Post by Rensou Hiruen on Oct 20, 2012 23:39:25 GMT -5
With Vegeta: Prologue
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“The story of a Saiyan begins and ends with Vegeta, always,” and it was a sensible thing that the denizens of the planet began and finalized there. . .if not in body, at least in spirit. The red planet was a harsh one, with no forgiveness emanating from the sandy surface from which only a true race of the most powerful warriors could etch out an existence. The man who had spoken the words was a member of the aforementioned race, and he gently tucked the boy he spoke with into a simple bed, the cover as rough as the hands that pressed their folds underneath the tiny body of youth. Almost at once, the youngster ruffled his sheets and comforter as he moved to a sitting position.
The one whom had placed the tiny one in bed turned upon his heel and began to slowly exit the room, bidding his farewell, “Good night. I love you, Tsu. . .,” or at least, he attempted before the child interrupted him.
“Gran'pa, the stowy, pwease?” the youngster murmured, his dark eyes reflecting the flicker of candlelight dancing atop the bedside table. Tears began to well in those dark orbs as he stared into the matching pair above him, and the old one smiled. His cheeks wrinkled and laugh lines appeared about his eyes, and the streaks of silver in his black hair shimmered in the bathing light of the dancing flicker. The young one wondered exactly how old his grandfather was as he awaited the answer.
“I'll only tell it as long as you stay awake, my boy,” the old man informed as he pulled a stool from the corner of the sparsely furnished room and moved his body into a sitting position. The old boy pulled the covers up to his chest with excitement, wrinkling them as he did so. . .he had heard the beginning of the story many times before, but this night he felt he would manage to hear the tale that he so longed to hear until the very end.
“I pwomise, gran'pa,” the grandson answered, and the old man immediately cleared his throat and began in his proud voice.
“Once upon a time. . .”
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Chapter One: Renewal
There was blood.
There was fire.
Broken bones and a broken heart.
Rensou Hiruen gasped for air, a rattle rippling up from his throat: the man was attempting to scream out his agony, his rage, but the bastard had not even allowed him the capacity for even that primal display of emotion. He knew he was damaged beyond a point any mortal could withstand, but still his heart beat faintly. . .the Saiyan body could be magnificently resilient, a thing often leading to agonizing death as the spirit of the race spat in the face on oncoming death but found itself unable to turn the cold shoulder. The last son of the Hiruen clan struggled to move, but found only his left arm capable of the act. . .unknown to him, his spinal cord had been crushed and severed in multiple places. The thoughts within his mind were clouded, a by-product of several concussions. Lacerations littered his paralyzed body, and blood had welled into his eyes. Without control of his arms, Rensou was absolutely blind, and nearly as helpless as an infant, whilst entirely conscious of shame, agony and defeat.
There was very little of his nervous system intact, but that which was relayed unbearable heat to his brain, and it was not simply a byproduct of the horrific beating he had withstood, barely. . .for now. Fire roared around the ruined body, and the metallic floor of the docking bay had begun to absorb the heat and singe the skin layering the back. First degree burns had already started to form, and the outlook for Rensou Hiruen was grim. Had it not always been so for a race that sought to place itself in the perilous coils of the serpent known as war? That it had, and it seemed the orphan would die again this day.
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“You tole me dis pawt, gran'pa!”
“It has to be told from the beginning!”
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Rensou Hiruen was entirely unsure if the code he punched into the remote was the correct one, for the motor function of his left hand had been nearly rendered into nothingness. Blood sprayed between his teeth as they gnashed with the pain of his broken fingers, but they served to clear passages to his lungs. For a moment, a decent amount of control was obtained.
Past the reddened tint of the blood in his eyes combining with the roaring fires around him, he swore he could make out the silhouette of a beautiful woman, and his senses were comforted. More twittering erupted from the remote he had retrieved from beneath his breastplate, or had he? It seemed as if an angel guided his broken fingers, nay, perhaps he had not pressed the buttons at all. If Rensou had not performed the act himself, who had? Later in life, the Saiyan would ponder whether he had saved his own life or some beautiful creature had aided him in the crisis.
The split and bloodied lips uttered, “Ani. . .” Of that he had been sure.
After that, Rensou Hiruen could only guess what had happened. The Saiyan simply remembered none of it, and there were only two explanations. Somehow, he had managed to remotely summon his ship and crawl into it with a single arm, which was nearly as broken as the other. . .
Or Anienne Aspera had come to him in his weakest moment and placed him inside the healing fluids of the Rejuvenation Chamber within the walls of The Gladiator.
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The old man nodded off for a moment, nearly falling from his stool as age summoned him to a restful state. Nearly falling rallied his senses, however, and his eyelids fluttered back to an alert state. He set his gaze upon the boy, noting the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. “The end. . .” he whispered, brushing an onyx lock from the face of his grandson with a calloused fingertip. The old man rose, leaving the room, but promised himself he would continue the story from where it had been left on the 'morrow. It was time to tell the whole story.
As per usual, the grandfather and his grandson slept peacefully throughout the night, dreaming Saiyan dreams. . .combat and cuisine was the norm, and in the morning they awoke to partake in earnest of the things they had dreamed. The old man and the youngster consumed a hearty breakfast, and after a light nap, began their daily training as usual. The young one, however, was unsatisfied in his yearning to hear the tale, completely unaware of his elder's intentions. A tiny foot kicked the red earth from under him, and it sprayed outward from the display of young power. “I felled asweep!” he exclaimed, his chest rising beneath his crossed arms. “I cain't bewieve I felled asweep!”
The old man chuckled, resting his weight upon a simple staff as he smiled at the boy and the perfect situation to consider his story, his voice assuming the tone it always did when it lapsed into a story. In an instant, the mood of the boy brightened as he took a sitting position on the red sands, the sands of his people.
“All warriors need their rest~” Gran'pa continued, closing his eyes to shield his mind from outside influence as he delved deep into his memory.
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The ship drifted lazily through the dark cosmos of space, passing solar systems without a thought as it moved with the tides. The sequence inputted into the remote control had summoned it to the dying warrior, and once he was inside the processes demanded of it continued. The Gladiator had blasted away from the Epoch Star and immediately devoted all remaining power to replenishing the oxygen within it as well as recycling the restorative fluids that Rensou Hiruen barely clung to life within as he, like his chariot, drifted within. . .all of his energy devoted to simply staying alive.
The nude warrior was aware of very little, for his body had been too wracked with trauma and his mentality had mercifully placed him into a comatose state while the Rejuvenation Chamber worked wonderfully technological magic. Cells that were too complex to repair themselves were delivered a helping hand as nuclei sparked with new life. The pores had accepted the fluids and soaked the body with them as if it were a sponge, and the healing process began as it surged inward to the core of the Saiyan.
Cuts and burns were wiped away, and only the worst of them left the tiniest scars that would be washed away with time. Ruptured vessels that leaked blood into the muscle mass were sealed, and torn cartilage reconnected during the undeniably magnificent scientific feat. New marrow and hard bone reformed as the chamber supplied enriched calcium into the vat, and the body drank furiously. The most complex and difficult procedure initiated was the restoration of the spinal column, and the ship ran through millions upon millions of similar procedures, analyzing Rensou as it supplied the most accurate cocktail possible to restore his ability to walk.
Two months passed, but there was no passage of time for Rensou until the ship decided upon the proper voltage to channel through the conductive liquids. The amount of electricity passing through him was precise to the point of the tens of thousandths, and in a fraction of a millisecond Rensou Hiruen became mentally aware of himself to the fullest extent since the horrific beating he had suffered at the hands of Touketsuki Yakedo, Lord of Kold and the leader of the World Trade Organization.
The fluids drained slowly, and Rensou felt utter despair come over him as his legs wobbled without the buoyancy of water to help him stand. Farther and farther he sank until he was on his hands and knees, his control of his legs too incomplete to allow him to stand. For the first time since his initial meeting with Touketsuki, Rensou cried, and his tears ran down the drain like the green liquid before them that had proved incapable of repairing the vast damage to his formerly destroyed spine.
“I've prepared a training regimen to help you walk again, Rensou,” Ayleen, the voice of the computer powering the ship, informed. The simulated pity was no comfort to Rensou Hiruen as he curled himself into a ball, clutching his worthless legs as he cried himself to sleep. He was as nude and incapable as the day he had been born.
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“Dat's vewy sad, gran'pa,” the youngster murmured as his head hung low at the news of the brave Saiyan being left nearly paralyzed after the terrible battle with his hated enemy.
“Aye, my boy,” the old one answered, and he bit back tears of sadness as he continued his story. “The journey of the Saiyan was a long and hard one. . .”
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“Lower the gravity, Ayleen!” exclaimed Rensou as his weakened legs shook beneath him and quickly gave way. Rensou fell, catching himself on the palms of his hands as pain drew a cold sweat from his pores. The warrior shuddered, his skin turning white as he screamed at the uppermost reaches of his lungs for mercy from his ship. Finally all of the former gladiator's stubborn pride subsided as he let even his knees collapse under him. Almost instantly relieved of the most tormenting levels of pain, Rensou rolled onto his back and closed his eyes as his breathing lifted his chest dramatically with each and every breath.
“Rensou, my protocol is very precise. . .by my calculations, you should be able to withstand the current gravity setting and it is imperative that you do so for the quickest recovery possible!”
“FUCK YOUR CALCULATIONS!” roared the beast upon the floor. The temper had rose to a boiling point and suddenly overflowed through his lips. Rensou was quickly becoming overwhelmed with frustration and despair, and found it absolutely sickening that he was unable to stand with the gravity sitting weakly at a negative. Ayleen had begun his recovery process with a fifth of Vegeta's constant, a fact that troubled Rensou deeply.
“Rensou, might I suggest another injection of the rejuvenation fluids to ease the pain to a manageable level,” the computer decided, and Rensou pondered the advice of Ayleen. At the beginning of the morn a robotic appendage had carefully slipped a needle into his lower back and fitted the syringe between the treacherously complex web of nerves to deliver the impressive dosage. The last of the Hiruen had not slept through the night, and the sudden effect of the fluids had given him momentary relief. . .though soon after he had fallen to the position he remained in now, and his hopes had plummeted as well.
“Fine,” he decided, but his answer was worth nothing unless he could lift his body close enough to the bay the robotic arm had extended from earlier. Standing was not an option, and he had already used flight to move around his ship. Not nearly as excruciating as supporting his weight with his legs, he had found. . .but he could never be his whole self unless he learned to stand, walk, run, and jump once again. Without second thought lest he second-guess himself, the Saiyan levitated, his legs limp below him and the pain racing up the rear of his thighs and through his buttocks, but the real fire burned in his spine. The features of Rensou Hiruen were wrinkled tightly as he struggled within range of the arm which held the relieving needle. His mouth went wide as the metal pricked his skin once again, and those dark eyes watered as he felt the contents of the container empty into him.
Within a minute the effects of the concoction of many, many medicines, minerals, and solutions had taken effect. The color had slowly returned to Rensou's scarred hide, and his face was relaxed as he set his boots upon the floor with a soft click as their soles made contact. Being able to simply use his legs to the slightest extent had filled him with hope, and he stretched them with slow lunges from right to left. Discomfort, but bearable. This pain was that of discomfort, of exertion, and a tremendous step away from the searing and paralyzing effects of what he had felt before. “Increase the gravity to Vegetan levels, Ayleen,” Rensou commanded, confidence soaking his voice.
“Rensou, your recovery regimen consists of this level of gravity for at least a week,” Ayleen informed, but the Saiyan was not to be deterred. While he felt capable, he would do what he could to speed his recovery. Pushing boundaries aside had always been the modus operanda of Rensou Hiruen, and he would not let the inability to use his legs to the fullest extent halt his way of life. “Ayleen, deactivate,” he commanded, overriding the central computer system and placing the reins firmly in his hands.
“Gravity Multiplication times five. . .”
Almost at once, the gravity adjusted and Rensou's legs buckled beneath him. Sweat began to pucker upon his skin, and he shook with exertion as he attempted to lift himself back to the standing position of a proud Saiyan. “That feels. . .”
Terrible! A feeling of weakness had suddenly overcome Rensou Hiruen as his knees quivered and began to push each calf beneath him to support his weight, which felt titanic under the gravity of his. . .
Home.
“That feels just like home. . .” Finished his vocals as his legs straightened beneath him and Rensou stood, proudly, triumphantly, just as he had stood before that monster had ravaged his body for the second time. Like the first, he would return to former glory!
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The small boy looked upon his elder with eager eyes as the old man continued the story, but finally his excitement got the better of him as he interrupted. “How wong befo' the Saiyan was stwong again, gran'pa?” he inquired, wishing to skip to the action which was certain to fill the story rather than the buildup, which had proved intense up until this point. To think that the Saiyan had overcome paralyzing defeat a second time, it amazed the boy. The child could not remember his days as a toddler, but he had watched with frustration as his baby brother had struggled again and again to stand and walk. The grandchild could hardly imagine the frustration the Saiyan had felt at a stage in his life where he could so very well remember performing acts that he had taken for granted, but could no longer perform even the most simple of those tasks.
“Soon, my boy, but first. . .I will tell you of a perilous moment and how the Saiyan created a new technique to save himself from his own arrogance.”
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Months upon months of sweat and pain had brought Rensou to this moment. Days and nights had passed him by as he turned himself from a worthless cripple into the frightening machine he had once been. The training took his mind away from his losses and his shattered dreams, and for that he was thankful. At the very beginning of the rebuilding process the Saiyan had been very much dependant on the injections to bear the agony of his screaming legs, but with patience, the pains had subsided and Rensou watched himself return to fighting shape. With dark eyes, the warrior stared at his reflection upon the mirrored wall, his naked musculature still shining with droplets of water from the shower he had treated himself to moments ago.
His body was mostly devoid of hair, a byproduct of the tight suits he chose to wear beneath his armor, and it was lightly tanned from years beneath the twin Vegetan suns. The calves had drank excessively in the exercise provided to them, and they rippled with fiber that provided Rensou with unnaturally explosive moment capability. The shins as well as the knees were heavily fortified with scar tissues from years of delivering kicks and receiving them as well. Aforementioned lower leg combined with shapely thighs, nay, not attractive as a woman's might be. . .but powerful uppers that provided amplification to any knee strike the Saiyan might throw and an exceptionally steady base. Rensou was a difficult one to unbalance, and he could honestly not recall in instance in which he had been knocked to the flat of his back in melee combat.
“You appear pleased, Rensou. Has my training regimen been satisfactory?” Ayleen inquired, her voice a constant throughout every inch of the ship the former general owned. Rensou ignored her as he ran his fingertips along his abdomen, the digits rolling into the valleys of muscle lining it. Upward those tips traveled, taking note of the slabs of pectoral which created a wide, powerful chest. The arm that drew the fingers pulled them away, folding at the joint and turning a clenched fist toward the ceiling to flex bicep and forearm, as well as an exceptional shoulder which made every punch the warrior sent a devastating one indeed. Finally, Rensou answered.
“To an extent, Ayleen. I believe I'm prepared to return to thirty five times normal gravity, however.”
“I cannot allow that, Master Hiruen. The effects of thirty five times could be very detrimental to the recovery process, and frankly, dangerous to your health.”
Rensou smirked, entirely sure the computer's calculations were rubbish and that he was indeed prepared to partake in the hardships he had put himself through before and come out the better for it. Technology was wonderful, he knew, but it had limitations and could never understand the true might of he and the race that thundered through his veins. With easy strides, the Saiyan left his bathing chambers and ascended to the training deck where he dressed himself quickly with his usual attire.
The Saiyan took a few more steps before he was in the middle of the circular room, center stage, and dressed to kill. Quite literally, in fact, the Saiyan owned multiple sets of the same customized battle armor and had slain a foe in each and every one of them. It was a thing he had made sure of, for reasons unknown even to himself. Perhaps it was a charm of good luck, but then again, it could have been a peculiarity of the warrior. The black boots and gloves had seen their share of bloodshed, and their white accents had been stained red for it. The elastic battle armor had dampened blows of the physical and ki sort and any scratches and tears had been repaired by capable hands. A right shoulder-pad offered a bit of additional protection, enhanced by the stance Rensou fought in; southpaw, and his left arm was completely unencumbered to allow the maximum of his striking power.
Enough of pondering over one's dress and physical shape, Rensou thought as he issued orders to Ayleen through spoken word. “Refresh me on today's work, Ayleen.”
“Another defensive exercise, Master Hiruen, focusing on increasing your reflexes and timing while continuing in our efforts to return your leg function to normal.” Ayleen replied, and Rensou was immediately aware of the oft-recited report and looked forward to dodging the bouncing blast of energy he would provide that the E.R.Ds, or Energy Reflection Devices, would send about the room with challenging speed. The Saiyan crashed his bare fist into the palm of his other hand and his knuckles cracked with impact.
“Begin the exercise,” Rensou ordered.
And Ayleen did exactly that, informing her Captain of the details. “Activating three E.R.Ds, Master Hiruen, and raising the gravity to twenty times Vegeta's normal level!” As her words rolled from the speakers built into the walls, the E.R.Ds did so as well, the three of them small devices blaring the slightest mechanical whir as they hovered about the room, seeking out ki energies and prepared to ricochet them with their concave shapes, designed plainly to capture and repel any blast, as was their programming.
Rensou had meanwhile begun to adjust to the gravity, but his legs still shook slightly under the strain as he lifted three fingers before his face and channeled his inner abilities through the energy pathways in his arm and into the open air. A simple ball of ki hovered, and the three machines had instantly turned their bowls towards the glittering sphere of cyan that the Saiyan commanded, for now. That all changed as Rensou set his feet with stretched legs and lifted the ball back behind him, flinging it across the room with his most impressive strength. The closest machine screeched to intercept, and collided with it beautifully before redirecting propulsion to stop the blast against it's surface before it was flung back towards Rensou Hiruen with greater speed than it had left his hand.
The game was on.
The Saiyan was the target of their violent programming, but he had already primed himself for movement: his legs had been tensed the very moment he had launched his bolt of energy. Quick eye relayed information to the brain, and the brain sent the command down through the network of nerves in a wondrous, literal instant. Thighs lifted upward as the knee extended, straightening the legs and thundering force downward into the floor of the ship and rocketing the Saiyan upward. The ball flew harmlessly by, but it was almost instantly sent towards the repositioned fighter.
With his back to the energy flying his way for a second time, guesswork came into play. . .the attack had accelerated with a second ricochet, and Rensou knew this very well. His instinct was very precise, and with a push of energy from his body: the Bukujutsu, he evaded skillfully once again. There was no effort required. . .these gradual increases in difficulty that Ayleen had provided him and constantly referred to as “protocol” and “regimen” had quickly become “boring.”
“Ayleen, deactivate. Manual voice control, activate,” Rensou ordered, flipping through the air to dodge the ki aimed for his chest this time and kicking off the ceiling to avoid it once again. It had grown in speed, slightly, but slight adjustments to his movements made short work of any offensive the ERDs attempted to mount. Once again, Rensou had taken the wheel from the artificial intelligence system of The Gladiator.
Energy surged around the warrior as his lunges and leaps became imperceptible to all but the keenest eyes, eyes that held a power comparable to his own. The lights within the training deck had become blotted out by the cyan roar emanating from Rensou Hiruen, and he was wholly intertwined in this wonderful game as the ball whipped the hair atop his head as it came dangerously close to connecting. The Saiyan was intoxicated with his own strength, and he should be. . .to arrive into the realm of a demigod after being reduced to the capability of a child was a powerful drink indeed. Rensou Hiruen required more difficulty, or, if you will. . .stronger liquor in his cup so that he might drink his fill.
Or so he thought!
[/center]“Gravity multiplication times thirty five!” exclaimed the warrior as he whipped his body into a kick to push the streaking ball of energy away from him with an arrogant heel. A tremble shivered up his body as the gravity and the returning bomb increased in pressure and speed respectively. The result was catastrophic, and it was as if the energy sought revenge for the kick which had sent it away from the warrior it sought to destroy. With a resounding crack, the sphere caught Rensou in the center of his back, and he instantly regretted not being able to recall the last time he had been forcefully knocked from his feet.
The challenge presented was accepted, however, as the Saiyan quickly regained his footing in time to catch the ricocheting orb in his hands. The sheer force of it slid his boots along the floor, and filled his ears with the noise of rubber against tile. Rensou felt his palms go afire with pain and heat, and with a twist of his hips and straightened shoulders sent the ball into the next E.R.D to accept it. The energy reflected and Rensou successfully evaded, but the energy skidded along his hide slightly. A glancing blow. The momentum sent his body into a spin, and as he came to a halt the ball cracked into his jaw.
Blood sprayed from the turning smile, but the gravity was too much for the warrior to face. . .he had been over-matched by his own command, and he knew it. Rensou Hiruen was a prideful warrior, no doubt, but he knew when defeat was imminent. Before he could issue the command to lower the gravity which had covered his skin in shining sweat, the death knell sounded!
The blow to his stomach knocked the wind out of Rensou Hiruen and sent him to his knees. Again and again the ball ripped toward him, colliding over and over into his body and driving him deeper into the depths of defeat. Bloody and bruised, the Saiyan pondered his situation. . .to think, Rensou Hiruen, killed by a mere training exercise!? He was a man whom had survived the hands of that which had taken his life once before. Desperation entered his thoughts and instinct took over. . .the Saiyan instinct to survive was one hardly ever defeated.
The creativity of his blood knew very little bounds, and unconsciously the Tsurunoha crackled to life, combining their efforts to block the next attack. Another half-defense as their combined wall was not enough to stop the speed of the sphere, and once again it sent Rensou rolling across the floor. The Saiyan could hardly remain fully aware of his capabilities, but luckily, his capabilities soared to life without him even so much as wishing them.
The protective spheres disintegrated, and a shimmering white light began to form around the body of the Saiyan when each and every miniscule particle of energy began to layer his body. The next attack against him was a full defense without a movement by any party, and Rensou regained his footing whilst the E.R.Ds sought to trample him underfoot without hope. . . .Had this been the pinnacle of Tsurunoha his father had spoken of so long ago, the Koutetsu Tsurunoha? Rensou had only beheld it once before now, but as he glared at the ball of energy struggling to push him without progress, he knew that once again a Hiruen son had manifested the Koutetsu.
[Technique : Koutetsu : Rensou breaks down the dual spheres he calls the Tsurunoha and coats his entire body with individual energy molecules and regulates their positioning with relative ease. The armor is nearly invisible to the naked eye, but a faint white glow surrounds his body while the technique is in use. Koutetsu enhances Rensou's ability to withstand basic melee strikes and ki blasts greatly, and with adequate knowledge of powerful attacks, Rensou can concentrate Koutetsu into specific areas to dampen otherwise mortal strikes.]
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“'da Kousesu sounds amazin', gran'pa!” the child exclaimed as the old man began to lead him into their small home on the outskirts of Saru city. The old man turned an approving eye down towards the son of his son as the boy partook in dinner before he was carefully tucked beneath the covers of the small bed he slept in every night.
“I'll teach you how to perform the technique one day, my boy,” the old man chuckled as he blew out the burning flame of the lamp before he set out for his own bed.
“. . .I wonda if gran'pa can do 'da Kousesu,” pondered the child as he slipped into restful slumber, primed for another day of storytelling, which came the next morning as it had the day before.
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