12-03-2009, 07:44 AM
The pain was everywhere, and it was nowhere. With every step, every shift of his weight, and every punch he threw his muscles, tendons, ligaments and bones screamed at him. The crying pleas came fast and hard, tearing through his nerves and slashing at his will. His body urged him to stop fighting. His mind begged him to cease, it pleaded with him to close his eyes and slip into oblivion – everything he knew ordered him to submit.
Except for his heart, the powerful vascular organ pumped with fierce vigor, desperately trying to keep him alive. It was his heart, and his heart alone, that drove him forward, championing his conviction with every step.
Every now and then, when his vision blurred and his lungs were ready to surrender, he could hear her speaking to him. It came as a faint, intimate whisper, and vanished as quickly as it had come. In the moment when her voice reverberated through his essence he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, reach out, and touch her. He was close now. The end was nigh. But as soon as her voice slipped away and his soul’s eye snapped open he knew all too well that his demise could not be his solution. She was with him now to remind him of that simple fact: that death would bring no relief. She was instilling within him a fiery hope. After all, Alice was not bound to some arbitrary ethereal plane; her memory existed only within his heart, and within his soul. When she was with him no amount of pain could slow him down. A fist and a foot could harm him, of course, but they would only damage his body. The things that mattered, his heart and his soul, well, she protected them now. And that was all he could ask for.
Belle rushed forward. Trafford tried to flee, but his legs would only allow him a slow, meaningless stagger. His adversary closed the distance almost immediately, not even bothering to slow down before he fired an overhand haymaker.
Alex’s eyes instinctively flickered towards the incoming hammer of flesh and bone, as if he needed reassurance that it was indeed real. Before the blow landed his gaze dropped to Hibiki’s menacing countenance; his widened stare was ablaze with determination – flames of passion danced amongst his sky blue irises. This peculiar, orange haired brawler had meant exactly what he said. He fully intended to kill the formerly-well-dressed combatant. This was nothing new, and it was ultimately irrelevant. Trafford no longer feared his own end. Nothing was permanent, not even death.
A bellowing roar brought him back to reality just in time for the collision, which was something he would not have minded missing. As Belle’s knuckles crashed against the bridge of his nose his head snapped violently backwards. A pool of blood that had been slowly gathering in his mouth was ejected immediately, spewing outwards in a volcanic shower of crimson ooze that, eventually, rained down over the both of them.
“I’m going to kill you!” His opponent screamed through a scowl.
Alex was still stumbling backwards from the first blow when a powerful uppercut landed square against the center of his abdomen. His feet popped off the ground for a minute, as his body doubled over in agony. Trafford clutched his stomach with both hands, resisting the urge to vomit. He could hardly breathe. In his desperate attempt to ascertain oxygen, a hollow, repugnant wheezing escaped his lips. Belle’s hands came done and rested gently on the back of his skull, before suddenly jerking his head down into his driving knee.
The blow dropped Alex with ease, his body collapsed into a useless heap on the coarse sand, which lifted a thin veil of dust into the air around his sprawled out figure. The titanic sphere of light returned, occupying a majority of his vision, and then darkness. A Cimmerian shade swallowed him, drowning him in its eternal relaxation. For a moment, he was comfortable and at peace. In that instant, he smiled inside. This was where he wanted to be. All his pain, all his sorrow, all his hurt vanished – a burden removed.
I love you.
Alice’s whisper resonated throughout his slowing heart, spurring it into action. As always, it was his heart, and nothing more.
It was not easy fighting two battles, one against a real, physical opponent, and one against yourself. The physical nature of a battle was not difficult. Gritting your teeth and getting back up when it would be easier to lie flat, refusing to surrender one’s life to another, simple standing when your body refuses to comply – these are the characteristics of a true warrior. Reaching deep inside one’s soul and finding the will to step forward when all the odds are stacked against you. That was the hard part. That took heart.
His eyes snapped open, but his body remained as battered and bruised as it had been before. Belle wrapped the fingers of both hands around his throat and jerked him back onto his feet. As Alex’s limp body was forcefully erected, the orange-haired warrior removed a single hand from the entertainer’s neck, balled it into a fist, and then brought it back beside his ear. The cocked set of knuckles tensed and trembled with adrenaline and anger.
Trafford inhaled deeply, and made his move. The fist was nothing to him now; there was only Alice and this . . . obstacle. It was one or the other. His choice was simple.
One of the psychokinetic entertainer’s free hands shot up from his waist and latched around Belle’s wrist, desperately trying to wrench his neck free from this dangerous situation. As his long, bony fingers wrapped themselves around the boy’s calloused flesh Hibiki unexpectedly reeled backwards, then his cocked bone-cannon dropped uselessly against his side and his imprisoning hand instantly released its menacing chokehold.
The strange phenomenon that had occurred in his fight with Vad Zulenka repeated itself. His tattered and burned opponent’s mouth dropped into a sickening gape and his eyes burst open. His skin grew taut and the veins beneath pressed against the tightened flesh. Waves upon waves of refreshment, seemingly manifesting from nowhere, swelled through Alex’s body. He breathed in deeply and drew from the sweet, nurturing air. He did not know how to explain such a feeling, the only way to describe it was that he felt as if his ‘batteries’ were recharging.
After only a few moments, Belle jerked his hand free. Clutching his sore wrist, the brawler staggered backwards and shot a confused and concerned look at his talented nemesis.
“This . . . is . . . it,” Trafford struggled to mutter through his incessant wheezing. He inhaled, straightening his back and standing fully erect for the first time in awhile.
“Impossible,” Belle hissed through gritted teeth. He, like Alex, took the opportunity to right himself – dropping his body into a combative stance. The balls of his feet dug into the loose sand, and then, without a moment of hesitation, the younger combatant shot forward like a wrecking ball.
Trafford grinned and flicked his wrist. A wall of sand leapt into the air between them, before flashing gold and exploding into a thin wall of smoke. Although unharmed, Hibiki slid to a stop and stared into the murky mass that slowly dissipated between them.
Alex rushed through; the parting veil wisped around his body and rolled over his extremities. Sweat and blood glistened across his meager, yet defined, frame. His muzzle was covered in constantly-leaking crimson ooze, which had flowed like a river down his neck and spread across his upper torso. Even his hair was matted with the thick, opaque fluid.
The young telekinetic screamed, and his war cry echoed uncontrollably against the coliseum’s stone walls. He never bellowed. But now, with the veins practically protruding from his throat, he uncharacteristically rushed into a fist fight. The old pair of leather gloves was glimmering with a sharp golden brilliance as he readied a strike.
Taking a page from his opponent’s book, Trafford threw all his weight into a lunging haymaker. Belle brought his forearms in front of his face, desperately trying to parry the attack from his enraged assailant. The blow caught him on the forearm, but the controlled explosion that resulted from the impact knocked his defenses to the side. Following immediately with his free hand, Alex drove a sloppy hook into his foe’s ribcage. Upon connection, the glove let off a small detonation that sent the victim sprawling off to the side.
Planting hard, Belle shot back towards the still-advancing Trafford. The brawler’s lowered shoulder drove mercilessly into the physically weaker man’s abdomen. The two collapsed in a sweat-covered entanglement, each clawing and shoving at the other. With an advantage in sight, the orange haired boy shot his palm into Alex’s chest and threw a leg over his waist, effectively mounting him. Sitting up, the former entertainer threw his arms around his opponent and clamped down on Hibiki’s pulsating biceps.
This was his chance. There had only been a few real opportunities in this battle, moments when the fight was on the line and each man’s next move, and his next thought, would determine the outcome of their personal war. Many would refer to his plan as idiotic, and some might call him suicidal – but he deemed it an act of sheer faith. In his attempt to kill Belle, he risked sealing his own fate.
I can save you.
Alice whispered, and Alex smiled. Did anything else matter?
Trafford released Belle and placed his palms squarely against the man’s chest. With a simultaneous thrust of both his arms and his hips, he managed to buck the man from his advantageous position and dislodge his foe. As he lifted himself to his feet, the sand beneath him sparked a magnificent shade of gold, before erupting into a miniscule explosion and shooting him backwards – separating the two warriors.
“How many times can you escape death?” Alexander spoke, his voice breaking and wavering as he struggled to form sentences. He wiped a stream of blood from the corner of his mouth and grinned. He had already lived for nothing, perhaps, now, he would suffer for something. He could only imagine that a life with meaning was infinitely greater than one without. Finally, after nineteen long years, he was ready to live what he had so longed for – an existence with purpose.
Belle grunted, and started forward.
“If I die, Belle, then I am taking you with me,” Trafford spoke aloud, making sure his opponent could hear. His brow relaxed and the wrinkles that lined his forehead dissipated, his blood stained visage loosened and a wave of peace showered over his body. Closing his eyes, he imagined Alice was standing beside him.
Alexander raised both his arms so that they were parallel with the earth. Rotating his wrists, he lifted both palms to the sky, and towards the titanic sphere whose sight he had taken refuge in on so many occasions during this fight. With a silent order, he commanded a sea of sand to be lifted between himself and his opponent – guaranteeing him the separation that he needed. Only a fool would cross his psychokinetic minefield.
In the corner of his eye Belle caught a faint shimmer. Snapping his neck around, he searched for the source of the golden glitter. His jaw slacked once more and his eyes widened as his visage took upon the appearance of a helpless child. He immediately understood what his foe was doing.
“Look man,” The orange haired man spoke in a strong, commanding tone, “Don’t do this . . .”
Everything was glowing with the familiar shade of Alex’s power. Hibiki suddenly lost his breath, and dropped to one knee. It was happening again, he could feel his energy being siphoned from his body, but how? Trafford was dozens of yards away!
Ace grimaced. He did not understand it himself, but somehow he had opened a psychokinetic connection between his own mind and his opponent. It was unreal, the feeling of Belle’s energy being transferred into his own core, only to be recycled and reused as his own. He could not stop now; the ball was already in motion.
The stadium itself began to shake violently. The columns and the chairs trembled ambitiously as they were augmented with raw power. Endless blankets of sand tossed and turned playfully in the air, with every movement the sun’s rays reflected against their glimmering surface – everything was so beautiful, and yet so dangerous. It was ironic how those two magnificent rarities, beauty and danger, often traveled hand in hand.
He did not care anymore; Alex continued to pump his energy, and that of his opponent, into every object that he could see.
It is time, Alexander. I will protect you.
Alice’s whisper returned. She had been the only person that he had ever allowed to call him by his complete first name. Although, she giggled every time she said it, because, as she had told him, “it was just too adorable.” His heart fluttered, and he couldn’t help but smile.
Only through pain would he find absolution, but only through her would he find salvation.
“I trust you,” Trafford whispered in a volume that was nearly inaudible. He dropped his arms to his side and let his body relax. In the moment that his hands slapped loosely against his hips, everything began to explode. It was chaos, sheer, beautiful chaos. “And I love you.”
He dropped his head, and his body was instantly swallowed by an inescapable wave of destruction.
It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, or it could have been days. Time was irrelevant when facing death. Regardless of what had transgressed, the explosions had ceased, and the massive columns of black, opaque smoke had begun to dissipate into the cool breeze.
Somewhere, lying within the aftermath, both Trafford and Belle stirred. Alice had kept her promise, and the orange-haired brawler had proved, once again, that he was the hardest person to kill in this entire fucking universe.
Except for his heart, the powerful vascular organ pumped with fierce vigor, desperately trying to keep him alive. It was his heart, and his heart alone, that drove him forward, championing his conviction with every step.
Every now and then, when his vision blurred and his lungs were ready to surrender, he could hear her speaking to him. It came as a faint, intimate whisper, and vanished as quickly as it had come. In the moment when her voice reverberated through his essence he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, reach out, and touch her. He was close now. The end was nigh. But as soon as her voice slipped away and his soul’s eye snapped open he knew all too well that his demise could not be his solution. She was with him now to remind him of that simple fact: that death would bring no relief. She was instilling within him a fiery hope. After all, Alice was not bound to some arbitrary ethereal plane; her memory existed only within his heart, and within his soul. When she was with him no amount of pain could slow him down. A fist and a foot could harm him, of course, but they would only damage his body. The things that mattered, his heart and his soul, well, she protected them now. And that was all he could ask for.
Belle rushed forward. Trafford tried to flee, but his legs would only allow him a slow, meaningless stagger. His adversary closed the distance almost immediately, not even bothering to slow down before he fired an overhand haymaker.
Alex’s eyes instinctively flickered towards the incoming hammer of flesh and bone, as if he needed reassurance that it was indeed real. Before the blow landed his gaze dropped to Hibiki’s menacing countenance; his widened stare was ablaze with determination – flames of passion danced amongst his sky blue irises. This peculiar, orange haired brawler had meant exactly what he said. He fully intended to kill the formerly-well-dressed combatant. This was nothing new, and it was ultimately irrelevant. Trafford no longer feared his own end. Nothing was permanent, not even death.
A bellowing roar brought him back to reality just in time for the collision, which was something he would not have minded missing. As Belle’s knuckles crashed against the bridge of his nose his head snapped violently backwards. A pool of blood that had been slowly gathering in his mouth was ejected immediately, spewing outwards in a volcanic shower of crimson ooze that, eventually, rained down over the both of them.
“I’m going to kill you!” His opponent screamed through a scowl.
Alex was still stumbling backwards from the first blow when a powerful uppercut landed square against the center of his abdomen. His feet popped off the ground for a minute, as his body doubled over in agony. Trafford clutched his stomach with both hands, resisting the urge to vomit. He could hardly breathe. In his desperate attempt to ascertain oxygen, a hollow, repugnant wheezing escaped his lips. Belle’s hands came done and rested gently on the back of his skull, before suddenly jerking his head down into his driving knee.
The blow dropped Alex with ease, his body collapsed into a useless heap on the coarse sand, which lifted a thin veil of dust into the air around his sprawled out figure. The titanic sphere of light returned, occupying a majority of his vision, and then darkness. A Cimmerian shade swallowed him, drowning him in its eternal relaxation. For a moment, he was comfortable and at peace. In that instant, he smiled inside. This was where he wanted to be. All his pain, all his sorrow, all his hurt vanished – a burden removed.
I love you.
Alice’s whisper resonated throughout his slowing heart, spurring it into action. As always, it was his heart, and nothing more.
It was not easy fighting two battles, one against a real, physical opponent, and one against yourself. The physical nature of a battle was not difficult. Gritting your teeth and getting back up when it would be easier to lie flat, refusing to surrender one’s life to another, simple standing when your body refuses to comply – these are the characteristics of a true warrior. Reaching deep inside one’s soul and finding the will to step forward when all the odds are stacked against you. That was the hard part. That took heart.
His eyes snapped open, but his body remained as battered and bruised as it had been before. Belle wrapped the fingers of both hands around his throat and jerked him back onto his feet. As Alex’s limp body was forcefully erected, the orange-haired warrior removed a single hand from the entertainer’s neck, balled it into a fist, and then brought it back beside his ear. The cocked set of knuckles tensed and trembled with adrenaline and anger.
Trafford inhaled deeply, and made his move. The fist was nothing to him now; there was only Alice and this . . . obstacle. It was one or the other. His choice was simple.
One of the psychokinetic entertainer’s free hands shot up from his waist and latched around Belle’s wrist, desperately trying to wrench his neck free from this dangerous situation. As his long, bony fingers wrapped themselves around the boy’s calloused flesh Hibiki unexpectedly reeled backwards, then his cocked bone-cannon dropped uselessly against his side and his imprisoning hand instantly released its menacing chokehold.
The strange phenomenon that had occurred in his fight with Vad Zulenka repeated itself. His tattered and burned opponent’s mouth dropped into a sickening gape and his eyes burst open. His skin grew taut and the veins beneath pressed against the tightened flesh. Waves upon waves of refreshment, seemingly manifesting from nowhere, swelled through Alex’s body. He breathed in deeply and drew from the sweet, nurturing air. He did not know how to explain such a feeling, the only way to describe it was that he felt as if his ‘batteries’ were recharging.
After only a few moments, Belle jerked his hand free. Clutching his sore wrist, the brawler staggered backwards and shot a confused and concerned look at his talented nemesis.
“This . . . is . . . it,” Trafford struggled to mutter through his incessant wheezing. He inhaled, straightening his back and standing fully erect for the first time in awhile.
“Impossible,” Belle hissed through gritted teeth. He, like Alex, took the opportunity to right himself – dropping his body into a combative stance. The balls of his feet dug into the loose sand, and then, without a moment of hesitation, the younger combatant shot forward like a wrecking ball.
Trafford grinned and flicked his wrist. A wall of sand leapt into the air between them, before flashing gold and exploding into a thin wall of smoke. Although unharmed, Hibiki slid to a stop and stared into the murky mass that slowly dissipated between them.
Alex rushed through; the parting veil wisped around his body and rolled over his extremities. Sweat and blood glistened across his meager, yet defined, frame. His muzzle was covered in constantly-leaking crimson ooze, which had flowed like a river down his neck and spread across his upper torso. Even his hair was matted with the thick, opaque fluid.
The young telekinetic screamed, and his war cry echoed uncontrollably against the coliseum’s stone walls. He never bellowed. But now, with the veins practically protruding from his throat, he uncharacteristically rushed into a fist fight. The old pair of leather gloves was glimmering with a sharp golden brilliance as he readied a strike.
Taking a page from his opponent’s book, Trafford threw all his weight into a lunging haymaker. Belle brought his forearms in front of his face, desperately trying to parry the attack from his enraged assailant. The blow caught him on the forearm, but the controlled explosion that resulted from the impact knocked his defenses to the side. Following immediately with his free hand, Alex drove a sloppy hook into his foe’s ribcage. Upon connection, the glove let off a small detonation that sent the victim sprawling off to the side.
Planting hard, Belle shot back towards the still-advancing Trafford. The brawler’s lowered shoulder drove mercilessly into the physically weaker man’s abdomen. The two collapsed in a sweat-covered entanglement, each clawing and shoving at the other. With an advantage in sight, the orange haired boy shot his palm into Alex’s chest and threw a leg over his waist, effectively mounting him. Sitting up, the former entertainer threw his arms around his opponent and clamped down on Hibiki’s pulsating biceps.
This was his chance. There had only been a few real opportunities in this battle, moments when the fight was on the line and each man’s next move, and his next thought, would determine the outcome of their personal war. Many would refer to his plan as idiotic, and some might call him suicidal – but he deemed it an act of sheer faith. In his attempt to kill Belle, he risked sealing his own fate.
I can save you.
Alice whispered, and Alex smiled. Did anything else matter?
Trafford released Belle and placed his palms squarely against the man’s chest. With a simultaneous thrust of both his arms and his hips, he managed to buck the man from his advantageous position and dislodge his foe. As he lifted himself to his feet, the sand beneath him sparked a magnificent shade of gold, before erupting into a miniscule explosion and shooting him backwards – separating the two warriors.
“How many times can you escape death?” Alexander spoke, his voice breaking and wavering as he struggled to form sentences. He wiped a stream of blood from the corner of his mouth and grinned. He had already lived for nothing, perhaps, now, he would suffer for something. He could only imagine that a life with meaning was infinitely greater than one without. Finally, after nineteen long years, he was ready to live what he had so longed for – an existence with purpose.
Belle grunted, and started forward.
“If I die, Belle, then I am taking you with me,” Trafford spoke aloud, making sure his opponent could hear. His brow relaxed and the wrinkles that lined his forehead dissipated, his blood stained visage loosened and a wave of peace showered over his body. Closing his eyes, he imagined Alice was standing beside him.
Alexander raised both his arms so that they were parallel with the earth. Rotating his wrists, he lifted both palms to the sky, and towards the titanic sphere whose sight he had taken refuge in on so many occasions during this fight. With a silent order, he commanded a sea of sand to be lifted between himself and his opponent – guaranteeing him the separation that he needed. Only a fool would cross his psychokinetic minefield.
In the corner of his eye Belle caught a faint shimmer. Snapping his neck around, he searched for the source of the golden glitter. His jaw slacked once more and his eyes widened as his visage took upon the appearance of a helpless child. He immediately understood what his foe was doing.
“Look man,” The orange haired man spoke in a strong, commanding tone, “Don’t do this . . .”
Everything was glowing with the familiar shade of Alex’s power. Hibiki suddenly lost his breath, and dropped to one knee. It was happening again, he could feel his energy being siphoned from his body, but how? Trafford was dozens of yards away!
Ace grimaced. He did not understand it himself, but somehow he had opened a psychokinetic connection between his own mind and his opponent. It was unreal, the feeling of Belle’s energy being transferred into his own core, only to be recycled and reused as his own. He could not stop now; the ball was already in motion.
The stadium itself began to shake violently. The columns and the chairs trembled ambitiously as they were augmented with raw power. Endless blankets of sand tossed and turned playfully in the air, with every movement the sun’s rays reflected against their glimmering surface – everything was so beautiful, and yet so dangerous. It was ironic how those two magnificent rarities, beauty and danger, often traveled hand in hand.
He did not care anymore; Alex continued to pump his energy, and that of his opponent, into every object that he could see.
It is time, Alexander. I will protect you.
Alice’s whisper returned. She had been the only person that he had ever allowed to call him by his complete first name. Although, she giggled every time she said it, because, as she had told him, “it was just too adorable.” His heart fluttered, and he couldn’t help but smile.
Only through pain would he find absolution, but only through her would he find salvation.
“I trust you,” Trafford whispered in a volume that was nearly inaudible. He dropped his arms to his side and let his body relax. In the moment that his hands slapped loosely against his hips, everything began to explode. It was chaos, sheer, beautiful chaos. “And I love you.”
He dropped his head, and his body was instantly swallowed by an inescapable wave of destruction.
~~~*~~~
It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, or it could have been days. Time was irrelevant when facing death. Regardless of what had transgressed, the explosions had ceased, and the massive columns of black, opaque smoke had begun to dissipate into the cool breeze.
Somewhere, lying within the aftermath, both Trafford and Belle stirred. Alice had kept her promise, and the orange-haired brawler had proved, once again, that he was the hardest person to kill in this entire fucking universe.
![[Image: alext.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v234/waffuru/alext.jpg)