Post by Deleted on Apr 8, 2016 16:43:34 GMT
Alexander could feel the Void pressing on his thoughts, his actions, demanding that he do this even though he might not necessarily want to. He felt like he could still defend against it if he was allowed to. He had more than enough Void left in his body to present a proper defense but his insides craved that burning sting of ki burning across his flesh. He didn't know what would come of it, and if he'd even remain conscious, but he didn't have much of a chance to turn away now. He had invited the wolfman's best, and he expected to receive it. If he were to change his strategy now, then there wouldn't be much of any reason for him to have made the challenge in the first place.
As Samba responded, Alexander gave a small nod, his body thrumming with anticipation. The incoming pain and damage was something that he hadn't gotten to feel in quite some time. He knew the weights of his cloak were slowing him down immensely, but that didn't stop him from still wearing them. It had become part of his outfit, now, and he couldn't just discard the heavy coat. The weight of it all was a familiar pain in his upper shoulders, and Fudendrenk had told him that he should never go a day in training without wearing them. No matter what the situation, you could always remove them if things were getting a little...rough.
The attack itself was powerful, Alexander could feel, and he wanted to see just how much damage it dealt to him. He wanted to feel that pain and agony overcharging his pain receptors. His hand, the one that had been outstretched toward Samba, had pulled back toward his body then as the wolf began to get ready to release the technique. Alexander waited, adrenaline replacing the blood in his veins as the attack was announced, the sphere screaming downward toward him. Alex braced himself, waiting for the attack to strike him and wanting to gauge Samba's power from this alone, as his Void Sense was still...mostly unreliable.
Full Moon Cannon. An aptly named attack, considering its appearance. Those were the last thoughts that flickered through Alexander's mind as the attack slammed into him and his guarded stance. The pain was like a flower. It started out closed, barely registering on his body's radar. Then much like the flora was wont to do, the pain blossomed, opening and spreading through his entire body. Its sting shot through his core, emanating from there and spreading throughout his limbs, each one crying out in pain from the sensations. He felt as if he was being thrust into a fire, and the flames burned not at his body, but beneath, searing his veins and arteries, nerves and soul.
For all of its pain, the explosion of the attack was over relatively quickly, leaving Alexander standing, though only barely. If he'd removed his coat, been able to divert more energy to his body, he likely would have been completely fine. But as it stood, he felt as if his soul had been burnt away. He exhaled softly, the smoke surrounding him obscuring him, allowing him to make those faces of pain from the attack, to let it out without Samba seeing. But he knew the fog wouldn't last long, and as such, he closed his eyes, reining in his emotions, putting a stopper on the pain that he was feeling. He'd bathed in it, allowed it to suffuse his being, but now he needed to once more enter the real world.
He let his own power rise, ignoring the throbbing pain in his right arm as he dispelled the smoke that had erupted from the explosion of the attack. "That wasn't bad at all," he spoke, not letting on just how much that had done. He could still keep fighting, and were this a true fight, he likely would have. But at this time, it was a spar, and he needed to judge how strong people on Earth were for his own needs and reasons. Samba had managed to throw an attack that had done fairly decent damage to him, and he wondered who else there might be. Once more, the name of 'Beryl' flashed through his mind, reminded of the talk Samba and Core had at the lake.
"If you keep perfecting that technique, It'll become a true horror for those you fight against," he murmured, trying to get up the gall to move, though every fibre of his being felt as if it were on fire. He waved a hand in the air then. "But I think that should be enough for now. We are both exhausted from that," he spoke, his emerald-eyed gaze on Samba, wondering if there was going to be an attempt to fly him back to the mainland or not. "If you need to head back, that's fine. I will rest here for a bit," he offered, not wanting to be carried again. That had just given him all the more incentive he needed to develop a technique of his own for a similar purpose.
((Thread Exit. PL + Heavy Weights))
As Samba responded, Alexander gave a small nod, his body thrumming with anticipation. The incoming pain and damage was something that he hadn't gotten to feel in quite some time. He knew the weights of his cloak were slowing him down immensely, but that didn't stop him from still wearing them. It had become part of his outfit, now, and he couldn't just discard the heavy coat. The weight of it all was a familiar pain in his upper shoulders, and Fudendrenk had told him that he should never go a day in training without wearing them. No matter what the situation, you could always remove them if things were getting a little...rough.
The attack itself was powerful, Alexander could feel, and he wanted to see just how much damage it dealt to him. He wanted to feel that pain and agony overcharging his pain receptors. His hand, the one that had been outstretched toward Samba, had pulled back toward his body then as the wolf began to get ready to release the technique. Alexander waited, adrenaline replacing the blood in his veins as the attack was announced, the sphere screaming downward toward him. Alex braced himself, waiting for the attack to strike him and wanting to gauge Samba's power from this alone, as his Void Sense was still...mostly unreliable.
Full Moon Cannon. An aptly named attack, considering its appearance. Those were the last thoughts that flickered through Alexander's mind as the attack slammed into him and his guarded stance. The pain was like a flower. It started out closed, barely registering on his body's radar. Then much like the flora was wont to do, the pain blossomed, opening and spreading through his entire body. Its sting shot through his core, emanating from there and spreading throughout his limbs, each one crying out in pain from the sensations. He felt as if he was being thrust into a fire, and the flames burned not at his body, but beneath, searing his veins and arteries, nerves and soul.
For all of its pain, the explosion of the attack was over relatively quickly, leaving Alexander standing, though only barely. If he'd removed his coat, been able to divert more energy to his body, he likely would have been completely fine. But as it stood, he felt as if his soul had been burnt away. He exhaled softly, the smoke surrounding him obscuring him, allowing him to make those faces of pain from the attack, to let it out without Samba seeing. But he knew the fog wouldn't last long, and as such, he closed his eyes, reining in his emotions, putting a stopper on the pain that he was feeling. He'd bathed in it, allowed it to suffuse his being, but now he needed to once more enter the real world.
He let his own power rise, ignoring the throbbing pain in his right arm as he dispelled the smoke that had erupted from the explosion of the attack. "That wasn't bad at all," he spoke, not letting on just how much that had done. He could still keep fighting, and were this a true fight, he likely would have. But at this time, it was a spar, and he needed to judge how strong people on Earth were for his own needs and reasons. Samba had managed to throw an attack that had done fairly decent damage to him, and he wondered who else there might be. Once more, the name of 'Beryl' flashed through his mind, reminded of the talk Samba and Core had at the lake.
"If you keep perfecting that technique, It'll become a true horror for those you fight against," he murmured, trying to get up the gall to move, though every fibre of his being felt as if it were on fire. He waved a hand in the air then. "But I think that should be enough for now. We are both exhausted from that," he spoke, his emerald-eyed gaze on Samba, wondering if there was going to be an attempt to fly him back to the mainland or not. "If you need to head back, that's fine. I will rest here for a bit," he offered, not wanting to be carried again. That had just given him all the more incentive he needed to develop a technique of his own for a similar purpose.
((Thread Exit. PL + Heavy Weights))