Day Four: Afternoon

[Orion]

King Cold, the more able of the two warriors now, took the lead, scouting towards the horizon as they trekked on. His remaining arm had grown much stronger and sturdier since straddling his shock rifle without the other limb, and his reaction time had improved dramatically. After the defeat of the pink monster and the revenge strike against Seventeen, he was feeling pretty good.

At least in comparison to his son.

Koola awkwardly hobbled after his father. With his makeshift shotgun support and his other good leg, he grew irritated. The land of Dante's Abyss was rarely level, featuring sudden dips in the ground hidden by grassy tufts, soft mud and rocky crops. The changeling prince never really did appreciate the gift of walking until it was taken away. Now he really wished that fag Karl Jak would at least let him use enough ki to float.

Out of nowhere, the narration struck again. "Finally we've had the taste of blood, but at what cost? Dad's less an arm, my leg is basically useless, and I personally haven't taken a life! Although it was satisfying when I roasted that robot. Anyway, what I wouldn't do to walk properly again."

Yet, as much as Koola bitched, when all was said and done, Dante's had been an experience. He learnt that he wasn't all powerful, whether he'd actually admit it out loud or not. An amazing, unexpected relationship had bloomed between himself and his father, which, chances were, wouldn't have happened outside the specific events that they endured together. Indeed, despite his crippling condition, he would've done it all again.

"Slow down!" the violet skinned heir cried out. "Just because you have two legs doesn't mean you have to show off!" Sweat rolled down his bony skull. The extra exertion used trying to maintain a normal pace was more effort than he was used to.

Cold came to a stop. "I think it's time we did some training."

Koola drove the barrel of the shotgun into the ground and looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, we're both handicapped now, right?" He tapped his oddly bare shoulder with his rifle, grimacing slightly when he realised it was still tender. "If we're going to have a real chance at winning this thing, we need to incorporate our weaknesses into our strategy."

Koola squinted. "What's your plan? I can't exactly sprout a new thigh."

"No, you can't. But we are bound to run into other people. And like it or not, we aren't at our prime right now. So we need to adapt to our new... circumstances." As the emperor spoke, the rain died down and a thin fog crept from beyond. "Let's do some training." He lifted his shock rifle and pulled the trigger. Koola's eyes widened.

Throwing the shotgun to the earth, he dived away from the streaking blast of lightning. The dampened dirt splattered across his forearms and face as he hit the ground.

"What the hell was that?!" Koola boomed incredulously.

Cold lowered the shock rifle. "What did I just say? Training!"

Koola maneovered himself so that he was upright again, propping most of his weight upon his tail. "Do we have to use the actual elements that can potentially tear us apart?"

"Oh, quit whining. You've got a shotgun."

"Ha ha! So I do." The prince whisked the pump action weapon into his hands. "Let's begin."

Koola cocked the firearm and took aim. Squeezing the trigger, he released a dangerous spray of ki bullets. The recoil, however, he wasn't expecting. His arms moved in circles wildly, trying to return some semblance of stability. Thrusting forward with his powerful tail, the prince dodged another untamed stream of electricity from Cold's rifle, hitting the dirt and rolling. Stopping upon his good knee, Koola slid the chamber backward and then forward, firing another lethal barrage.

King Cold banked diagonally, almost tripping over from the lightness his body welcomed. Without his other bulky arm, his weight was considerably different; perhaps not to a large degree, but enough to be noticed in sudden movement. Jumping through the air, Cold tried to land the back of his gun to his son's skull, but Koola artfully rolled backwards, preparing a donkey kick for his dear old dad. The horned patriarch parried the incoming foot with his rifle and the two separated, leaving an extended silence through the fog.

"I see what you mean," Koola said, bringing back the shotgun as a support. "I do need a bit of practice."

King Cold smirked. "Father knows best."