12-12-2009, 09:56 PM
Sophia remained uncharacteristically silent as the other three remaining contestants awkwardly shuffled about, fixating their glares on the four mercenaries that surrounding them as if it would have affected matters any. They were paid to be there. They were paid to take abuse, and more importantly, they were paid to not take slack from anyone, let alone four youngsters who had resorted to shriveling up in fear at the mere sight of danger. The healer stole a momentary glace at Sage, who had proven time and time again that she was the only person who had any idea what was going on at any given point.
She scoffed—it was kind of pathetic, really. How long had she been on the island? A couple days? A few? Weeks seemed more like it, and with no discernable passing of time, she had no way of telling. She had fought so hard to remain alive, though her existence seemed to be neither living nor dead. She merely floated along, watching both friend and stranger alike get picked off one-by-one. Now she stood, facing her worst nightmare as the competitors stood in a semi-circle, glancing around for someone to make the first move.
Then there was Sage. Why she chose that moment to announce her traumatized childhood was beyond Sophia. Maybe it was a tactic she deployed to lower all of her guards, though a glance at the broken-down girl didn’t exactly reveal the capacity for such a cold-hearted strategy. Regardless, her story only made a difficult situation worse. After all, who could possibly try to fight someone who had just announced that she had been raped? Nobody with a beating heart, Sophia surmised.
“That was a great story,” Hollywood sighed, adjusting the sunglasses that hung just over his nose. “Doesn’t particularly matter, but it was good. Lots of conflict.”
“Don’t tease the poor child, Ray,” Kristanna hissed.
“Oh, what does it matter?” the man waved her off. “They’re still going to fight. They don’t have a choice.”
“No,” the stoic Namekian breathed beside them. “They don’t.”
His words lingered on the field of their eventual battle, swirling around in their brains until the meaning of the statement sank in. Sophia made sure she looked each person in the face—Ashe, then Sage, then Alexander Trafford—before she even considered her options. Her situation was less dire than the ones of the others. She knew that. After all, they all had lives to live. The afterlife had removed any preconception the healer had ever had about life and death, and the less-than-subtle threats of the mercenaries just didn’t scare her the way she knew they should have.
The choice was still hers to make. Death to her just meant a homecoming to her; life just a vacation. So far, the party had been a bust, and the participants weren’t exactly throwing around confetti. Sage had been sobbing for quite some time, Ashe tried her best to console her, and Trafford was standing off to the side, undertaking a pattern of puffing on his cigarette and clearing his throat loudly. There was nothing there for her anymore. She had no reason to be there. Sophia didn’t know about anyone else—she merely stared at Hollywood through empty eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Ray Norris rolled his eyes behind shaded lenses. “Did you not hear me? I’m going to need you to fight the other three, or I’ll slaughter you.”
“I…” she glanced behind her shoulder. All eyes were on her. “I heard you.”
“What do you guys need, a cloud of fire?” he threw his hands up in the air. “Go! Fight! Right now! Time’s a-wastin’.”
“It was a pillar of fire, you ignorant jerk,” she whispered, her head lowered. With her mind finally made up, she looked up at him, fire burning behind her eyes, “If you’re going to kill me, then kill me! Do it! I’m standing right here!”
“We have a scrappy one,” Kristanna sighed.
“More like ‘crazy bitch,’” Hollywood frowned. “I didn’t think Dukes would pick someone so…suicidal.”
“She’s one of the fighters brought from the afterlife, garcon,” Pierre offered. “Of course she won’t take you seriously. She’s already dead.”
“Oh yeah, the halo,” Ray spoke, eyes fixated upon the bright ornament floating above her head. “Well…fine, whatever. How’s this: if you don’t fight, I’ll kill all of them. For real.”
Sophia’s eyes opened as her mind poured over all he had said. Could he really do that? Deaths in Dante’s Abyss were supposed to be fake, according to Sage. She endured all the talk about following the rules, but when push came to shove, they would really forsake everything that had been set up. And for what? Spite? Sophia had never felt more disgusted than she felt at that moment.
Her pupils started to dilate, and her muscles tensed up. She felt…anxious as she tried to determine what it was she had to do. It was confusing, to say the least, what her situation had become. It was clear to her that she had to fight her friends, one and all, or their deaths would be on her hands. Besides, Sophia had given up her own life so long ago to prolong the lives of Ashe and Sage. The irony of being the cause of their eventual deaths instead would have been too much for her to bear.
“I…I think he’s bluffing,” Sage said, almost in a whimper.
“I agree,” Ashe frowned.
Sophia shot a glare at Sage. “Can you really take that chance?” she turned her eyes to the pink-haired teenager. “Can you?”
“Why is this such a problem now?” Norris groaned. “They’ve fought each other before, right?”
“People have limits,” Pierre shrugged.
“Limits my ass,” he shook his head. “Guys, your lives are on the line. If it were me, I wouldn’t even hesitate.”
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Alexander Trafford chuckled darkly. He turned to the other three, gripping his Desert Eagles. “Let’s just do it. I don’t know about you, but I’d take fake death over real death any day,” he glanced at Sophia. “No offense.”
Sophia signaled her agreement by lighting azure orbs of ki within the palms of her hands. Trafford’s eyes still bore the same taint of guilt, shame, and sorrow, but he allowed the edges of his lips to curve upward into a slight grin as he raised his weapons. Ashe and Sage slowly moved to the back of her mind as her sight focused on the orange locks of hair. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her heart rate elevated. If Damon Dukes wanted a show, if Hollywood was getting bored, then she would make sure that she would not disappoint.
Both fighters attempted to take the first shot, but they ended up moving simultaneously as Sophia leapt forward and Trafford pulled the trigger of his weapon. The slugs spiraled to their target before the man willed them to explode; Sophia, in her haste, almost took the full force of the shots, though she managed to raise her arms and make herself small enough to squeeze through the flames without taking a fatal amount of damage. Her curiosity was piqued when she detected the presence of ki coated around the shells, but she didn’t have the time to do anything but absorb what she could.
The golden colors of the flame divided as she rushed through them; she skidded on the pavement as she neared the redhead. Drawing upon the miniscule amounts of energy that she had obtained, she amplified the strength of her own beam of ki as she raised two open hands and fired. Alexander widened his eyes and lunged to the side, noting the close call inwardly as the energy soared past him. Sophia could have easily been caught staring at the beauty of the beam before it eventually exploded in the distance as Trafford had been, but she knew that she had a golden opportunity to strike when his head was turned. Placing her hands on the ground, she pushed off of them like a lioness stalking her prey, propelling herself forward with as much speed as she could muster.
Catching a fighter of Trafford’s caliber off guard, as it turned out, was harder than advertised. She wound a fist back as far it would go and pushed it forward with enough force to knock off his head, but he ducked out of the way not even a second before it found its mark. Tightening a fist of his own under his solid leather fingerless glove, he sent a menacing uppercut towards her chin. Exhaling slightly, Sophia rose up and caught the man’s arm with two hands. She failed in completely stopping the blow, but the maneuver softened it somewhat and gave her an advantage in the next exchange.
I don’t even remember how to do this, Sophia thought, trying to recall her fighting lessons, however brief they were. It was Tale Vudo, or…something. If she could gain the leverage by…if she could just strengthen her grip on…Ah, screw it.
She brought up her leg in a swift kick, taking advantage of Trafford’s rather…wide stance. Her attack hit its target (or targets, if she wanted to get specific), and a cough and a hack from Alexander ensued. As he stumbled back in obvious pain, he swung forward wildly and caught Sophia along the jaw.
“This is more like it,” Hollywood sighed in the background. “Dunno what I would have done…”
She scoffed—it was kind of pathetic, really. How long had she been on the island? A couple days? A few? Weeks seemed more like it, and with no discernable passing of time, she had no way of telling. She had fought so hard to remain alive, though her existence seemed to be neither living nor dead. She merely floated along, watching both friend and stranger alike get picked off one-by-one. Now she stood, facing her worst nightmare as the competitors stood in a semi-circle, glancing around for someone to make the first move.
Then there was Sage. Why she chose that moment to announce her traumatized childhood was beyond Sophia. Maybe it was a tactic she deployed to lower all of her guards, though a glance at the broken-down girl didn’t exactly reveal the capacity for such a cold-hearted strategy. Regardless, her story only made a difficult situation worse. After all, who could possibly try to fight someone who had just announced that she had been raped? Nobody with a beating heart, Sophia surmised.
“That was a great story,” Hollywood sighed, adjusting the sunglasses that hung just over his nose. “Doesn’t particularly matter, but it was good. Lots of conflict.”
“Don’t tease the poor child, Ray,” Kristanna hissed.
“Oh, what does it matter?” the man waved her off. “They’re still going to fight. They don’t have a choice.”
“No,” the stoic Namekian breathed beside them. “They don’t.”
His words lingered on the field of their eventual battle, swirling around in their brains until the meaning of the statement sank in. Sophia made sure she looked each person in the face—Ashe, then Sage, then Alexander Trafford—before she even considered her options. Her situation was less dire than the ones of the others. She knew that. After all, they all had lives to live. The afterlife had removed any preconception the healer had ever had about life and death, and the less-than-subtle threats of the mercenaries just didn’t scare her the way she knew they should have.
The choice was still hers to make. Death to her just meant a homecoming to her; life just a vacation. So far, the party had been a bust, and the participants weren’t exactly throwing around confetti. Sage had been sobbing for quite some time, Ashe tried her best to console her, and Trafford was standing off to the side, undertaking a pattern of puffing on his cigarette and clearing his throat loudly. There was nothing there for her anymore. She had no reason to be there. Sophia didn’t know about anyone else—she merely stared at Hollywood through empty eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Ray Norris rolled his eyes behind shaded lenses. “Did you not hear me? I’m going to need you to fight the other three, or I’ll slaughter you.”
“I…” she glanced behind her shoulder. All eyes were on her. “I heard you.”
“What do you guys need, a cloud of fire?” he threw his hands up in the air. “Go! Fight! Right now! Time’s a-wastin’.”
“It was a pillar of fire, you ignorant jerk,” she whispered, her head lowered. With her mind finally made up, she looked up at him, fire burning behind her eyes, “If you’re going to kill me, then kill me! Do it! I’m standing right here!”
“We have a scrappy one,” Kristanna sighed.
“More like ‘crazy bitch,’” Hollywood frowned. “I didn’t think Dukes would pick someone so…suicidal.”
“She’s one of the fighters brought from the afterlife, garcon,” Pierre offered. “Of course she won’t take you seriously. She’s already dead.”
“Oh yeah, the halo,” Ray spoke, eyes fixated upon the bright ornament floating above her head. “Well…fine, whatever. How’s this: if you don’t fight, I’ll kill all of them. For real.”
Sophia’s eyes opened as her mind poured over all he had said. Could he really do that? Deaths in Dante’s Abyss were supposed to be fake, according to Sage. She endured all the talk about following the rules, but when push came to shove, they would really forsake everything that had been set up. And for what? Spite? Sophia had never felt more disgusted than she felt at that moment.
Her pupils started to dilate, and her muscles tensed up. She felt…anxious as she tried to determine what it was she had to do. It was confusing, to say the least, what her situation had become. It was clear to her that she had to fight her friends, one and all, or their deaths would be on her hands. Besides, Sophia had given up her own life so long ago to prolong the lives of Ashe and Sage. The irony of being the cause of their eventual deaths instead would have been too much for her to bear.
“I…I think he’s bluffing,” Sage said, almost in a whimper.
“I agree,” Ashe frowned.
Sophia shot a glare at Sage. “Can you really take that chance?” she turned her eyes to the pink-haired teenager. “Can you?”
“Why is this such a problem now?” Norris groaned. “They’ve fought each other before, right?”
“People have limits,” Pierre shrugged.
“Limits my ass,” he shook his head. “Guys, your lives are on the line. If it were me, I wouldn’t even hesitate.”
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Alexander Trafford chuckled darkly. He turned to the other three, gripping his Desert Eagles. “Let’s just do it. I don’t know about you, but I’d take fake death over real death any day,” he glanced at Sophia. “No offense.”
Sophia signaled her agreement by lighting azure orbs of ki within the palms of her hands. Trafford’s eyes still bore the same taint of guilt, shame, and sorrow, but he allowed the edges of his lips to curve upward into a slight grin as he raised his weapons. Ashe and Sage slowly moved to the back of her mind as her sight focused on the orange locks of hair. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her heart rate elevated. If Damon Dukes wanted a show, if Hollywood was getting bored, then she would make sure that she would not disappoint.
Both fighters attempted to take the first shot, but they ended up moving simultaneously as Sophia leapt forward and Trafford pulled the trigger of his weapon. The slugs spiraled to their target before the man willed them to explode; Sophia, in her haste, almost took the full force of the shots, though she managed to raise her arms and make herself small enough to squeeze through the flames without taking a fatal amount of damage. Her curiosity was piqued when she detected the presence of ki coated around the shells, but she didn’t have the time to do anything but absorb what she could.
The golden colors of the flame divided as she rushed through them; she skidded on the pavement as she neared the redhead. Drawing upon the miniscule amounts of energy that she had obtained, she amplified the strength of her own beam of ki as she raised two open hands and fired. Alexander widened his eyes and lunged to the side, noting the close call inwardly as the energy soared past him. Sophia could have easily been caught staring at the beauty of the beam before it eventually exploded in the distance as Trafford had been, but she knew that she had a golden opportunity to strike when his head was turned. Placing her hands on the ground, she pushed off of them like a lioness stalking her prey, propelling herself forward with as much speed as she could muster.
Catching a fighter of Trafford’s caliber off guard, as it turned out, was harder than advertised. She wound a fist back as far it would go and pushed it forward with enough force to knock off his head, but he ducked out of the way not even a second before it found its mark. Tightening a fist of his own under his solid leather fingerless glove, he sent a menacing uppercut towards her chin. Exhaling slightly, Sophia rose up and caught the man’s arm with two hands. She failed in completely stopping the blow, but the maneuver softened it somewhat and gave her an advantage in the next exchange.
I don’t even remember how to do this, Sophia thought, trying to recall her fighting lessons, however brief they were. It was Tale Vudo, or…something. If she could gain the leverage by…if she could just strengthen her grip on…Ah, screw it.
She brought up her leg in a swift kick, taking advantage of Trafford’s rather…wide stance. Her attack hit its target (or targets, if she wanted to get specific), and a cough and a hack from Alexander ensued. As he stumbled back in obvious pain, he swung forward wildly and caught Sophia along the jaw.
“This is more like it,” Hollywood sighed in the background. “Dunno what I would have done…”