| Like He Was Never Gone; You dun goofed | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 9 2017, 06:21 AM (107 Views) | |
| Sykes | Mar 9 2017, 06:21 AM Post #1 |
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The Radmin
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Beaten, bruised, and very drained, Wrolen descended to the bleak tiles of the Cell Games arena. He was panting hard, having spent most of his power vaporizing Nappa. Looking around, the denizens of Hell were silent. A murmur on the lips of the observers gained volume slowly, behind which Wrolen could hear a steady thumping. Eventually, the beating drum overpowered the voices of the arena and all Wrolen could hear were the sounds of fists pounding chests in a steady rhythm. To the innermost edges of the arena came the Saiyans, most clad in black armor but all bearing the crimson crest of the Tong. They occupied the entirety of Wrolen’s vision, forming a ring of murderers and thieves around the most murderous and larcenous of them all. Before Wrolen, the wall of his people parted to reveal his none other than his father. The Viscount let his transformation fade, meeting his father at eye level. The elder Saiyan stood before his son, his cold eyes matching his sons, betraying no emotion. ”You overcame some of the most infuriating opponents in Hell without relying on overwhelming force.” He said suddenly, drawing his blade as he spoke not only to his son but also to all who could hear. He pointed the weapon at a large bloodstain. ”Cui gave you the chance to demonstrate your cruelty, and ability to punish those who speak ill of our kin.” He gestured at Wrolen’s flowing hair. ”You beat the manipulator, Guldo, using your head, not your fists.” The Saiyans around them al chuckled knowingly, and it could have been his imagination, but Wrolen could have sworn he saw the corner of his father’s mouth twitch in a wry smile… nah. ”And then I killed a clown, no need to congratulate me for that particular-“ Fenn stopped him with a raised palm. ”That clown, as you so eloquently put it, was supposed to be impossible to defeat without ascending.” He placed a massive palm on Wrolen’s shoulder, genuinely smiling now. ”You have more than earned your place amongst us, my son.” He swept outwards with his weapon, exclaiming: ”HAS HE NOT!?” A chorus of roaring Saiyan’s answered him. Wrolen let his eyes roam, seeing a sea of faces no longer hostile and unwelcoming, but cheering for his moment, for him. These people were his father’s soldiers one and all, relics of an age long since past, but they were Saiyans… They were Tong. Fenn let his weapon impact the ground, releasing the vibrating thrum that quelled the mob. ”What’s more… you held true to your word throughout this ordeal.” Fenn held his blade before Wrolen and placed his left hand upon it’s shining edge, then spoke quietly for his son’s ears only. ”I knew what would happen to Nappa if you cut loose, but I wanted the Tong to know as well.” He slid his palm along the blade, drawing blood. ”Viscount Wrolen, do you swear to live for the Tong as it shall live for you?” Wrolen said nothing as he placed his hand where his father’s had rested, mimicking the bloodletting along the opposite side of the blade before gripping it tightly with his other hand, summoning the flow of crimson from between his fingers. ”Bound in blood.” ”BOUND IN BLOOD” Echoed the army around them. Fenn lowered the bloody blade between them, offering his free hand to Wrolen, who gripped the wounded hand with his own. ”Will you uphold the pride of our family, forgoing all other loyalties before the bonds of our brotherhood?” Wrolen felt Fenn’s energy through the laceration and responded in kind. ”Unbroken, unbowed.” The Tong chanted his words back at him. By now there were more observers than the tournament had attracted, the Saiyans were up to something and Hell was taking notice. Fenn opened his hands, releasing his grip, and the weapon, the Geshei Ton’s badge of office, was left in the hands of his son. ”As you will it.” ”YOUR WILL!” ”So shall it be.” ”OUR LIVES!” Wrolen gazed at the magnificent weapon in his hands. ”At long last.” He lofted it above his head, displaying it for all of Hell to see. ”By the power of this blade, the fearsome Mandatum, I do claim my seat as Viscount of all Geshei Tong, both the living…” He paused, taking in the faces before him, dedicating this moment to memory. ”AND THE DAMNED!” A blinding golden light, the roar of rushing air, and then suddenly… the serenity of a green ocean and blue grass and a gentle wind caressing his wounded body. The Saiyan blinked, lowered his blade to his side, and stared dead ahead for a solid minute. Wrolen, recently deceased Viscount of the Saiyans, Leader of the Geshei Tong, and mass murderer… was on Namek. Alive. He glanced at his blade, confirming that it was indeed real and proof that he had not dreamt the entire ordeal. Had he truly died? Wrolen rubbed his throat, remembering exactly how the Shikirian had torn it out…such elegance, such finesse. He subconsciously probed for her energy but found nothing. ”That exquisite murderess was real, and so was my fall… my descent to Hell… and then my Father-“ Wrolen involuntarily squeezed the hilt of the Mandatum, noting how it was as real an anything. He reflected on what he had learned, postulated on the circumstances of his ressurection, and then thought ahead to what he should do with a second chance at life. ”Perhaps this time…” He tilted his head back, staring at where he believed his home planet should be in the sky above. ”I'll take a more personal approach to my work.” Somewhere in the depths of Hell, there was an arena full of Saiyans gazing up at the sky where their newly anointed leader had been raptured away, and a chill passed throughout the ranks, because somewhere up there… Wrolen was smiling. Edited by Sykes, Mar 9 2017, 06:26 AM.
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