Caitiff Oct 17, 2020 22:29:14 GMT
Post by Serranna on Oct 17, 2020 22:29:14 GMT
“What fucking guilt!? There’s nothing to be guilty of!” The woman shrieked in anger as she slammed against the man once more, her knife blade clashing with his Ki-wrapped fingers as he deftly held her of, her strikes less coordinated, less organised than they had been before. It was clear that she was skilled at fighting and keeping herself detached, he could see that she was also no stranger to fighting under the impulse to rend and maim without reason… but no matter how skilled the berzerker, how practised or how talented if you could find the in then you could still have their anger blind them as hers was doing now. All he had to do was keep her furious, keep the rage seething without pushing her too hard or letting up too much… all he had to do to take her with this world and himself was walk the knife’s edge. It was worth it, he reckoned, to ensure that she was no longer amongst the living, free to reap the harvest from the seeds she had sown. “Let me tell you your tale as I see it, Saiyan, Serranna, Slayer of my home.” The man leapt backwards and vanished as the woman impacted where he had been, the battered bough creaking ominously under the force of her impact… the tree of might was a potent and sturdy thing but there were veritable gods clashing amongst its spreading canopy now. “ I see a disillusioned soldier who woke up to the foolishness of blindly following orders, of being a loyal dog. I see a woman who couldn’t come to terms with her actions and her choices, torn between her honor and her pride, between her duty and her heart.” The man blinked once more as the bough he had been stood on frosted over, the air glittering like diamonds as the woman tried to pin him in place… she had a fearsome array of techniques to be certain and he was beginning to wonder if he could do this without inciting her to a blood-boiling rage; taking a steadying breath the man gathered his energy and prepared to turn against all he knew and loved, twisting the abilities he used to aid people like that human and setting them against the Saiyan in an effort to do the universe a favor and strike her out. “I see a woman who fled into madness to avoid that choice, who found madness was not enough, heroes were not enough to lead her by example and so she fled madness into apathy. I see a coward, Serranna… a craven wretch scared of taking responsibility for her own actions.”
The fury in her eyes was expected but still enough to force him to step back rather than face its baleful wrath; if looks could kill then the tree was unnesecary and the universe was at its end… and in that blackened, deep-rooted rage he saw that he had struck a nerve indeed. Somewhere, buried under the scars and the pain and the rage she knew what he was saying was true and she would stop at nothing to tear him and those words from the world. The woman blurred as she launched herself at him, the man’s lips thinning in concentration; he was only going to get the one shot at this and to get it wrong would spell his death without a shadow of a doubt, a most unpleasant one if his foe had anything to say about it. Just before her impact the man shifted and sliced with his hand, the woman’s blow vanishing through a small and focused rift as her own fist emerged from the air beside her, a straightforward charge sending her careening down away from the canopy, a dull impact and a cloud of debris and splinters marking her ungainly landing amidst the tree’s writhing, monstrous roots. Focusing his energy Soba drew upon the techniques passed down through his family and let the shadows mirror the woman’s fears and misgivings now that they were near the surface of her mind.
The woman pulled herself from the roots, wincing at the bloody hole in her side where it felt as though she’d struck herself, the skin torn and the bone exposed for questing fingers to feel; she’d poured much into her strike and received it fully herself yet she was far from beaten. Eyes blurring slightly, watered by tears born of equal parts shame and rage, she was about ready to launch herself back into the air and the battle when she heard that word whispered. Glancing around to see where it had come from she saw no-one, felt no-one… and then the shadows between the roots rippled and no-one become visible to her. A trio of Saiyan figures emerging from the gloom, young, old, a selection that had once been a squad, that had been the first victims, the first questions she’d held concerning right from wrong when it came to her orders. She wasn’t certain which had spoken but her lips moved in soundless denial, though wether it was to their presence or their claim only she would ever know.
Not my daughter… just her shadow
Another figure emerging from the gloom, the same unkempt and wild hair but with a set of standardized Saiyan armor, a knife in her hand also; Serranna’s breath catching in her throat as she saw an aged version of herself moving forwards, no, not herself… she’d seen that face so many times but only once where she’d been old enough to put a name to it. Soba watched as the woman stepped backwards, falling backwards over a root as more figures emerged from the gloom before dropping to the ground amidst them, watching anger flare in the Saiyan’s eyes as she registered him amongst them. “This is your story as I tell it, your mind betrays you, coward. That’s why you came to Yardrat, to my home, with your seed and not another world!” His expression softened slightly as she shook his head, a hand placed gently on the shoulder of that female shade of a Saiyan, a ghost of a memory that haunted a woman who claimed indifference, a fetter to bind the unbound. “It would take a miracle to nurture it… but you came here knowing my people would flee. There is a dim, faint hope for your daughter Haberna… but first the coward has to perish.” Pulling herself to her feet, growling in anger as the sound of a tooth crackinging under the pressure of her clamped jaw echoed out, Serranna raised her knife and, eyes darting from shade to shade, gave her retort to Soba’s story. “Fucking try it, dead man.”
...no one said it was a particularly pithy rebuttal.