[Return][Complete]

[Rensou Hiruen]

"The time is ripe, Saiyajin," echoed the horrendous monotone throat of the Makaioshin whom had come to know the dead warrior before he as an enemy, a student, and finally, a friend. The time the pair had spent together seemingly stretched across an eternity, but neither man had changed, for here, in the deepest and darkest recesses of hell itself, time stands still so that torment might reign eternal. Physically, the Saiyajin was the same fighter whom had died on the soil of his planet that day so long ago, truly tasting defeat for the first time in his life.
It was a sacrifice that had gone unheralded, his name had not been remembered. . .no crowd cheered the name, hailing him as the most impressive gladiator to grace their arena. No soldier knew him as his superior, and no pain echoed in the heart of any he had called friend. It was no matter, for this one was bound for greatness, always had and always would, and that is why he was destined to return to the world of the living so that he might etch his name into the annals of time. The time truly was ripe. Eyes as cold as the tundra and as black as obsidian glinted with anticipation, with unbound aspirations. The time had finally come for Rensou Hiruen, the gladiator, the general, the dead man, to return to take what was rightfully his.

Glory.

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Those muscled legs carried him across the stone floor beneath his boots, and the Saiyajin met the Makaioshin's outstretched arm with his gloved hand. The grasp was quick, but meaningful. The duo had truly become brothers, one trapped in death and the other never truly alive, these two shared an inseperable bond. Weaker souls would have exchanged tears, but not the Saiyajin, nor the Makaio. Even the warmest of moments for them was but a glimmer of sunlight in the cold, cold blizzard.

"It has been a pleasure, Ezreal," the Saiyajin grinned, his canines flashing as the light of the fire lept across his visage. It truly had. The warrior had honed skills he had thought perfected beyond perfection, learned things about life and death and the dimensions that housed both, his trip here had been an unwanted one indeed. A waste, no, for so much had been gained in so little time in relativity to the world of the living. The Makaio took a step backward, his face suddenly darker. . .violent, and those bone swords began to ripple from his body. Ezreal had never performed the ritual he was about to deflower, for none had ever survived his trials before this Saiyajin whom stared with curiosity. Why exactly was the demon preparing his weapons. Energy flickered around his lithe but powerful hide and a flash streaked through the attuned mind of the Saiyajin.

"Forgive me, Hiruen!" Ezreal roared, his energy signature blaring into the skull of Rensou and dizzying him as he finally, truly, and wonderfully exerted the magnitude of his vast stores and unleashed them upon the dazed creature before him with all the speed that would cause light to snarl with envy. The first of his bone swords sheared through the breast of the warrior, obliterating his beating heart in an instant. Six more burrowed through in quick succession, doubling back to slash and stab as blood and bone and essense was utterly destroyed. When the act had been finished, there was nothing left of Rensou Hiruen in the demon realm.

". . .to be reborn in life, one must perish in death," the cold Lord of this pit pondered, succumbing the the exhaustion that had suddenly overcome him and he crumpled to the floor, his mind swimming with terrible dreams and wondrous nightmares, for such a creature interprets much differently than what one might consider anything remotely reasonable.

-------[Planet Vegeta]-------

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Upon the desolate sands in which Rensou Hiruen had been utterly destroyed by the beast known as Touketsuki Yakedo, a pair of fine boots touched upon the surface of the home of the Saiyajin race. A cape of the darkest blues swirled behind this newcomer, onyx locks thrashing violently in the wind as nostrils sucked greedily at the dense oxygen of this atmosphere, the first breath of a reborn man. A breath he would never allow to be taken from him again, no matter what monster he faced, none could be worse than he!

"It's good to be back!" The returned exclaimed, tossing his head back and burning his eyes with the light of the two suns he held dearest to his heart, and true to his animalistic race and frightful tendencies, a cry that grew into a roar split the heavens above him as Vegetasei once again bore witness to the one, the only. . .Rensou Hiruen.

[Rensou Hiruen]

The air he breathed.

The heat upon his skin.

The zephyr that cooled.

The sweat that shimmered.

It was all truly real again, this return to legitimate existence tantalizing and wondrous all at once. Not a single detail did he miss, for every grain of sand his eyes swept across that his feet stood upon were the tiniest inklings of ever more miniscule things that were this living world he had seemingly been away from for oh, so long. Coal orbs flitted shut and whites were shown with a pleased smile, a rare one indeed – Rensou hardly found reason for happiness, he was a man of tragedy, a harbinger of his own sorrow. First his family had left him an orphan upon the streets, rummaging in the trash for sustenance until his Saiyan hands became something akin to an adults. Like many of his race, he had taken life at a young age. . .like many of his race, he had tasted death just the same.

Unlike so many of the fallen, he had been returned to finish business he knew not. Destiny had chosen to smile upon him, a beautiful gift indeed. Gifts came with prices in the vastness of things, and he had lost one he had held dearly to him. Unbeknownst, many of his comrades in arms had fallen to the wrath of Touketsuki Yakedo. A bastard, a tyrant, a man without honor nor mercy. The Saiyan was hardly different from the beast he had struggled so valiantly against, but he was a man of his word, for without honor, he was naught more than a killer. A weapon. Something without meaning and undeserving of life. The very thought of it infuriated him to the deepest recesses of his core. Fists clenched, surges of energy crackled to life around him as Rensou struggled to contain his hatred, his shame at his defeat – he would set things right, one way or another.

There was naught but flight as powerful legs lifted the frame from the sand of the Scorched Plains and the warrior set himself in the direction of Saru City at a pace few Saiyan alive could hope to understand, and even fewer could accomplish. Rensou Hiruen had once been the strongest among his race, a beacon of pride to his people. . .but those days had come and gone, or so the general populace of Vegetasei would believe. Soon they would see their savior again, whole and living, and after that they would witness the second coming of the last son of the Hiruen, the General of the Saiyan Solar Empire. Glory would come, but for now, the Saiyan warrior would tend to tedious matters. Rensou would rendezvous with his closest associates and decide which path he would stride down on the eternal path to immortality, not in existence, but in the pages of history.

No man can live forever.

One man can live twice.