Post by Rensou Hiruen on Oct 8, 2012 21:40:59 GMT -5
[OOC: Weights!]
The Neejaran factions had sent no more warriors to face the Saiyan whom had mercilessly slaughtered each and every fighter delivered to the butcher's hand. It had mattered not whether the arriving saviors had been single warriors or surgically precise squadrons, none had matched the might of the Saiyan. Such a demand could be answered by only a select few among the universes elite races, and thus far, the Epoch Star had provided only the most minor of challenges to the bloodthirsty son of the Hiruen family. With his hands cradling his head, Rensou Hiruen rested himself atop a mattress he had moved to the bridge of his ship so that his eagle eyes could carefully watch for any approach of entertainment.
“Ayleen, report,” he mumbled, and almost immediately holographic images began to manifest before his eyes, and those very eyes frowned as Rensou noted each and every major power signature had gathered to defend their main establishments. To the Saiyan, they were naught but cowards and therefore unworthy of even the most pitiful existences. . .with disgust he rose from his resting place, pulling his gloves taut upon his calloused digits as he stood.
“Cloak the ship, Ayleen, and engage defensive protocols,” The Saiyan barked, his sinewed legs moving his compact frame towards the doorway before his fingers danced upon the keys and hydraulics, activated by the extensive electronic power of the ship, slid the sliding door into a bay and for the first time in twenty four hours Rensou stared across the charred metal and rotting bodies littered so carelessly around The Gladiator. A cruel smile crossed his lips as he thought of the plan he had decided to set into motion.
Rensou Hiruen knew that the Neejarans had retreated to their sturdiest bunkers within the heart of the Epoch Star, and the two warring factions resided with their own. . .they remained split, weak, for their full might could potentially rise up and crush the Saiyan beneath a conjoined might that would eventually become a reality, for peace talks had already begun and religious differences could definitely be reconciled to stop the threat to their home, if but for a short while. Whilst Rensou was entirely unaware of the budding alliance, he was entirely enlightened of the fact that a united defiance would be his undoing.
Too long he had tarried, toying with the play-things they had sent to his doorstep. For a while he had been contented with the challenge, the joy of battle and the glory of victory. With each life he took, his Saiyan heart beat harder with reinvigorated pride. However, his Saiyan mind knew the greed for honorable combat would be his end. Finishing the task and filling the Vegetan coffers with wealth was the primary goal, and Rensou Hiruen had thought long and hard in search of a viable course of action.
The plan was a barbaric one; Rensou would push aside his honor and transcend its bounds. With the ship cloaked behind him, the Saiyan took flight toward the closest teeming hive of Neejarans, a mere mile from his present location. . .within moments he would arrive, and shortly after a slaughter that would shame all others would take place. Like the Saiyans a thousand years before him, Rensou Hiruen would murder with cold heart each and every living thing within the compound of bunkers.
Men, the strong and able would be cut down and the old and feeble would be their equal this day. Mothers and grandmothers would scream, begging for their lives or demanding their own taken so that screaming youth and unaware babe might live. There would be none left alive within the complex within sight and the Neejaran alliance would immediately be shattered before it ever reach fruition. Rensou touched down and stared with smiling eyes at the guards placed at the doorway to the inner sanctum the soldiers and civilians hid from him within, and a laugh rolled from his throat as they fired furious volleys of energy towards him. The alarms sounded, and the Saiyan deftly stepped sideways and pulled his twin blades from the manufactured oxygen before him. Flying forward, he ran the weaklings through one by one, sometimes in twos as his honed Tsurutsurugi buried themselves within the warm hearts. Even that was not enough to quench his thirst for blood as he continued to penetrate past armor and flesh and bone and only when he had buried his arms to the shoulder was he momentarily sated by their deaths.
Stepping over the crumpled bodies of the six fallen, Rensou began to apply his blades to the reinforced metals of the door meant to halt his coming, and it was found lacking as a circular hole was cut. With casual steps, the fox entered the rabbits den, his tail whipping behind him with delight as he cut his way though the rank and file with slashes and stabs, blood spraying upon the walls to add to the masterpiece which was the death that suddenly filled these hallways with the stench of death. The screams of dying men accentuated the pulsing alarm, their wails and roars the violin and cello to the pulsing drum of the signal emanating from the speaker system. The massacre was artwork within the violent eye.
The cyan blades flashed, and heads rolled. The boots slashed with the sweeping legs as the acrobatic warrior flipped and rolled in midair, crushing limbs and ribs with each and every attack. When the attacks of the defenders came through, as they occasionally would, the pain was smiled at. The exhilaration of battle was superior to the momentary discomfort as the blood of Rensou mixed with the puddles upon the floor as the body count continued to rise. To a simple murderer, the count would have been lost, but Rensou considered himself a professional in the realm of deadly arts. Each and every body was tallied as he continued through the halls, searching rooms for any deserters and giving them the slowest deaths he could.
The Saiyan was deeper now, his count at over three hundred men. The entirety of the event had taken exactly seven minutes and twenty three seconds before he began to wade into the noncombatants and dispatch them even more quickly than the soldiers of earlier. Three hundred and seventy two, he calculated as an elderly woman clutched the headless body of the moments-ago live grandchild. “Why are you doing this!?” she screamed, her body quivering with fear and grief as the eight minute mark passed them by and the Saiyan stood tall above her shivering form.
“You know, woman,” snarled the blood covered visage of Rensou Hiruen as he stared down at her, the chill within his dark eyes as piercing as the bloody blades held at a relaxed position by his sides. The room was filled with dead bodies and lifeless eyes, and only the old woman remained. “You are weak! Worthless, old, and frail! Those petty soldiers defended you, and for what? To prolong your suffering!?” and at that, the answer had been delivered and the merciful slash of the blade left the pitiful female naught but a body and a rolling head. Blood spurted from the stump of the neck, and the body fell sideways, still clutching the infant whom matched it in deadly modification. Grandmother and grandchild had been slain with the rest, and not an inkling of remorse was in the heart of the Saiyan. To avoid staining his boots with the filthy blood of the aliens he floated through the kicked in doorway and towards the final room of the compound.
There were no more soldiers to block the way of Rensou Hiruen as he sent the heavy door tumbling across the floor of the room with a short burst of energy before he walked through his created opening, his eyes settling on the royal family and the general before him. The last defense against the annihilation of their way of life, for the Neejarans on the opposite end of the station held vastly different religious views and as such, had differing customs. The King stood behind his man, his wife and two children, a son and daughter, behind him. The general took a few steps forward as he ushered his king to increase the distance between he and those he was sworn to protect.
“Another brave fool, I see,” Rensou lamented, deactivating the Tsurutsurugi within his grasp and standing before his newest victims with a bored air about him. The ripples reverberating through the air informed him that the general shared a similar strength to his own base, but these Neejarans had, thus far, shown no means of enhancing their strengths through powering up nor transforming. The fires of the Kousho rippled around the Saiyan as he tripled his own fighting power. The deed must be done, and it must be done quickly, he decided.
“You'll never get away with this,” the general snarled, his red aura shimmering around his body as he charged a sizable blast of energy and launched it forward with all his power. His red eyes traced the bolt as it sought the mark.
Rensou crossed his arms before him moments before impact, absorbing the blast and causing a powerful explosion that rocked the very foundation of the compound. Smoke and rubble encapsulated him as the Neejaran breathed heavily, content that his task had been completed.
With a roar the aura around Rensou flared and the Neejaran stared, dumbfounded, his full power spent. . .and for what? The Saiyan had no new wound upon him, could nothing destroy this bastard whom had destroyed the lives of so many of his dearest comrades, this one who had ended his family and taken everything he had worked so tirelessly for over his long life? The general breathed heavily, charging the last reserves of his strength as fury and hatred fueled his charging sphere of energy clutched between his shaking hands.
“I'm going to stop you, monster!” he roared, his energy still building as Rensou drew his own hands together and charged his own bright orb of energy, his lips uttering the consonants and nouns as the Tsuruha, the uncontrollable and relentless beam began to form.
The two warriors screamed as their attacks were unleashed upon the other with no other motive besides death the the enemy, but the valiant effort provided by the Neejaran general was but a dying star in the all-overpowering might that was the super nova known as Rensou Hiruen. There was nothing left of the Neejaran when the dust cleared, and only the royal family remained. Rensou frowned at the weak, pampered family. . .there was no warrior spirit in them, only inability. . .his own people provided Kings and Queens the universe bowed before. These people were nothing compared to the might of the Saiyan race, and so only one blade would be delivered to them! The single tsurugi formed within the gloved hand of Rensou Hiruen.
“Burn in hell!” the princess cried as terror turned to a courageous fire, and she ran at the devil whom had destroyed so, so much. Her bravery was rewarded with a quick death.
“I already have!” jeered the former gladiator as he ran his blade through her brain, wasting no time as his body moved faster than the King, his son, and his love could ever hope to understand. The fact that their daughter was dead had hardly registered before the Saiyan set himself to the finale of the task.
With a lunge he cut the king in two halves, cutting him just above the waste before his body spun and the blade emulated his movements, flaying the throat of the queen apart as crimson stained the crying face of her son. For the weakling, Rensou opted to use his other hand. . .the boy was well out of the way of the blade, but not of the grasping hand as the gloves wound around the top of his skull and the Saiyan lifted him, kicking and screaming. Their eyes met and Rensou spat in his face, delivering the last words the boy would ever hear.
“. . .worthless,” and as the last of it hissed between his clenched teeth, the hand gripped and the skull exploded like it were naught but a piece of rotted fruit.
The Neejaran Prince was dead, as was his father, mother, sister, and guardian.
Just as dead as every last Neejaran that had never invited such a demon to their space station, each and every one of their stories finished.
The Neejaran factions had sent no more warriors to face the Saiyan whom had mercilessly slaughtered each and every fighter delivered to the butcher's hand. It had mattered not whether the arriving saviors had been single warriors or surgically precise squadrons, none had matched the might of the Saiyan. Such a demand could be answered by only a select few among the universes elite races, and thus far, the Epoch Star had provided only the most minor of challenges to the bloodthirsty son of the Hiruen family. With his hands cradling his head, Rensou Hiruen rested himself atop a mattress he had moved to the bridge of his ship so that his eagle eyes could carefully watch for any approach of entertainment.
“Ayleen, report,” he mumbled, and almost immediately holographic images began to manifest before his eyes, and those very eyes frowned as Rensou noted each and every major power signature had gathered to defend their main establishments. To the Saiyan, they were naught but cowards and therefore unworthy of even the most pitiful existences. . .with disgust he rose from his resting place, pulling his gloves taut upon his calloused digits as he stood.
“Cloak the ship, Ayleen, and engage defensive protocols,” The Saiyan barked, his sinewed legs moving his compact frame towards the doorway before his fingers danced upon the keys and hydraulics, activated by the extensive electronic power of the ship, slid the sliding door into a bay and for the first time in twenty four hours Rensou stared across the charred metal and rotting bodies littered so carelessly around The Gladiator. A cruel smile crossed his lips as he thought of the plan he had decided to set into motion.
Rensou Hiruen knew that the Neejarans had retreated to their sturdiest bunkers within the heart of the Epoch Star, and the two warring factions resided with their own. . .they remained split, weak, for their full might could potentially rise up and crush the Saiyan beneath a conjoined might that would eventually become a reality, for peace talks had already begun and religious differences could definitely be reconciled to stop the threat to their home, if but for a short while. Whilst Rensou was entirely unaware of the budding alliance, he was entirely enlightened of the fact that a united defiance would be his undoing.
Too long he had tarried, toying with the play-things they had sent to his doorstep. For a while he had been contented with the challenge, the joy of battle and the glory of victory. With each life he took, his Saiyan heart beat harder with reinvigorated pride. However, his Saiyan mind knew the greed for honorable combat would be his end. Finishing the task and filling the Vegetan coffers with wealth was the primary goal, and Rensou Hiruen had thought long and hard in search of a viable course of action.
The plan was a barbaric one; Rensou would push aside his honor and transcend its bounds. With the ship cloaked behind him, the Saiyan took flight toward the closest teeming hive of Neejarans, a mere mile from his present location. . .within moments he would arrive, and shortly after a slaughter that would shame all others would take place. Like the Saiyans a thousand years before him, Rensou Hiruen would murder with cold heart each and every living thing within the compound of bunkers.
Men, the strong and able would be cut down and the old and feeble would be their equal this day. Mothers and grandmothers would scream, begging for their lives or demanding their own taken so that screaming youth and unaware babe might live. There would be none left alive within the complex within sight and the Neejaran alliance would immediately be shattered before it ever reach fruition. Rensou touched down and stared with smiling eyes at the guards placed at the doorway to the inner sanctum the soldiers and civilians hid from him within, and a laugh rolled from his throat as they fired furious volleys of energy towards him. The alarms sounded, and the Saiyan deftly stepped sideways and pulled his twin blades from the manufactured oxygen before him. Flying forward, he ran the weaklings through one by one, sometimes in twos as his honed Tsurutsurugi buried themselves within the warm hearts. Even that was not enough to quench his thirst for blood as he continued to penetrate past armor and flesh and bone and only when he had buried his arms to the shoulder was he momentarily sated by their deaths.
Stepping over the crumpled bodies of the six fallen, Rensou began to apply his blades to the reinforced metals of the door meant to halt his coming, and it was found lacking as a circular hole was cut. With casual steps, the fox entered the rabbits den, his tail whipping behind him with delight as he cut his way though the rank and file with slashes and stabs, blood spraying upon the walls to add to the masterpiece which was the death that suddenly filled these hallways with the stench of death. The screams of dying men accentuated the pulsing alarm, their wails and roars the violin and cello to the pulsing drum of the signal emanating from the speaker system. The massacre was artwork within the violent eye.
The cyan blades flashed, and heads rolled. The boots slashed with the sweeping legs as the acrobatic warrior flipped and rolled in midair, crushing limbs and ribs with each and every attack. When the attacks of the defenders came through, as they occasionally would, the pain was smiled at. The exhilaration of battle was superior to the momentary discomfort as the blood of Rensou mixed with the puddles upon the floor as the body count continued to rise. To a simple murderer, the count would have been lost, but Rensou considered himself a professional in the realm of deadly arts. Each and every body was tallied as he continued through the halls, searching rooms for any deserters and giving them the slowest deaths he could.
The Saiyan was deeper now, his count at over three hundred men. The entirety of the event had taken exactly seven minutes and twenty three seconds before he began to wade into the noncombatants and dispatch them even more quickly than the soldiers of earlier. Three hundred and seventy two, he calculated as an elderly woman clutched the headless body of the moments-ago live grandchild. “Why are you doing this!?” she screamed, her body quivering with fear and grief as the eight minute mark passed them by and the Saiyan stood tall above her shivering form.
“You know, woman,” snarled the blood covered visage of Rensou Hiruen as he stared down at her, the chill within his dark eyes as piercing as the bloody blades held at a relaxed position by his sides. The room was filled with dead bodies and lifeless eyes, and only the old woman remained. “You are weak! Worthless, old, and frail! Those petty soldiers defended you, and for what? To prolong your suffering!?” and at that, the answer had been delivered and the merciful slash of the blade left the pitiful female naught but a body and a rolling head. Blood spurted from the stump of the neck, and the body fell sideways, still clutching the infant whom matched it in deadly modification. Grandmother and grandchild had been slain with the rest, and not an inkling of remorse was in the heart of the Saiyan. To avoid staining his boots with the filthy blood of the aliens he floated through the kicked in doorway and towards the final room of the compound.
There were no more soldiers to block the way of Rensou Hiruen as he sent the heavy door tumbling across the floor of the room with a short burst of energy before he walked through his created opening, his eyes settling on the royal family and the general before him. The last defense against the annihilation of their way of life, for the Neejarans on the opposite end of the station held vastly different religious views and as such, had differing customs. The King stood behind his man, his wife and two children, a son and daughter, behind him. The general took a few steps forward as he ushered his king to increase the distance between he and those he was sworn to protect.
“Another brave fool, I see,” Rensou lamented, deactivating the Tsurutsurugi within his grasp and standing before his newest victims with a bored air about him. The ripples reverberating through the air informed him that the general shared a similar strength to his own base, but these Neejarans had, thus far, shown no means of enhancing their strengths through powering up nor transforming. The fires of the Kousho rippled around the Saiyan as he tripled his own fighting power. The deed must be done, and it must be done quickly, he decided.
“You'll never get away with this,” the general snarled, his red aura shimmering around his body as he charged a sizable blast of energy and launched it forward with all his power. His red eyes traced the bolt as it sought the mark.
Rensou crossed his arms before him moments before impact, absorbing the blast and causing a powerful explosion that rocked the very foundation of the compound. Smoke and rubble encapsulated him as the Neejaran breathed heavily, content that his task had been completed.
With a roar the aura around Rensou flared and the Neejaran stared, dumbfounded, his full power spent. . .and for what? The Saiyan had no new wound upon him, could nothing destroy this bastard whom had destroyed the lives of so many of his dearest comrades, this one who had ended his family and taken everything he had worked so tirelessly for over his long life? The general breathed heavily, charging the last reserves of his strength as fury and hatred fueled his charging sphere of energy clutched between his shaking hands.
“I'm going to stop you, monster!” he roared, his energy still building as Rensou drew his own hands together and charged his own bright orb of energy, his lips uttering the consonants and nouns as the Tsuruha, the uncontrollable and relentless beam began to form.
“HAAAAAA! ! ! !"
[/center]The two warriors screamed as their attacks were unleashed upon the other with no other motive besides death the the enemy, but the valiant effort provided by the Neejaran general was but a dying star in the all-overpowering might that was the super nova known as Rensou Hiruen. There was nothing left of the Neejaran when the dust cleared, and only the royal family remained. Rensou frowned at the weak, pampered family. . .there was no warrior spirit in them, only inability. . .his own people provided Kings and Queens the universe bowed before. These people were nothing compared to the might of the Saiyan race, and so only one blade would be delivered to them! The single tsurugi formed within the gloved hand of Rensou Hiruen.
“Burn in hell!” the princess cried as terror turned to a courageous fire, and she ran at the devil whom had destroyed so, so much. Her bravery was rewarded with a quick death.
“I already have!” jeered the former gladiator as he ran his blade through her brain, wasting no time as his body moved faster than the King, his son, and his love could ever hope to understand. The fact that their daughter was dead had hardly registered before the Saiyan set himself to the finale of the task.
With a lunge he cut the king in two halves, cutting him just above the waste before his body spun and the blade emulated his movements, flaying the throat of the queen apart as crimson stained the crying face of her son. For the weakling, Rensou opted to use his other hand. . .the boy was well out of the way of the blade, but not of the grasping hand as the gloves wound around the top of his skull and the Saiyan lifted him, kicking and screaming. Their eyes met and Rensou spat in his face, delivering the last words the boy would ever hear.
“. . .worthless,” and as the last of it hissed between his clenched teeth, the hand gripped and the skull exploded like it were naught but a piece of rotted fruit.
The Neejaran Prince was dead, as was his father, mother, sister, and guardian.
Just as dead as every last Neejaran that had never invited such a demon to their space station, each and every one of their stories finished.
. . .every,
. . . .last,
. . . . .one.
. . . .last,
. . . . .one.
