06-06-2008, 11:29 AM
Continued from: http://www.cdbzrpg.com/forum/showpost.ph...ostcount=3
Just focus on the kill and win the game... Focus...
The thoughts of the Saiyan fighter were pushed away as his training helped him keep his head in the game. His arm was feeling tremendously better due to the proper medical treatment from the kit he had won, but that had done nothing to ease the pain. He would have a constant reminder for all of Dante at how close he'd come to being eliminated on the earliest parts of the tournament. The muscle was no longer shredded beyond use, as the salves and stitching had seemed to bind them back together, but the nerves were still damaged and every move of his arm brought a sharp pain to his attention.
He relished it. Physical pain was something he had taught himself to ignore and handle. Each sharp jolt sent throughout his nervous system was nothing more than an encouraging slap of a ruler designed to bring about obedience. He was here to win this game, and every punch gave him a reminder of his purpose here. Kill or be killed.
Physical pain was always something that he would prefer to endure. With it came scars that were seen by other warriors as bragging rights, experience with things that many had not encountered. Every physical scar could tell a story and was a great way to spend an evening in a bar drinking the strongest alcohols of his homeland.
The mental pains were different in every way. Jun'ai had opened them with a searing hot knife and as much as he tried to focus on his planning and strategy, she'd managed to bring out self doubts and loathing of his failures or actions to the forefront of his mind, delving into that which he wanted buried. She hadn't gone as deep as she could have, but she'd gone far deeper than he wanted. Simply entering his mind unrequested was deserving of his undying hatred and contempt. There were some things about a person you simply did not fuck with. This was a few of them.
Mental scars could not be shown to anyone, and if they somehow could they were the type of scars many a warrior wanted to hide. To the strongest of warriors, anyone would prefer a disfiguring gash down the center of their face to the top of their groin as well as a loss of a limb or five, but none wished to see themselves stripped bare mentally, their true feelings on display for all to witness. No one wished to find themselves removed of their warrior's pride. Evenings at the bar drinking alone and thinking of your mental scars did not bring the jovial entertainment that a disfiguring mark could bring.
Finally, unlike a long bound old wound, the oldest of memories could still burn and writhe with a pain that the strongest of tissue damage could hold no contest with. An old physical pain would do nothing more than hinder the weakest of fighters, causing them to limp feebly in their struggles to fulfill their definition of living. The pain of things long to be lost to time, however, could often cause the death of the strongest and physically condition brawler, uncontested by any near in terms of fighting ability while all along the true killer lay deep inside.
For all his Saiyan taunts to the walking dead before him, he could feel no true emotion within other than the overwhelming pain that came from the scars within. As his eyes flashed and his face distorted, his core did nothing more than act by a volley of instinct and training alone, quickly blocking two strikes with one arm before thrusting his devil's spear forward to lodge it deeply within the breastbone of the unknown female Saiyan warrior before him.
"Cel!"
He could hear the voice of the woman's compassionate comrade nearby, having not been disposed of according to plan. He shut the man out as he stared into her eyes, his mind a homing beacon attempting to lock its crosshairs on the true tactical focus before him and narrowly missing each time it approached. He was confused, and his confusion was interfering with what should have been a simple three man kill that the youngest of competitors could have managed.
She looked into him, struggling to draw oxygen into her damaged lung under the pressure of the fork as her facade of strength faded while still maintaining a defiance that only a Saiyan could embrace in such a situation. Her eyes seethed, but she seemed scared at the same time, having not learned yet of the horrors that the Abyss could truely bring out from a person. He was one of them.
It was amazing just how much could be revealed of a person's soul by getting lost in another's eyes.
A series of thoughts seemed to flood his mind before one truely alien thought screamed at him from within.
So go on then. You are the cold and heartless demon here for one thing, aren't you? Remember, you are only here for one thing and that's to win this tournament through any means so that you can move on with your life, devoid and meaningless as ever, blindly stepping through a fixed path that you obviously have no control over until one day sleep takes you and you are released from the burden of ever hoping to actually accomplish something within your pathetic time span of existance.
The words ripped into him, Jun'ai having chosen this exact moment to abuse her femanine ire and finding the perfect moment to return the pain that she felt herself. She was truely a Saiyan female despite her human blood, though Videl had taught him something of women of any race.
Or...
The words echoed within his mind, his own feebly grasping out as the woman before him used her free arm to grab the pitchforks knives, futily attempting to struggle from the demon's grasp during his hesitation.
You can accept the small victories you've made here today and, while still winning this tournament, set yourself on a path to a far greater goal than the one you came here hoping to reach.
As if to free the male warrior from his internal conflict, the woman's partner slammed into her from her side, blindly wrenching her from the serrated edges of the blade in a painful maneuver that left a spray of blood and tissue showering onto the trio's skin, a scream of evisceration errupting from the female before him, a mixture of pain and rage. Before Reijin's killer mind had set itself blindly into following predetermined footsteps once more, the man gave him an unreadable look before throwing his injured companion onto his shoulder, leaping away quickly into the forest and leaving Reijin standing in his predicament.
He barely registered that she had been taken from him as he found his pitchfork slowly lowering to the ground, a chunk of flesh still hanging from the end of the barbaric weapon. Finally, he turned and looked at the bag laying nearby of supplies and walked over to it, giving only the most casual of glances to the smoldering corpse in the bushes.
"Dammit, woman, you caused me to lose the binoculars I wasted that grenade for..." he grumbled, blaming Jun'ai for his troubles. He picked up the bag and transfered anything of use to his own before tossing the empty one back towards the corpse without a second thought, pushing his way into the underbrush.
Just focus on the kill and win the game... Focus...
The thoughts of the Saiyan fighter were pushed away as his training helped him keep his head in the game. His arm was feeling tremendously better due to the proper medical treatment from the kit he had won, but that had done nothing to ease the pain. He would have a constant reminder for all of Dante at how close he'd come to being eliminated on the earliest parts of the tournament. The muscle was no longer shredded beyond use, as the salves and stitching had seemed to bind them back together, but the nerves were still damaged and every move of his arm brought a sharp pain to his attention.
He relished it. Physical pain was something he had taught himself to ignore and handle. Each sharp jolt sent throughout his nervous system was nothing more than an encouraging slap of a ruler designed to bring about obedience. He was here to win this game, and every punch gave him a reminder of his purpose here. Kill or be killed.
Physical pain was always something that he would prefer to endure. With it came scars that were seen by other warriors as bragging rights, experience with things that many had not encountered. Every physical scar could tell a story and was a great way to spend an evening in a bar drinking the strongest alcohols of his homeland.
The mental pains were different in every way. Jun'ai had opened them with a searing hot knife and as much as he tried to focus on his planning and strategy, she'd managed to bring out self doubts and loathing of his failures or actions to the forefront of his mind, delving into that which he wanted buried. She hadn't gone as deep as she could have, but she'd gone far deeper than he wanted. Simply entering his mind unrequested was deserving of his undying hatred and contempt. There were some things about a person you simply did not fuck with. This was a few of them.
Mental scars could not be shown to anyone, and if they somehow could they were the type of scars many a warrior wanted to hide. To the strongest of warriors, anyone would prefer a disfiguring gash down the center of their face to the top of their groin as well as a loss of a limb or five, but none wished to see themselves stripped bare mentally, their true feelings on display for all to witness. No one wished to find themselves removed of their warrior's pride. Evenings at the bar drinking alone and thinking of your mental scars did not bring the jovial entertainment that a disfiguring mark could bring.
Finally, unlike a long bound old wound, the oldest of memories could still burn and writhe with a pain that the strongest of tissue damage could hold no contest with. An old physical pain would do nothing more than hinder the weakest of fighters, causing them to limp feebly in their struggles to fulfill their definition of living. The pain of things long to be lost to time, however, could often cause the death of the strongest and physically condition brawler, uncontested by any near in terms of fighting ability while all along the true killer lay deep inside.
For all his Saiyan taunts to the walking dead before him, he could feel no true emotion within other than the overwhelming pain that came from the scars within. As his eyes flashed and his face distorted, his core did nothing more than act by a volley of instinct and training alone, quickly blocking two strikes with one arm before thrusting his devil's spear forward to lodge it deeply within the breastbone of the unknown female Saiyan warrior before him.
"Cel!"
He could hear the voice of the woman's compassionate comrade nearby, having not been disposed of according to plan. He shut the man out as he stared into her eyes, his mind a homing beacon attempting to lock its crosshairs on the true tactical focus before him and narrowly missing each time it approached. He was confused, and his confusion was interfering with what should have been a simple three man kill that the youngest of competitors could have managed.
She looked into him, struggling to draw oxygen into her damaged lung under the pressure of the fork as her facade of strength faded while still maintaining a defiance that only a Saiyan could embrace in such a situation. Her eyes seethed, but she seemed scared at the same time, having not learned yet of the horrors that the Abyss could truely bring out from a person. He was one of them.
It was amazing just how much could be revealed of a person's soul by getting lost in another's eyes.
A series of thoughts seemed to flood his mind before one truely alien thought screamed at him from within.
So go on then. You are the cold and heartless demon here for one thing, aren't you? Remember, you are only here for one thing and that's to win this tournament through any means so that you can move on with your life, devoid and meaningless as ever, blindly stepping through a fixed path that you obviously have no control over until one day sleep takes you and you are released from the burden of ever hoping to actually accomplish something within your pathetic time span of existance.
The words ripped into him, Jun'ai having chosen this exact moment to abuse her femanine ire and finding the perfect moment to return the pain that she felt herself. She was truely a Saiyan female despite her human blood, though Videl had taught him something of women of any race.
Or...
The words echoed within his mind, his own feebly grasping out as the woman before him used her free arm to grab the pitchforks knives, futily attempting to struggle from the demon's grasp during his hesitation.
You can accept the small victories you've made here today and, while still winning this tournament, set yourself on a path to a far greater goal than the one you came here hoping to reach.
As if to free the male warrior from his internal conflict, the woman's partner slammed into her from her side, blindly wrenching her from the serrated edges of the blade in a painful maneuver that left a spray of blood and tissue showering onto the trio's skin, a scream of evisceration errupting from the female before him, a mixture of pain and rage. Before Reijin's killer mind had set itself blindly into following predetermined footsteps once more, the man gave him an unreadable look before throwing his injured companion onto his shoulder, leaping away quickly into the forest and leaving Reijin standing in his predicament.
He barely registered that she had been taken from him as he found his pitchfork slowly lowering to the ground, a chunk of flesh still hanging from the end of the barbaric weapon. Finally, he turned and looked at the bag laying nearby of supplies and walked over to it, giving only the most casual of glances to the smoldering corpse in the bushes.
"Dammit, woman, you caused me to lose the binoculars I wasted that grenade for..." he grumbled, blaming Jun'ai for his troubles. He picked up the bag and transfered anything of use to his own before tossing the empty one back towards the corpse without a second thought, pushing his way into the underbrush.
![[Image: reijinchefsig.jpg]](http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b121/warpzone116/reijinchefsig.jpg)
"I'm gonna fuck that unicorrrrrn"