12-02-2009, 11:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-02-2009, 11:06 PM by Belle Hibiki.)
That's more like it.
Ever since he was a boy, Belle had wondered if there was anything else he could have done. If he had been stronger, could he have saved his friend? If he had had more skill, could he have noticed the wolf sooner, and defeated it before needing to snatch Chickie up in his desperate grip? Maybe. But, even if it was true, he knew he was making excuses for himself. A true warrior should not have needed to be stronger; he would have known implicitly that all the power in the world couldn't protect the things most fragile and precious to him.
So ... what exactly was he doing here?
Belle's eyes flicked down as Trafford's gloves began to glow. Given the abilities Trafford had already showed, Belle guessed that he was augmenting the leather in some way - making it harder, more deadly. Lethal.
Was he really just testing his strength? If so, what was the point of that? Hadn't he already told Sage that controlling his power was so important? Why, then, was he trying to see what it was like untethered from concern, unleashed from compassion? Was this really the answer Master Long had expected him to reach?
Alex seemed to be waiting for Belle to make the first move. It might have been an attempt at good strategy, but Belle guessed it was probably more out of necessity than anything else. The other fiery haired youth had taken a hard blow to the head, one that would have knocked any normal person unconscious before they'd even had a chance to hit the ground, and he was still standing. Alex wouldn't be jumping around now, that was for sure; not for a while, anyway.
Dropping his guard, Belle started walking toward his opponent. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe all of his reasons, from the spiritual all the way on down to the practical, had been just excuses to compete in Dante's Abyss; to fight without reservation, and to give it everything he had. It wasn't his strength that prodded him, or even the spirit of his dead friend. Unlike so many that he had seen, Belle had known exactly what he was getting into.
He was here for himself.
He could taste the tang of the grit on the air as he stopped less than an arm's length away from Trafford's raised fists. The ground underneath his bare feet was soft, but firm, giving slightly as he curled his toes. He could smell the blood in Alex's mouth and the pungent odor of their mingling sweat. The birds chirped, three of them, one after the other, each voice subtly different from the last. He could see each individual hair on the young man's head twist and wave as a gentle breeze breathed over the both of them.
Everything was hyper-real in a fight. Everything was clear. No moral questions, no worrying about what might happen the next day, no more having to think about Cog or Sayana or anyone else that needed saving. All that mattered was the moment, the now; and all that the now was was the man before him, his chest bared and fists raised.
Belle lifted his hands, palms open. "Your move."
Alexander twitched. The ground underneath him flashed gold, miniature detonations launching him forward, one fist extended.
Belle caught Alex's blow, not with his hands, but with his face, grunting as the powered glove's energy rippled through his jaw and shook up through his skull. His vision blurred for a heartbeat before settling. Didn't expect that. That was good.
Alex pulled his first fist back and moved to bring up the other for a one-two, but Belle lowered his torso and twisted his upper body to avoid it, bringing one meaty around in a savage right hook that slammed into Trafford's exposed side.
The kineticist gurgled something incoherent, pausing in mid-blow as his eyes bugged out from their sockets. But if he was hurt, he pushed through it faster than Belle would have believed possible. Wincing, Alex laced both gloved fists together and brought them crashing down towards Belle's unprotected head.
Belle only just barely managed to get his arms up in time. Trafford's strike smashed against his raised cross-arm block, and the force of it was enough to make Belle's knees buckle.
Belle lashed out with a kick towards Alex’s knees, but the other swiped his glowing hand through the air, sending up a shower of glowing sand to block the hit.
Time ceased to have any meaning in the arena. Each fighter struck, and each one took the blow. Belle lost count of how many punches he had thrown, how many kicks he had performed, and how many times Trafford had blocked. Each time one of Alex’s fists connected, Belle could feel his body scream out for him to stop, and each time he ignored it, refusing to retreat.
Alex's fist connected with his nose. There was an unpleasant snap like dry twigs in summertime, and suddenly all Belle could smell was and taste was tinny copper. He winced, growled, and rushed forward. He swung a light strike to the right, far too wide to be much of a threat, but just tantalizing enough for Alex to reach out and grab it. As the man's fingers closed around Belle's wrist to shove it away, Belle slammed his head forward.
Alex's own nose eruped in a spray of blood as he staggered back, grunting wetly. Bringing up one hand, he extended his pointer finger and cocked his thumb into the air.
Belle had one fleeting impression of a brilliant star glinting at the tip of Trafford's fingers before a bolt of telekinetic force plowed into his chest. His breath wheezed out of him with the sound of air squeaking out of a balloon. His feet left the ground, his vision spinning almost as bad as it had done while he had been being transported. Struggling to expand his empty lungs, feeling as if he were drowning, he finally managed a breath, collecting himself with just enough time to throw out his arms and legs, landing on all fours.
Trafford fired again, lifting his other hand to add its beat to the timpanic rhythm of psychic bullets raining destruction on the arena as Belle rolled out of the way. Columns shattered and entire rows of seats disappeared as his shots peppered the area. The entire stadium rocked with the raw power being unleashed, the birds finally abandoning their perch and taking to the air. The kineticist tsk'ed. "If you're so good at dodging, I'll just be everywhere at once!"
His hands became a blur, dozens of telekinetic blasts flying in every direction. Boxed off, unable to flee in any direction, Belle gathered his strength and jumped straight up. He soared over the bolts as he arced towards a clear area.
"Bad move," Trafford called after him, smirking.
"Huh?" Belle blinked, then stiffened. "Oh shit!"
"Nowhere to dodge now." Trafford put his hands together, both deadly indexes leveled in Belle's direction. His hands burned with yellow light as he lined up his shot. "Sayonara!" he called, and then fired.
Got to move, got to move! Belle shouted at himself, his jaw tightening as the blast of charged telekinetic energy rushed toward him. Falling through the air, he shifted his weight, trying to twist to the side and let it pass, but it was no good; he wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time! If only there was some way he could push himself ... !
That's it!
"Ha!" Knowing he had only seconds to spare, Belle gathered his energy into his palms and threw them outward. Not at the blast, but at the open air to his side. His power rushed out of him with a solid whomp, a vague, glowing ring of energy spurting from him with all the force of a stiff breeze, pushing him in the opposite direction.
He pulled back his hands just in time as Trafford's blast sizzled past his chest. He felt the heat of its passing wash over his entire body then fade. One of the birds screeched in dismay as the blast shot into the sky.
He exhaled. Falling, he flipped twice and landed safely on the arena's densely packed sand, watching Trafford's confused expression. "Close," he quipped. "You almost - "
A soft fwump interrupted him. Glancing at Trafford, Belle turned his head to look behind, and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "No...!"
One of the birds from before writhed on the ground, screeching and flailing in pain, clawed feet kicking the air. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air, and after a moment, Belle saw why. One wing, pristine and snowy, flapped the air; the other, charred and black, a blanket of burning feathers, wiggled uselessly.
Belle rounded back on Trafford. "What's wrong with you!? Why did you do that!?"
"I... I didn't mean to..." Alex whispered. He looked both surprised and disgusted, though Belle wasn't sure who the emotions were directed at.
Belle growled. "If you can do something like that, learn to pay attention! You - " he stopped, gritting his teeth and wincing as the animal's keening was swiftly joined by others. They swooped down around the fallen, chiruping and bending down to examine the injury. Maybe he should suggest stopping the fight so that they could make sure the bird was going be okay.
He paused, staring at the three of them. Now that he got a good look, the uninjured two were clearly much older than the first. One landed lightly by the slumped figure, and nudged its forehead with its own, then chirruped questioningly.
It's a family...
Belle couldn't explain the sense of loss that filled him. It was silly, but... Was he actually jealous of them? "Look, man," he said, looking at Trafford. "Let's stop."
Trafford, however, had other plans. Lifting his hand, the air around the fighter hummed with latent psychic power, energy bleeding out of him and snapping like an electrical current. His extended hand trembled with the effort of holding it up. He, just like Belle, was clearly feeling the stress of the battle. Neither of them would last much longer at this rate.
Belle snarled. "Come on! Stop fucking around!" he shouted. "We can't just let it lie there! We can fight later!"
"Don't worry," Trafford whispered. "It's not going to suffer."
"What?! What are you talking about?! Have you got dust in your ears or what!?" Belle bellowed as the birds suddenly went into a frenzy of warbling. "I said stop!"
That was when he realized that, despite all the energy Trafford was gathering, none of it seemed to be directed at him. He looked down. The sand underneath him wasn't gold. He lifted his eyes, turned around, and his veins ran cold. "No-!"
Trafford's fingers clenched. The ground underneath the fallen bird glowed brightly, pulsing moreso with every passing second. Both other birds had lifted off, hovering closeby and jibbering as the suddenly sluggish looking wounded.
Belle's pupils shrank. "You can't! It's still alive!"
"Not for long."
"Ngh...!"
There wasn't time to think. There wasn't time to ponder the consequences. There wasn't time to do anything... Anything, except move! Belle wasn't sure when he started running, but the next thing he knew he was flying across the sand, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced across the distance. The field glowed brighter as the bird tiredly lifted its head, eyes closed, and chirped weakly.
"Stop it!"
His tired muscles burned, but he ignored them. He was halfway there! If he could just get there in time...! "Get out of the way!" he shouted, waving the other birds off. They seemed to waver, unsure, then winged away from the red-headed maniac charging for them.
He ran, ran faster than he ever had in his life, faster than he had even fled from Sage. Faster than the wind, swifter than eagles, his eyes watered as he tore forward.
Almost there!
The ground surged, the shimmering light spreading, specs of burning golden light emerging from the soil. Knowing that he would be too late, knowing that he had no chance unless he did, Belle bunched his legs and leaped with all his might, propelling himself straight forward. He reached out his hand, fingers extending, desperately seeking the soft feathers, willing his arm to be longer. Go! GO! the scream echoed inside his head as he passed over the charged ground.
"Got you!" Trafford roared, bringing both hands together. "Bakahutsuha!"
From such a distance, the coliseum normally appeared small. Floating above the meeting point of all four sectors on a cushion of anti-grav generators, the football sized creation was ordinarily hard to discern until one got closer. It was truly a marvel; a monument to the spectacle that Dante's Abyss had become.
And then, all at once, everything changed. The sky seemed to darken. Once peaceably quiet, the stadium rocked on its platform. Glowing at the outer edges, for a moment brighter than the sun, the coliseum's outer ring of arches disintegrated as an immense beam of golden light sliced into the air and raced for the heavens. It was many moments later before the sound of the explosion finally hit, and when it did, it sent all animals scurrying for cover. It was as if a bomb had gone off right in front of their noses, and it was only minutes later that even the most adventurous finally poked their noses out in tremulous bravery to stare at the smoking, blunted tower in the distance.
Trafford's fingers trembled. Spots languidly danced in front of his eyes; he hadn't closed them immediately when the explosion had gone off.
He lowered his hand. The bakahutsuha wasn't his first choice of weapon, but it was unquestionably the most effective. He had put most of his remaining power into the blow, but even he was surprised by the result.
A column of dark, billowing smoke and dust rose from the crater that marked where Belle had once stood. The fighter would have ordinarily been too fast to catch with a move that required so much time and was so obvious, but if choice was taken away from Belle, there were few things more deadly.
He regreted having to kill the bird to do it, though. He wasn't sure whether Alice would have liked it; no, he was sure that she wouldn't have. But it was kill or be killed, and he was only human. Kind of. He hoped she would understand.
Trafford turned and started to walk away. If the judges were watching, which they probably were, it wouldn't be too long before he would be declared the winner and taken away from this stinking place. A good thing, too, he thought, looking up at the thoroughly wrecked coliseum. A few more rounds of their battle, and there might not have been a coliseum left to teleport out of.
Taking another step, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket, Trafford placed the cancer stick into the corner of his mouth, and searched for his lighter. Finding it in his other pocket, his trembling fingers fumbled with the cool steel and dropped it to the ground. Groaning, he bent to pick it up, casting a glance back between his legs.
He stopped, his thoughts of Alice grinding to a halt.
"No," he breathed, "it can't be."
The smoke was thinning, leaving only a light haze of obscuring dust that still had yet to settle. Trafford stared hard, his throat dry, and saw it again: the silhouetted shape of a figure in the cloud. No, a human figure; no, a standing human figure.
Trafford trembled as a wafting breeze stirred the sand, starting to pull the cloud away. "Wh-what does it take to kill you...?... Hm?"
The back that emerged from the shadow wasn't immediately recognizable. Seared and blackened, the once bronzed skin was mottled and warped. Angry red patches broke up a sea of abused flesh, oozing thin trickles of blood that ran down his back and occasionally spattered the ground.
"Shit," Trafford murmured.
Belle shook on the spot. One leg of his pants was completely gone, cut off just before the end of his thigh, which also looked as if someone had stuck it in a furnace. His arms, or what Alex could see of them, were the same. His back was turned, and his hands were held in front of him. His hair was, if possible, even wilder than usual.
The half-saiyan had survived.
Belle took a shaky, rattling breath. He normally would have been able to tell where his injuries were, and how bad. Now it seemed less a matter of what was injured, but what was hurting the least.
He felt as if he were being baked alive. Even the smallest touch of wind felt like rusty nails digging across his skin. He thought he might be trembling, but he wasn't sure; he couldn't really feel his extremities any more beyond how much they stung. But he knew they had to still be there: he was still standing, and he was still holding something.
He ran his fingers over the few soft feathers that remained. The bird's white coat, once so beautiful, was dirty with sand and soil and the lingering touch of ash and flame. It was still under his touch, it eyes fixed on the distance.
Why?
"I don't understand."
The bird stared unblinkingly.
Belle shuddered. Unable to support himself any longer, he fell to one knee. "Tell me... Tell me... What I did wrong..." he whispered, then sucked in a breath. "Tell me!" he shouted, his words echoing back to him on the still air.
No answer.
"I... I held back, just like I was supposed to. So why... Why? ..." His voice broke. He clutched the limp bundle of fading warmth to his chest, shaking. "I don't understand... This isn't right... Y-You're still ... supposed to ... be here..."
His fingers curled. "I was... Stupid... Coming here for myself... And all I've done is gotten you hurt..."
Meridian City, and now this... How many people were going to die because he wasn't strong enough, because he held back? But how could he use all his power when they hurt the ones closest to him? How could he!?
No more.
He hung his head. No tears. Maybe those would come later. Maybe, for this animal, he would shed them for the first time in eight years. But that would have to wait.
Sniffing once, he gently set the broken body down on the sand. Belle pressed his hand to its limp breast, squeezed gently, and stood up. "It was innocent," he said loudly. "Just like Chickie."
He turned to glare at Trafford. "And you killed it. Over a competition." His body tensed as his hair seemed to raise, as if from a static charge. "You killed it."
He could feel the old power surging back into his veins. All of his pain, all of his agony, he turned it upon itself, honing it to a needle sharp, white hot burning point of pure, unbridled anger. His eyes flashed. "You killed it!"
Belle leaped forward. He didn't care about his injuries. He didn't care about the competition. He didn't care about anything at all. All that mattered to him now, all that filled his mind, was fire and death. Chickie. Birdie. Chickie. Birdie. He screamed, his aura snapping to life around his body in a blaze, surrounding his charred muscles like a corona of white fire. "I'll kill you!"
Trafford raised his hands and fired another hail of telekinetic blasts. Belle blurred around three before ducking the fourth and continuing forward. His sky blue eyes hot as coals, he pounced at Trafford, who raised an infused glove to hit him in the jaw, only to find his fist go completely through an ethereal head.
Belle's fist slammed upward into Trafford's gut, his afterimage winking out as the kineticist's ribs cracked. Snarling and bellowing like a mad beast, Belle refused to withdraw his hand, forcing Alex a few inches into the air before pulling back, only to have his other fist whirl around and clobber his opponent straight down.
Alex hit the sand so hard that he literally bounced, a gagging noise popping from his throat as he rose several feet in the air.
Belle spun and shot out his foot, slamming it into Trafford and sending him rocketing off across the arena before blurring out of sight himself. Trafford managed to twist his body, reaching out with his hands and springing them off the ground, altering his course somewhat, trying to get back some control.
But Belle wasn't about to let him off that easy. Flashing into Trafford's path, Belle stood stock still, waiting until the kineticist was almost on top of him before falling backward. Crying bloody murder as the sand stung at his open wounds, he bunched his legs and then pounded them deep into Alex's gut.
Trafford shot into the air, body spinning like a ragdoll. Belle's battered frame momentarily refused to straighten, but he forced himself to roll onto his feet , gathered his strength, and leaped upward.
"It-!"
He flickered in front of Trafford.
"-was!-"
He grabbed the man's ankle, spun, then threw him with all his strength straight back towards the ground.
"-innocent!"
Alex twisted in midair, one eye shut as he started to gather power into his gloves. Belle plunged after him, fire in his eyes and in his heart.
For better or worse, they were going to end this. Now.
Ever since he was a boy, Belle had wondered if there was anything else he could have done. If he had been stronger, could he have saved his friend? If he had had more skill, could he have noticed the wolf sooner, and defeated it before needing to snatch Chickie up in his desperate grip? Maybe. But, even if it was true, he knew he was making excuses for himself. A true warrior should not have needed to be stronger; he would have known implicitly that all the power in the world couldn't protect the things most fragile and precious to him.
So ... what exactly was he doing here?
Belle's eyes flicked down as Trafford's gloves began to glow. Given the abilities Trafford had already showed, Belle guessed that he was augmenting the leather in some way - making it harder, more deadly. Lethal.
Was he really just testing his strength? If so, what was the point of that? Hadn't he already told Sage that controlling his power was so important? Why, then, was he trying to see what it was like untethered from concern, unleashed from compassion? Was this really the answer Master Long had expected him to reach?
Alex seemed to be waiting for Belle to make the first move. It might have been an attempt at good strategy, but Belle guessed it was probably more out of necessity than anything else. The other fiery haired youth had taken a hard blow to the head, one that would have knocked any normal person unconscious before they'd even had a chance to hit the ground, and he was still standing. Alex wouldn't be jumping around now, that was for sure; not for a while, anyway.
Dropping his guard, Belle started walking toward his opponent. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe all of his reasons, from the spiritual all the way on down to the practical, had been just excuses to compete in Dante's Abyss; to fight without reservation, and to give it everything he had. It wasn't his strength that prodded him, or even the spirit of his dead friend. Unlike so many that he had seen, Belle had known exactly what he was getting into.
He was here for himself.
He could taste the tang of the grit on the air as he stopped less than an arm's length away from Trafford's raised fists. The ground underneath his bare feet was soft, but firm, giving slightly as he curled his toes. He could smell the blood in Alex's mouth and the pungent odor of their mingling sweat. The birds chirped, three of them, one after the other, each voice subtly different from the last. He could see each individual hair on the young man's head twist and wave as a gentle breeze breathed over the both of them.
Everything was hyper-real in a fight. Everything was clear. No moral questions, no worrying about what might happen the next day, no more having to think about Cog or Sayana or anyone else that needed saving. All that mattered was the moment, the now; and all that the now was was the man before him, his chest bared and fists raised.
Belle lifted his hands, palms open. "Your move."
Alexander twitched. The ground underneath him flashed gold, miniature detonations launching him forward, one fist extended.
Belle caught Alex's blow, not with his hands, but with his face, grunting as the powered glove's energy rippled through his jaw and shook up through his skull. His vision blurred for a heartbeat before settling. Didn't expect that. That was good.
Alex pulled his first fist back and moved to bring up the other for a one-two, but Belle lowered his torso and twisted his upper body to avoid it, bringing one meaty around in a savage right hook that slammed into Trafford's exposed side.
The kineticist gurgled something incoherent, pausing in mid-blow as his eyes bugged out from their sockets. But if he was hurt, he pushed through it faster than Belle would have believed possible. Wincing, Alex laced both gloved fists together and brought them crashing down towards Belle's unprotected head.
Belle only just barely managed to get his arms up in time. Trafford's strike smashed against his raised cross-arm block, and the force of it was enough to make Belle's knees buckle.
Belle lashed out with a kick towards Alex’s knees, but the other swiped his glowing hand through the air, sending up a shower of glowing sand to block the hit.
Time ceased to have any meaning in the arena. Each fighter struck, and each one took the blow. Belle lost count of how many punches he had thrown, how many kicks he had performed, and how many times Trafford had blocked. Each time one of Alex’s fists connected, Belle could feel his body scream out for him to stop, and each time he ignored it, refusing to retreat.
Alex's fist connected with his nose. There was an unpleasant snap like dry twigs in summertime, and suddenly all Belle could smell was and taste was tinny copper. He winced, growled, and rushed forward. He swung a light strike to the right, far too wide to be much of a threat, but just tantalizing enough for Alex to reach out and grab it. As the man's fingers closed around Belle's wrist to shove it away, Belle slammed his head forward.
Alex's own nose eruped in a spray of blood as he staggered back, grunting wetly. Bringing up one hand, he extended his pointer finger and cocked his thumb into the air.
Belle had one fleeting impression of a brilliant star glinting at the tip of Trafford's fingers before a bolt of telekinetic force plowed into his chest. His breath wheezed out of him with the sound of air squeaking out of a balloon. His feet left the ground, his vision spinning almost as bad as it had done while he had been being transported. Struggling to expand his empty lungs, feeling as if he were drowning, he finally managed a breath, collecting himself with just enough time to throw out his arms and legs, landing on all fours.
Trafford fired again, lifting his other hand to add its beat to the timpanic rhythm of psychic bullets raining destruction on the arena as Belle rolled out of the way. Columns shattered and entire rows of seats disappeared as his shots peppered the area. The entire stadium rocked with the raw power being unleashed, the birds finally abandoning their perch and taking to the air. The kineticist tsk'ed. "If you're so good at dodging, I'll just be everywhere at once!"
His hands became a blur, dozens of telekinetic blasts flying in every direction. Boxed off, unable to flee in any direction, Belle gathered his strength and jumped straight up. He soared over the bolts as he arced towards a clear area.
"Bad move," Trafford called after him, smirking.
"Huh?" Belle blinked, then stiffened. "Oh shit!"
"Nowhere to dodge now." Trafford put his hands together, both deadly indexes leveled in Belle's direction. His hands burned with yellow light as he lined up his shot. "Sayonara!" he called, and then fired.
Got to move, got to move! Belle shouted at himself, his jaw tightening as the blast of charged telekinetic energy rushed toward him. Falling through the air, he shifted his weight, trying to twist to the side and let it pass, but it was no good; he wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time! If only there was some way he could push himself ... !
That's it!
"Ha!" Knowing he had only seconds to spare, Belle gathered his energy into his palms and threw them outward. Not at the blast, but at the open air to his side. His power rushed out of him with a solid whomp, a vague, glowing ring of energy spurting from him with all the force of a stiff breeze, pushing him in the opposite direction.
He pulled back his hands just in time as Trafford's blast sizzled past his chest. He felt the heat of its passing wash over his entire body then fade. One of the birds screeched in dismay as the blast shot into the sky.
He exhaled. Falling, he flipped twice and landed safely on the arena's densely packed sand, watching Trafford's confused expression. "Close," he quipped. "You almost - "
A soft fwump interrupted him. Glancing at Trafford, Belle turned his head to look behind, and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "No...!"
One of the birds from before writhed on the ground, screeching and flailing in pain, clawed feet kicking the air. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air, and after a moment, Belle saw why. One wing, pristine and snowy, flapped the air; the other, charred and black, a blanket of burning feathers, wiggled uselessly.
Belle rounded back on Trafford. "What's wrong with you!? Why did you do that!?"
"I... I didn't mean to..." Alex whispered. He looked both surprised and disgusted, though Belle wasn't sure who the emotions were directed at.
Belle growled. "If you can do something like that, learn to pay attention! You - " he stopped, gritting his teeth and wincing as the animal's keening was swiftly joined by others. They swooped down around the fallen, chiruping and bending down to examine the injury. Maybe he should suggest stopping the fight so that they could make sure the bird was going be okay.
He paused, staring at the three of them. Now that he got a good look, the uninjured two were clearly much older than the first. One landed lightly by the slumped figure, and nudged its forehead with its own, then chirruped questioningly.
It's a family...
Belle couldn't explain the sense of loss that filled him. It was silly, but... Was he actually jealous of them? "Look, man," he said, looking at Trafford. "Let's stop."
Trafford, however, had other plans. Lifting his hand, the air around the fighter hummed with latent psychic power, energy bleeding out of him and snapping like an electrical current. His extended hand trembled with the effort of holding it up. He, just like Belle, was clearly feeling the stress of the battle. Neither of them would last much longer at this rate.
Belle snarled. "Come on! Stop fucking around!" he shouted. "We can't just let it lie there! We can fight later!"
"Don't worry," Trafford whispered. "It's not going to suffer."
"What?! What are you talking about?! Have you got dust in your ears or what!?" Belle bellowed as the birds suddenly went into a frenzy of warbling. "I said stop!"
That was when he realized that, despite all the energy Trafford was gathering, none of it seemed to be directed at him. He looked down. The sand underneath him wasn't gold. He lifted his eyes, turned around, and his veins ran cold. "No-!"
Trafford's fingers clenched. The ground underneath the fallen bird glowed brightly, pulsing moreso with every passing second. Both other birds had lifted off, hovering closeby and jibbering as the suddenly sluggish looking wounded.
Belle's pupils shrank. "You can't! It's still alive!"
"Not for long."
"Ngh...!"
There wasn't time to think. There wasn't time to ponder the consequences. There wasn't time to do anything... Anything, except move! Belle wasn't sure when he started running, but the next thing he knew he was flying across the sand, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced across the distance. The field glowed brighter as the bird tiredly lifted its head, eyes closed, and chirped weakly.
"Stop it!"
His tired muscles burned, but he ignored them. He was halfway there! If he could just get there in time...! "Get out of the way!" he shouted, waving the other birds off. They seemed to waver, unsure, then winged away from the red-headed maniac charging for them.
He ran, ran faster than he ever had in his life, faster than he had even fled from Sage. Faster than the wind, swifter than eagles, his eyes watered as he tore forward.
Almost there!
The ground surged, the shimmering light spreading, specs of burning golden light emerging from the soil. Knowing that he would be too late, knowing that he had no chance unless he did, Belle bunched his legs and leaped with all his might, propelling himself straight forward. He reached out his hand, fingers extending, desperately seeking the soft feathers, willing his arm to be longer. Go! GO! the scream echoed inside his head as he passed over the charged ground.
"Got you!" Trafford roared, bringing both hands together. "Bakahutsuha!"
~+~+~+~+~
From such a distance, the coliseum normally appeared small. Floating above the meeting point of all four sectors on a cushion of anti-grav generators, the football sized creation was ordinarily hard to discern until one got closer. It was truly a marvel; a monument to the spectacle that Dante's Abyss had become.
And then, all at once, everything changed. The sky seemed to darken. Once peaceably quiet, the stadium rocked on its platform. Glowing at the outer edges, for a moment brighter than the sun, the coliseum's outer ring of arches disintegrated as an immense beam of golden light sliced into the air and raced for the heavens. It was many moments later before the sound of the explosion finally hit, and when it did, it sent all animals scurrying for cover. It was as if a bomb had gone off right in front of their noses, and it was only minutes later that even the most adventurous finally poked their noses out in tremulous bravery to stare at the smoking, blunted tower in the distance.
~+~+~+~+~
Trafford's fingers trembled. Spots languidly danced in front of his eyes; he hadn't closed them immediately when the explosion had gone off.
He lowered his hand. The bakahutsuha wasn't his first choice of weapon, but it was unquestionably the most effective. He had put most of his remaining power into the blow, but even he was surprised by the result.
A column of dark, billowing smoke and dust rose from the crater that marked where Belle had once stood. The fighter would have ordinarily been too fast to catch with a move that required so much time and was so obvious, but if choice was taken away from Belle, there were few things more deadly.
He regreted having to kill the bird to do it, though. He wasn't sure whether Alice would have liked it; no, he was sure that she wouldn't have. But it was kill or be killed, and he was only human. Kind of. He hoped she would understand.
Trafford turned and started to walk away. If the judges were watching, which they probably were, it wouldn't be too long before he would be declared the winner and taken away from this stinking place. A good thing, too, he thought, looking up at the thoroughly wrecked coliseum. A few more rounds of their battle, and there might not have been a coliseum left to teleport out of.
Taking another step, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket, Trafford placed the cancer stick into the corner of his mouth, and searched for his lighter. Finding it in his other pocket, his trembling fingers fumbled with the cool steel and dropped it to the ground. Groaning, he bent to pick it up, casting a glance back between his legs.
He stopped, his thoughts of Alice grinding to a halt.
"No," he breathed, "it can't be."
The smoke was thinning, leaving only a light haze of obscuring dust that still had yet to settle. Trafford stared hard, his throat dry, and saw it again: the silhouetted shape of a figure in the cloud. No, a human figure; no, a standing human figure.
Trafford trembled as a wafting breeze stirred the sand, starting to pull the cloud away. "Wh-what does it take to kill you...?... Hm?"
The back that emerged from the shadow wasn't immediately recognizable. Seared and blackened, the once bronzed skin was mottled and warped. Angry red patches broke up a sea of abused flesh, oozing thin trickles of blood that ran down his back and occasionally spattered the ground.
"Shit," Trafford murmured.
Belle shook on the spot. One leg of his pants was completely gone, cut off just before the end of his thigh, which also looked as if someone had stuck it in a furnace. His arms, or what Alex could see of them, were the same. His back was turned, and his hands were held in front of him. His hair was, if possible, even wilder than usual.
The half-saiyan had survived.
~+~+~+~+~
Belle took a shaky, rattling breath. He normally would have been able to tell where his injuries were, and how bad. Now it seemed less a matter of what was injured, but what was hurting the least.
He felt as if he were being baked alive. Even the smallest touch of wind felt like rusty nails digging across his skin. He thought he might be trembling, but he wasn't sure; he couldn't really feel his extremities any more beyond how much they stung. But he knew they had to still be there: he was still standing, and he was still holding something.
He ran his fingers over the few soft feathers that remained. The bird's white coat, once so beautiful, was dirty with sand and soil and the lingering touch of ash and flame. It was still under his touch, it eyes fixed on the distance.
Why?
"I don't understand."
The bird stared unblinkingly.
Belle shuddered. Unable to support himself any longer, he fell to one knee. "Tell me... Tell me... What I did wrong..." he whispered, then sucked in a breath. "Tell me!" he shouted, his words echoing back to him on the still air.
No answer.
"I... I held back, just like I was supposed to. So why... Why? ..." His voice broke. He clutched the limp bundle of fading warmth to his chest, shaking. "I don't understand... This isn't right... Y-You're still ... supposed to ... be here..."
His fingers curled. "I was... Stupid... Coming here for myself... And all I've done is gotten you hurt..."
Meridian City, and now this... How many people were going to die because he wasn't strong enough, because he held back? But how could he use all his power when they hurt the ones closest to him? How could he!?
No more.
He hung his head. No tears. Maybe those would come later. Maybe, for this animal, he would shed them for the first time in eight years. But that would have to wait.
Sniffing once, he gently set the broken body down on the sand. Belle pressed his hand to its limp breast, squeezed gently, and stood up. "It was innocent," he said loudly. "Just like Chickie."
He turned to glare at Trafford. "And you killed it. Over a competition." His body tensed as his hair seemed to raise, as if from a static charge. "You killed it."
He could feel the old power surging back into his veins. All of his pain, all of his agony, he turned it upon itself, honing it to a needle sharp, white hot burning point of pure, unbridled anger. His eyes flashed. "You killed it!"
Belle leaped forward. He didn't care about his injuries. He didn't care about the competition. He didn't care about anything at all. All that mattered to him now, all that filled his mind, was fire and death. Chickie. Birdie. Chickie. Birdie. He screamed, his aura snapping to life around his body in a blaze, surrounding his charred muscles like a corona of white fire. "I'll kill you!"
Trafford raised his hands and fired another hail of telekinetic blasts. Belle blurred around three before ducking the fourth and continuing forward. His sky blue eyes hot as coals, he pounced at Trafford, who raised an infused glove to hit him in the jaw, only to find his fist go completely through an ethereal head.
Belle's fist slammed upward into Trafford's gut, his afterimage winking out as the kineticist's ribs cracked. Snarling and bellowing like a mad beast, Belle refused to withdraw his hand, forcing Alex a few inches into the air before pulling back, only to have his other fist whirl around and clobber his opponent straight down.
Alex hit the sand so hard that he literally bounced, a gagging noise popping from his throat as he rose several feet in the air.
Belle spun and shot out his foot, slamming it into Trafford and sending him rocketing off across the arena before blurring out of sight himself. Trafford managed to twist his body, reaching out with his hands and springing them off the ground, altering his course somewhat, trying to get back some control.
But Belle wasn't about to let him off that easy. Flashing into Trafford's path, Belle stood stock still, waiting until the kineticist was almost on top of him before falling backward. Crying bloody murder as the sand stung at his open wounds, he bunched his legs and then pounded them deep into Alex's gut.
Trafford shot into the air, body spinning like a ragdoll. Belle's battered frame momentarily refused to straighten, but he forced himself to roll onto his feet , gathered his strength, and leaped upward.
"It-!"
He flickered in front of Trafford.
"-was!-"
He grabbed the man's ankle, spun, then threw him with all his strength straight back towards the ground.
"-innocent!"
Alex twisted in midair, one eye shut as he started to gather power into his gloves. Belle plunged after him, fire in his eyes and in his heart.
For better or worse, they were going to end this. Now.
![[Image: Bellesig6-1.jpg]](http://i238.photobucket.com/albums/ff137/catseye543/Bellesig6-1.jpg)