Post by "Unfettered" on Oct 21, 2008 4:07:43 GMT -8
The German: CF Aftermath
So that was it then. The people were saved. He'd picked up some souvenirs---though, nothing as obvious as the cold blast of experience, the scars, the burns, the bottom-rung enthusiasm. There was a sense of fulfillment, but such a hefty cost. And at the end of it all, having finally run out of his pain killers, he'd blacked out. Next thing he knew, he was in the California Hospital, going in and out of consciousness, and hearing some nurse frantically waving him in with an I.V. lodged up his arm, crying out how he was going into cardiac arrest. And of course, they sedate him. Thankfully, he actually did pass out this time, as opposed to his "other" visit, but after waiting a few days, barely being able to move a muscle, he finally stabilized.
Now, a week later, back, and looking more beat up than ever, he could finally come back to school. Of course, he realized that this was already problematic on its own. For one, he hadn't called anyone in Militia to let anyone know what on Earth had happened to him. Second... he was still pissed off as to why Mitsuki Park hadn't come in with the rest of her Pillars. Third, the withdrawal on top of the withdrawal was still hitting him, and it was the shittiest he'd felt. Ever, easily. Not everyone knew, after all. This wasn't some large, exaggerated event that had gone on. All of this had technically "never happened" meaning there would not be as large of a sympathetic response from the student body, meaning he was still a target, meaning---especially in his weakened state---if shit hit the fan, he'd be pretty screwed over.
That first day, while peaceful, was completely and absolutely nerve wracking. He balled up his hands into fists wherever he walked, he had to walk at a slow, controlled pace leaving him late for most of his classes, and he refused to speak up. There was no way to go to school in his state and not show that something was wrong. But he didn't need to flag away exactly how wrong things really were. Hands jittering, feet shaking, voice cracking... Hell, his eye was jerked about by the slightest sound, unnatural stress and paranoia building up as he struggled to make sure his personality maintained the same. Every moment, feeling like he was left with only one strand of endurance, but that strand must have been thick, for the German's mind, while jumping up and down from the tainted flow of blood and corrupted Qi in his veins, he maintained his sanity. Looking back at it during the night, he realized he was glad he decided not to skip school, and that he would not fall back, as he had originally planned.
On hindsight... he realized that was one of the most fatal mistakes of his life.
The Boy: Still Bat-Shit Crazy
Perhaps "crazy" wasn't the most accurate term---it wasn't. But no one else really cared about that. For the boy, he was already accepted as a failure of society, and he went along either completely ignorant of this fact, or aware and simply drowning himself out in his favorite social activity: Fighting.
As already stated in some previous chapter, this was, after all, the boy's only means of social interaction with others. Raised on it, skilled at it, known for it. Perhaps he was not so intelligent about it, but the fact that he had raised his body on constant daily regiments (not that anyone saw him doing these workouts) and toned his muscles purely by fighting with little to eat on a daily basis, and for the sake of saying this oblivious orphan was growing into becoming a threat to the daily peace of Public High School #259's already increasingly violent foundation, and there were serious issues to be had.
Of course, it didn't take long for others to find out that he was a transfer, simply because his behavior, attire, and mannerism of speaking was all completely foreign to the environment. Due to the nature of the boy, it was only natural that he would consistently sincere, but starkly contrasting violent tendencies would have an unnerving effect on the populace. Also, as he tended to bring himself to frequent more and more populated areas of the school, as part of his natural 'patrol', the word of his monosyllabic war cry, "SMASH!?", while perhaps annoying, loud, and socially frowned upon (to put it in the lightest sense), he had already gained a reputation for himself in terms of consistency.
From is known and what is seen, it only made sense that he would one day encounter a very Anti-Transfer German at Public High School #259...
Here’s The Shit. Here’s The Fan.
Strength has always been a measure of power at Public High School #259. It dictates the weak from the strong, the respected and the ignored, the feared and the despised... Labels upon labels upon labels of societal integrity laid to waste. Impossible to avoid, even amongst the college-goers of Public High School #259. What happens in turn is that it was impossible for a "Student Hierarchy" not to be formed. With the flawed, but effective system of corporal punishment permissible throughout the entire United States via government-run private schools, there was only one thing for students to do: Survive.
That day began as much as any other usual day on one of these government funded schools. Zero period all the way up to fourth period went on by, a few fights occurring here and there, and the nurse’s office being kept busy as the usual. What was different was that this day was that today, the boy was going outside of his usual ‘territory’. It began with the boy being surrounded by a couple of punks. A couple of these fellows, fit out with the short-sleeved shirts, the backward caps---a mixture of jocks and bros---who had heard about the infamous retard plaguing the courtyard, and who had brought in an little extra firepower than normal: Baseball bats.
Why?
Word was, the boy was about a tier 1 baddie. Beat him down, and you’d start your way making yourself up in the Student Hierarchy food chain. Speculation that the boy had just been put there, simply by the school’s whim, to stir up some trouble, give the Student Hierarchy a chance to work for their jobs, and others a motivation to get themselves stronger. After all, the boy was a mystery. The people who asked the attendance office got the response that he was from Philidelphia’s Mugen Hall’s Public High School #381, had moved on to Public High School #169 over around in Florida… and both of those schools had shut down. How? Why? No one knew. Perhaps poor management and/or corruption, the kids had been too wild… or possibly even this kid had to do something with it.
Of course the boy hadn’t. Even with his natural tendencies, he lacked the self-preservation to make him a threat for longer than a few days at a time before he had to lie around, sleeping, to recover for days, even weeks at a time. But gossip was a strong tool. And going against about thirteen of these armed jocks, even the boy had the primal instinct to know that if he stayed and fought, that may be his end. The joy was in exchanging blows, not wholly in receiving them, though the boy did not mind. Still, large part of the joy remained in being able to fight back. Hence, for one of those rare occasions, the boy actually fled from the courtyard, from the cafeteria, to the parking lot.
…Where a couple of Militia’s members were hanging around…
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Man, I’m bored…” Tracey whined, sitting on the hood of a black Honda, his feet splitting at the little hood ornament, sprawled about spread-eagle as he looked up, baking with his jeans and collared up green shirt opened up to reveal a white undershirt underneath.
“Oh… shut up,” the girl named Lauren said a bit curtly. She had on her usual army pants and the white undershirt with straps at the top, that cut off just above her stomach to reveal her bellybutton. Adjusting her army cap, her right hand went to grab at the dog tag around her neck, a little black bra strap making itself apparent as it came out of alignment from her undershirt’s shoulder strap. Humming, a ditty tune, and looking out at the cloudless sky, as she sat with her back against the very front of the car, her legs sprawled out, she was about to say something about how it was sort of retarded that they were sitting out there in this God-forsaken heat, out in the sunlight for goodness sake, when a boy with long red hair went tearing out from one of the hallways, towards the parking lot.
“SMAAAAAAAAAAASSSSHHHHHHHHH!!!”
D=[/color][/i]
“…What the HELL!?” Tracey said, sitting up suddenly, as the boy jumped up in the air, suddenly landing smack dab in the middle of the car’s hood that Tracey was sitting on. Meanwhile, Lauren was already standing up, having pushed herself up roughly by pressing back both of her hands against the top of the car in time to see the thirteen similarly dressed jocks with baseball bats rushing out, just in time to see this odd spectacle. Side-stepping, Lauren continued to look forward as Tracey brought up both his legs to kick the boy in the stomach, sending him flying back into the crowd, and bowling over a few in the middle, while a few of the more aggressive ones had already raised up their bats and began to charge the boy, bringing their bats down on him relentlessly, as a couple of the others stood by dawdling, sort of shocked at this turnaround. The three that were underneath the boy were scrambling to get out of the way of their comrades’ hits, that were occasion splintering against the concrete, as blood began to smash up with every successful blow, decorating the air. Two of the others immediately began to charge at Lauren and Tracey.
Well, its not like it took too much to provoke a fight at this school anyways. And these two partners in crime were just as used to it as everyone else who actively defended or fought at this school. The difference?
“…Catapult!”
Crouching down suddenly in understanding, both her arms lowering down, Tracey quickly ran up from the cratered-in car hood, and stepped a bit roughly on Lauren’s shoulders. Not like the girl couldn’t take a little pain. Standing up quickly, and leaning forward, she brought both of her hands to Tracey’s shins, and pumped them in an outward formation, enough for Tracey to go flying forward in a short-range launch against the closer of the two chargers. Bracing up his hands in a quick cross in front of his face as he flew superman-style into the punk’s chest, winding the bastard, the other punk had already passed up his comrade, just as Lauren was standing up, dukes prepared.
*SLAM*
*SMACK*
Crouching, with his newly obtained baseball bat, Tracey revved it back, to bring down the hilt of the bat onto his recovering victim’s face, repeatedly, ‘til there were bits and pieces of broken teeth and skin surrounding the poor sap, while Lauren, revving up her right fist in a heavy-prepared swing, brought it down on the back of the tripped-up punk’s head, as his knees burned, having skidded into the ground, arms pushing him off the ground, before collapsing underneath him.
“Two down,” Tracey grinned a bit---“Look out!”
Turning suddenly forward, Tracey’s head made an extra ninety-degree turn to the left as a baseball bat’s swing collided with his face, a creek’s worth of blood splashing into the air, as his jaw became caved in slightly, while Lauren was already mid-air. Jump kicking the bastard in the face, as Tracey was hunched over, hands over his mouth, looking at the ground, he used his leg to kick the baseball bat to the back of Lauren’s shin, as she grimaced at the three more who had come at them, and the one who was recovering from being kicked in the balls, if ever so slightly. Keeping her eyes trained on them, she bent over slightly while simultaneously stepping back to grab for the baseball bat behind her, as well as grabbing up one of the more freshly dropped ones---
“SMASH!!!”
D:<
D:<
“HOLY SHIT!---”
“WHAT THE FUCK---"
“FUCKING BALLS---"
“SNENANNIGANS---"
"LOL, WUT?---"
Several bodies began flying up in the air. And in the middle of this perfect sphere of flying people stood the boy, blood-soaked, bruised-up, breathing heavily, hands curled into crimson-crusted fists. Staring down, his eye diluting unnaturally, he brought up his arms to back-fist two of the people still standing behind him, as the bodies of the jocks fell to the ground, only to get up again, some of them stricken with some loss of vertigo. Still, they charged, still fueled with the sense of superiority, bringing down their baseball bats on the boy on various places, making his body crumple down, but he brought out his leg in a strong, painful sweep on the ground, grinding into the blacktop, tripping up half of his attackers, before he went and rolled to the side on top of the fallen bastards, whipping himself up again to bring about his fists.
“SMASH, SMASH, SMASH, SMASH…”
D;<
D;<
Punching indiscriminately, wasting energy to even punch air, the boy began a large, exhausting barrage down at the ground, cutting open his fists on even the granite, breaking apart baseball bats, opening up bones to fresh air, and even cutting himself against the splinters of wood that began to shower the floor. A few of the jocks, realizing the sudden danger of the situation that had befallen them picked up a few of their fallen comrades, and began to drag them, as the boy, still focused, continued to punch down.
---*THUNK*
Landing sideways, the boy got up to see the black, crumpled up hood of a Honda resting against the side of his body, as Tracey heaved himself back up from the heavy throw. The skin to his jaw was cracked open, and there was still profusive bleeding, but Tracey was still combat ready, much to the now-smiling Lauren’s relief.
“Freaking troublemakers… this is going to be a helluva story to explain to your ortho, Trace,” the girl chuckled lightly, bust swaying a bit as she revved up her ‘beating’ arms, as she liked to call them. Tracey, for obvious reasons, did not respond, grunting in something akin to that of a painful laugh. Flipping up her cell, Lauren went to her speed dial, pressing the “W”.
---“Wait, Trace, no!”---But it was far too late. The phone was already dialing, but Tracey was already charging the standing, hunched over boy---
*CRACK*
Sweat and red life flew into the air as the boy’s face raced backwards, his entire body limply letting the aerodynamics of momentum push him up like a roller coaster, before he went crashing with the back of his head, down in a momentums mid-air slump, with gravity providing the suspenseful plummet down from one of those crazy theme park rides. Retracting his foot, and bringing his arms back to the front to stop counter-balancing himself, Tracey stepped backwards, spitting lightly, and wincing at the pain as the boy crashed, crumpling into the ground.
“Ja, hallo?”
“Oh… Thank God. Boss, its Lauren. I’m with Tracey in the parking lot. Trace’s hurt really bad---" “I’mf frine!” “---and there’s a bunch of wounded around here. Can you make a quick pit stop? Dunno if reinforcements might come.”
“I’m just at my locker, real cloze by. Be right zer.”
“Thanks.”
*Click*---“SHRITK---” *BAM*
“SMASH!”
=D
*WHUMP*
“TRACE, NO, NO!”
Inevitable Confrontation
For some reason, the German had a bad feeling about this. This was the first call he’d received ever since he’d gotten back, and Lauren hadn’t really filled him in completely on what was going on. Hurriedly applying the bandages to his body, “Unfettered” began to walk faster than what was currently comfortable for him, as he buttoned up his over shirt, which hid his Poseidon’s Chest Plate, and redid his belt, before bringing his Hades Coat over his body tightly, even buttoning that up. He’d packed lightly today. Too lightly. Today had been a major miscalculation the German realized.---He stopped suddenly, turning to a vending machine, eying it carefully as he brought his right hand to his jaw, considering.
The German smiled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
“F-F-F-Freaking… different level…” Lauren whimpered quietly, as she laid over Trace’s unconscious body, a pool of sweat and blood surrounding it, as Lauren’s shirt, scatter-stained with drops of blood rested her arms over the body, protective, as the boy had evidentially gotten board of beating them around, and resumed to beating the crap out of the others who were lying on the ground and still showing signs of struggle.
“…Vat die Hölle…?”[/size] came a deep voice.
Surveying the scene of carnage, the German found his two compatriots, huddle with one another, as a boy with long red hair continued to beat others who were unconscious. He’d heard bits and pieces of this boy. This boy was a transfer. Another perfect specimen to whom he could use as a scapegoat that “Unfettered” could utilize for his own means. However, that was the farthest thing away from the German’s mind at this point. Looking at the pathetic site of his comrades, he allowed rage to bite into his neck, flooding his face with a metallic, heated fury, the fog from his nose being apparent. For a first, the German actually felt as though he was overdressed for the weather this time. Stepping down from the steps, the German eyed the boy carefully. “Who ze fuck do you think you are---“
“SMASH!”
?
*SMASH*[/size][/b]
The German’s body seized up as the boy’s head suddenly slammed into his chest plate. However, much to the boy’s, and anyone who was still conscious and watching this whole scenario, the German grinned, as his body slid back a bit on the last step, even stepping back to bring back his balance. The boy may have been confused, because he gave the German enough time to quickly bring his hands down over his head, bring it up, and then down again with as much force as the German could muster, as he simultaneously brought up his knee, before letting go to let the force of the impact wash out of his body, giving the boy’s body a chance to flail back, clutch his forehead in pain for a moment before charging again, this time, with arms extended. “Unfettered” was amazed at the simplicity of this boy’s attack, even as he revved up his left arm, and prepared his left leg, winding both of them back before side-stepping forward and then trip-kicking at the boy’s shin, while bringing up a near-simultaneous follow-up of his left fist to the boy’s chin to avoid having the boy just outright stumble onto him. Honestly, the German was amazed---how did this simple-minded boy cause so huge of a ruckus? Obviously, the rumors weren’t true---
Stumbling back, the boy suddenly stomped hard backwards, before stomping forward, and launching his right fist to the German’s chest. Surprised at the sudden speed, the German’s eye could keep up with it, but his body could not. No, he had underestimated the boy. Seizing up both of his hands to the boy’s forearm, he pivoted his hips, trying to exert himself as little as possible, while launching the boy into the air with a heave-ho, and down onto the steps with some appropriate bone-crunching sounds, an exasperated release of breath, and blood decorating the ground about the boy.
“Smrasasssshhh---”
*WHAM*
Bringing back up his fist, before even giving the boy a chance to get up, he stepped backwards, suddenly resting his hands on his thighs. “Unfettered” was already breathing hard. He couldn’t afford to let this fight last any longer than it already had. But even as he was recovering, the boy had done a quick push-up, slamming his already beaten up fists into the ground, two craters left where his hands had crashed into to push himself up, as he stepped forward to regain his already lopsided balance.[/i]
“INZIDE!”
Lauren perked up. Grunting painfully with a agonizing whine, she began to crouch up, bringing her soar, bruised up body to a low stand, before she grabbed Tracey by the shoulders, slowly dragging him on the concrete. Meanwhile, the boy had already made his move. Moves.
Stepping forward suddenly, the boy stomped hard with his right foot and pivoted it to the side, just as the German brought up his own hands, palms open, “Unfettered” already seeing what was going to happen.
Shotgun. Except, this boy’s version was perfect. Punches began to fly, with increased speed, “Unfettered” loosening up his stance as he brought his heels up, to pivot slightly, bringing up his hands to catch and/or deflect the punches, but the boy was at a speed that the German could not keep up with. Three to nine more punches would always slip through the German’s defense system, resulting in a complete whiff, a sidelong graze, or an outright punch, that would cause the German to grunt in pain, as he tried not to show exactly how much of it he was suffering.---*SMASH* *SMASH* *SMASH*
Three successive punches to the gut. As the German began to stumble back, vomiting up blood, seven more punches flew forward as the boy continued to punch, smiling with reckless abandon as gleefully as ever, the reason for his current state of “SMASH”ing completely forgotten. “Unfettered’s” body went flying back, his legs barely able to even sustain the German, as he crashed back several yards on top of the blacktop. He laid there for a moment. What the hell had happened? He knew the withdrawal effects of the drugs were bad, but this terrible? Defeat in such a state… that was embarrassing. Looking up, the German was glad at least to see the backs of Lauren and Tracey, secretly hoping that they wouldn’t look back---
“SMASH!”
…The boy had lifted up the busted up Honda, and he was standing with a sense of dread over the German, even with that innocent smile.
“Ze fricken…!---”
“SMASH!”
Eye went wide, as the German’s fists began to rush forward, punching into metal, punching into gears, pipes, valves, rubber. His knuckles were being cut open, as he continuously punched upward from his lying-down position, keeping the car up in seeming suspended animation. But the car was still growing closer and closer, and became dangerously close as the boy jumped on top of the car, hunched forward, and began to punch repeatedly downward, crushing the car against the German with the force of his punches versus the German’s, all while chanting, chanting, chanting…
“SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!
SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!”~
*BOOM*
SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!”~
*BOOM*
* * * * * * * * * * * * *[/center][/b]
”Why I Stand.”
Theme Song: _-={The Metal Visage}=-_ by Selcuk Bor (MaestroRage)
Theme Song: _-={The Metal Visage}=-_ by Selcuk Bor (MaestroRage)
Shrapnel, hot metal, blood, water---Water? A water fountain, the top broken off, the water spilling onto the ground, filling it kept gushing forth its contents as it mixed the blood of all who had fought into that area. Something poetic and symbolic, almost, but the German didn’t have time to appreciate something like that. Instead, he began to move his half-drowned body up, before stopping, a sudden spasm spreading throughout his entire chest. No doubt that his previous wounds had been opened up, coupled alongside some of the new ones. “Unfettered” almost passed out right then and there, his eye opened, but looking around dizzily. The boy was standing on top of the burning wreckage, smiling, gleefully, stupidly, innocently. Unlike usual, however, the German didn’t pause to think over this, as the boy had already hopped down from the tire that began to melt a few moments later after the boy had stepped off, as the boy stepped into the growing pool of water that covered a good portion of that part of the parking lot.
“…Zink you von…?”
The boy looked down at the body of the long-white haired boy, noticing how Overly Dressed Man could stand the heat with that much clothing on. They’d been hanging around for half-an hour, maybe fifteen minutes before the German had stopped fidgeting on the ground uncontrollably. Hadn’t lost, hadn’t lost consciousness. Surprisingly, the German, as short-of-breath as he was, slowly curled up, weakly reaching around for his knees.
“…Ja… you beat me, punk. But you didn’t kill me.”
Impatiently, the boy stood about, not really paying attention. He wanted Overly Dressed Man to stand back up again so that they could both “SMASH” again. “Unfettered” rolled slightly forward, letting his hands pressed down into the pool of water, submerged completely.
“…Ze problem iz… I’m not ze strongest… but if you don’t kill me, I vill rise stand up again to fight you. To beat you. To harass you. Continue this senseless cycle this school has perfected.”
…The boy began stepping forward, to finish this, smiling. He knew a defeated person when he saw him. He’d simply make a pity knock-out punch, since that was all Overly Dressed Man seemed good for now at this rate---
“---AS LONG AND WINDING AZ ZE AUTOBAHN[/i]!”[/color]
Suddenly rolling forward, holding his breath, and practically skidding forward, he pressed with his hands to pivot himself in mid-air before landing the relatively dry sidewalk, just as he pressed both his hands down and up, letting it only touch onto the surface, the boy, eager at this newfound enthusiasm---as suddenly, the water began to turn to ice underneath him, the area suddenly feeling that much colder. Unshakable Igloo.~
His feet getting suddenly caught and stuck in the water as it turned into ice around his feet, the boy slipped and fell forward, just as the German, still hunched over, crawled forth a bit and began pressed the tips of his hands on the newfound, shaky ice, as his feet pressed themselves against the curb. Using the ice to his advantage, he launched forward, forcing his arms to not touch the ground to take away from the traction, just as the boy struggled to get up, always slamming back down with all his futile attempts, frustration growing, as the German prepped up a fist---slamming it into the boy’s face, just as the boy’s head went down again. The boy, bloodied already, already injured, began to bring up his hands, but an elbow slammed into the back of his head, as the German scrambled onto the boy’s back, taller and heavier than the boy, as it was. As blood began to seep out from the boy’s side, freezing at the edges, the German let his hands fall to his side… but suddenly went forth to the boy’s neck, a look of cool reservation plastered on the German’s face, as he continued to choke the consciousness from the boy.
“…And unlike you transfers, you fucking martial artists, you crazy assassins vith random backgrounds, cokeheads, random badasses, perfectionists… I worked to get to where I am today. Zat’s ze beauty of vorking from ze bottom-up: No matter how many times you fall, ze bottom is still only just ze bottom.”
The boy’s head slammed into the ground, eye wide. Unconscious.
"Unfettered's" Statistics:
Strength: 9
Dexterity: 18
Constitution: 7
Intelligence: 35
Wisdom: 39
Charisma: 37
"Unfettered's" Equipped Items:
"Ambition"
Poseidon’s Chest Plate: (+4 Constitution, Nullifies first two hits of the opponent.)
Hades Coat: (+6 Strength, +6 Constitution.)
"Tuvlan's" Statistics:
Strength: 30
Dexterity: 30
Constitution: 30
Intelligence: 6
Wisdom: 5
Charisma: 5