“So, human, do you really think that you have the power to tolerate an attack from a Super Saiyan?”
Aero fisted a hand, retracting it back. He was prepared to fight at any moment. His ears flickered between feline and human. His figure slowly transfigured into one more suitable for agile movements. He bared clawed fingers and pawed feet. “Bring it, mothafucka!” he retorted, balling up his other hand. His short and chaotic hair slowly developed into a full turquoise mane.
Reijin smiled. His hair flashed glimpses of gold and erected into sporadically directional spikes. His eyes changed from mysterious black to the super saiyan’s emotionless green. Reijin’s visage had never been so stone (it appeared, to Aero, that it could have been sculpted). He bored the figure of a titan, seasoned in the art of war—his body as his militia and his mind as his general. Thus was the way of the saiyan.
Aero couldn’t give a shit about a saiyan’s demeanor. He was ignorant to the race of fighting machines. The only thing that he knew was that no man—regardless of race, religious values, or sexual preference—was going to make a mock of him. He would prefer dying, shot down in a blaze of glory. He valued such an idea; he placed it on a pedestal. Some people called it cocky, blinded by arrogance. He called it death before dishonor, a code that he had survived by his entire life, since his rough upbringing in the lower tiers of American society. In the real world being a bitch did not permit you very far.
“You’re in a man’s competition,” another voice spoke, from behind Aero.
He threw a glance over his shoulder. It was Seventeen, with his ebony hair covering his face, only leaving twisted smiles and merciless eyes visible. Aero didn’t care about the android either. Just another fuck in his way, making his life less enjoyable.
“You can get some too, ” Aero replied, turning sideways, keeping an eye on both of them.
A war on two fronts. He felt like a German fighting the Soviet Union and United Powers. Still, he was no bitch. On the contrary, he liked this situation much better than Reijin alone. That blaze of glory was going to be more of an epic explosion (a mushroom cloud, Aero hoped).
Reijin smirked. He readied all of the powers that super saiyan had bestowed upon him and rushed forward. That emotionless visage still curtained his face.
Seventeen waved a hand through his hair, pulling it back momentarily before it fell back over his eyes and nose. He charged as well.
“Fuck you!” Aero roared. His aura enveloped his body, flaring up like a fed fire.
His eyes slowly opened. There was no Reijin. No Seventeen. Celipa rested against his chest, and off a small distance in front of him was a blond-haired man. His ragtag group of warriors—he used to deem them friends—had turned into a trio, again, this one without the pregnant Zangya. She had betrayed Bojack. Aero felt betrayed too.
With a faint sigh he placed the heel of his palm on his forehead. This is just great, he thought. I come here for fun and instead I get a shitload of frustration. If I wanted that I could’ve went to the DMV.
Aero fisted a hand, retracting it back. He was prepared to fight at any moment. His ears flickered between feline and human. His figure slowly transfigured into one more suitable for agile movements. He bared clawed fingers and pawed feet. “Bring it, mothafucka!” he retorted, balling up his other hand. His short and chaotic hair slowly developed into a full turquoise mane.
Reijin smiled. His hair flashed glimpses of gold and erected into sporadically directional spikes. His eyes changed from mysterious black to the super saiyan’s emotionless green. Reijin’s visage had never been so stone (it appeared, to Aero, that it could have been sculpted). He bored the figure of a titan, seasoned in the art of war—his body as his militia and his mind as his general. Thus was the way of the saiyan.
Aero couldn’t give a shit about a saiyan’s demeanor. He was ignorant to the race of fighting machines. The only thing that he knew was that no man—regardless of race, religious values, or sexual preference—was going to make a mock of him. He would prefer dying, shot down in a blaze of glory. He valued such an idea; he placed it on a pedestal. Some people called it cocky, blinded by arrogance. He called it death before dishonor, a code that he had survived by his entire life, since his rough upbringing in the lower tiers of American society. In the real world being a bitch did not permit you very far.
“You’re in a man’s competition,” another voice spoke, from behind Aero.
He threw a glance over his shoulder. It was Seventeen, with his ebony hair covering his face, only leaving twisted smiles and merciless eyes visible. Aero didn’t care about the android either. Just another fuck in his way, making his life less enjoyable.
“You can get some too, ” Aero replied, turning sideways, keeping an eye on both of them.
A war on two fronts. He felt like a German fighting the Soviet Union and United Powers. Still, he was no bitch. On the contrary, he liked this situation much better than Reijin alone. That blaze of glory was going to be more of an epic explosion (a mushroom cloud, Aero hoped).
Reijin smirked. He readied all of the powers that super saiyan had bestowed upon him and rushed forward. That emotionless visage still curtained his face.
Seventeen waved a hand through his hair, pulling it back momentarily before it fell back over his eyes and nose. He charged as well.
“Fuck you!” Aero roared. His aura enveloped his body, flaring up like a fed fire.
***
His eyes slowly opened. There was no Reijin. No Seventeen. Celipa rested against his chest, and off a small distance in front of him was a blond-haired man. His ragtag group of warriors—he used to deem them friends—had turned into a trio, again, this one without the pregnant Zangya. She had betrayed Bojack. Aero felt betrayed too.
With a faint sigh he placed the heel of his palm on his forehead. This is just great, he thought. I come here for fun and instead I get a shitload of frustration. If I wanted that I could’ve went to the DMV.
![[Image: 1stAerosig.png]](http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q218/Aerogfx/sigs/1stAerosig.png)
Placed 3rd in Dante's Abyss 08