01-16-2007, 05:10 AM
Thompson waited with his weapon in hand. He sighed irritably, wanting to shut his ears to the roaring noise of the catapult fire. It didn?t help that they were spread out either, as he found himself wishing he could simply say a friendly word or two to a nearby soldier. Unfortunately, the Dante soldiers had been dispersed along the field, leaving the soldier to stand on his own. Had he been side by side to another soldier, he may have been able to speak over the roaring firing of the catapults. Instead, he had to be satisfied with the mere feet between him and the closest soldier.
He thought of his home on Earth. He had grown up there, despite being a half Saiyan. He had never known his parents, being raised in a sort of fight club that embarked him on a multitude of petty tasks. No, he was no fighter. Rather, his affinity for food had brought him the position of the chef, his goal often involving feeding the multitude of men who came to make a name for themselves at the fight club. Ramken Fight Club, it had been called. His tasks usually led him across the city, gathering the proper ingredients to feed the Ramken Fighters. Even so, despite his position, he had found a home at Ramken and had grown up much of his life under the influence of these men.
It was one fighter in particular that had led Thompson to stay at Ramken so long. His name was Reynolds, an earthling that was said to have begun training even on his first day of birth. He possessed inhuman strength, and, being the owner of Ramken, could be found at the fight club at any given moment. It was his home as much as it was Thompson?s. Having witnessed Thompson abandoned as a child, he accepted the Half-Saiyan into his home.
In truth, it was Reynolds that Thompson always pushed himself to become. Reynolds displayed the greatest feats of strength, bravery, and manhood, never lacking the pride to take a fall in a match when the other member?s ego needed it the most. He had taught Thompson the meanings of being a fighter, of being something worth mentioned years upon years later. He didn?t simply teach techniques. He taught values, values that would last regardless of the years of age, disease, and other detriments that came with life.
Despite Reynolds? positive attention to Thompson, the Half-Saiyan?s other attention was in no way similar. He was the end of a multitude of fun, tricks, and the like that the other fighters played. When Reynolds could, he would defend the young chef, but this would only encourage more sport when the owner of Ramken was not around.
Thompson didn?t mind. Despite the jokes directed towards him by the Ramken fighters, he always kept in mind the encouraging words of his mentor. Reynolds would smile, his eyes lighting up. ?Don?t worry. One day you?ll make it. One day you?ll be an even greater fighter than me.?
Still, things were by no means easy. At any request by Thompson to participate in a fight, Reynolds? response was always the same. He would frown every so slightly, pausing for a moment as if searching for the right words. Even so, the answer was always the same. ?We?ve talked about your limits, Thompson. Not yet, but one day.? It was always ?one day.? Thus, Thompson would leave Reynolds? office broken hearted, his anticipation growing with every refusing answer. At last, he became so eager that he was asking day after day, Reynolds finally giving in.
It was the toughest beating Thompson ever took.
For the next two weeks, Thompson stuck to his cooking profession with no words. Still, his habits returned to normal, eventually continuing his routine of asking Reynolds for another fight. If anything, Reynolds would only smile with every refusal, admiring the confidence in the Half-Saiyan.
It had been two years since Reynolds? death. Ramken Fight Club was closed immediately afterwards, Thompson finding himself living in the scum-filled alleys. He had only survived through Reynolds? words. ?One day?? That cheery smile had filled the Half-Saiyan?s mind time after time.
Living in the streets, Thompson reeked of decay. He could often be found fumbling through the trash for a mere bite to eat. It was there that he found it, the opportunity to change his life. The dirty flier?s big, bold words were still clear.
?Dante?s Abyss: Conquest! Who will be the victor?!?
With the utmost fervor, he had thus far made it to Dante?s Abyss. There he stood on that field, boredom driving his thoughts. The catapults fired again with their deafening roars, Thompson unaware of the counterattack that United had already begun. The artillery cried out, ripping through the atmosphere, and with a crash, consuming all in reach in a catastrophe of flames.
Broli stood wide-eyed, his men rearing in pain as the flames consumed their bodies. ?No!? He stumbled to the closest victim, pushing the soldier to the ground and smoldering the flames from his bodies. King Vejita came to his side. ?Go get some help!? Broli yelled, ignoring Vejita?s words. Finally, the King grabbed his arm and at last gaining his attention. ?Broli, what are you doing?! Let the medics handle this!? Broli shook his head.
?No! He?s going to make it through this!?
King Vejita pulled at him again as a medic arrived on the scene. The medic dropped to the ground, immediately attempting to stabilize the victim. The soldier screamed in pain, the medic trying to take his mind off the agonizing hurt. ?You?re alright! You?re alright! What?s your name pal?? The soldier gasped for air, his skin charcoaled from the flames.
?T-Thompson,? he managed. The medic smiled. ?Thompson, that?s good. You?re doing fine. Just stay with me.?
Vejita pulled Broli to his feet. ?What?s gotten into you?? He had never seen the Commander rush so quickly to the aide of an ally, the Saiyan?s hurried and distressed behavior only causing drama at the scene.
?What?s gotten into the Commander?? A nearby soldier asked to his counterpart.
Vejita noticed a warrior climbing to his feet. He nudged Broli. ?Look. He must?ve pushed that soldier out of the way. A friendly sacrifice.? He spat to the ground. ?Ugh. Disgusting!? Shaking his head, he tred off to return to the front lines.
The medic attempted to soothe the soldier. ?You?re fine. Look, you saved that guy?s life! You?re some soldier, greater than most of the guys here! Toughen up, you got this!?
Thompson struggled on the scorched earth, freezing at the medic?s words. ?What did you say??
The medic smiled, knowing that his reassurance was working. ?I said you?re a great soldier!?
Had Thompson?s lips not been burnt away, he would have grinned, and if his tear ducts were still existent, a tear would have fallen from his eyes. ?I? I?m a great soldier.? With those words, Thompson took his final breath, his muscles letting loose as he left Dante?s Abyss: Conquest.
The medic shook his head, looking over the body. ?S-Sir!? He began, eyes widening. ?I think you need to take a look at this.?
Pointing at the right side of Thompson. Broli dropped to his knees, attempting to get a closer look. ?Where?s his arm??
?Doesn?t look to be a battle wound. It looks like a birth deficiency. I guess he was born with one arm,? the medic announced, shaking his head.
?One arm? How did he make it into Conquest??
The medic shrugged. ?I guess he snuck his way in here. Still, I guess he proved useful if he made it this far.?
The Commander rose to his feet, running his hands through his hair. Another dead soldier. He couldn?t take it anymore. He had to get out of there.
He thought of his home on Earth. He had grown up there, despite being a half Saiyan. He had never known his parents, being raised in a sort of fight club that embarked him on a multitude of petty tasks. No, he was no fighter. Rather, his affinity for food had brought him the position of the chef, his goal often involving feeding the multitude of men who came to make a name for themselves at the fight club. Ramken Fight Club, it had been called. His tasks usually led him across the city, gathering the proper ingredients to feed the Ramken Fighters. Even so, despite his position, he had found a home at Ramken and had grown up much of his life under the influence of these men.
It was one fighter in particular that had led Thompson to stay at Ramken so long. His name was Reynolds, an earthling that was said to have begun training even on his first day of birth. He possessed inhuman strength, and, being the owner of Ramken, could be found at the fight club at any given moment. It was his home as much as it was Thompson?s. Having witnessed Thompson abandoned as a child, he accepted the Half-Saiyan into his home.
In truth, it was Reynolds that Thompson always pushed himself to become. Reynolds displayed the greatest feats of strength, bravery, and manhood, never lacking the pride to take a fall in a match when the other member?s ego needed it the most. He had taught Thompson the meanings of being a fighter, of being something worth mentioned years upon years later. He didn?t simply teach techniques. He taught values, values that would last regardless of the years of age, disease, and other detriments that came with life.
Despite Reynolds? positive attention to Thompson, the Half-Saiyan?s other attention was in no way similar. He was the end of a multitude of fun, tricks, and the like that the other fighters played. When Reynolds could, he would defend the young chef, but this would only encourage more sport when the owner of Ramken was not around.
Thompson didn?t mind. Despite the jokes directed towards him by the Ramken fighters, he always kept in mind the encouraging words of his mentor. Reynolds would smile, his eyes lighting up. ?Don?t worry. One day you?ll make it. One day you?ll be an even greater fighter than me.?
Still, things were by no means easy. At any request by Thompson to participate in a fight, Reynolds? response was always the same. He would frown every so slightly, pausing for a moment as if searching for the right words. Even so, the answer was always the same. ?We?ve talked about your limits, Thompson. Not yet, but one day.? It was always ?one day.? Thus, Thompson would leave Reynolds? office broken hearted, his anticipation growing with every refusing answer. At last, he became so eager that he was asking day after day, Reynolds finally giving in.
It was the toughest beating Thompson ever took.
For the next two weeks, Thompson stuck to his cooking profession with no words. Still, his habits returned to normal, eventually continuing his routine of asking Reynolds for another fight. If anything, Reynolds would only smile with every refusal, admiring the confidence in the Half-Saiyan.
It had been two years since Reynolds? death. Ramken Fight Club was closed immediately afterwards, Thompson finding himself living in the scum-filled alleys. He had only survived through Reynolds? words. ?One day?? That cheery smile had filled the Half-Saiyan?s mind time after time.
Living in the streets, Thompson reeked of decay. He could often be found fumbling through the trash for a mere bite to eat. It was there that he found it, the opportunity to change his life. The dirty flier?s big, bold words were still clear.
?Dante?s Abyss: Conquest! Who will be the victor?!?
With the utmost fervor, he had thus far made it to Dante?s Abyss. There he stood on that field, boredom driving his thoughts. The catapults fired again with their deafening roars, Thompson unaware of the counterattack that United had already begun. The artillery cried out, ripping through the atmosphere, and with a crash, consuming all in reach in a catastrophe of flames.
Broli stood wide-eyed, his men rearing in pain as the flames consumed their bodies. ?No!? He stumbled to the closest victim, pushing the soldier to the ground and smoldering the flames from his bodies. King Vejita came to his side. ?Go get some help!? Broli yelled, ignoring Vejita?s words. Finally, the King grabbed his arm and at last gaining his attention. ?Broli, what are you doing?! Let the medics handle this!? Broli shook his head.
?No! He?s going to make it through this!?
King Vejita pulled at him again as a medic arrived on the scene. The medic dropped to the ground, immediately attempting to stabilize the victim. The soldier screamed in pain, the medic trying to take his mind off the agonizing hurt. ?You?re alright! You?re alright! What?s your name pal?? The soldier gasped for air, his skin charcoaled from the flames.
?T-Thompson,? he managed. The medic smiled. ?Thompson, that?s good. You?re doing fine. Just stay with me.?
Vejita pulled Broli to his feet. ?What?s gotten into you?? He had never seen the Commander rush so quickly to the aide of an ally, the Saiyan?s hurried and distressed behavior only causing drama at the scene.
?What?s gotten into the Commander?? A nearby soldier asked to his counterpart.
Vejita noticed a warrior climbing to his feet. He nudged Broli. ?Look. He must?ve pushed that soldier out of the way. A friendly sacrifice.? He spat to the ground. ?Ugh. Disgusting!? Shaking his head, he tred off to return to the front lines.
The medic attempted to soothe the soldier. ?You?re fine. Look, you saved that guy?s life! You?re some soldier, greater than most of the guys here! Toughen up, you got this!?
Thompson struggled on the scorched earth, freezing at the medic?s words. ?What did you say??
The medic smiled, knowing that his reassurance was working. ?I said you?re a great soldier!?
Had Thompson?s lips not been burnt away, he would have grinned, and if his tear ducts were still existent, a tear would have fallen from his eyes. ?I? I?m a great soldier.? With those words, Thompson took his final breath, his muscles letting loose as he left Dante?s Abyss: Conquest.
The medic shook his head, looking over the body. ?S-Sir!? He began, eyes widening. ?I think you need to take a look at this.?
Pointing at the right side of Thompson. Broli dropped to his knees, attempting to get a closer look. ?Where?s his arm??
?Doesn?t look to be a battle wound. It looks like a birth deficiency. I guess he was born with one arm,? the medic announced, shaking his head.
?One arm? How did he make it into Conquest??
The medic shrugged. ?I guess he snuck his way in here. Still, I guess he proved useful if he made it this far.?
The Commander rose to his feet, running his hands through his hair. Another dead soldier. He couldn?t take it anymore. He had to get out of there.