12-13-2009, 06:19 AM
It had been awhile since the suds had rinsed from his body and from his golden locks; yet he remained. A bar of soap was slowly eroding at his feet, long since discarded and forgotten. He positioned himself beneath the constant flow of hot, steaming water, allowing it to cascade over his naked body. With his hand braced against the plastic wall in front of him, Trafford leaned towards the showerhead. The long and bony fingers of his free hand ran restlessly through his soaked, disheveled hair. He had no idea how long he had been standing within the confines of the small shower. Instead of dwelling on such trifle things as time, Alexander stared at the shower drain with moist, empty eyes, and watched attentively as a crude cocktail of crimson blood and grit swirled around the conduit– fighting desperately to escape its dooming grasp – before surrendering and slipping into oblivion.
Was that what he was doing, surrendering? Was he slowly allowing himself to slip into an abyss? Into nothingness?
He shook his head and twisted the handle, terminating the flow of water from the shower head.
Alexander grimaced and stumbled backwards. Both of his hands shot towards his belt line in order to aid his groin, he dropped his two high caliber handguns in the process. Pain stabbed like knives throughout his lower midsection, tearing at his will and forcing him to double over. There was nothing in this world that could silence momentum faster than a swift kick to the privates.
“Fucking wench,” Trafford grunted as he slowly erected himself. He readjusted his dirt-stained, blood-soaked suit jacket and straightened his besmirched oxford’s collar, and then set his gaze towards his foe.
He had to kill her this time, he thought to himself as his Desert Eagles raced across the earth’s hard surface and returned to his tight grip. This girl had escaped him once, but not again. Alex knew now that she was not Alice, and he would not be confused by her appearance. It was true, he reminisced, she did resemble his former lover and, as long as he saw Alice in her, he would never be able to move on. And that is why he knew he must kill her, and that he must kill her quickly.
This was the first fight that he could remember where he was not riddled with emotion; at least not at the level he had become accustomed to. Everything seemed so faint, and so surreal. It was nice to finally be able to see the world through sane eyes, though he doubted the possibility that he had recaptured the perspective of his distant past. The peaceful, controlled life he had become used to was gone; his father had made sure of that. But here, now, as the curtains were beginning to close on Dante’s Abyss, he seemed to have regained some of his old composure.
But it was more than that. He was focused on his opponent. His stare had narrowed in such a way that she was the only thing that mattered to him now. Death was imminent. It was as if someone, or something, had painted across his vision a single stroke of crimson paint. He could see only one end, and he had only one means of arriving at that end.
He saw peace, but it could only be achieved by her death. The mountain that he now climbed in search of absolution had been full of many obstacles, and not all of those barriers were internal. Some, he noted, were actions that would affect others and, no matter how wrong these efforts were, they had to be done.
So, he reassured himself, as much as he did not want to kill this young woman, he had to kill her.
“And she’s already dead,” Trafford whispered to himself as his gaze settled on the faint, golden halo that hovered idly less than a foot over her head. “It’s not as if she’ll mind too much.”
Alexander slid his handheld cannons back into their respective holsters and, in their place, pulled out a pair of old, leather gloves. His visage was cold and determined, and his stare never left his advancing opponent. There was nothing to say, no quips of clever lines, just a smirk as he pulled the worn material over his fingers. And then he rushed forward.
Sophia slowed as they met in the middle, half-expecting Trafford to do the same. If he had learned anything from this tournament, it had been to do exactly what your opponent did not expect. The ground beneath his feet began to flicker with a brilliant golden hue, before exploding and propelling Alex forward like cannon fire. As he raced towards his foe, who appeared to have recoiled backwards in surprise, his fist became encased with the glimmering color of his raw power.
He landed a right haymaker against the side of her face, sending the young girl staggering backwards. Trafford landed in stride from his attack and continued to advance, wildly sending hooks and crosses into his opponent’s defenses, desperately hoping that each strike would break through her sloppy parrying.
The young psychokinetic ducked hurriedly as his opponent countered with a quick jab towards his skull. Lunging forward from his crouched stance, Alex rammed his shoulder into the girl’s abdomen, causing her to double over. As he pulled back and straightened his body, attempting to reenter the fight proper, his foe’s hand stabbed forward and latched onto his wrist.
“What the hell?” Trafford hissed as he fell to his knees. Everything had happened to suddenly. As soon as she had touched him a strange exhaustion spread from his core and sucked the life from each of his limbs. He could feel his skin tighten and his strength recede. In a desperate attempt to break the peculiar hold Alex swung his feet towards the girl and swept her legs out from underneath her.
Scurrying away, the entertainer dragged himself to an erect position. He shook himself and staggered backwards as he inhaled long, deep breaths. It felt as if his soul had been forcefully sucked from his body. A vast emptiness filled his usually supercharged figure. Meanwhile, Sophia looked relieved and refreshed. A golden mist evaporated into her skin and ignited as azure orbs in her palms. She was the one smiling now, as she thrust her hands forward.
Trafford smirked, and lifted his hand casually. The grin quickly faded from his arrogant visage. The augmented wall of sand and stone that he had been expecting never came.
“Oh, shit,” Alex whispered. He did not dive to the side, like Belle or the courier would have done, he simply stood there and stared as the azure spheres of power collided into his chest and erupted in a devastating but beautiful explosion.
The pain overcame him and everything went black. He was not aware, or probably even conscious, as his body was hurled backwards and skidded like a stone across the city floor. When his eyes did snap open, it was only because the stench of his own burnt and charred flesh caused his body to spasm in disgust.
He was confused, and, more than that, he was in excruciating pain. It was no mystery what had happened. Like he had done to Vad Zulenka and to Belle Hibiki, she had managed to absorb his energy and utilize it as her own. But how had she managed to take from him that amount of power in such a short amount of time? Sure, the finer points of his own abilities escaped him, but he had never experienced such a physical, mental and spiritual exhaustion. It took everything he had just to pull himself back onto his feet. And even that he did not want to do.
“That was cute,” Trafford mocked his opponent as he withdrew a fresh cigarette and tucked it into the corner of this mouth, although, this time, he opted to light the smoke with his Zippo. Sophia dropped into a fighter’s stance, tensing her muscles as she prepared for another round of melee combat.
Alexander shrugged his shoulders and sighed, exhaling a rather large plume of bluish grey smoke that danced and swirled as it rose to the energetic ceiling. His hand shot inside his suit and withdrew a single Desert Eagle, which he quickly leveled at his foe. He did not have time to waste on this girl anymore.
The gold-plated handgun bucked backwards as he pulled the trigger. Small tongues of orange flame exploded from the weapon’s barrel, immediately followed by a fifty-caliber cylinder of steel. The cartridge, and the two others that quickly followed, immediately became encased in a wrapping of golden energy.
Sophia quickly noticed that the bullets had not been staggered, and were all following the same, straight path. In response, she dove to her right and rolled over her shoulder and onto her knees. Trafford flicked his free hand and redirected the bullets so that they curved in her direction, and, rather than allowing her another chance to escape, he opted for damage over death and prematurely detonated the augmented slugs. The subsequent explosions were not as close to her as he would have liked, but they accomplished their goal and sent her sprawling onto her back.
Alexander quickly moved forward and, as she was pulling herself onto her feet, he was already in position. Shooting his arm in the direction of his opponent, Trafford opened up the all-too-familiar psychokinetic connection with the slightly older girl, but this time he was in control.
With one hand extended towards Sophia, his fingers extended in her direction, and his Desert Eagle leveled at her chest, the street entertainer felt relief wash over him. It was not the refreshment that he would receive in another moment, but a different kind of relief – a spiritual relief. He could not understand it, or even comprehend it, but he allowed it.
A second swell overcame him, this time at the expense of his opponent, who had fallen onto her back and had stiffened. Her skin, in the same manner that his had, became taut. Veins pressed against the tightened flesh as he siphoned her energy from whatever well she possessed.
“It’s time to end this,” Trafford whispered and cocked the hammer back on his Desert Eagle. “You are not Alice, and you shall receive no more mercy from me.”
His long, bony finger pulled back on the trigger. As his high-caliber hand-cannon recoiled and an augmented slug shot forth from the barrel, he could feel her stir within his soul. A single tear fell from the corner of his eye. He prayed that this was the end. Was peace so much to ask for?
He found himself chuckling as reality slowly advanced. Was his soul so corrupted that he could even consider peace possible? There was so much blood on his hands, yet, he had no other options but to spill more.
Perhaps, he thought, the gun should have been pressed against his own head.
Was that what he was doing, surrendering? Was he slowly allowing himself to slip into an abyss? Into nothingness?
He shook his head and twisted the handle, terminating the flow of water from the shower head.
~~~*~~~
Alexander grimaced and stumbled backwards. Both of his hands shot towards his belt line in order to aid his groin, he dropped his two high caliber handguns in the process. Pain stabbed like knives throughout his lower midsection, tearing at his will and forcing him to double over. There was nothing in this world that could silence momentum faster than a swift kick to the privates.
“Fucking wench,” Trafford grunted as he slowly erected himself. He readjusted his dirt-stained, blood-soaked suit jacket and straightened his besmirched oxford’s collar, and then set his gaze towards his foe.
He had to kill her this time, he thought to himself as his Desert Eagles raced across the earth’s hard surface and returned to his tight grip. This girl had escaped him once, but not again. Alex knew now that she was not Alice, and he would not be confused by her appearance. It was true, he reminisced, she did resemble his former lover and, as long as he saw Alice in her, he would never be able to move on. And that is why he knew he must kill her, and that he must kill her quickly.
This was the first fight that he could remember where he was not riddled with emotion; at least not at the level he had become accustomed to. Everything seemed so faint, and so surreal. It was nice to finally be able to see the world through sane eyes, though he doubted the possibility that he had recaptured the perspective of his distant past. The peaceful, controlled life he had become used to was gone; his father had made sure of that. But here, now, as the curtains were beginning to close on Dante’s Abyss, he seemed to have regained some of his old composure.
But it was more than that. He was focused on his opponent. His stare had narrowed in such a way that she was the only thing that mattered to him now. Death was imminent. It was as if someone, or something, had painted across his vision a single stroke of crimson paint. He could see only one end, and he had only one means of arriving at that end.
He saw peace, but it could only be achieved by her death. The mountain that he now climbed in search of absolution had been full of many obstacles, and not all of those barriers were internal. Some, he noted, were actions that would affect others and, no matter how wrong these efforts were, they had to be done.
So, he reassured himself, as much as he did not want to kill this young woman, he had to kill her.
“And she’s already dead,” Trafford whispered to himself as his gaze settled on the faint, golden halo that hovered idly less than a foot over her head. “It’s not as if she’ll mind too much.”
Alexander slid his handheld cannons back into their respective holsters and, in their place, pulled out a pair of old, leather gloves. His visage was cold and determined, and his stare never left his advancing opponent. There was nothing to say, no quips of clever lines, just a smirk as he pulled the worn material over his fingers. And then he rushed forward.
Sophia slowed as they met in the middle, half-expecting Trafford to do the same. If he had learned anything from this tournament, it had been to do exactly what your opponent did not expect. The ground beneath his feet began to flicker with a brilliant golden hue, before exploding and propelling Alex forward like cannon fire. As he raced towards his foe, who appeared to have recoiled backwards in surprise, his fist became encased with the glimmering color of his raw power.
He landed a right haymaker against the side of her face, sending the young girl staggering backwards. Trafford landed in stride from his attack and continued to advance, wildly sending hooks and crosses into his opponent’s defenses, desperately hoping that each strike would break through her sloppy parrying.
The young psychokinetic ducked hurriedly as his opponent countered with a quick jab towards his skull. Lunging forward from his crouched stance, Alex rammed his shoulder into the girl’s abdomen, causing her to double over. As he pulled back and straightened his body, attempting to reenter the fight proper, his foe’s hand stabbed forward and latched onto his wrist.
“What the hell?” Trafford hissed as he fell to his knees. Everything had happened to suddenly. As soon as she had touched him a strange exhaustion spread from his core and sucked the life from each of his limbs. He could feel his skin tighten and his strength recede. In a desperate attempt to break the peculiar hold Alex swung his feet towards the girl and swept her legs out from underneath her.
Scurrying away, the entertainer dragged himself to an erect position. He shook himself and staggered backwards as he inhaled long, deep breaths. It felt as if his soul had been forcefully sucked from his body. A vast emptiness filled his usually supercharged figure. Meanwhile, Sophia looked relieved and refreshed. A golden mist evaporated into her skin and ignited as azure orbs in her palms. She was the one smiling now, as she thrust her hands forward.
Trafford smirked, and lifted his hand casually. The grin quickly faded from his arrogant visage. The augmented wall of sand and stone that he had been expecting never came.
“Oh, shit,” Alex whispered. He did not dive to the side, like Belle or the courier would have done, he simply stood there and stared as the azure spheres of power collided into his chest and erupted in a devastating but beautiful explosion.
The pain overcame him and everything went black. He was not aware, or probably even conscious, as his body was hurled backwards and skidded like a stone across the city floor. When his eyes did snap open, it was only because the stench of his own burnt and charred flesh caused his body to spasm in disgust.
He was confused, and, more than that, he was in excruciating pain. It was no mystery what had happened. Like he had done to Vad Zulenka and to Belle Hibiki, she had managed to absorb his energy and utilize it as her own. But how had she managed to take from him that amount of power in such a short amount of time? Sure, the finer points of his own abilities escaped him, but he had never experienced such a physical, mental and spiritual exhaustion. It took everything he had just to pull himself back onto his feet. And even that he did not want to do.
“That was cute,” Trafford mocked his opponent as he withdrew a fresh cigarette and tucked it into the corner of this mouth, although, this time, he opted to light the smoke with his Zippo. Sophia dropped into a fighter’s stance, tensing her muscles as she prepared for another round of melee combat.
Alexander shrugged his shoulders and sighed, exhaling a rather large plume of bluish grey smoke that danced and swirled as it rose to the energetic ceiling. His hand shot inside his suit and withdrew a single Desert Eagle, which he quickly leveled at his foe. He did not have time to waste on this girl anymore.
The gold-plated handgun bucked backwards as he pulled the trigger. Small tongues of orange flame exploded from the weapon’s barrel, immediately followed by a fifty-caliber cylinder of steel. The cartridge, and the two others that quickly followed, immediately became encased in a wrapping of golden energy.
Sophia quickly noticed that the bullets had not been staggered, and were all following the same, straight path. In response, she dove to her right and rolled over her shoulder and onto her knees. Trafford flicked his free hand and redirected the bullets so that they curved in her direction, and, rather than allowing her another chance to escape, he opted for damage over death and prematurely detonated the augmented slugs. The subsequent explosions were not as close to her as he would have liked, but they accomplished their goal and sent her sprawling onto her back.
Alexander quickly moved forward and, as she was pulling herself onto her feet, he was already in position. Shooting his arm in the direction of his opponent, Trafford opened up the all-too-familiar psychokinetic connection with the slightly older girl, but this time he was in control.
With one hand extended towards Sophia, his fingers extended in her direction, and his Desert Eagle leveled at her chest, the street entertainer felt relief wash over him. It was not the refreshment that he would receive in another moment, but a different kind of relief – a spiritual relief. He could not understand it, or even comprehend it, but he allowed it.
A second swell overcame him, this time at the expense of his opponent, who had fallen onto her back and had stiffened. Her skin, in the same manner that his had, became taut. Veins pressed against the tightened flesh as he siphoned her energy from whatever well she possessed.
“It’s time to end this,” Trafford whispered and cocked the hammer back on his Desert Eagle. “You are not Alice, and you shall receive no more mercy from me.”
His long, bony finger pulled back on the trigger. As his high-caliber hand-cannon recoiled and an augmented slug shot forth from the barrel, he could feel her stir within his soul. A single tear fell from the corner of his eye. He prayed that this was the end. Was peace so much to ask for?
He found himself chuckling as reality slowly advanced. Was his soul so corrupted that he could even consider peace possible? There was so much blood on his hands, yet, he had no other options but to spill more.
Perhaps, he thought, the gun should have been pressed against his own head.
![[Image: alext.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v234/waffuru/alext.jpg)