Post by Mammon on Jul 19, 2017 8:25:05 GMT
| Hell Us Selves|
Mammon's PL: 113,792 Mammon's current PL: 28,448
GAIN BONUSES: Heavy Weights + AL PL MULTIPLIERS: N/A
GAIN BONUSES: Heavy Weights + AL PL MULTIPLIERS: N/A
There is a constant among all worlds, and that there is creepy caves somewhere just waiting for plucky young adventurers to find and explore and find the true meaning of friendship, or for some wild boar to live in and goring those very same kids. A flip of the coin really, heads.
He stood at the entrance of this cave breathing in the ambisense which was like feng shui but for a more dark sort, it had a small sign nailed to the rocky wall reading ‘cave o’ regrets’ and bam the feeling of safety was gone, he felt like he needed a green muppet needed to tell him ‘only what you take with you’.
And he took himself, it was dark which was no surprise it was after all a cave and caves were historically dark. “What in hell am I doing here?” he had no real answer it just drew him in, something about the slightly humid air was familiar, like a memory he could only just grasp the edges of, he moved deeper and deeper until the entrance was lost from sight and the only thing to surround him was the inky blackness, when he thought he was finally lost and ready to turn back he saw it, a small light that burned like a sun being the only thing visible in the cave- and it exploded in white filling the room and making it disappear, he was blinded his hand instinctively going to his eye’s to shield them and when he drew them away he was faced with a heavy stone floor, with high vaulted ceilings with paintings dotting the wall, they all had horns and they all looked like him…
“Boy.” no, it couldn’t be. “Father?” he asked before turning to a demon that looked a spitting image of himself, he had the horns, the pale faded white hair with the barest touch of color that was unique to his clan, and a sneer worthy of an emperor. “You failed.” he had to admit that true enough, he had died after all and there was little worse failure in that, you could recover from all the other kinds. “Never!”
“Draw your sword coward.”
“But I don’t-”
And there on his belt like a lover’s hand was his sword, how he had missed that weight. After all, it had a certain poetry to it, not to mention the words of an armed man ring all the truer. “Father.” and he pulled it out of the sheath in one long fluid movement, this felt right. “You’re no son of mine.” and he formed a figure eight leaving the air humming with its passage before the two of them met with a clashing of steel, they raked it up and down testing the strength of each other before drawing back for another blow.
This was all wrong, for one he wasn’t in the demon realm, and two- "Come down with a vengeance!" he locked guards with his father, holding himself close to him, a hairs breath away and he breathed. "Show me your metal boy." Their blades shot out at odd angles, going for strokes that went up, came from the side that made him move and turn adjusting to his new guard, these weren't the sort of surprises that were unblockable or even that heavy handed, they were probing for weaknesses seconds between block and counterattack. Looking for that ever elusive chink in his opponent's armor.
“I tried...” he would’ve screamed it but his voice was raw with emotion and his sword was getting heavier and heavier, it was like he was a little kid again sparring with daddy. “You tried! The world is made of I tried.” and he raised his boot his foot connecting with Mammon's gut sucking the air from him in a wet 'hoo' sound and forcing him back, he could scarcely raise his sword before the aged demon was upon him.
And he was on Mammon, spinning the blade in his hand bringing it down in overhanded slashes, the hum and spatter of the weapon signaling its approach. The demon's attacks were not beautiful in sense of gracefulness, lacking the almost dance-like style of the Arcosians, or the raw anger of the Saiyans. It was clean it was methodical it was mechanical, no motion wasted no tacked for look only strong heavy attacks powered by muscles, bones, and detached precision. “Weakling, failure, wretch, coward, FOOL!”
One hit, two hits, three hits, his sword was now crying out with the sound of tortured metal and was now buckling under the weight, how long before it finally broke, he remembered what he had told him on the day when he got his first sword. 'Good steal bends but never breaks, but most of all steel has no mercy. Be like steel', but he wasn't like steel he was made of flesh and failures.
And Mammon fell he lost his balance or he was tossed aside by the constant rain of blows, either way, he was on the ground with his sword out of reach, he tasted blood and knew he’d be tasting steel soon enough, with someone he remembered and even cared for which was a rare thing for Mammon, about to deliver the deathblow. “PLEASE!” he screamed this and the sword came down whistling taking what seemed to be a thousand years, stabbing him and killing him for good, he closed his eye’s and accepted his fate and felt the rush as the sword- nothing happened, he opened one lid and a pale light slid in, once more the cave and once more the entrance in sight.
And he fled that place scrambling out of it, what was that, could that really have been him? No, it was a trick of this place, another one of the after life's cruel punishments, he'd get even with them all, nobody made a fool of him. Some men flee the past, some men embrace it, and some men chase it. What are you now?