02-06-2016, 06:13 PM
Omni told the truth when he mentioned the Omniverse having its own rules. The laws of physics as Trunks knew them obviously did not apply here (what other explanation remained?). The swordsman came from a long-line of engineers, with minds nearly perfected through pass-downs from earlier generations; he made his God locater flawlessly, for damn sure.
He took a long blink, focusing on his frustration and compressing it into a single, exasperated sigh. Keep your cool (if only he had such patience as a teen).
The sound of his boots against the white ground echoed like a steady tap dance routine. The swordsman approached the fountain, peering over its brim to catch a glance at the water. It was clear, just as Earth's is.
The mist shooting out from the center of the fountain grazed his face as he neared, glossing it slightly heavier than a light sweat.
With every step, the peculiarity of the fountain became increasingly obvious. The shape of it fell between the categories of quadrilateral and pentagon, strongly bending in one of its sides, but never to a true angle. It's foundation seemed impossible; to the swordsman's trained mind, the fountain grew from the ground—the absence of worker markings made it a fact. A closer look into the depths of the fountain proved to reveal no signs of a propulsion system, which meant the water spewing from its center was autonomous.
I gotta get a sample of this water. He leaned over the side and extended his index finger into the fountain. A trio of rings vibrated out from the contact, enlarging outwardly. “Interesting,” he murmured as he fixed his posture.
“Aren't you a curious one,” a voice snickered from behind.
Trunks swirled around, reaching for his blade all in the same motion, but nothing was there. His eyes ping-ponged around, trying to catch hold of where the voice came from. “Who's there!?” he yelled. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Show yourself!”
“Curious and demanding?”
Trunks turned to his left, freeing his sword from its sheathe and slashing it through the figure, in one crescent swipe. Water splashed across the swordsman's clothes as the tip of his sword clanked against the ground.
“What the fuck?” Trunks said as he looked at his attacker.
“I'm sorry, but toothpicks don't harm water,” the figure quipped as the two halves of his body fused back together at the shoulder and torso.
The water being balled its fist and drilled it into the swordsman's face, prying the swords from his grasp; a following uppercut sent him airborne, and into the fountain.
He took a long blink, focusing on his frustration and compressing it into a single, exasperated sigh. Keep your cool (if only he had such patience as a teen).
The sound of his boots against the white ground echoed like a steady tap dance routine. The swordsman approached the fountain, peering over its brim to catch a glance at the water. It was clear, just as Earth's is.
The mist shooting out from the center of the fountain grazed his face as he neared, glossing it slightly heavier than a light sweat.
With every step, the peculiarity of the fountain became increasingly obvious. The shape of it fell between the categories of quadrilateral and pentagon, strongly bending in one of its sides, but never to a true angle. It's foundation seemed impossible; to the swordsman's trained mind, the fountain grew from the ground—the absence of worker markings made it a fact. A closer look into the depths of the fountain proved to reveal no signs of a propulsion system, which meant the water spewing from its center was autonomous.
I gotta get a sample of this water. He leaned over the side and extended his index finger into the fountain. A trio of rings vibrated out from the contact, enlarging outwardly. “Interesting,” he murmured as he fixed his posture.
“Aren't you a curious one,” a voice snickered from behind.
Trunks swirled around, reaching for his blade all in the same motion, but nothing was there. His eyes ping-ponged around, trying to catch hold of where the voice came from. “Who's there!?” he yelled. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Show yourself!”
“Curious and demanding?”
Trunks turned to his left, freeing his sword from its sheathe and slashing it through the figure, in one crescent swipe. Water splashed across the swordsman's clothes as the tip of his sword clanked against the ground.
“What the fuck?” Trunks said as he looked at his attacker.
“I'm sorry, but toothpicks don't harm water,” the figure quipped as the two halves of his body fused back together at the shoulder and torso.
The water being balled its fist and drilled it into the swordsman's face, prying the swords from his grasp; a following uppercut sent him airborne, and into the fountain.