“Boy?!” The saiyan queried as he leapt inches from where Oliver stood. A youthful fire burned in his eyes that the former detective both admired and detested. “You don’t know who you’re talking to old man,” he said, arms waving in the elder’s face in protest, “and we’re not your militia—“
“Trust me, you wouldn’t make the cut.” The Wizard growled, cutting Juno’s dialogue in half. Apparently he hit a sore spot as it provoked the stubborn sprout to make a fist. Unafraid of Oliver Nash—who frankly towered over the boy—Juno thrust his arm forward, but alas it was caught and stopped mid-air by Sophia. Her cheeks were flushed and she pushed the saiyan back a few feet. Clearly bothered, the maiden of mediation spoke up. “Are you two mad?! We’re never going to make it out of here if we kill each-other; stop acting childish, both of you.”
Oliver Nash was silenced for a moment by the woman’s scorn. She was strong willed but naïve, he observed. The lot of them needed to learn their place. Smirking, the Wizard stepped back. He brushed some dust off his chest, almost condescendingly. “That pride will be the death of you out here,” he muttered to his temporary adversary. It earned him an accusing glare from Sophia. This time, though, Juno took the higher road and remained unconfrontational. “Let’s get moving” The saiyan said. With that, the group began their travels—putting tensions aside… for now.
---
The Wizard felt a sudden jolt beneath his rib cage. He cringed, left arm moving to cradle his chest. Quickly, he turned away from the group, to avoid any unwanted attention. -Not again-. He cursed whatever it was that was ailing him; it was the same sensation that struck him in his bout with the titanic beast. There was something changing inside the old man, some bizarre metamorphosis that was born in him that rainy night. It felt like there was a fire moving through his veins, blazing at his core. A faint aura started to resonate from his mark and Oliver’s attention was drawn to his open palm, wherein a white flicker of energy manifested. ‘What is this magic?’ he wondered. Before he lost himself to this phenomenon and risked exposure, he closed his fist. Just as quickly as they had come, the lights went out.
Oliver stepped back into the group, a misfit ensemble of spirits much younger than he. They looked scared, confused, and inexperienced. But he had reason to believe all was not lost in this Hellish wasteland. The Gods were placing their trump in Oliver, he could feel it. And that’s why he was confident he’d escape this place.
“Trust me, you wouldn’t make the cut.” The Wizard growled, cutting Juno’s dialogue in half. Apparently he hit a sore spot as it provoked the stubborn sprout to make a fist. Unafraid of Oliver Nash—who frankly towered over the boy—Juno thrust his arm forward, but alas it was caught and stopped mid-air by Sophia. Her cheeks were flushed and she pushed the saiyan back a few feet. Clearly bothered, the maiden of mediation spoke up. “Are you two mad?! We’re never going to make it out of here if we kill each-other; stop acting childish, both of you.”
Oliver Nash was silenced for a moment by the woman’s scorn. She was strong willed but naïve, he observed. The lot of them needed to learn their place. Smirking, the Wizard stepped back. He brushed some dust off his chest, almost condescendingly. “That pride will be the death of you out here,” he muttered to his temporary adversary. It earned him an accusing glare from Sophia. This time, though, Juno took the higher road and remained unconfrontational. “Let’s get moving” The saiyan said. With that, the group began their travels—putting tensions aside… for now.
---
The Wizard felt a sudden jolt beneath his rib cage. He cringed, left arm moving to cradle his chest. Quickly, he turned away from the group, to avoid any unwanted attention. -Not again-. He cursed whatever it was that was ailing him; it was the same sensation that struck him in his bout with the titanic beast. There was something changing inside the old man, some bizarre metamorphosis that was born in him that rainy night. It felt like there was a fire moving through his veins, blazing at his core. A faint aura started to resonate from his mark and Oliver’s attention was drawn to his open palm, wherein a white flicker of energy manifested. ‘What is this magic?’ he wondered. Before he lost himself to this phenomenon and risked exposure, he closed his fist. Just as quickly as they had come, the lights went out.
Oliver stepped back into the group, a misfit ensemble of spirits much younger than he. They looked scared, confused, and inexperienced. But he had reason to believe all was not lost in this Hellish wasteland. The Gods were placing their trump in Oliver, he could feel it. And that’s why he was confident he’d escape this place.