Post by Gray Callahan on Apr 21, 2013 15:27:47 GMT -5
Boliko Koregutsu bites down on his tongue as the dagger cuts through his flesh, blood filling his mouth with a painful iron taste. He drops the metal blade, which clatters to the floor with a sound that seems to be amplified a thousand times in the desolation that was the bedchamber's acoustic soundproofing. He rips a shred of cloth from his bed. The super saiyan slams the white cloth down to stem the flow, and the crimson liquid immediately stains through the material.
Minutes pass, and he pulls it away. A crimson tear in his arm still burns through Boliko Koregutsu, but the pain is ignored. Rivulets still drip to the floor through his smooth, tanned muscle, but the cloth held the moisture amicably. The saiyan king closes his eyes, ill at ease, taking deep breathes to try and calm his nerves and heart rate. He curves the material around his upper right arm, masterfully knotting it with only the five fingers on his left hand.
The saiyan people. That was whom the red knot mourned for, the naturalised saiyan citizens who had been on Vegeta. Boliko would never allow himself to forget their loss.
A sheen of sweat covers his body like a plastic coat, reflecting the thick crimson fog that surrounded the legendary super saiyan. His every motion was an art, his awesome muscle flowing with precision behind every strike. He was shadow-boxing for a warm up, and every imaginary foe was himself. Not the still-faceless perpetrators of genocide' pon his people, the mighty Saiyans, nor his foe Guerin (though deep down he suspected the truth, that they were one and the same). No, to Boliko his own image was the final enemy that he must defeat, and not just the kind of self-defeat that eventually leads to growth; nay, this was a battle with his own psyche, a vicious attack on both his interior and exterior.
His jabs moved swiftly through the air, and to the untrained eye it would appear he had no arms, t'was the speed of his appendages. Already he was pushing his exterior to the limit, while the interior being pulled at itself with scientific accuracy and curiousity; Why do I do what I do, in the face of this hopelessness? Why did I get revenge on Touketsuki, and leave Vegeta to burn from the hands of some demon? Would my people have ever rested from this inquisition I was starting? Or would the cycle of vengeance go on until the day reality dies? Every question he couldn't answer to cut deeper and deeper into his heart, his soul. He realised he was weak, fickle, a wasted
Boliko realised he had never worn a crown, but that was not true. He wore every anger, every prejudice, every grudge of the saiyan people upon his brow, frown-wrinkled skin no damp with moisture.
His naked form was covered in scars, the latest still red and angry. The only material on his body was the red knot around his right arm, which was a shade deeper still in the heavy air. His skin was hard with exerted muscle as he leaps into the air like a dancer, his entire body the picture of tormented elegance and ability.
He begins to push himself from wall to wall, twisting through the air and defying the sluggish gravity with all of his ability. Blood continually rushes to his head as he twists and turns through the large room, refusing to oblige the weakness he felt, as if every muscle in his body was about to explode into fire. Some much effort went into the warm-up, the saiyan king was scared he would tire before even working on his fighting skill, but he continued onwards, audibly beginning to pant. This gravity was like nothing else, though he could just be out of practice - it had been a while since he had attempted to advance past his usual capacity.
It felt like every muscle in his body wanted to rip free of his skin and drop to the floor in a sludgey, gorey mess. One final push and Boliko can't reach the opposite wall; he collapses to the floor, panting, eyes squinting. The gravity is relentless.
As he sits there, wondering if he will ever be able to push himself back up, his mind wanders to other things. He did not know why he was training. He knew he had to keep going, his mind was telling him to, his sub-conscious implying there was a purpose to such thing. The saiyan king was almost suicidal, and yet he continued to hone his body, despite a reluctance to continue using it. Why?
His heart rate had subsided to a normal level, though it's beat was quite forced - continued exposures to heightened gravity had caused the great muscle that allowed the super saiyan to pump oxygen around his body to expand in size to about an extra half it's size. Fortunately, the saiyan had a lot of space internally for such a growth.
He forces himself to stand, despite the burning in his legs. He closes his eyes, and then pushes his thoughts outwards... the ship's AI receives the command.
Floor panels slide open with an ominous hiss, jets of steam rising from the dark space in between the gravity chamber and the rooms directly below. The bot, a mechanical intricacy of gray steel and blue wiring, his only intense colouration eyes that gleam red, an imitation of biological necessity that placed them upon the 'head' of the robotic structure, though the true hardware was contained in the chest. The robot was the blank slate upon which the simulation would be generated.
"Sir. Might I recommend the Brasca simulation for today's session?" the latest update of the king's artificial intelligence system, Jenny, had a soothing, flirtatious tone.
"Brasca?" Boliko grunts. He was unaware of any individuals in history known as such, though his knowledge of history only stretched back to the last two thousand years or so.
"Brasca was an individual in saiyan history who was recorded by the tsuful race about three thousand years ago." She pauses for a moment, as if calculating, before her tones continue. "It was suggested that his power was leagues above the other tribal saiyans... even before the radical change. Every eight years, the tsufuls would track the saiyans on the night of the full moon. On that one fateful night, Brasca's brown fur exploded in a golden fury, or so it was said. But his body could not contain that power, and so he ripped his own tail off to prevent himself from dying."
"But that was not the end." He was intrigued, now. If the super saiyan power had first been unlocked by an Oozaru form...
"No. The following weeks, Brasca's power grew even more unstable. Tsuful watched constantly from afar. Eventually, during a scrap for food with another saiyan... well, another change happened. One that you are most familiar with, the super saiyan form."
Boliko nods. It was making sense. "So he was the first recorded super saiya-jin. He will be a good opponent."
An inhumane roar fills the air as the saiyan king's eyes are momentarily blinded by the sudden heat of a prehistoric sun. The tiles beneath his feet had shifted to the grassy surface of an ancient Vegeta. The grass brushed past the saiyan's legs, tickling them through the fibres of his gi. Boliko slowly blinks the spots out of his eyes, and the vision stuns him.
Trees litter the landscape, trees that seem miles high: and their fauna that devour them even higher. The brachiosaurus that feasted upon them were a relic that was apparently native to two worlds, Earth and Vegeta both. Their long necks arch upwards and impede against he mighty vision of a blue sky, a sky unpolluted by technological violence and the pollution of large-scale war. Boliko's Vegeta had a sky burned red from the remnants of the saiyan-tsuful war. The blue of this world was calming, the lazy clouds causing Boliko to smile from their softness. In the very distance, a large rupture of rock has begun to smoke, burning red liquid bubbling with viscous malice. The saiyan king was in awe of this world, so alien to the one he knew. It was more like his own 'home', Amazonica.
And then a blood-curdling pitch pierced Boliko's entrancement, sending a shiver along his body.
He turns in time to say a shadow burst through the air with speed that Boliko would find difficult to match, a shadow that crashes headlong into one of the dinosaurs. It roars in pain, collapsing forwards, and the solar warrior darts backwards to prevent his body from impaling the beast. This carnage was so realistic, for a simulation; the only thing breaking it was the intense gravity that still weighed almighty upon his shoulders. The beast hit the ground with an earth-quaking thoom, rainbow-coloured birds exploding from the tree-tops.
The blow from the shadow must have broken all of the bone's in the giant reptile's body. All it could do was mew and hiss, before the shadow descended to the ground. Boliko realises it was a saiyan... and probably his opponent. The being stood a lot shorter than Boliko, and was clad in only furs around his waist and groin, stopping at the navel. The characteristic brown erection of the tail was missing, however; instead protruded a mere stump, with a wound that appeared rough and self-inflicted. The boy's hair was a tangled mess, as per a saiyan, and his muscles were already rippling with prowess, despite his young age. The saiyan king theorised that the boy was half of his own power, maybe more.
The tribal teenager steps towards the broken head of the dinosaur, and with a single chop breaks through flesh and bone, quieting the beast's anguish with the peace of death. His hands continue to move, though, open fingers plunging again and again into what was becoming a raw, red mass of meat. This was dinner time, of course.
Boliko takes a step forward, and a twig breaks beneath his stride.
Brasca instantly tenses, back arcing like a cats. The child twists, black pupils filled with an anger that was reflected in the drawn-up features of his face. His mouth opens, crimson smears around his lips, and he releases a bestial growl.
The saiyan king realised something in that instance. This was himself, or a very close version. This was how he had been on Amazonica. This was the 'Oozaru' persona; not an explicitly evil being, but rather a beast, an amoral creature whose only instincts were to kill, eat, breed and survive for as long as possible. Boliko knew that, in this time, other saiyans would all be similar to this Brasca specimen, though he doubted anywhere near as powerful.
The child continues to growl, twisting around. Flesh was stuck underneath his fingernails, and the smell of meat was both tantalising and revolting to the saiyan king. Nostalgic, too, of his time on the forest world of Amazonica. He had hunted many a beast, though none so large as this one, and had often consumed them in much the same manner, before he had learned the benefits of fire. Fire made the meat much tastier, he had realised; and soon after, even the wild Boliko had grown a distaste for completely raw meat, though he still held a penchant for rare steak on occasion.
Brasca's fingers were sticky with the blood of his kill. Boliko knew that he would be wanting to protect his prey, but... even if he backed off, this simulation was designed for Boliko's benefit, rather than a historical exercise. Brasca was just going through a playfully programmed sub-routine before the training actually began. Fortunately it had been lengthy enough for Boliko to have begun to get used to the gravity, of the chamber and of the situation.
So the saiyan king roars in response to the tribal millennial's growls, initiating combat with the first of his kind, the first truly 'legendary' saiyan.
The simulated saiyan son is the first to move. He darts across the ground level so fast that Boliko can barely track his progress. A fist, aimed at Boliko's chest, is barely controlled; the wrist grabbed by the true saiyan in the session. Boliko pulls on it, the child lurching forward and taking a punch to the face, the simulation rippling for an instant before re-configuring.
Brasca snarls and laughs in the same instance, before he jumps and pushes off of Boliko. The larger saiyan staggers backwards, righting himself before taking an energy ball to the face, a crackling crimson blast that sends the king further back, smoke billowing from his body. Boliko growls through the haze; that one hurt.
The saiyan king bursts through the shadows and slams a boot straight into the child's stomach, and Brasca tumbles backwards, head over heels again and again and again, a trio of spins through the dirt and grass. His head backs into the back of the dinosaur corpse, slowing his movement. The saiyan child was obviously unaware that any individuals could match his might or his speed, and the kick had taken him unawares.
Both saiyans wipe a trickle of blood from their lips, eyes burning with the desire to continue, before they rush at each other. Fist meets fists as the ground begins to shake with their impacts, both beings locked in a furious flurry of collisions, neither one pressing an advantage. The odd fist broke through both of their defenses, one taking Brasca in the head, Boliko in the chest. They both reel backwards, and with a free hand they both release a ki blast synchronously, a neutral white from the saiyan king and an angry red from his aggressive ancestor.
The impact of spiritual energy releases a burst of force that propels both warriors backwards. They both float, subconsciously utilising the bukujutsu, invisible ripples of ki expelling from their feet. Coal eyes calculate each other... and then Brasca chuckles, silently at first, shoulders rising and falling. His mouth bursts open, and then a high-pitched cackle bursts out. He was losing control...
... A golden aura bursting up around his body, his muscles twitching and bulging. He continues to giggle madly, Boliko extremely unsettled by this stage. It was obvious what was about to happen next.
Dark hair lifts and flashes that immensely rich gold the modern saiyans had grown so accustomed to seeing, the eyes that vibrant, electric green. The ground rumbles and quakes, and a burst of magma erupts from that far-off volcano as if in response to this great shift in power the simulation was putting out. The saiyan child roars, his super saiyan form out of control... and he moves in on the base-level king, Koregutsu.
Boliko cannot react fast enough. He had chose not to transform at the same time as Brasca, in the hope that he would be strong enough in his natural form, but it was a pipe dream; the child prodigy was simply a painful golden blur that ripped through Boliko like a knife through paper. Left, right, up, down - Boliko's ragged movements were a blaze of pain as the simulator unleashed the punishment Koregutsu was hoping for, the pain to bring him out of the semi-depressed trance he had been in since Vegeta's accident.
An uppercut dislocates Boliko's jaw, sending a spasm of pain through the saiyan's body. A foot slams into the side of his thigh, into his crotch, into his chest. His right eye is closed and bruised, swelling.
Crimson flecks splash the floor as Koregutsu's heavy form is abused by the young saiyan. Blood drips from his arms, nose, lips.
It wasn't great.
A final, deadly hammer kick from the awakened Brasca sends Boliko crashing downwards, his body slamming into the ground; a crater of dirt billows out from the impact. His body continues to skid, leaving a tunnel as a trail. His body felt wasted. He needed to transform.
Brasca hovers in the air, one hand raised; an angry golden ki explodes around his body, the aura wave upon wave of insane destruction. Electrcitiy began to crackle through the child's fingers.
The solar emperor struggles to his feet, one leg at a time. He shakes, flexed his fingers; thankfully, he could still feel everything. The wound on his arm had re-opened from the impact of the simulator. He stands, wobbles for a moment, before he steadies himself and defiantly faces down his simulated opponent.
Brasca's energy blast was unleashed, a massive flash of all-consuming lightning intended to end Boliko's life... or, at least, this training session.
Instead, it is met by a surge in power from the saiyan king, a defiant roar as the king ascends to the same form as his primitive parallel. The energy blast splinters and burst's upwards... absorbed by the invisible parameters of the training room walls, designed to take such impacts and more. The space ship's lights temporarily burn brighter.
Brasca's eyes widen as he recoils away from the phenomena. What was this madness? The top predator's best attack being denied by this... new, golden foe? Absurd! And yet there Boliko was, a small smile on his bruised face, as he bursts forth from the ground and take's liberty of the confused cave-Saiyan.
A jack-hammer blow make's Brasca's eyes almost pop out of his head as he is forced into a crouching position, rigid muscles forced painfully downwards by the blow of Boliko's sheer strength. A knee snaps into Brasca's nose, breaking the bone, deforming the primitive features and sending a streak of crimson down Boliko's leg.
Brasca roars in pain and indignation, but Boliko's assault continues. The gravity was now at the stage where the solar fighter could ignore it. The king's super saiyan was superior to this primitive version, it appeared, or perhaps he just had more control over it, and over his emotions. Their power levels were similar, but Brasca's was fluctuating much more wildly. Boliko's held a steady range, but Brasca's was dipping between his base-level range and his maximum every other moment.
A final punch and Brasca is thrown back hundreds of metres, or that was how it appeared via the simulation parameters. Trees ripple and splinter beneath the force of the child's momentum, wood piercing even the hardest skin because of that velocity.
A vicious kiai wave jettisons from behind the child, and his velocity is halted, reversed slightly before he comes to a stop. He pants, blood trickling from punctures in his skin. His face was contorted into a scared, angry growl... and his golden aura was growing, growing larger and wider and much, much scarier.
The surviving trees surrounding Brasca begin to shake, leaves rustling with increasing speed as immense power burns from the child. His very body begins to quake, his face screwed up as he begins to cry; not sad tears, but angry tears... or, even, scared tears.
And then his expression suddenly changes again, the bipolarity instant; he begins to laugh. The splinters pop out of his flesh as the muscles burst massively, veins protruding angrily through his chest and forehead. The very air seems to be drawn towards him, the wind ruffling Brasca's golden hair... which bursts upwards even more furiously, turning a sickening emerald. His aura follows suit, and his cerulean eyes vanish, leaving only the insane blankness of angry instinct in their wake.
All of the power is released in one angry instant. Trees are wrenched free of the ground, decades of growth destroyed in a single burst. Roots and soil rise in the air, organic matter dropping from them bottom. Eggs smash, bones are crushed as baby birds fall helplessly, flapping wings hopelessly. They were just too young.
And all Brasca can do is laugh as Boliko's jaw drops.
Any other story might end here. Boliko would be outclassed by Brasca's legendary form, and rushed to the medical rejuvenation chamber.
Not today.
Boliko's own aura burst up around him, the golden waves intensifying with a dynamite explosiveness. His muscles bulge, ripping through much of the material of the gi; it wasn't built for such sudden growth in musculature. He rips off the sleeves of his shirt as the transformation continues; his hair spikes up further, and gains a slight emerald hue, though not as much as Brasca's, and the aura that burst up around him remained the pure gold associated with the legendary saiya-jin forms. And. notably, he retained the electric hues that resembled consciousness.
The opposition stares in awe, showing surprise despite the insanity that was obviously flowing through the tribal legend's mind.
And then, with a thunderous snarl, he rushes forwards, not allowing his cultivated mirror to dominate his mind via fear, an aspect to Brasca that Boliko could truly respect. Perhaps it was foolish, but more likely it was sheer bravery and courage, and the will to survive that drove him forwards, to defend his kill, his food, and ultimately his home... this forest was his home, though he was a cruel steward.
And thus the two legendary brutes collide. Fist collides with fist... but Brasca's knuckles splintered and crumbled beneath the might of the mastered ultimate. The tribal being reels away, clutching at his hand as blood pumps freely from the mangled, torn flesh of it all. He had not survived the impact from the legendary saiyan king.
Boliko's other hand shoots out and grips the buffed-out child by the neck. His hands glow golden, then crimson, then a mix of both as his aura begins to burst around him, a tornado funnel being to rise and twist around the two individuals. Brasca begins to scream, as smoke begins to rise from his flesh... charred meat and, below that, a great iron smell fills the nostrils of Boliko, before he releases the heat blast.
Brasca's head is torn from his shoulders, golden hair fried, eyeballs melting away... to that cold, red stare of the training android. The simulated environment fades away, and then, moments later, so does the red gravity of the training room.
Boliko falls to the floor, panting, blood trickling from wounds new and old, some opened by the vicious child, others re-opened from previous excursions, from Touketsuki, from his own way of honouring the Vegetan dead. He pants, his aura dying away and his muscles contracting, his muscles returning to their usual, almost lean spectacle...
He looks up. The next session would be in an hour.
Heatwave - A ki blast capable of being charged and released or held in the palm, which releases extreme heat on contact with the foe.
(4.1x gains)
