[PS] DA Museum and Library

[Burter]

This is where the players can get information on how the game works, the island and the possible weapons.

They can also look up previous competitions.

[Reijin]

Continued from: http://www.cdbzrpg.com/forum/showpost.ph...ostcount=4

Reijin left Saiba and his bag inside of his quarters. He didn't feel up to being disturbed right now. With the way Saiba could act, his head injury just before signing up for Dante would not get any better. It wasn't a serious injury or anything, but it throbbed as if he'd been in a battle beforehand. At least Reijin was sure that it would interfere with his tournament experience, but even still, it was sapping his focus.

Just around the corner from his quarters, he saw a large scale statue of Raditzu standing tall, its thumb held high in his signature cocky stance. "Piss ant..." the scorned Saiyan found himself muttering, venting his trend of failures upon the effigy. He looked down to see, almost tauntingly, a golden plaque with the name of the Saiyan upon it, as well as the date of the tournament years ago with a notation of him being the grand prize winner. There was no mention of Reijin anywhere.

Disgusted, mostly at himself, Reijin stormed down a bit further only to find another massive figurine in worship of Bardock, the father of Goku. This fact didn't seem to cause too much of a familial tie between the two of them, however, as the brawler was very in tune with his Saiyan blood flowing through him in many ways. Reijin could remember that he hadn't even been mentioned on the top fighters of this tournament.

A few steps past this was an open pedastal that seemed to taunt at him, with the words "WILL YOU BE THE NEXT TO STAND BESIDE LEGENDS?" Reijin could assure them that he would not, as he'd failed before. He had monuments dedicated to him, alongside Raditzu of course, on the planet of Kajin Rala, but he hadn't actually earned anything to cause them. He made a wish.

For all of his great intentions and deplorable deeds, he couldn't think of anything that he'd actually achieved his victory in. Sure, he'd battled Satan himself into a loss in the past, but not a single being in the universe appreciated this fact, nor did a majority even know about it.

So what you want is recognition?

Reijin looked up from his brooding to see a familiar girl standing before him, tall with grey eyes. The memory of her flashed through his mind's eye, where he'd seen her before in the dream world he'd visited. She had called out to him, warned him of things... and then she'd faded from his mind. Where had she been, he mused curiously.

Where I have always been. You simply have not needed me.

He stared at her, seeing her nearly intangible presence holding the same shades of grey form he'd always noticed. Her hair was down to her shoulders, a dark shade of black to contrast with the wispy white robe she wore around her body. There was nothing about her form that gave away anything regarding her physical stature through her clothing. For all Reijin could see, she was nothing more than a phantom of another world.

I assure you that I am not a ghost. This is just the closest to a corporal form I am able to get in order to contact you in this time under the pressure that I face in my own.

Her mouth never moved, and she continued to stare at him with her sad grey eyes. At this point, Reijin turned and looked around the room, making sure he hadn't been set up in some form. He was nothing more than a joke by now, but he did not wish to be treated like one.

Not a single person you have come into contact with holds any doubt or ill will towards you more so than you do yourself.

His head snapped back to her and he jabbed a finger at her in anger. She was doing a good job at pressing the correct buttons. "Don't patronize me, little girl. You have been an entertaining little being but that doesn't give you any right to harass me. Why have you come here to me if you have noticed I have not contacted you myself? And don't think I ever once intentionally went to that little dreamworld to talk to you. If anything you summoned me there while I was asleep."

You have yet to answer my original question.

The wispy form simply stood there meters from the angry Saiyan, her robe flowing behind her in a wind that simply did not exist on this world. Growling, he threw his own cloak behind himself in mirror to hers. "I don't care about the pathetic filth of this universe groveling beneath my feet! I am no power hungry Saiyan and if someone underestimates my strength then I pity them even more for the outcome." He stared at her defiantly as a smoldering flame ignited within his eyes.

Then why are you losing control of your emotions as you are? I can see your pyrokinetic spirit taking life within you. I know of your need for release in order to manipulate those forces.

It burst into full bloom around him, a nova of living flame spiraling around the raven haired Saiyan. "Because, to be quite honest, you are pissing me off. If I wished to brood on things in a corner like some emotional human, then I would have been doing so already!"

Isn't that what you were indeed doing?

At this, the Saiyan spun around and began to step forward. The specter behind him, however, had other plans. Reijin already knew he could not harm her. She was not of this world. He suspected not even of this time. That didn't seem to give him any solace from her approach, however. She was, after all, directly behind him.

Except she was once more in front of him. He realized that no matter the direction he turned, she stayed at the exact same point within his field of vision. This told him two things. "First off, you aren't here. Secondly, I'm through with this."

I am not.

The headache the Saiyan embodied suddenly strengthened, forcing him to the ground as he felt tremendous pain shooting through his skull. He looked up from the ground, finding himself in a groveling position, and angrily glared forward, preparing his flames for a counterattack. She, however, showed nothing more than an expression of sadness, her form floating forward suddenly until she came into contact with the young man.

He reeled backwards as she suddenly existed in the same exact location he himself did, feeling her entering his body with nary a thought towards the mental defenses he'd built many years ago. His mind seemed as her darkened street, and she was determined to traverse it without impediment.

Falling backwards against the empty statue, his vision fogged up completely as his breath was knocked from him. He struggled to hold oxygen, having to release his flames just to focus on survival. A second after he found his lungs suddenly full again, a loud gasp emitting from him as he took in his breath and spasmed beyond his control.

I am harming you not. Its nearly finished.

His vision began to clear up, the phantasmal smoke surround him drawing deep within his lungs and leaving his vantage point, his breathing so rapid from panic as his mind reeled. In moments it was done, and he found himself lying on the empty pedestal for the statue. His eyes flickered open, gasping at the ceiling feebly while feeling a strange calm passing over him.

He lay there for a few moments before he finally sat up, cradling his head within his palms. His headache had vanished completely. Looking straight down into the shiny metal below him, he could see his reflection gazing back at him. It was not a welcome site.

Directly beneath him, he saw what appeared to be himself sitting there staring down, as one would expect, but seeming to exist in the same exact location was a beautiful girl in her mid twenties almost seeming to overly his own form. This was unlike the spiritual girl that had entered him. She had deep green eyes and her the feature that stood out the most to Reijin was her purple shoulder length hair. He had very little time to take in her features, however, as she faded from view into his own form, his eyes lingering as grey for moments before shifting back to their natural black.

Deciding he'd had enough of this, he climbed to his feet, weakly pushing himself up from the statue's base. Another fighter entered the museum just as he'd climbed to his feet and called out to him tauntingly. "Let me guess, you think you'll win and just want to figure out what your pose will be for when your statue is made?"

The young Saiyan simply stumbled from his location and pushed past the fighter, seeking out his room. He had no idea what had just happened, nor why, and he wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Would this even be something that would effect him during the tournament? Was this another fighter attempting to possess him to use during the tournament? He had met this girl before in the dreamworld a number of times... But this was the first time he'd experienced this.

He decided his quarters was the best place he could be for now.

[Bardock]

No sooner had they stepped off the teleporter, than a chorus of flashbulbs illuminated in Bardock’s face. He was barraged by a flock of media reporters and their assault of questions.

“Bardock! So you’ve come to defend your title?”
“Hey Bardock! Do you think you’ll have a shot at winning again this year?”
“Do you think some of the returning players will be out for revenge?”
“How do you plan to play this year, Bardock?”
“Is there any chance of a grudge match between you and Raditzu?”
“What do you think of the opinion that your win last year was a fluke?”
“Who is this young lady with you?”
“Bardock!” “Bardock!” “Hey Bardock!”

Grunting, he waved the cameras and microphones out of his face, grabbing Violet firmly by the arm and attempted to lead them both out of the swarming throng. As soon as he’d escaped the interview-hungry reporters, he was forced to tackle a group of fans screaming and begging for his autograph. Some of them were wearing t-shirts with his likeness on the front, and others bore fan memorabilia with his quote “Come get some!” printed all over. Completely off-put by this sudden frenzy of attention, he wrote scribbles on the scraps of paper shoved in his face, and barely stopped for personal photographs. The saiya-jin’s ears were ringing with the squeals and screams of young girls and the hoots and hollers from the guys saying how much he rocked and how he was their hero or some such things. Finally, he and Violet broke free of the crowd as he pulled her into the museum.

Getting over a small bout of claustrophobia and breathing heavily, Bardock asked, “You okay?”

“That was crazy!” Violet responded, eyes wide.

“Señor Bardock! So glad ju could join us!” a voice rang out behind them.

Quick as he could turn around, a team of professional make-up artists had surrounded him, along with a strange, vibrant man in tiger-print pants and a way-too-tight white t-shirt.

“Señor Bardock, I am Enrrrrrrique,” the man greeted, rolling his ‘r’ with enthusiasm. “And I will be jore photographer for the photo shoot!”

“Photo shoot?” the fighter repeated dumbly as he was whisked away.

“Contractual obligation, I’m afraid. Promotional shoots, you understand,” Enrique said with a flip of his wrist. “In order to participate this year, we mus’ do the shoot.”

Violet happily followed, sure that this would be very entertaining.

“Come, come, we mus’ get ju ready!” the photograph ordered, clapping his hands. “Enrique will make ju look magnífico!”

It turned out that they had been waiting for him, and set up a small little mini-shoot in a quiet corner of the museum so as to take advantage of the monuments and artifacts, and so they would not be disturbed. Who, after all, goes to a museum when you were here to be in a show? Violet took a seat in a discarded director’s chair while Bardock was propped up in front of a white backdrop. Once the saiya-jin had been instructed on how to look and how to stand, Enrique stepped back behind a camera and behind shooting his little heart out. The brawler moved stiffly and uncomfortably, with an irritated look on his face. This just wasn’t his scene. And it didn’t help that Enrique kept shouting directions and called him a “sexy beast” one too many times. After a couple of awkward rolls of film, Violet jumped in and starting calling out encouragements, having too much fun for Bardock’s taste. The roughneck was given props as well, including the ki pistol and ki shotgun he’d used in the previous tournament, and all the other weapons he’d so painstakingly collected.

“Jore an animal! Jore a sexy beast! Show me that saiya-jin rage!” Enrique bubbled. When the last picture was taken for round, the photographer handed off the camera and called out to his assistants. “H’okay! Bring out the hot oil for the calendar pictures!”

Hot oil?

The make-up artists quickly “helped” Bardock remove his shirt and armor, and rubbed him down with body oil. A fan was brought in and turned on, making his spiky black hair billow about. Enrique reloaded his camera and began snapping away.

“Flex! Flex!” someone chanted through cupped hands, and Bar had a sneaking suspicion who it was.

Reluctantly, he did so, realizing that the better he cooperated the quicker the different scenes and poses went. The props were rotated through, and at the very end, two gorgeous female models were added into the shot, which brightened his mood a little bit. Once all was said and done, Bardock rinsed himself off and put all of his gear back on. Enrique handed off his last set of negatives, muttering something about “photoshop” before turning to Bardock.

“Señor Bardock! It has been a maravilloso experience working with ju. Fear not, for Enrique will make you muy bonito!” Enrique flourished. He clapped his hands, and his crew packed up and hauled off, leaving a stunned Bardock in his wake.

[Violet]

“Well, I think I just found someone who is even more gay than Karl Jakk,” Vi snickered as they moved with quick steps into the deeper recesses of the museum. All around them, posters of former contestants in the grip of bloody battles hung from the tall concrete supports. Tucked in between these supports were smaller kiosks with computers, all flashing the same screensavers. The expansive ceiling rose several stories above them, and gave the building a very cave-like feel. Everything echoed, so she kept her voice low.

“Hot oil??” Ignoring her comment, he grunted in frustration over his ravaging by the overly flaming ‘Enrrrrrrique’. Even though he had thoroughly cleaned it off, his skin still felt stifled by the powdery smelling liquid that was slathered over nearly every inch of his bronzed skin.

Violet snickered. “From where I was sitting, it wasn’t too bad.”

He shot her a fiery glance, its silent message sent shivers skating down her back. “Jeez, man, I’m a woman. When I see a guy all shiny and…doing what you did, what the hell do you expect me to do? Break out my bible and start reciting verses to cleanse my ‘impure’ thoughts?”

His face slackened into a grumpy glower. “I wonder if we could burn them before that guy does things to them?”

Shrugging, Violet dropped her back to the floor and slumped into a plastic chair. “I don’t know about you, Bar Bar, but if a calendar comes out, I’m buying it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and offered him an impish smile.

He gave an irritated sigh and slumped his shoulders. “No calendars.”

“I’m going to hang it in the kitchen. Right near the bar,” she further teased.

“Do it, and I’ll kill you.”

She moved from the chair and stood toe to toe with the menacing warrior. The look he gave her could burn holes in cement, but she didn’t rise to his bait. “Maybe I should buy two.”

“And maybe I should kick you out.”

Laughing, Violet stepped away, letting him brood on the possible blackmail opportunities his purple haired companion implied. She picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder once more. “If you kick me out, who’s going to cook for you?”

“Smitty,” he replied tersely.

Point for him. He was a quick one, that Bardock. “Okay, you got me there. How about who’s going to let you watch movies with them? Hmm? I don’t think Briggs or Sky will, they’re too busy doing whatever it is they do.”

“You’re not getting a damned calendar, or postcard, or whatever the hell he’s doing with those pictures.” He stepped in line behind her as she walked towards the entrance. Enrique was nowhere in sight, but the two models were.

Violet couldn’t take their eyes off of them. She couldn’t help but remember the brief pang of jealousy as she watched them cling to the oiled Saiyan, and the shine of contentment in his expression. One of the women smiled in greeting at her, only to receive a distinctly icy stare from the envious Violet.

“Mr. Bardock!” A busty blonde dressed in a rather skimpy outfit, if you wanted to call whatever those strips of fabric clothes, bounced her way over to them. Her smile could light Los Angeles during a blackout, the desire in her eyes was as naked as she almost was. Violet made mental note of the male’s attentiveness as he addressed the woman. “Can I have your autograph?”

Great, another raving fangirl. Sweet Jesus. Rolling her eyes, she turned to Bar. “I’m going outside. Have fun with the chick.”

[Bardock]

“I’m going outside. Have fun with the chick.”

The words registered, although Bardock was having a hard time keeping his attention on anything but the blonde trying to rub up on him. Violet stormed off, clearly agitated.

“I’m just such a big fan,” the girl continued, drawing swirls on his chest plate. “It was so hard to remain professional during the shoot.”

“I’m not into that shit,” Bardock shook his head, referring to all of the garbage he’d went through since his arrival.

“No autograph?” the fan-girl pouted. She batted her lashes, and gave her most sensual look. “Maybe you can give me something else to remember you by, champion.”

Right then and there, the blood flow shut off. Wrong word. The offer was tempting nonetheless, but he wasn’t here for a piece of ass, and especially not a piece of ass that was only in it for a hollow title. Bardock scoffed at the idea of only being wanted for what this tournament represented to others, much less the idea that he was wanted at all. Fame, fortune, and all the perks that went with it were the farthest things from what he aspired. This girl didn’t understand that. Even though he knew he was throwing away an easy score, he picked her up and set her down away from him, much to the blonde’s confusion.

Bardock flashed a grin, and with a wink, chuckled, “Sorry. I don’t do skank.”

Her brows furrowed and her jaw dropped, but he just turned and walked away. Normally the saiya-jin would have been a little more restrained, but he figured he could make an exception just this once. The fighter jaunted down the hall, passing a pair of large statues on the way. One was of his son, frozen in some goofy-looking pose that just screamed “Raditzu.” The other was of himself, looking menacing and every bit the killer he’d tried to be. It was only appeared to be a testament that he was a winner, but such recognition was fleeting, and winning wasn’t what he was trying to do. All he wanted was to go as long and fierce as he could before someone else took him down. No glory involved…just pure satisfaction. Dante’s Abyss was simply paradise.

Moving on, Bardock gazed along the computer terminals, which were now displaying a promotional clip show of the previous tournaments. Only the best footage was used: the goriest deaths, the most gut-wrenching betrayals, and the most dramatic tragedies. Only the best for the Abyss. Bar couldn’t help but let some of the hype get to him. It all seemed like one big soap opera from the outside, but on the inside, it was insane fun. Always watching your back, wondering who was going to get you, and the anticipation that climaxed before each time you killed.

His thoughts trailed off as heard footsteps echoing ahead of him. He’d caught up to Violet pretty quickly. She was obviously bothered by the busty blonde, but the warrior knew better than to touch that double-standard. The only difference was: the chick had acted on what Violet had admitted. If there was one thing in life that Bardock had learned about the females, it was that none of them could stand seeing another in action. Some strange territorial instinct prevented them from ever accepting it as “okay,” even with no attachment of their own. A thought about what either of them actually felt never crossed his mind. All he had to go on was guesswork at the complicated female psyche.

Bardock stepped to the side of Violet and roughly shouldered her as he approached. The human had still been fuming about the incident and was not in the best of moods.

“Done already? That didn’t take you very long,” the woman commented sharply.

“What can I say? I’m quick,” Bardock retorted coolly.

She wheeled on him with accusing eyes. He held his hands up and shrugged. His pitiful stab at humor didn’t cross very well. The fighter wondered why he even had to explain himself at all. He inwardly scoffed, thinking by now she would have gotten him and what he was about. Violet seemed to have understood, but every now and again, it felt like she didn’t comprehend at all. That was one of the reasons he preferred going solo. No complications.

Since he was here, and he had willingly accepted her company, he was not about to walk on eggshells. Never was good at it.

“So tell me. What exactly is the problem?” he asked, stone-faced.

[Celipa]

A bored librarian stood behind her reception desk, her expression plastered with annoyance. Celipa had been talking her ear off for upwards on a half an hour, and was showing no signs of relent.

"...and so I fell right off the cliff, blindfold on and everything," Cel babbled on. "And that's how I was taken out of Dante's Abyss: Conquest. I suspect I'll do a bit better in this year's Dante's Abyss, though. I was in last year's Dante's - "

The librarian cut her off sharply. "Yes, I'm aware, you've just been rambling about it for the better part of an hour. Now, if you'll excuse me..." she strode away from the desk, and vanished behind a tall bookshelf.

A moment later, Celipa was scanning the library for a new victim. She saw none, and sighed. The library was devoid of anyone interesting looking. In fact, the library was devoid of anything interesting period. Books bored the saiyaness, and it had probably been well over a year since she had actually read a book cover to cover. Text disinterested her.

There was an empty corner of the library in the back, and Celipa crawled underneath a table set for library goers to read upon. The femme fatale curled up into a comfortable ball on the floor, and yawned widely. She enjoyed sleeping in obscure places. One never knew what sort of excitement they could awaken to when they slept in a public place. Her eyes scanned the room, and no one had noticed her preparing for a catnap beneath the table.

Excellent.

She tilted her hat down over her eyes, and slumber embraced the saiyaness quickly and gently. She was snoozing quietly beneath the table in less than a minute.

---

In her dreams, Celipa was standing before a team of well-trained sculptors. One of them held a detailed drawing of Cel, and was evaluating it whilst he lifted it aloft. The others crowded around a hunk of gold, chisels and hammers in hand.

"You're beautiful in this light, Miss Celipa," one of them stated. "I sure hope I can capture that beauty in the sculpture."

"Tell us again about how you defeated all of those competitors in Dante's Abyss!" one shouted out.

---

In the physical world, Celipa smiled contentedly in her sleep.

[Zangya]

Zangya’s comprehension of laziness was rather limited. She had never really been one to shy away from manual labor because she ‘didn’t want to do it’—especially if it was specified in her job description that it was, indeed, a part of her job. This was why she was so frustrated with today’s attendant in the barracks. Technically, they weren’t supposed to leave—but Zangya had been forced to make an exception.

She’d been lonely over the past day and a half or so with nothing to do, so she needed someone, or something, to keep her occupied. It had hit her, at that moment, that a book would be nice. However, much to her discontent, the attendant claimed that he was ‘sick’ and ‘didn’t think it’d be healthy to exert so much energy.’ What the heck? It was a part of his job description—heck, she’d read it on the bulletin board that hung precariously in there:

If you've been accepted, you will be escorted to a private barracks via an elevator. In the barracks there are 44 beds, numbered 1-44. You can meet, greet and strategize here. You can also still check out books from the DA Library via one of the attendants. You can also use the attendants to shop.

Ah, how wimpy men had become these days—Zangya’s mind then fluttered to the idea that perhaps she should just go out and do it herself. She didn’t know which book she wanted anyways. So she slipped out of the barracks, past the ‘sick’ attendant, and found the library along the way.

The library had always been a place that Zangya found calming. Now, looking upon her, and her tough-girl exterior, one may have thought that Zangya would not have enjoyed the relative peace the library offered—the fact of the matter was, she really didn’t, but on days such as this, where there was nothing to do and she was frustrated, she found that nothing much could calm her mind except for a good book, which is how she had found herself standing curiously in front of the shelf that read ‘S.’

“Strategy: A Beginner’s Guide.” Interesting. She’d never seen this book before, and she felt that she wasn’t exactly that good at strategy. She could endure the harsh island—she had the willpower. Maybe not the strength or the stamina, but she wouldn’t give up, no matter how weak and tortured she felt. Intelligence she had always felt so average in. So, without further thought, she pulled the book from the shelf.

A quiet spot—the corner. Zangya’s feet took her towards the back corner of the library, where she was quite sure no one would come. She sat down at the table, opened the book, and began to read.

“Chapter One: Getting the Lay of the La—”

“Ouch,” said a voice from underneath the table. Suddenly, Zangya realized that she had, indeed, just kicked something—she’d thought it to be the table legs, perhaps, because it was quite stern, but perhaps it was just a bony woman’s arm? She peeked under the table, and found that it was someone she preferred not to associate with.

Celipa.

The Ader stood, turned cordially, and began to walk off. “Hey,” Celipa shouted after her, and many hushing noises could be heard from across the library, “What’s up? Why you leaving?” The saiyan obviously hadn’t recognized her yet. Hesitantly, Zangya turned. “Oh.” Celipa’s single utterance was one of realization. “How you doing, Zangya?” she continued, a grin plastered on her face. The raven-haired woman stepped confidently up to Zangya, so much so that she could look down at the Ader, who was rather short compared to the saiyaness.

“Afternoon, Celipa,” Zangya muttered politely. The two could feel the tension in the air. “I can say that I’m doing very well—in fact, I’m quite good. My face doesn’t hurt anymore.” Zangya’s mouth wanted to mock the saiyan, but she could find no grounds.

“Good, I guess. Maybe I’ll fix your face back how it was.” Zangya’s eyes looked sharply up at the Saiyan’s face. She sighed, and walked over to the table, laying her book down. “What’s the matter, Zangya?” the woman asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Zangya replied as Celipa inched closer to her. This was her chance. Her chance for redemption—but she couldn’t do it—she couldn’t release any energy before the competition. That’s why she’d gotten the book, for goodness’ sakes! “Nope, nothing’s the matter.”

“You sure? You sure your face isn’t burning again? Feel like standing on the top of a hill now? I meant to ask you—how was that tumble down the hill? Looked a lot of fun from my point of—agh!” The saiyan woman stumbled back, Zangya’s fist connecting with her gut. “What the—” she tried to stutter, but she didn’t have time; Zangya’s other fist came up and pelted her jaw, sending her careening to the floor. “Why, you little harlot, I’m going to kill you.”

“Show, don’t tell, Celipa.”

“Bring it on.”

OOC: I set us up, Cel. If you want to continue the roleplaying aspect of it, go ahead and just continue it in here. If you want to make a "spar" or "fight" out of it, go ahead and post in there, just if it's a fight, specify that neither of us is gonna die at the end. After the staff declares one of us a winner, we can roleplay Cel and Zangya getting reprimanded for fighting in the library, but not being disqualified.

[Retane]

He entered the building with after overhearing a bit about some of the . He looked around finding a map ahead of him and studied it closely. It had various areas and exhibits marked and highlighted, like the Hall of Champions, and The Making of The Abyss, but he desired answers of the past. He saw that the closest area that may have some clue to what he wanted to know wasn't far and quietly took off in the direction, his boots only making faint taps, even hard for his own hearing to detect.

He wanted to know, what it was all really about, this Dante Abyss. He wanted to know if it was a game? Or was it perhaps actually real? The physical pain had been real both times he had found himself wondering asbout in the Abyss. He had even spewed forth the salty water from his eyes last time. Crying over the loss of Tapion, his old comrads younger brother. It had been the first time he had ever felt ant real caring emotion to anyone, and he was unsure if he so liked it.

Emotion was after wll, for weak, was it not?

Retane entered the Hall of '07 and his eyes were attracted to the statue of himself up ahead and to his right. He approached the statue noting that all the competitors of last years event were alligned along the walls stretching down to the end. He noted Tapion, Raspbery, Android 15, Pikkon, Zangya, Minoshia and a few others had been among the statues but found the need to stare uopon himself.

The lifelike statue had the emerald feind, his cloak, frozen in time, as it had been flapping in the air. His eyes seemed to depict hatred and pain while his visage was a snarl. In his hand, pointing outward, was the nail gun that he had started with in '07. Something was familiar about this statue and Retane knew what it was.

It was just after he had unlocked the legendary SNS, and was going after Jeice and Paragus for the 'death' of Tapion.

He didn't avert his eyes, but instead pondered that it was caring emotion that had caused the new found power. Did this mean that caring emotion wasn't a weakness?