05-27-2015, 02:05 AM
Even after his short nap, Gildarts felt as though he had walked for miles, he had traveled far in his part of the island and yet had not encountered the two girls he was searching for. In fact, he hadn't encountered anyone. He didn't necessarily consider this 'luck,' but if he didn't get a glimpse of the competition soon, his poise for battle would start to drown from a lack of adrenaline.
By this time, the man's nausea had receded from his mind and he was picking the bones from his teeth. For the most part, he had thrived in this newly arrived area, but after seeing that he had no string to fish with, he had opted to create a spear. With a braced broken limb set against a durable rock, the man had slowly but surely chafed and etched away the thick bark. The tip of his spear had been nearly sharpened to that of a flimsy and dangerous point, yet as he carved the finishing touches, his stomach grumbled in complaint of the rigorous exertion. Ironically enough, the survivalist had no idea that he had a spare store of food right under his shoulder the entire time. Once oblivious, always oblivious; luckily this fault never showed in his fierce battle technique.
In all honesty, the magic-less mage reflected as he looked at his calloused hands, seemingly engraved just as deep as the stripped bark he had created, It's nice getting a vacation, if I think about it, I'm on an island far away from the world and when I was young, my wish to be rid of both the guilt and the crash magic that plagued me for so long has finally been granted... His stomach was full as his mind rattled with the paradox he was living. Survival was evolution, so he had to adapt to the changes and surpass them, even if he didn't agree with his current powerless situation.
While it had taken some brute strength and a little handy-work to create, he now gazed at the results before him. A durable stick held by his carpenter palms -well, palm- and the double-edged reward that came with it. The searing red and burning blisters he felt in his sore carpals was soothed as he dipped his hand into the icy water and with the glistening splash of the gentle current, wiped his wounds clean. The garment he wore for shorts were weighted due to his entirely sopping wet clothing. Movement was slow, even in the fluttering water.
Gildarts was far from a pro when it came to throwing things at fish he could barely see, but the way he figured it, there wasn't much of a difference from the weapon he had once wielded. His aim was one good thing that he had retained on the island, even if his reinforcing brawn seemed to have derailed slightly thanks to his nifty silver choker.
I can rough it on this island, but my only complaint now is that it needs more women. What was this he felt in his chest? It was tasteless, void, and unfulfilling.
He had nothing to prove.
He physically ached now that his purpose had been reduced to ash. This was supposed to be a battle to the death, but he couldn't fight on an empty stomach either. Was his break justified?
Suddenly, he paused with his heart heavier than it had ever been. It vaguely dawned on him that he couldn't compete to be the best anymore -no, he wasn't the best anymore. Armless? Legless? He could made it work, but did he now have what it took to survive this trying ordeal? Disadvantages filled his glass to the brim. While his prosthetic limbs weren't as flexible now, they still functioned all the same with the nimble flow of his movement. Against those stronger than he, what did he have to show against them?
The threatening Cindy, the relatable Jon, both playing the game and at the same time winning the fight against themselves. Gildarts craved battle, yet something was holding him back. A limit he had unknowingly set upon himself.
Was this champion fighter just as destructive without his magic? Was he somehow at even more of an advantage because of his increased perceptiveness? The Abyss tested the veteran's mental fortitude with the hauntings of solitude for now, but he couldn't shake the feeling the onset of danger was coming.
Karl's wrath. The devious game master had announced something on the speakers but it had been muffled mostly by the wind. The threatening crackle had a sickeningly insidious intent, and Gildarts wasn't playing the game. The creator's crosshairs were sure to be upon him...
The remains of the singular and scrawny fish he had managed to spear -with quite some effort- were left in the swirling pool below him. The sun began to stretch into the sky and in its rising angle, his shorts had been set out to dry.
The vulnerability he felt was now holding him back and after his meager feast, his mind had moved a distance away from his stomach. An endless bombardment of skeptical thought pounded in his head and rocked his sturdy conscience as he thoroughly deliberated all that was needed of him to live through this struggle. "What exactly is it I am so afraid of?"
His skin turned to ice, a gusting shiver jolted through his body with the piercing force of an unwanted revelation; it proved to be fiercer than lightning and more treacherous than fire. The answer was unspoken, but rang in his mind louder than any volume he could have shouted.
What if they are already dead?
By this time, the man's nausea had receded from his mind and he was picking the bones from his teeth. For the most part, he had thrived in this newly arrived area, but after seeing that he had no string to fish with, he had opted to create a spear. With a braced broken limb set against a durable rock, the man had slowly but surely chafed and etched away the thick bark. The tip of his spear had been nearly sharpened to that of a flimsy and dangerous point, yet as he carved the finishing touches, his stomach grumbled in complaint of the rigorous exertion. Ironically enough, the survivalist had no idea that he had a spare store of food right under his shoulder the entire time. Once oblivious, always oblivious; luckily this fault never showed in his fierce battle technique.
In all honesty, the magic-less mage reflected as he looked at his calloused hands, seemingly engraved just as deep as the stripped bark he had created, It's nice getting a vacation, if I think about it, I'm on an island far away from the world and when I was young, my wish to be rid of both the guilt and the crash magic that plagued me for so long has finally been granted... His stomach was full as his mind rattled with the paradox he was living. Survival was evolution, so he had to adapt to the changes and surpass them, even if he didn't agree with his current powerless situation.
While it had taken some brute strength and a little handy-work to create, he now gazed at the results before him. A durable stick held by his carpenter palms -well, palm- and the double-edged reward that came with it. The searing red and burning blisters he felt in his sore carpals was soothed as he dipped his hand into the icy water and with the glistening splash of the gentle current, wiped his wounds clean. The garment he wore for shorts were weighted due to his entirely sopping wet clothing. Movement was slow, even in the fluttering water.
Gildarts was far from a pro when it came to throwing things at fish he could barely see, but the way he figured it, there wasn't much of a difference from the weapon he had once wielded. His aim was one good thing that he had retained on the island, even if his reinforcing brawn seemed to have derailed slightly thanks to his nifty silver choker.
I can rough it on this island, but my only complaint now is that it needs more women. What was this he felt in his chest? It was tasteless, void, and unfulfilling.
He had nothing to prove.
He physically ached now that his purpose had been reduced to ash. This was supposed to be a battle to the death, but he couldn't fight on an empty stomach either. Was his break justified?
Suddenly, he paused with his heart heavier than it had ever been. It vaguely dawned on him that he couldn't compete to be the best anymore -no, he wasn't the best anymore. Armless? Legless? He could made it work, but did he now have what it took to survive this trying ordeal? Disadvantages filled his glass to the brim. While his prosthetic limbs weren't as flexible now, they still functioned all the same with the nimble flow of his movement. Against those stronger than he, what did he have to show against them?
The threatening Cindy, the relatable Jon, both playing the game and at the same time winning the fight against themselves. Gildarts craved battle, yet something was holding him back. A limit he had unknowingly set upon himself.
Was this champion fighter just as destructive without his magic? Was he somehow at even more of an advantage because of his increased perceptiveness? The Abyss tested the veteran's mental fortitude with the hauntings of solitude for now, but he couldn't shake the feeling the onset of danger was coming.
Karl's wrath. The devious game master had announced something on the speakers but it had been muffled mostly by the wind. The threatening crackle had a sickeningly insidious intent, and Gildarts wasn't playing the game. The creator's crosshairs were sure to be upon him...
The remains of the singular and scrawny fish he had managed to spear -with quite some effort- were left in the swirling pool below him. The sun began to stretch into the sky and in its rising angle, his shorts had been set out to dry.
The vulnerability he felt was now holding him back and after his meager feast, his mind had moved a distance away from his stomach. An endless bombardment of skeptical thought pounded in his head and rocked his sturdy conscience as he thoroughly deliberated all that was needed of him to live through this struggle. "What exactly is it I am so afraid of?"
His skin turned to ice, a gusting shiver jolted through his body with the piercing force of an unwanted revelation; it proved to be fiercer than lightning and more treacherous than fire. The answer was unspoken, but rang in his mind louder than any volume he could have shouted.
What if they are already dead?
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus