Post by Koshu on Oct 14, 2016 0:14:53 GMT
"Thump, thump, thump,"
Koshu was wide awake, he knew who was coming, but he continued to lie still on the ground. A husky grunt, and then a heave. Supaisu hurled a heavy punch at the fake sleeping sayian, who braced himself quietly and took the hard impact with a measured grunt. The pain, of course, was deserving of much more than a grunt, but having been exposed to it his entire life, Koshu, like the others, had learned to suppress his reactions.
Koshu's eyelids squeezed shut and his teeth clenched, but a whisper of a groan still managed to slip through his lips. Compensating for his massive display of weakness, Koshu immediately became alert and grabbed hold of Supaisu's arm with both hands. Swinging his fist upwards, he flung his combat partner into the wall while riding the momentum and landing in a straddle on top of his chest. He began raining methodical and robotic blows down on his opponent's jaw.
His partner would surely sense something was wrong. He wasn't pulling punches, but he wasn't throwing them too hard either. Usually, Koshu would make a more convincing effort to be immersed in the daily grind of constant physical abuse, but he woke up today with a sense of apathy that trumped his desire to put too much effort into the spar. Sensing a weakness of some sort, Supaisu flipped the fight over, getting his opponent on the ground. Koshu took the gut punches without much struggle.
From dawn till dusk every day, beppan saiyans beat each other into oblivion. Each day, they were randomly assigned a partner to wake up with combat, and every night, the only fell asleep if they were too injured to walk or passed out mid fight. Koshu was all for a good fight, but there was absolutely no thrill in a constant life of meaningless infighting. He craved the thrill of real battle, of danger, and of conquest.
Supaisu finished his beating and left Koshu lying on his back on the black crushed rock floor of the cavern. After a few minutes of staring, Koshu heaved himself to his feat and began to lug his way out of his stone dormitory. The saiyans all lived on a colossal mountain, one of the tallest non volcanoes on the planet. The minute Koshu stepped out of his cave the heat from Beppa's volcanic earth hit him and he began to sweat. The only solace one could find from the sweltering heat was the caves and the very top point of the mountain, a place where only the strongest and eldest fighters trained.
Koshu was relatively strong, and relatively elder, but he was in no position to train on the peak, nor did he want to. Having given up on genuinely enjoying the lifestyle of his people, he generally just wanted to get through his days with as little difficulty as possible. So when the opportunity arose for him to travel down the side of the mountain out to the trading outpost for supplies, he immediately accepted. Grabbing three burlap sacks from the main cavern, Koshu began to set out, receiving hard punches as he left the enclave as farewells.
His body already ripe with fresh bruises, Koshu silently set out down the side of the mountain. The heat hit him like a wall, and he almost regretted his decision to be the one to go. After hesitating mid step for a moment, he continued to stride down the narrow path, before he reached a point where he decided he would just throw himself down the side of the mountain and see what happened.
Tumbling through the flimsy vegetation and sharp boulders, the man felt new cuts tear his flesh, and found comfort in the pain. Rolling on to his feet, Koshu attempted for a while to stay on his toes and leap down the side, but he tripped and just ended up rolling the rest of the way.
Finally, his feet found the unfamiliar feeling of unslanted ground. His body hung relatively low to the ground, and sweat began to drench his jumpsuit. He was irritable, and he was on a mission.
The Saiyan looked out across the barren volcanic landscape; patches of whimpering vegetation were sparsely scattered, and no sign of domestication trickled into the flaming tundra until the very edge of the horizon.
Koshu crouched slightly, and then lept forwards through the air, rounding out his velocity by completely angling his body head first as he hurtled across the rocks on the ground. When his momentum wore out, the saiyan tucked his head in and tumbled onto the ground, breaking his fall. He stood up once more and began to prepare for his next leap.
Jumping across the rocky plains was ultimately the easiest way to travel. Running was slower, and ones shoes could often begin to melt. By leaping, the wind brushing against your skin kept you relatively cool, and there was no need to take breaks or deal with liquifying boots.
Koshu of course could not fly, and never considered the possibility of flying, nor particularly wanted to learn. He knew, of course, that some Beppans could fly, but none of the saiyans on the mountain really did any sort of sky dancing, and so he accepted it as something which he was not a part of.
He was no longer prone to the clumsy mistakes of his youth, either. But in this particular instance, his landing was uncomfortable, because he had broken his fall on soft molten rock as opposed to the rough sandpaper ground he was used to. Immediately and expertly rolling into another jump, he burst off into the air before the heat had a chance to sink into his back.
It's difficult to describe how repetitive and grueling the journey to the outpost was without being repetitive and grueling in the description. Each expedition there and back took ages of endless, mechanical movements. There was just enough danger so that one couldn't easily get lost in thought, but just enough mundanity so that ones brain became covered in molten cobwebs by the time the destination was reached.
There wasn't much to think about in the first place. Koshu had had decades on decades to think; the saiyan had thought about everything there was to think of in the small world he lived in. He had likely pushed the boundaries of saiyan intelligent thought to their extremes. And so now he simply bore through his daily existence, trying his best to think of nothing at all.
Out on the horizon, an area of blackness fizzled into existence. It was either a mirage, or genuine water. If it was one of the few and far between spots of genuine water on the hellish planet, than it meant that the outpost was nearby. Adjusting his angle slightly, Koshu catapulted himself towards the splotch of blackness splattered on the plains.
A few calculated leaps later, the black liquid, saturated heavily with obsidian dust and other darkening agents, became more visible. And sure enough, built on the banks of the pond with blocks of red stone, was a small canteenish structure.
Koshu approached, and was soon on the banks of the pond. Standing on the ground for more than a few moments at a time was uncomfortable, but the saiyan ventured to wade out into the water for a couple of brief moments. The near boiling liquid scalded the sides of his calves, but it was still relatively cool compared to the air above it.
Crouching for a moment, the forty something knelt down in the water, letting a brief groan of age escape his lips. Although he largely maintained his youth as was customary of his society, he was slightly worn down.
Worn down was the wrong word for it. He was not a once sharp knife that had been dulled down. He had never been stimulated in his life.
Surmounting the pond in one powerful leap, Koshu's feet touched ground on the solid earth of next to the outpost. It was something of a sandstone mecca, built of dull red bricks in a large cylinder; The roof of the hub was a white cloth which had been smeared with reds of blood and dust. Koshu had been here only once before, when he was a boy and sent with three of the other children, to teach them all at once where it was, rather than individually put in the effort.
***
10 years old, Koshu and the other children were finally trekking to the outpost. With each of them leaping forwards at a different pace, they looked rather like a herd of grasshoppers traversing the plains. Their tiny bodies were easily brought to a boil; they were all suffering, but not a single prepubescent face would show any cracks of weakness. When the group finally rounded the circumference of the pond (each of the children were to prideful to admit that they wanted to stop and play in the water for a bit), they stood outside the structure and prepared to go in. It was slightly smaller back then, and less populated.
The six towers forming the perimeter of the structure were all shorter, as were the walls between them. The cloth roofing was less bloodied and the entire place looked younger.
The boys trekked, one by one, towards the entrance of the building. Back then, the pond was much larger, and that made it a more desirable spot for loitering. Burly looking Beppans were sprinkled between the gates, and there was a constant flow in and out of all sorts of people; some odd looking aliens and other more native looking beppans.
It was quite a bit conspicuous for four saiyan children to enter the hub at once, so they were all dressed in different garbs, and two of the children had decided to sit on eachother's shoulders in a bout of whimsy.
Koshu took his first step forward into the world outside of his cult.
Strolling casually in, the group was to purchase new jumpsuits and a handle of liquor. They got caught up in the bustle of the market as soon as they entered, and were pushed back and forth by the currents of commerce.
The children almost immediately lost eachother, but this wasn't the difficult part of their journey. They had made twists and turns, and nearly died of heat stroke on their way here. They should be able to handle a trip into the outpost.
They assembled their supplies relatively quickly; Koshu had followed as they purchased three new jumpsuits in sizes much too large for the children. He walked right up to the man selling liquors and slid the shining zinc coins over the counter. The vendor didn't so much as blink as he passed the handle of alcohol over towards Koshu, who quickly picked it up and thanked the man before setting out on his way.
The group of boys, having gotten all of the items on their checklist, were just about ready to head out. All of the jumpsuits were stuffed into a burlap sack, and Koshu alone carried the liquor.
They moved as one. They had been trained to act as a group since birth, and all surfed their way through the torrent of bodies until they reached the gate and began to head back out onto the boiling tundra.
But as they were headed out onto the rocks, a huge looking Beppan knocked into Koshu, causing the handle to slip out of his hand and shatter, evaporating within instants.
We all know that oppressive heat makes people irritable, and both Koshu and the musclebound native were irritable on that afternoon.
Koshu's head whipped around, his eyes filled with rage. He looked at his comrades, but found no support in their cowering gazes. How could they be blamed? They had grown up from infancy being told to direct their saiyan urges at eachother, to take out all their rage in a controlled and predictable way. To move as one. To fight as one. They were told to never fight anybody outside of their circle.
Koshu, at that age, didn't do as he was told. The boy growled under his breath, which prompted an eager knee jerk reaction from the much much larger Beppan. The brute was clearly looking for a fight, and it didn't matter if he was picking on a mere child.
No words needed to be spoken. Koshu turned to face him with rage in his eyes, and the irritable Beppan was mere instants away from snapping.
In one fell movement, Koshu's head whipped back as he was slammed in the forehead by the Beppan's calf. The boy went hurtling backwards, and nearly fell into the water before immediately leaping back forwards and being promptly grabbed by the collar. The seven foot tall native slammed the boy into the ground head first. The child broke his momentum with his arm which was immediately shattered.
Koshu was left a husk on the ground; his companions merely watched the beating with a collective sense of fear.
It was that day that Koshu realized. The type of camaraderie which his society offered did not empower friends to stand strong in the face of adversity. It was a cult of cowardice and isolationism.
***
Koshu's arm was healed now, it had been for a long time. This was the first time in his life since that day that he stood before the outpost where he had received a lethal lesson in complacency.
He was older now. Thirty years older, and worn down. He no longer had any aspirations of rebellion. Koshu's life was within the bounds of his cult, and he didn't dream of disobedience.
For the second time in his life, Koshu gazed on the now barren trading outpost.
He took a step forward.
Koshu was wide awake, he knew who was coming, but he continued to lie still on the ground. A husky grunt, and then a heave. Supaisu hurled a heavy punch at the fake sleeping sayian, who braced himself quietly and took the hard impact with a measured grunt. The pain, of course, was deserving of much more than a grunt, but having been exposed to it his entire life, Koshu, like the others, had learned to suppress his reactions.
Koshu's eyelids squeezed shut and his teeth clenched, but a whisper of a groan still managed to slip through his lips. Compensating for his massive display of weakness, Koshu immediately became alert and grabbed hold of Supaisu's arm with both hands. Swinging his fist upwards, he flung his combat partner into the wall while riding the momentum and landing in a straddle on top of his chest. He began raining methodical and robotic blows down on his opponent's jaw.
His partner would surely sense something was wrong. He wasn't pulling punches, but he wasn't throwing them too hard either. Usually, Koshu would make a more convincing effort to be immersed in the daily grind of constant physical abuse, but he woke up today with a sense of apathy that trumped his desire to put too much effort into the spar. Sensing a weakness of some sort, Supaisu flipped the fight over, getting his opponent on the ground. Koshu took the gut punches without much struggle.
From dawn till dusk every day, beppan saiyans beat each other into oblivion. Each day, they were randomly assigned a partner to wake up with combat, and every night, the only fell asleep if they were too injured to walk or passed out mid fight. Koshu was all for a good fight, but there was absolutely no thrill in a constant life of meaningless infighting. He craved the thrill of real battle, of danger, and of conquest.
Supaisu finished his beating and left Koshu lying on his back on the black crushed rock floor of the cavern. After a few minutes of staring, Koshu heaved himself to his feat and began to lug his way out of his stone dormitory. The saiyans all lived on a colossal mountain, one of the tallest non volcanoes on the planet. The minute Koshu stepped out of his cave the heat from Beppa's volcanic earth hit him and he began to sweat. The only solace one could find from the sweltering heat was the caves and the very top point of the mountain, a place where only the strongest and eldest fighters trained.
Koshu was relatively strong, and relatively elder, but he was in no position to train on the peak, nor did he want to. Having given up on genuinely enjoying the lifestyle of his people, he generally just wanted to get through his days with as little difficulty as possible. So when the opportunity arose for him to travel down the side of the mountain out to the trading outpost for supplies, he immediately accepted. Grabbing three burlap sacks from the main cavern, Koshu began to set out, receiving hard punches as he left the enclave as farewells.
His body already ripe with fresh bruises, Koshu silently set out down the side of the mountain. The heat hit him like a wall, and he almost regretted his decision to be the one to go. After hesitating mid step for a moment, he continued to stride down the narrow path, before he reached a point where he decided he would just throw himself down the side of the mountain and see what happened.
Tumbling through the flimsy vegetation and sharp boulders, the man felt new cuts tear his flesh, and found comfort in the pain. Rolling on to his feet, Koshu attempted for a while to stay on his toes and leap down the side, but he tripped and just ended up rolling the rest of the way.
Finally, his feet found the unfamiliar feeling of unslanted ground. His body hung relatively low to the ground, and sweat began to drench his jumpsuit. He was irritable, and he was on a mission.
The Saiyan looked out across the barren volcanic landscape; patches of whimpering vegetation were sparsely scattered, and no sign of domestication trickled into the flaming tundra until the very edge of the horizon.
Koshu crouched slightly, and then lept forwards through the air, rounding out his velocity by completely angling his body head first as he hurtled across the rocks on the ground. When his momentum wore out, the saiyan tucked his head in and tumbled onto the ground, breaking his fall. He stood up once more and began to prepare for his next leap.
Jumping across the rocky plains was ultimately the easiest way to travel. Running was slower, and ones shoes could often begin to melt. By leaping, the wind brushing against your skin kept you relatively cool, and there was no need to take breaks or deal with liquifying boots.
Koshu of course could not fly, and never considered the possibility of flying, nor particularly wanted to learn. He knew, of course, that some Beppans could fly, but none of the saiyans on the mountain really did any sort of sky dancing, and so he accepted it as something which he was not a part of.
He was no longer prone to the clumsy mistakes of his youth, either. But in this particular instance, his landing was uncomfortable, because he had broken his fall on soft molten rock as opposed to the rough sandpaper ground he was used to. Immediately and expertly rolling into another jump, he burst off into the air before the heat had a chance to sink into his back.
It's difficult to describe how repetitive and grueling the journey to the outpost was without being repetitive and grueling in the description. Each expedition there and back took ages of endless, mechanical movements. There was just enough danger so that one couldn't easily get lost in thought, but just enough mundanity so that ones brain became covered in molten cobwebs by the time the destination was reached.
There wasn't much to think about in the first place. Koshu had had decades on decades to think; the saiyan had thought about everything there was to think of in the small world he lived in. He had likely pushed the boundaries of saiyan intelligent thought to their extremes. And so now he simply bore through his daily existence, trying his best to think of nothing at all.
Out on the horizon, an area of blackness fizzled into existence. It was either a mirage, or genuine water. If it was one of the few and far between spots of genuine water on the hellish planet, than it meant that the outpost was nearby. Adjusting his angle slightly, Koshu catapulted himself towards the splotch of blackness splattered on the plains.
A few calculated leaps later, the black liquid, saturated heavily with obsidian dust and other darkening agents, became more visible. And sure enough, built on the banks of the pond with blocks of red stone, was a small canteenish structure.
Koshu approached, and was soon on the banks of the pond. Standing on the ground for more than a few moments at a time was uncomfortable, but the saiyan ventured to wade out into the water for a couple of brief moments. The near boiling liquid scalded the sides of his calves, but it was still relatively cool compared to the air above it.
Crouching for a moment, the forty something knelt down in the water, letting a brief groan of age escape his lips. Although he largely maintained his youth as was customary of his society, he was slightly worn down.
Worn down was the wrong word for it. He was not a once sharp knife that had been dulled down. He had never been stimulated in his life.
Surmounting the pond in one powerful leap, Koshu's feet touched ground on the solid earth of next to the outpost. It was something of a sandstone mecca, built of dull red bricks in a large cylinder; The roof of the hub was a white cloth which had been smeared with reds of blood and dust. Koshu had been here only once before, when he was a boy and sent with three of the other children, to teach them all at once where it was, rather than individually put in the effort.
***
10 years old, Koshu and the other children were finally trekking to the outpost. With each of them leaping forwards at a different pace, they looked rather like a herd of grasshoppers traversing the plains. Their tiny bodies were easily brought to a boil; they were all suffering, but not a single prepubescent face would show any cracks of weakness. When the group finally rounded the circumference of the pond (each of the children were to prideful to admit that they wanted to stop and play in the water for a bit), they stood outside the structure and prepared to go in. It was slightly smaller back then, and less populated.
The six towers forming the perimeter of the structure were all shorter, as were the walls between them. The cloth roofing was less bloodied and the entire place looked younger.
The boys trekked, one by one, towards the entrance of the building. Back then, the pond was much larger, and that made it a more desirable spot for loitering. Burly looking Beppans were sprinkled between the gates, and there was a constant flow in and out of all sorts of people; some odd looking aliens and other more native looking beppans.
It was quite a bit conspicuous for four saiyan children to enter the hub at once, so they were all dressed in different garbs, and two of the children had decided to sit on eachother's shoulders in a bout of whimsy.
Koshu took his first step forward into the world outside of his cult.
Strolling casually in, the group was to purchase new jumpsuits and a handle of liquor. They got caught up in the bustle of the market as soon as they entered, and were pushed back and forth by the currents of commerce.
The children almost immediately lost eachother, but this wasn't the difficult part of their journey. They had made twists and turns, and nearly died of heat stroke on their way here. They should be able to handle a trip into the outpost.
They assembled their supplies relatively quickly; Koshu had followed as they purchased three new jumpsuits in sizes much too large for the children. He walked right up to the man selling liquors and slid the shining zinc coins over the counter. The vendor didn't so much as blink as he passed the handle of alcohol over towards Koshu, who quickly picked it up and thanked the man before setting out on his way.
The group of boys, having gotten all of the items on their checklist, were just about ready to head out. All of the jumpsuits were stuffed into a burlap sack, and Koshu alone carried the liquor.
They moved as one. They had been trained to act as a group since birth, and all surfed their way through the torrent of bodies until they reached the gate and began to head back out onto the boiling tundra.
But as they were headed out onto the rocks, a huge looking Beppan knocked into Koshu, causing the handle to slip out of his hand and shatter, evaporating within instants.
We all know that oppressive heat makes people irritable, and both Koshu and the musclebound native were irritable on that afternoon.
Koshu's head whipped around, his eyes filled with rage. He looked at his comrades, but found no support in their cowering gazes. How could they be blamed? They had grown up from infancy being told to direct their saiyan urges at eachother, to take out all their rage in a controlled and predictable way. To move as one. To fight as one. They were told to never fight anybody outside of their circle.
Koshu, at that age, didn't do as he was told. The boy growled under his breath, which prompted an eager knee jerk reaction from the much much larger Beppan. The brute was clearly looking for a fight, and it didn't matter if he was picking on a mere child.
No words needed to be spoken. Koshu turned to face him with rage in his eyes, and the irritable Beppan was mere instants away from snapping.
In one fell movement, Koshu's head whipped back as he was slammed in the forehead by the Beppan's calf. The boy went hurtling backwards, and nearly fell into the water before immediately leaping back forwards and being promptly grabbed by the collar. The seven foot tall native slammed the boy into the ground head first. The child broke his momentum with his arm which was immediately shattered.
Koshu was left a husk on the ground; his companions merely watched the beating with a collective sense of fear.
It was that day that Koshu realized. The type of camaraderie which his society offered did not empower friends to stand strong in the face of adversity. It was a cult of cowardice and isolationism.
***
Koshu's arm was healed now, it had been for a long time. This was the first time in his life since that day that he stood before the outpost where he had received a lethal lesson in complacency.
He was older now. Thirty years older, and worn down. He no longer had any aspirations of rebellion. Koshu's life was within the bounds of his cult, and he didn't dream of disobedience.
For the second time in his life, Koshu gazed on the now barren trading outpost.
He took a step forward.