02-20-2016, 03:39 PM
The swordsman teetered between conscious and unconscious during the retreat into the forest. His clothes had been welded to his skin, and secreted trails of dark smoke into the air.. The woman he had helped during the brawl managed to save his life, and towed him away. She hauled him over her shoulders and scurried as fast as she could.
“Thanks,” Trunks muttered; his voice rasped with pain and exhaustion.
The woman replied, but her words were washed away by a perpetual ringing noise. The sound stabbed at the swordsman's eardrums as if someone were hammering screws into his brain.
When Trunks awoke, the woman was gone. He sat with his back against a slender tree. Next to him, his rifle laid.
What happened?
He closed his eyes, and hugged his face with his hand. Most of the details were glossed over by the ringing noise still permeating in his head, but the he did remember came in clumps. He remembered entering Teucer's event, to claim the defibrillator; the things he could have learned from disassembling the device were far more useful than any practical use (maybe he would have gotten one square closer to solving that rubix-cube that is Omniverse physics). He remembered the anger he felt when he witnessed what the Spirit's idea of an event was—a clusterfuck of his so-called heroes trying their damned best to mutilate one another. His eyes exploded open when he recalled his next memory: a robot and a mouse merged into one person, with the help of earrings that were all-too-familiar to the swordsman—the Potara Earrings of the Kais, capable of fusing ANY two persons together. It was a bitter-sweet sight, and one that turned him to an undercooked cripple.
If Teucer truly gathered every person on the island to help him obtain the relics, why have them slaughter each other? Trunks didn't see the benefit in it. Perhaps his first assumption that Teucer was merely the lesser of two evils was correct; or maybe, he was the greater of the two evils, manipulating everyone to help him overthrow the good. Either way, the likelihood of Teucer being an innocent individual was farfetched.
Grimacing the entire time, Trunks gathered the energy to stand to his feet. He grabbed the rifle beside him—the cold steel soothed the skin on his hand—and began to survey the landscape. To the west, a black smog cut through the forest like a cleaver, sealing away everything on the opposite side. It was as if the world had ended on that side. Even the sun vanished as it dipped into the wall of nothingness, casting different shades of bruised purple across the sky. To the east, more forest. The trees were more sparse than before, and aligned themselves almost as if a trail existed at one point, parting the vegetation into two sides.
“Thanks,” Trunks muttered; his voice rasped with pain and exhaustion.
The woman replied, but her words were washed away by a perpetual ringing noise. The sound stabbed at the swordsman's eardrums as if someone were hammering screws into his brain.
* * *
When Trunks awoke, the woman was gone. He sat with his back against a slender tree. Next to him, his rifle laid.
What happened?
He closed his eyes, and hugged his face with his hand. Most of the details were glossed over by the ringing noise still permeating in his head, but the he did remember came in clumps. He remembered entering Teucer's event, to claim the defibrillator; the things he could have learned from disassembling the device were far more useful than any practical use (maybe he would have gotten one square closer to solving that rubix-cube that is Omniverse physics). He remembered the anger he felt when he witnessed what the Spirit's idea of an event was—a clusterfuck of his so-called heroes trying their damned best to mutilate one another. His eyes exploded open when he recalled his next memory: a robot and a mouse merged into one person, with the help of earrings that were all-too-familiar to the swordsman—the Potara Earrings of the Kais, capable of fusing ANY two persons together. It was a bitter-sweet sight, and one that turned him to an undercooked cripple.
If Teucer truly gathered every person on the island to help him obtain the relics, why have them slaughter each other? Trunks didn't see the benefit in it. Perhaps his first assumption that Teucer was merely the lesser of two evils was correct; or maybe, he was the greater of the two evils, manipulating everyone to help him overthrow the good. Either way, the likelihood of Teucer being an innocent individual was farfetched.
Grimacing the entire time, Trunks gathered the energy to stand to his feet. He grabbed the rifle beside him—the cold steel soothed the skin on his hand—and began to survey the landscape. To the west, a black smog cut through the forest like a cleaver, sealing away everything on the opposite side. It was as if the world had ended on that side. Even the sun vanished as it dipped into the wall of nothingness, casting different shades of bruised purple across the sky. To the east, more forest. The trees were more sparse than before, and aligned themselves almost as if a trail existed at one point, parting the vegetation into two sides.