11-25-2016, 07:15 PM
My back probably looks like a cheese grater with all the holes in it. They’re like paper cuts, but worse. It feels like it takes everything not to just curl up and start sobbing.
I can’t help but shudder at the thought of that kick from earlier, too. The thought of having more ribs shattered sickens me to my beaten, fractured core.
The anger I felt seems petty in retrospect. It seems like nothing compared to what I feel now - the urge to turn the guy who issued this challenge into mincemeat, the desire to run this tin can-looking bastard through a recycling plant…
...It does nothing but grow as a blindingly bold green Z approaches at terrifying speed. I know I can’t move fast enough to dodge it. If I just stand here and take it, I’m going to die.
I empty my hands in favour of my only means of defense - Beskyttende. I grab for Brug Hild, too, hoping it can help me brace my shield somehow.
I thrust Beskyttende out before me, my eyes wild and my throat boiling as I howl with pain, anger, confusion, sadness--
Determination.
I don’t want to die.
The impact is far greater than I could ever hold against. I stand my ground, but it slides beneath me and cracks like I never thought something nonexistent could.
I flinch, and it’s enough for the overwhelming force I’m resisting to win out. My arms fly to my sides as far as they can stretch, and my newly-acquired sword and shield hurtle off into the distance.
I have enough time for I just got those and they’re already gone to run through my mind before I hit the ground and start flailing and sliding.
The world’s a blur as I tumble backwards, hitting the invisible surface below me numerous times in varying places. If I didn’t hurt so badly all over, I’d laugh at myself, but even just moving like normal hurts.
I begin to approach my opponent again. I notice myself smiling and faintly giggling - I’m not trying to. In fact, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop. Crimson tears run from a cut on my cheek, dripping the awful, metallic taste of it into my mouth.
I turn my face aside for a moment to spit. It comes out more red than clear, to my distaste. If not for the adrenaline, I’d probably be recoiling and screaming thanks to that sight. “So where were we?” I ask a little weakly. “Not sure I remember. Hit my head a few more times than I’d like to admit.”
My black armor-clad opponent kindly reminds, “you were calling me a toaster.”
I laugh a bit and begin a slow advance. Magical teal sparks dance between my waggling fingertips as I conjure Kanshou and Bakuya again. “Yeah. It makes sense,” I reply slowly. “A toaster is a machine encased in a hard material which gets hot on the inside. You’re also that.”
My cheeky expression doesn’t falter. I continue to beam as I draw close. “Therefore,” I conclude, “you are a toaster.”
I notice my opponent bring down what looks like a blade of concentrated light. With a sort of speed I thought I would lose with my legs in such an exhausted state, I blink around to behind him, evading what might have been a lethal strike. “Well, aren’t you rude,” I say snarkily. “Back to fighting, then.”
Letting out a battlecry hurts, but I still manage as I swiftly etch a shallow Z into the back of his torso. My blades shatter into millions of pieces after impact, forcing me to flip and leap backwards so I can rematerialize them. Doing so returns the hot, numbing sensation of my Magic Circuits powering up again, forming the alien yet familiar swords in my hands once more.
Without a word I dash forward again. With a copy of my lost shield my armored adversary fights off my all-out assault, relying not only on my constantly replaced swords, but on occasional kicks and elbows and shoulder-heavy tackles as well. I etch the same marking in after circling around again, making it deeper and shattering another pair of blades.
Where the blade had once been on my opponent’s arm, a glowing blob of the same coloured energy amasses. His arm outstretched, he takes aim, looking down the limb as though down the sight of a gun. I can’t do anything at range, I note. I can’t just keep running off to recover.
I draw in, predicting and avoiding an assault of what I observe to some comic degree as neon lemons. I’m fast enough to avoid them - which I’m thankful for, given that taking more than a few would likely be the end. As I draw closer, nearly close enough to continue my act of revenge, that gut feeling arrives again. Look up.
A golden staff whistles through the air and down toward me, threatening to crush my skull if I don’t move. I sidestep and wind makes my now tattered jacket billow. I dip and hop over a second and third swing. My retort is a spinning kick which connects with what should be his temple. The resulting sound is like a church bell butchered by vibrato. “Toast’s ready!”
I flash around my opponent once more. Moving like this hurts. I feel like I’ve torn every muscle in my legs and breathing is like lighting a fire in my lungs.
Once more.
This time my opponent’s torso makes noises close to rattling a trashcan as I make my predetermined three cuts again. That’s definitely going to leave a mark now.
I can hold on. I can last until the end of this fight, I think. I don’t know whether I really believe that or if I’m just trying to convince myself by now. You have the speed advantage. You can avoid whatever punishment he throws at you…
As long as he doesn’t do that again.
I can’t help but shudder at the thought of that kick from earlier, too. The thought of having more ribs shattered sickens me to my beaten, fractured core.
The anger I felt seems petty in retrospect. It seems like nothing compared to what I feel now - the urge to turn the guy who issued this challenge into mincemeat, the desire to run this tin can-looking bastard through a recycling plant…
...It does nothing but grow as a blindingly bold green Z approaches at terrifying speed. I know I can’t move fast enough to dodge it. If I just stand here and take it, I’m going to die.
I empty my hands in favour of my only means of defense - Beskyttende. I grab for Brug Hild, too, hoping it can help me brace my shield somehow.
I thrust Beskyttende out before me, my eyes wild and my throat boiling as I howl with pain, anger, confusion, sadness--
Determination.
I don’t want to die.
The impact is far greater than I could ever hold against. I stand my ground, but it slides beneath me and cracks like I never thought something nonexistent could.
I flinch, and it’s enough for the overwhelming force I’m resisting to win out. My arms fly to my sides as far as they can stretch, and my newly-acquired sword and shield hurtle off into the distance.
I have enough time for I just got those and they’re already gone to run through my mind before I hit the ground and start flailing and sliding.
The world’s a blur as I tumble backwards, hitting the invisible surface below me numerous times in varying places. If I didn’t hurt so badly all over, I’d laugh at myself, but even just moving like normal hurts.
I begin to approach my opponent again. I notice myself smiling and faintly giggling - I’m not trying to. In fact, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop. Crimson tears run from a cut on my cheek, dripping the awful, metallic taste of it into my mouth.
I turn my face aside for a moment to spit. It comes out more red than clear, to my distaste. If not for the adrenaline, I’d probably be recoiling and screaming thanks to that sight. “So where were we?” I ask a little weakly. “Not sure I remember. Hit my head a few more times than I’d like to admit.”
My black armor-clad opponent kindly reminds, “you were calling me a toaster.”
I laugh a bit and begin a slow advance. Magical teal sparks dance between my waggling fingertips as I conjure Kanshou and Bakuya again. “Yeah. It makes sense,” I reply slowly. “A toaster is a machine encased in a hard material which gets hot on the inside. You’re also that.”
My cheeky expression doesn’t falter. I continue to beam as I draw close. “Therefore,” I conclude, “you are a toaster.”
I notice my opponent bring down what looks like a blade of concentrated light. With a sort of speed I thought I would lose with my legs in such an exhausted state, I blink around to behind him, evading what might have been a lethal strike. “Well, aren’t you rude,” I say snarkily. “Back to fighting, then.”
Letting out a battlecry hurts, but I still manage as I swiftly etch a shallow Z into the back of his torso. My blades shatter into millions of pieces after impact, forcing me to flip and leap backwards so I can rematerialize them. Doing so returns the hot, numbing sensation of my Magic Circuits powering up again, forming the alien yet familiar swords in my hands once more.
Without a word I dash forward again. With a copy of my lost shield my armored adversary fights off my all-out assault, relying not only on my constantly replaced swords, but on occasional kicks and elbows and shoulder-heavy tackles as well. I etch the same marking in after circling around again, making it deeper and shattering another pair of blades.
Where the blade had once been on my opponent’s arm, a glowing blob of the same coloured energy amasses. His arm outstretched, he takes aim, looking down the limb as though down the sight of a gun. I can’t do anything at range, I note. I can’t just keep running off to recover.
I draw in, predicting and avoiding an assault of what I observe to some comic degree as neon lemons. I’m fast enough to avoid them - which I’m thankful for, given that taking more than a few would likely be the end. As I draw closer, nearly close enough to continue my act of revenge, that gut feeling arrives again. Look up.
A golden staff whistles through the air and down toward me, threatening to crush my skull if I don’t move. I sidestep and wind makes my now tattered jacket billow. I dip and hop over a second and third swing. My retort is a spinning kick which connects with what should be his temple. The resulting sound is like a church bell butchered by vibrato. “Toast’s ready!”
I flash around my opponent once more. Moving like this hurts. I feel like I’ve torn every muscle in my legs and breathing is like lighting a fire in my lungs.
Once more.
This time my opponent’s torso makes noises close to rattling a trashcan as I make my predetermined three cuts again. That’s definitely going to leave a mark now.
I can hold on. I can last until the end of this fight, I think. I don’t know whether I really believe that or if I’m just trying to convince myself by now. You have the speed advantage. You can avoid whatever punishment he throws at you…
As long as he doesn’t do that again.
Quote:Precisely 1000 words. SORCERY.
Jojo took a Super Move to the chin.
Both Beskyttende and Brug Hild have flown very far from the battlefield. Jojo can no longer use them.
Jojo used Kanshou & Bakuya a lot.
Colonel used Colonel Saber and Colonel Buster, as well as Nanosoma Bo from Enel.
This has been your irregularly scheduled Jojo time. Have a good one.