Day Five: Afternoon

[Orion]

Wha... what just happened?

Time slowed to a crawl in Koola's mind. The wind washed over the section of the island that had previously spawned into a frantic battlefield. The footprints of the two cowardly saiyans were dissolving, as the grains of dirt blew over them. Dark clouds gathered above him, forming a celestial mourning party that grieved along with the changeling prince. He merely sat there, his dead father strewn across his lap. His eyes moved randomly between Cold's lifeless countenance and the mortal hole blown through his chest. The blood had emptied from his body, surrounding Koola in a pool of crimson.

Wha... what just happened?

Although he didn't know it, time hadn't slowed in the slightest. Indeed, when the Icer realised himself, it was far later than he predicted. The morning sun had reached its pinnacle in the sky and started descending towards the opposite side of the horizon. However warm it was, Koola couldn't shake off an undecipherable sensation of frost.

He didn't even tell him the truth. After all they'd been through, after all the progress their relationship enjoyed, Cold didn't know the truth. He didn't know his son was falling for a human female. Koola just gazed, unphased by his father's internal organs and fluids hardening on his body, his mind incapable of jumping this hurdle. Why did he withhold his unusual feelings? What hadn't his father done to nuture and strengthen their relationship? The answer was nothing, and that was the deepest cut of all.

Wha... what just happened?

Staring at the dead emperor's corpse, he felt... something. It was intolerable, eating away at the forefront of his mind. It was a maelstrom, a ten foot tall wave, a supernova of unmitigated emotion just dying to burst forth. Yet, Koola couldn't help but stare; stare and blame.

It was his fault. Cold threw himself in front of that shotgun blast. It was his foolish movements that created the opportunity. It was his inefficiency to hit the saiyan before she hit them. It was his blood on his hands.

Koola tensed his knuckles. His face remained a blank slate, but his hands balled so tightly that they shook with the pressure. His eye twitched. His heart beat faster in his chest. Adrenaline coursed through his bloodstream. His breathing fastened. He grimaced angrily, baring his teeth.

The dam was about to break.

Koola released a blood curdling, hellish scream of angst that boiled from the pits of his own personal hell.

"DAMN IT!" he bellowed, flipping his father's motionless body from his lap. Ignoring the pain in his damaged leg, he stood up firmly, screaming at the sky for deliverance. "FUCKING SAIYANS!"

He didn't care if anyone heard him anymore. He didn't care if he fell to the ground, out of energy.

This stupid island was going to know - and remember, eternally - the fury of Koola.

A navy blue aura exploded around his body. The ground shook, coercing the loose pebbles on the ground to dance. Winds battered against the changeling's body, but under his convincing power, spiralled around him. The clouds mimicked the vortex of air, spinning high above the Icer as its focal point. Lightning spontaneously struck the earth, coming inches from connecting with its creator. The freak storm bombarded the atmosphere with sound; crackling, groaning, howling reverberation annouced the sorrow of the prince.

Koola's voice overrode all of them.

Then, just as quickly as they formed, the natural phenomenon faded. Koola fell to his back. Yet, not out of exhaustion. He rediscovered that invigorating, intoxicating emotion that he thought would be a hindrance in this competition. Now, it was the only - truly, the perfect - determination of undiluted, embraced rage that hummed within him. It was anger that replaced the consistent thudding of hunger, of fatigue, of mental dillusion. It was vehemence of the saiyan race that strengthened his zeal and bolstered his focus.

Sitting up, Koola snatched his shotgun. He cocked the weapon, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Before he started off for the saiyans who murdered his father, he spotted the king's weapon. The shock rifle.

Bending down, he picked it up and examined it. He balanced it in one hand as Cold had done, and he squoze the trigger. A violent stream of electricity shot forth. The weapon was still fully operational. It would make a nice crutch, as the shotgun did.

Koola dropped to his one good knee before Cold's corpse, holding the rifle in both hands before him. He then spoke the first heartfelt comment to his dad during their entire journey together.

"Father," Koola whispered, his eyes ablaze with austerity, "I promise you... whatever it takes... those saiyans will die... by the power of your very gun frying their insides."

The solemn changeling took up both weapons and, using them as supports, headed in the direction he believed the saiyan cowards were in.

"May the gods watch over you, scum. For Wrath itself comes to claim your very souls."

OOC: I'm taking the shock rifle and shotgun.