align=center]~~~[/align]<br> Smoke clouded his visor as he punched it through a particularly dark congregation of billowed air that separated him from the family of women trapped by the Legion. In the corner of his view, a flash of light distracted him as it swelled and quickly ballooned in size. Once he cleared the smoke cloud, he saw it; he saw the tank nestled on top of a nearby hill and unloading an energy payload in the direction of the ramshackle house and the Steel Legion. There was no time – he would never make it. The beam ripped through the air and blinded him with its overpowering luminescence. <br><br> After all the debris had rained from the sky and settled back on the earth and his eyes adjusted to the low light, Yamcha looked back to the family. They were gone. All that remained was a scorch mark in the silhouette of their bodies where they had been huddled together. The Steel Legion, along with the Mother and her daughters, had been vaporized. <br><br> Metallic clanking clicked repeatedly as the hatch to the tank was spun down and opened up. From within the bowel of that behemoth beast of high powered artillery, the upper torso of Commander Ramses popped out. He was repeatedly throwing his pointed finger at Yamcha and gesturing him in a different direction while screaming at the top of his lungs until he was red in the face. <br><br> Yamcha didn’t hear the words. He was simply aghast by what had just happened right before his very eyes. He could have saved them. He would have saved them. <br><br> [align=center]~~~[/align]<br> Ramses rolled his eyes at the mention of Holloway. He unfurled his corded arms and raised a single hand in the air to perform a familiar gesture before turning and starting to walk away from Yamcha. <br><br> “I’ve had enough of this. Take him in, boys! Break as many bones as you like but make sure he’s still breathing until he gets back to Avalon; the Council wants to make an example out of him.” Ramses took a few steps back toward the forest but stopped at the very edge of it. He might have come to a halt by the countless Paladins that came filing out of the surrounding wilderness did not. A quick estimate would put the number of armored soldiers to be around twenty but then again, Yamcha was never too good with numbers. <br><br> “It was good catching up with you, Okami. We’ll see each other again, don’t worry. I’ll visit you when they’ve got you hanging from the gallows.” From the profile view afforded by Ramses’ half turned head, Yamcha could see that sinister grin winding up. <br><br> He hated that grin and the stupid face it was attached to. <br><br> Ramses continued on and exited in the forest. Yamcha jerked forward in an attempt to chase after him but his path was quickly blocked by two Paladins who formed in close to become an unpassable obstruction. He frantically fought to leap backward from the pair of heavily armored guardians but his strong forward momentum, coupled with the slick mud underneath foot, just wouldn’t let him. He lost his footing and slipped into the mud before bowling into the legs of the two Paladins above him. <br><br> They were unmoved. <br><br> In front of him, as well as all around the grounds of his school, Yamcha heard the clicking of power suits being turned on. The air just simply hummed with harmonized electricity as dozens of high-tech armors simultaneously came to life; it was a symphony of mechanized energy. The two before him each retrieved a short, pronged rod from the small armory of armaments adorning their waistline and engaged them. The rods, which proved to be staves after several extra lengths of shaft shot out from the bottom of the device, unfolded into something that looked very similar to a cattle prod one would find on a farm. At the end, between the two prongs, an arc of raw electricity sparked. <br><br> It was clear that these two were going to take the non-lethal route of detaining Yamcha. <br><br> “Halt,” one of the two Paladins said firmly. “If you know what is good for you, you won’t resist. This will only be as painful as you make it, criminal.” <br><br> Yamcha spontaneously let out a single laugh. He was both humored and disgusted by what was happening. Slowly, he slopped backward through the mud until he was far enough away that he could stand on his own feet without being overwhelmed by the two captors-to-be just a mere foot away. As foolish as it was, the former Paladin went about the motions of brushing the mud off of him which more or less boiled down to him just wiping his dirty hands against the whites of his clothing. <br><br> “Criminal? Is that what they call someone who nearly gave his life in the war? Boy, oh boy – the times are a’changing, aren’t they?” Yamcha said in response. His quip was met with silence. <br><br> He knew he didn’t have much time before they took the initiative. His eyes, which, at some point, had taken on a certain alert, almost feral quality to them, quickly darted back and forth between the two towers of men at his front in hopes of gleaning some sort of weakness he could take advantage of. Meanwhile, he let those honed senses stretch out and investigate the many other well-armed troops that now filed into formation and tightened the perimeter they had formed around Yamcha. <br><br> There was something off about them that made it hard for the fighter to accurately discern what kind of power they were packing behind their punches. If he had to guess, he would assume it had something to do with that developed armor they were wearing. The armor was only in its prototype stage when Yamcha demoed it as a Paladin and the benefits it offered were crude at the time but substantial. He assumed the technology had only dramatically improved in the years he had left the Avalanian ranks. <br><br> The squad continued to step slowly toward him and with every step, he could feel the noose around his neck lynch a little tighter. <br><br> “All right, guys, hey – Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, yeah?” Yamcha unleashed the largest, toothy smile he could for the armed entourage congregating around him. His arms and hands were lifted harmlessly into the air as he turned from side to side to look equally at those closest to him. Disarming them with a smile was just as good of a plan as anything else he had thought of. <br><br> “Listen. I’ve got a couple of beers chilling in an ice chest back in my cabin. It’s a little run down looking right now but I’m sure I can scrape up enough chairs for the lot of you. What do you say? Knock back some brews and talk this over like old friends? Sound good?” Yamcha asked almost pleadingly. <br><br> His proposition was answered not with words but by the steely resolve of a pneumatic fist cracking across his face. The punch came out of his line of sight and was certainly a cheap shot if he had ever seen one; Yamcha had given more than his fair share of cheap shots – he knew one from a mile away. The powerful hit had sent him careening off into another Paladin who ended up pushing him right back into the center of the group. <br><br> “Ow,” he said unenthusiastically as he rubbed his sore jaw. “You could just refuse the offer. You don’t have to be rude about it. I think I’m being pretty accommodating here. I mean, you just show up to my house unannouc—“ <br><br> Yamcha’s words were interrupted by a gasp of forced air when one of the soldiers in front of him jabbed the rounded butt of their stave into his breadbasket. The air was immediately knocked out of him and left him momentarily gasping to collect the breath that had slipped away from him. <br><br> “No one here is your friend, traitor,” responded the emotionless mask of the stalwart sentinel before him. <br><br> What came next was the darkness of unconsciousness. It was fleeting but it was unmistakable. As quickly as it came, it was gone and what remained after his eyes shot open was a terrible pain that consistently assaulted his back in heavy waves; no doubt the result of one of those glorified beast prods gifting him with a well-placed, volatile electrical discharge. Yamcha was paralyzed; his muscles flailed with a violent tantrum involuntarily as he flopped back and forth in the wet mud all around him. His face was frozen in a perpetual feral scowl. <br><br> They should have left it alone after the first pulse – the one that had put him under. That wasn’t the way of the overzealous, however. No, they kept on instead. Each had their turn at prodding the filthy traitor. Each one had to get their licks in like it was some sort of bonding ritual shared among comrades in arms. Later on, they would laugh at the recollection of it; howling at how funny the “Big Bad Wolf of Avalon” looked as he floundered about in the mud like a fish out of water. <br><br> Little did they know – as easily as they had put the man to sleep, they had woken the beast up. <br><br> Get up, something within Yamcha growled. <br><br> His muscles tightened beyond the permanently taut state forced upon them by the repeated zaps from the Paladin shock sticks. He tried to fight against the debilitating effects of the prods but their effect on him was too great. What sparse amount he was able to move on his own was immediately stolen back by unintentional reflex; he was victim to an electrical paralysis. His fingers clawed at the mud and closed tightly into fists as the pain threatened to take him away again. <br><br> GET UP, it roared again. It was less of a suggestion this time. An almost inhuman growl seeped out unhurriedly through Yamcha’s clenched teeth; it was deep, slow, and guttural. All at once, his body stopped seizing and not for lack of trying on the Paladin’s behalf; they continued to stab at him with the charged up ends of their staves in an attempt to pacify him. The weapons didn’t have the effect on him they were hoping for. Against all the pain – against the control of those electric pulses – Yamcha fought to his elbows and knees by his own volition. <br><br> “What are you doing?” One of the officers questioned angrily as he stepped to the front from the position he had taken in the back. “Put him down!” <br><br> More than one Paladin responded in protest as they delivered another extended prod to Yamcha’s back or side. Wordlessly, the officer looked to one of his soldiers and held his open hand out. The soldier nodded and handed off his stave to his commanding officer who took it within the grasp of both hands and spun it so the pronged end of the prod was pointing downward. He stepped up to the side of Yamcha with his weapon in hand and raised his arms, and the stave, as high into the air as his reach would allow him. Swiftly – powerfully – he drove the sparking stave down with all his might. <br><br> It never connected. It was like time had frozen still – a hush of silence washed over those who had assembled. No one so much as moved a muscle, they all looked on the scene with muted sterility. Much to the surprise and dismay of the Avalanian huddle around him, Yamcha, spurred by some unnatural force, moved with an unseen speed to reach up and back to catch the prod before it could torment him. It sparked and pulsated with electricity just inches away from the back of his ribs, all while his gaze still fixated upon the disturbed imprint of his face in the mud below him. The gentle vivaciousness that usually filled his dark eyes was gone; only a fire of anger tempered by the Paladin’s cruelty remained within them now. <br><br> After a moment, the officer reattempted to drive the stave down. The mechanisms that governed the strength behind his armor whined and whirred as he exerted incredible amounts of force but despite momentary glimpses of give in Yamcha’s arm, it never again met its target. <br><br> “What are you all just standing there for?! Get him!” he yelled in a panic. <br><br> The Paladins snapped out of their astonished stupor and readied their arms. The paces they had backtracked in disbelief, they quickly reconquered and took to jamming their subduing prods at Yamcha again. However, before they could, a second unprecedented event occurred that would rebuff their advances. The long haired warrior, on his hands and knees like the dog he was, threw his head back and unleashed an untamed scream that much resembled the howl of a desert wolf. Along with it, a tremendous flood of ki was violently released, expanding out forcefully in all directions with Yamcha bellowing at its epicenter. <br><br> When the shockwave hit, the Paladins and their advanced armors were thrown back into the air like they were nothing more than a young child’s expensive action figures. Each hit the ground with an equally loud, clanking thud; their weapons falling back to earth soon after with a less than impressive thump. As they worked to right themselves within their heavy duty power suits, Yamcha slowly rose to one knee before transitioning completely to his feet; his entire body was engulfed in an uncontrollable tempest of energy. The look upon his face – the one hidden beneath the layers of drying mud - was downright ferocious. His gnashed teeth, the wild look in his eyes, and the lines drawn on his face from his contorted features all blended together to paint a unified portrait of undomesticated passion. <br><br> In the blink of an eye, it was all gone. The uncontrollable winds, the rampant ire – gone without a trace. Yamcha stood there with an incredulous look upon his face as his mind worked on adjusting to the spontaneous change in view that occurred. He looked around while he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. There were Paladins everywhere, disarmed and off their feet. That was good news for him but that didn’t do anything to simplify the confusion that was perplexing him. He might have even uttered a questioning “Huh?” at one point but he couldn’t remember. <br><br> The Paladins were already getting back to their feet by the time Yamcha got his wits about him. He didn’t really want to stick around to find out what they would do once they regained their bearings. His first instinct was just to fly the hell out of there. He even made the movements to do so but at the last moment, just before his feet was about to leave the mud, he stopped. The confused look on his face hardened into something a serious man would wear and then he spoke. <br><br> “Don’t fight. Don’t even get up. Most of all - don’t come looking for me. Ever.” <br><br> After a second to let the words sink in, Yamcha nodded once strongly if only to assure himself that he had made his point clear. This time, he left the ground and took to the skies, leaving the Paladins, and the foundation of the new life he tried to create, behind. Many people leave their past and futures in the dust without so much as a second thought but not Yamcha, he thought about what he was doing as he was doing it countless times over and in doing so, a great sadness developed in him. He couldn’t let that sadness dictate his survival, though. He needed to press on no matter how it pained him. <br><br> At the last moment, just before he was out of earshot, Yamcha edged in a few final words. <br><br> “You should have taken the bee~eeers!” <br><br> <hr><br> Some Paladins rose to their feet after the shockwave, some rolled about while trying to get their bearings and others took Yamcha’s advice, refusing to get up. There was one in particular that clamored back to his full, armored height as quickly as their escaped captive cleared the tree line; it was the officer who had been calling the shots just moments before. <br><br> Whatever it was that had hit them, it seemed to have inflicted several detrimental statuses to their power armors. Internal instruments and HUD readouts were showing all sorts of inappropriate information to the Paladins who got around to assessing their damage, even though they seemed to be able to navigate without much trouble. Despite all the conflicting diagnostics, that officer was still raring to go; their mission wasn’t over. <br><br> “Get on your feet, men! That scum is getting away! Your duty is following him, not rolling in the mud like a bunch of pigs!” he yelled. <br><br> His words weren’t nearly as effective as he hoped. Some protested, others referred to their instruments; the remaining few didn’t even bother responding. They didn’t want to mess someone who exhibited power like Yamcha had. He had swatted them down in their armors like they were nothing more than pestering gnats. They had no idea that they had been on the receiving side of a mysterious fluke – how could they know? All they knew about the one known as “Okami” among their ranks was that he wasn’t meant to be taken lightly. <br><br> That wouldn’t stop the officer, however. <br><br> “I’ll have you hanging right alongside him! Cowards! The lot of you!” <br><br> With those words, the ground beneath his heavy feet started to rumble with the ignition of his suit’s thrusters. Primed and ready, flight rockets of jet engine caliber flared out underneath his enormous frame and sent his skyward. He quickly found out his navigation system wasn’t up to snuff after the energy shockwave but a Paladin of his training didn’t require the help to chase after Yamcha. And so he did, right over the very same trees that the fugitive had flown at an increased speed that would certainly catch him up with the wounded fighter. <br><br> He would not allow him to escape. <br><br> <hr><br> Yamcha was furious. More than that, he was in pain. Great amounts of pain. Now that the adrenaline that had been pushing him on before had run out, the agony that went hand in hand with the many, many wounds he had sustained came flooding back in. It was taking the full of his attention to keep his mind off the pain and his body airborne – if you could call it that. The way he was floating about so weakly, he would be lucky if he made it somewhere safe before nightfall. If the patchwork of bruises and burn marks patterning his skin were any indication, he’d be spending a long time recovering. <br><br> If he didn’t die first. <br><br> It wasn’t long into his escape when he heard the dull roar of thrusters burning in the distance behind him. His entire body bobbled when he turned his head to peer over the shoulder of his dislocated arm and see what approached. It was one of the Paladins, who seemed to be flying as equally lopsided as he was. Unluckily, as crooked as he was sailing, he was still doing so at a much faster pace than Yamcha could afford. It wouldn’t be long before he caught up and when he did, he was certain it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. <br><br> The officer was burning what fuel he had left at a full burn. The bells and whistles of countless alarms were screaming at him at an increasing capacity but he would not be deterred. His suit could have exploded at any moment with him inside of it but that would be a small price to pay in the name of Avalon. Instead of heeding the many warnings, the Paladin simply disengaged and shed the portions of his armor that had suffered the most damage. Piece by piece, the mechanical façade was stripped away and thrown into the back winds, revealing the man underneath and the menacing scowl he wore. In the end, nearly the entire upper torso had been discarded with the exception of the oversized gauntlets shielding his clenched fists and the massive, armored boots currently propelling him through the air. <br><br> With less weight, he flew even faster. <br><br> Yamcha had no chance at fighting the Paladin in the air – certainly not in his condition. He didn’t think he had a snowflakes chance in hell on land either but at least when he went down on the ground, he wasn’t free falling hundreds of feet to get there. Sometimes you couldn’t avoid disaster but at least you could do something to mitigate it. Descending to the earth below was Yamcha way of mitigating the inevitable pain to come. <br><br> His feet landed with a thud on a soft patch of grassland no more than fifty yards from the ocean. He had come close to leaving the mainland behind but not close enough. Yamcha estimated he only had a minute or so to collect himself before his pursuer would finally close the distance. There were a hundred things he could have done instead but the man formerly known as Okami simply closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath of salty ocean air. <br><br> Before he opened his eyes, he heard the loud thud he had been expecting. <br><br> “Man, I’m tired of running,” he said, exhaustedly. <br><br> “I’ve been running for years knowing that someday you guys would come looking for me. Why, though? I did my time. I bled enough for Avalon to get its fill. Probably more than most. Yet, here we are, just because the Council just couldn’t let bygones be bygones.” By the time he had said his last words, he had turned to face the half armored Paladin. <br><br> “You aren’t done until Avalon is done with you,” the Paladin responded snidely. <br><br> Yamcha turned his head to the side and spit a wad of stringy blood onto the ground near his feet. He moved to roll his shoulder but found his arm was unwilling to cooperate; confirming the suspicion that he had the limb beaten out of its socket. He winced in pain and took to cradling the arm at its bicep to alleviate the strain on his shoulder. <br><br> “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m done. I thought I made that clear years ago but apparently you guys just couldn’t get it through your thick skulls. You’ve made it apparent that I’m going to need to step it up if I’m going to get my message across.” <br><br> “Hahaha,” the Paladin laughed. “Are you kidding me? Look at you, you’re in shambles. You can barely keep upright.” <br><br> The Paladin paused for a moment before continuing on. <br><br> “You know what? We tried to play nice. We gave you the choice to come with us willingly and you’ve given us nothing but trouble. I don’t think anyone will be too broken up if you never make it back. As far as I’m concerned, when a dog bites the hand that feeds it, it’s time to put it down. That’s exactly what I’m going to do you, dog.” The Paladin slammed his armored fists together several times. The air rang clearly with the hard sound of metal crashing against metal. <br><br> Yamcha’s head lowered a little bit, shaking lightly from side to side. Those analogies sure could be bad from time to time. <br><br> “Dummy,” he muttered. <br><br> “What did you say?” the Paladin returned. He took a leading step forward and cocked his arms to their given sides. <br><br> “Let’s just get this over with. I shut you up, or I die trying; either way, I won’t have to listen to this crap anymore. So, come on big boy, let’s get this over with.” Yamcha said as he lifted his gaze to the Paladin; his hand fell away from his dislocated arm and beckoned the armored fighter on. <br><br> The first punch thrown was by the Paladin. One of those gargantuan armored fists came around with a mean hook that was likely to take Yamcha’s head off. He raised his arm in defense. The gauntlet slammed into the meat of his forehead with a force that could have snapped a small tree’s trunk in two. By some miracle, the well-trained fighter withstood it, although his arm felt like it was made of gelatin after that. Instead of combating another blow like that again, which was entirely out of the question, he took a leaping vault back. The Paladin had a surprised look on his face. <br><br> “Yeah, you didn’t expect that, did you? Is that all you’ve got?” <br><br> Yamcha waved his arm out to shake off the numbing pain running through it. It felt like the Paladin had obliterated his nerves in one punch. There was no way he could contend with the man while he was equipped with those behemoth brawlers. <br><br> And so they fought. Much of the fight was a game of cat and mouse, with Yamcha playing the role of the elusive mouse that got his little nibbles in when the cat had tried to swat at him with his mighty paws. Honestly, though, with one arm out of commission and having to spend the majority of his time dodging earth shattering punches, he didn’t have much time to get in any licks. What he did get in, though, was substantial. He was a trickling stream carving through a mountain but while the stream had time, Yamcha did not. His wounds would get to him long before that. <br><br> He kept up his assault, though. He had to be the aggressor in order to get this hot headed menace to back down. Yamcha only moved with the intent to tighten up the space the Paladin was trying to put between them and when he did, he punished the man with a quick punch to his body or a kick to his side. All the while, Yamcha kept his attention on the man’s weighted hands; one solid hit in the face from one of those and it was likely lights out. Luckily, the added weight slowed the Paladin’s movements and gave the wounded Wolf the extra time he needed to dodge those devastating incoming attacks. <br><br> Attrition was the game, however. The hard movements that it took to keep up with the Avalanian were torture on his body; his wounds were opening up and becoming worse with each successful dodge or hard swinging attack. He was slowing down and that became apparent when Yamcha hurled backward to evade the next deadly double-handed axe handle slam from the Paladin. Between his hurried movements and failing muscles, his foot caught wrong on the landing and he rolled his ankle. Nothing was as simple as a sprain when you were fighting at their level, though; it was more likely that he fractured a bone. Either way, he was hobbling now and couldn’t bring himself to put weight on his wounded foot which made it incredibly difficult to evade the fierce, follow up punches slung at him. Each one caught him on the attempt, narrowly clipping him as he attempted to roll out of the way; each one hurt more than the last. <br><br> He could tell by the smile growing on his enemy’s face that he was pleased with the results. He could also tell that he was growing cocky now that he had Yamcha on the defensive. <br><br> The Paladin hammered him with a broad sweeping backhand which sent him careening forcefully into a tree far off. His back crashed with enough momentum to splinter the bark and crack the tree. Yamcha slumped on the ground almost immediately after that. <br><br> “It ends here, dog.” The officer clanged his fists together as he stalked toward Yamcha. <br><br> Gritting his teeth, he lurched his way onto his knees again. His ferocious smile was accentuated by the smattering of red welled between the crevices of his teeth. <br><br> “You’re right,” he snarled out. <br><br> An entirely unknown look took over Yamcha as soon as the man drew near. His dark midnight hair started to rise and spastically flow as if a storm’s wind had caught underneath it. The pupils of his eyes faded away into the whites that hid behind them and his bloody scowl looked more like an animal’s sharpened grin than anything belonging to a human. Before the Paladin could turn away, however, Yamcha pounced and assaulted him with countless punches. One after another, his good arm and the white-knuckled fist at the end of it tormented the half armored man with well-executed, perfectly targeted strikes. Each attack sought to damage an internal organ – providing the Avalanian’s anatomy was similar to an Earthling’s. In that moment, the Paladin could have sworn that he saw the face of a Wolf rather than the one he pursued. <br><br> At the end, one final blow – a tremendous uppercut – caught the heavy footed menace right underneath the jaw. <br><br> The Paladin’s body hit the ground with a muted thud. You could tell from the sound alone that he wasn’t getting back up. Yamcha slowly stood and approached. <br><br> “What’s your name?” he growled between heavy breaths. His booted foot was pressed hard against the side of the fallen Avalanian’s face; forceful enough to leave an imprint when he would finally peel it away, anyway. Yamcha was hunched over, his wildly roughed up hair all over the place; his arched spine peaked along the back of his gui at several intervals. He looked absolutely feral in that moment.<br><br> “R-Reynolds…” the beaten Paladin squirmed out. <br><br> “This is the end, Reynolds. Just not for you; not today. You’re going to crawl back to Ramses and you’re going to tell him that he isn’t going to have to search for the Wolf anymore. He’s not going to have to look so desperately anymore because I’m coming to him. I’m going to find him and I’m going to rip him to shreds with my bare hands.” His exhausted barking was marked by a cascading spray of blood and spittle. <br><br> “Just –“ <br><br> Yamcha paused to get his breathing under control. The anger that controlled his battered face quickly lightened up, softening along with the tone behind his words. <br><br> “Just take your time telling him, okay? It’s going to take forever to heal from all these injuries.” As he straightened up, his back popped several times. Each one marked with a little “ooh” of surprise and discomfort from Yamcha as he accustomed to his realignment. He was feeling incredibly old at that moment. He wondered if that is what Roshi felt like all the time. <br><br> “And you guys are dicks for finding me. Do you know what it’s like being on the run these days? It’s not easy, man,” he said as he turned his back to the Paladin named Reynolds and started hobbling toward the ocean’s edge, careful not to put his weight on that destroyed ankle. Toward the end of his little rant, he was mostly mumbling to himself. “We could have been just knockin’ a few back. Agh. I’ve got to get someone to put this arm back in place. I hope Tien’s around. Do monks even drink beer? Stupid Paladins. Dumb Avalon.” <br><br> For a moment it looked like Yamcha had just fallen off of the earth and into the ocean. A moment later, though, and came bumbling back into view as he struggled to once again keep from falling out of the sky and into the ocean. <br><br> He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t know where he was going to end up. The only thing he knew was that he needed to get out of there. In order to keep everyone he cared for out of danger, he needed to leave Earth. </div></div>[/dohtml] WC: 8,050 |
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10:13 AM Jul 11