Description: The Martyr of Might made an offer to Rock Howard. The question is, will he take it?
Rock might have found a tentative offer given to him, via simple mail in elaborate cursive and fine paper, from none other then Grant -- the very man who originally scouted him out at the shrine not too long ago. It would outline he wishes to propose what he could teach, were Rock willing to listen. There is some amount of ambiguity to what that entails, but regardless directions would be given from Kain's manor. At the base of a mountain range far to the north, a considerable hike of a few hours through heavy brush and thick terrain untamed by man, there would be a sudden clearing. Easily fifty feet around. Within it are what seem to be laughably mundane trappings for training. Large stones, bound in rope. Wooden practice dummies. An open area, covered with sand, encompassing the middle. By no means anything remotely advanced, but the Martyr of Might has always focused on the basics. At the moment he's performing some kata in the main circle, dark blue cape rustling and whirling with every subtle motion. For the grace and speed, it underlines an incredible power, sand swishing high in the air with even minute movements, and a crack like a pistol with each vicious punch and snarl. He wears his crimson mask and slacks as remembered, but would not stop or even pay attention unless spoken to.
Rock received the letter, but took a few days to think about it before finally deciding to at least see Grant out. He told Kain he'd do that much. Regretting very quickly that he didn't prepare better, Rock began the long trek through the forest around lunch time. He didn't eat. That made the trip especially frustrating.
Somewhere at the halfway point, Rock stopped and pulled Grant's letter out of his coats pocket. His black jeans were covered in dirt and forest brambles. He wiped his forehead, small bits of mud sticking to it, and studied the directions for the fourteenth time.
It's around five o'clock when he finally finds the clearing. Not stealthy at all, booted feet cracking branches and twigs with nearly every step, Rock finally comes to a stop just at the perimeter of the yawing opening in the green. He doesn't step forward immediately, instead, he watches Grant train. He watches the meditative sequence the man uses. He can feel the technique and the power behind it with each shake of the ground. He remembers that power well.
Swallowing, Rock takes a small step out into the open. "Hello?" he asks.
The moment Rock speaks, Grant stops in the mist of a thrust. There seems to be a disturbing calm evident thereafter, as he turns his head to observe the youth. It's been some time; He had almost thought he would not come, yet would of cared little. Ambition for greatness is one of the highest desires he has in a pupil -- Kain, thus far, has been unsurpassed in such. "Rock." He does not say 'Howard', apparently on purpose despite some etiquette within his voice. The cape billows around him, as he beckons with a massive hand. "Come to me." There's definite authority to this, but a lack of motive. It would be nigh impossible to read his intention in any fashion, as he simply stands in the midst of the sand, stance spread and naked feet occasionally visible beneath the rustles of his cape. It's somewhat cold out, and growing darker; Depending on how long it takes, it might be a rather uncomfortable trip back... were the young Howard able to manage it at all in the darkness.
"Uh," Rock looks immediately uncomfortable the minute that Grant brings his considerable poise and passion to bear on him so directly. He's an intimidating person and Rock feels the thrust of that charisma like a slap across the face. He gulps back a breath, glances both directions, and then takes a small pair of steps out into the clearing proper.
He stops there, looking carefully at Grant. He tells himself to be tougher and to ignore that clammy feeling in his palms. His voice is soft but with each word, it rises in volume. He gains confidence by just talking. "I came like you asked in your letter. What can ... /You/ show me?"
"To learn anything, you must first dismiss your fear!" Grant's voice comes out harshly, like a whipcrack. It might bring back unpleasant memories of Geese; A sort of drill instructor quality to it, where the options are only success or failure. A flourish of one arm is done, beckoning more openly. "Come. Stand directly before me. I will show you a small sliver of what my mastery of Ankoku can someday be learned. Yet do not show weakness or apprehension before me again. The act of emotional control... is the most important facet of mastering the very blood you hate." Grant's feet spread apart, fists clenching as his significant torso flutters into view. It's actually completely defensive, as opposed to the potential start of a fight. Green eyes, mildly luminescent, peer from the cold, harsh contours of his blood red mask. There is still no sound, not even wind, to disrupt the almost stale and heavy atmosphere...
Rock cringes at the severity of Grant's voice. The memory is familiar; there is a lot of familiarity in what these men -- Grant and Geese -- seem to be advocating. But Rock is willing to put up with it, for now, because he wants to destroy Geese Howard so much more than he'll ever hate Grant. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, in a way.
Obeying the 'request', Rock crosses the clearing with deliberate steps. He can feel Grant's focus and attention on him; every hair on his neck is standing up. Each step of his booted feet grinds into the dirt of the field, one after another, it feels like a mile but it's really only twenty yards.
Stopping, Rock runs his red eyes over Grant. He nods. "Control of emotions. Okay," he says, rolling his shoulders some to loosen his tension.
"I can teach you that, as well. How to control your blood. I might be able to do such better then Kain himself; Of all the men alive, I am the only one he cannot read. But such is irrelevant, if you do not wish to take the necessary steps. Your blessing, and your curse, is you have the foundation to draw from. Many who wished our power had to do great crimes, terrible things, that they could not cope with or handle, or refused at the final breadth. And your darkness... has been growing since birth. It is not some artificial creation. The power of it is frightful. I saw it when I battled you -- The people who can bring me to my knees in this world are fewer then you might fathom." Were Rock to have seen World Warrior, and Grant break the Muay Thai god... who many consider the epitome of raw strength and durability... with nothing but his fists, it might lend better credit. "Kain will teach you how to draw the chi. He can do such better then me. But I can teach you how to not be consumed, and I can teach you other ways to channel it." Grant puffs out his chest slightly, towering over the youth. "Now strike me in the chest, as hard as you can." The latter might come as something of a surprise demand.
Rock is quiet when Grant talks. He gives him that degree of respect; he is quiet and observant of the man's words. He's definitely listening to what he has to say. Grant and Kain have convinced him enough that they deserve at least that. Howard isn't entirely convinced that their path will be the answer to his problems with Geese yet, but he's at least cracked open the door.
The command comes and Rock's eyes widen. "Wha--?" He stops himself from finishing the question, remembering what Grant said moments before. "Fine," he says under his breath, taking a half a step back to brace himself. Fingers slowly curling into a fist, Rock stares straight into Grant's chest -- marking a mental contact point, burrowing a hole through the sternum. And then he explodes forward, thrusting his punch forward with as much force and speed as he can throw behind it.
There's a peculiar tension, and a ripple through Grant's body. The blow strikes firm and resolute, but the force seems to be... disrupted. The kinetic energy flows away from the point of impact, absorbed by the entirety of his iron physique rather then piercing through. The ground beneath quivers slightly, and his brown cape billows, but the damage appears to be distraughtly minimal. "...Hmm. You have an emphasis on speed and accuracy. Has such been taught to you by Terry? Or was it developed of your own accord?" Grant twists away, cape settling back around his body as he approaches something that most certainly stands out. A large slab of industrial, reinforced steel. Jutting from the ground, like some rugged tombstone, at a crooked angle. "There are many methods of martial combat. But much of them emphasis one or the other. Yet there is a method... of doing both in equal measure, in the same stroke." Grant would come to stand near that ominous item, before gesturing to it. "Strike this, as well. See what damage you can inflict."
Rock takes 'speed and accuracy' as a compliment, even if he was momentarily uncertain of the connotation. Grant, were he Geese, would have said he was too weak -- it wouldn't matter how fast his punch was nor how accurate. It needed to always be all three. "You know," Howard says, breaking into a thin grin. Asking him where he learned things is like asking someone which raindrop hit them in a monsoon; there's a million different sources. "I learned a little bit here and there."
Rock follows Grant across the field to the unusual protruding steel tombstone. He's expecting that Grant is going to demonstrate a technique to him on it. Instead, he asks /him/ to hit it? He looks dubiously at the man for a second, swallows his concern, and then abruptly plants a foot and sends his knuckles barreling for the slab.
Rock is by no means a weak fighter. The slab resonates hellishly, and an imprint of his fist is made, bowing it inwards. This stuff can be used to line tanks, so such is already indicative of the youth's ability. Grant watches, with an oddly omniscience about him. Every aspect of the technique, from the beginning to the end. Of course, it probably was uncomfortable regardless. "Ah. The issue is indeed with your technique. Step aside." Grant would brush Rock away, quite literally. And then the massive figure flows backwards, and /perfectly/ imitates Rock's punch. It would be like looking at a mirror, only one much larger. But he merely strikes it witha louder clang, deepening the dent considerably and bending it more out of shape... but for a man of his power, it's not significant. "...Your amalgamation allows adaptability, but have you ever truly been taught to strike? It is less about physical might then you might think. I hit that as you did -- with all of my muscles, and all of my speed. But..." Grant suddenly assumes a different stance, twisting his body. And then his fist shoots out, and impacts the same point. The reaction is... ungodly. The steel literally ruptures, ground exploding into a hali of dirt beneath as the entirety of the metal slab is blown backwards, half-torn apart. It crashes on the soil, bouncing awkwardly once before skidding a final few meters. "...That was no slower then your own strike, was it?"
Rock stands there, holding his hand -- the knuckles stinging from their impact against the steel moments ago -- when Grant moves past him. Intrigued by what he is about to be shown, Rock takes a pair of steps back and watches. The first example draws his eyes tighter, squinting some, at the impact Grant made in the steel. It looks nearly the same as his own.
Then Grant explains. Rock looks skeptical. He doesn't reply to the older man's words. He lets him run through what he needs to say. And then? Then the hammer comes. The follow-up technique. It's beautiful and terrifying. Rock's eyes literally widen in the wake of the steel's rupturing and bouncing path. It's a full two or three seconds of Rock just staring at the aftermath before he can bring himself to draw his eyes back up to Grant. He's experienced displays of technique before, but they've never felt so... Visceral.
"How..." Rock takes a step forward, bending down at the knee to inspect whatever remain of the steel slab at a closer angle. "How did you do /that/?"
"There is far more to force then you anticipate. Your entire body is a compilation of muscles. Each one can contribute to a strike, if you know how to maneuver yourself. From your toes to your head, with the proper flow and contraction, all of such can accelerate the momentum. Add on to this the precision. Where you strike, and how you release the impact itself. By slacking muscles and marginally spreading your fingers, the point you hit will be slightly higher, for instance. It is a tapestry, Rock. A thousand small things. Any one of which, alone, is meaningless. But together, when perfected..." A hand gestures towards the shattered steel, answering that question better then anything else. "Even what would seem a lightning blow from me can shatter ribs or break lesser fighters. Few know how to control their own body to this level. ...And I have not yet gotten into the bolstering effects of Ankoku. You utilize chi to amplify your strikes, am I correct? That blow I just did..." Grant's crimson mask turns to observe the wreckage, not sounding to be gloating in the slightest. "...Was far from my maximum. Do you begin to understand the nuances I can teach? What Terry can never show you? You have the mind to integrate this. You have the will to endure the trials. And you have the heart and soul to channel the Ankoku. ...To shirk this opportunity would be the greatest mistake of your life." The cape is swept closed in the same gesture, Grant now staring intently towards the blond haired fighter. "I shall show and explain no more, unless you accept. But know well... What Kain can teach you of manipulating chi, knowing full well your potential..." The searing of twin Raging Storms signified that well. "...Might make the advances with me seem laughable in comparison, even if you soon can shatter steel as I can."
The harmony of mind and body is nothing to new to any fighter. If you spend enough time doing this, you're bound to experience some variation of this theme. And when your name is Rock Howard and you were taught to fight since before you could walk, you've heard it all before. With Geese, however, it revolved around strength through discipline. With Grant, it seems so much more alluring... A releasing of tension rather than a restraining of it.
Rock is intrigued. But he isn't stupid. He's thoroughly swallowed the sales pitch and drank some of the kool-aid, but he has one question before he'll give that answer Grant seems to want. "And what happens, Grant," Rock says while standing back up, having learned that name from his conversation with Kain. "What happens if I refuse?"
"Nothing." Grant mulls, a disturbing lack of climax to it. "Nothing shall happen. You may leave the Heinlein estate, and likely not return unless you wished to speak with your uncle. I would regret it, but I would condone it. It is your right as a fighter to choose your own destiny and path. ...We are merely offering you a road that will end in your own dream. The death of Geese Howard by your own hand." And how ironic might that be? That it is not Kain, who might already possess the strength, but the daughter of the very woman Howard caused to fall rising to strike him down? Slowly Grant turns, beginning to trudge away from the clearing in the direction of the mountains. "There is no haste. Decide at your leisure. ...But I can guarantee that I strike harder then your father could ever hope. And Kain's fires burn hotter then he could ever hope. Combine our teachings... And it will be Geese himself... who has no hope..."
"...Oh," Rock says quietly at Grant's simple response. He wasn't expecting that. People who wear masks and talk about dark powers don't usually act so... pragmatic and normal. Rock falls silent again, his gloved hands looking at the swaying of the grasses, thinking about it. He already sort of commited to Kain, but Grant is who would be really teaching him. By the time Rock looks back up, the much larger man is already moving away from him.
"Wait," Rock says, calling after Grant. He starts moving after him. "You really mean that you can hit harder than my father? You /really/ think that?" Memories of their recent Saturday Night Fight flash in Rock's mind. He remembers how that felt; to be humiliated like that. He's watched the footage of his unconscious body being carried out of the arena. Rock keeps chasing Grant through the clearing. "I want to train with you, Grant. You've given me no reason not to want what you're offering... But man, I would love if you /proved/ that you could hit my father like that. God, I would love to see that."
Slowing down, Grant glances back over his shoulder towards Rock, solemn and quiet. "I have observed Geese Howard for years. I have seen his technique. ...And it is inferior to mine by a considerable margin. He surpasses me in many other areas, but he is my lesser in the mastery of raw physical power. The same deducement has been made of his own cerulean flames, and the dark fire of Kain." But he does pause, turning to look over towards Rock, contemplating that request. "In our last fight, I did not strike you with my maximum force. ...If you would like, I can offer you a second spar. To prove that I surpass him, if in that field alone." He waits, at least -- no longer maneuvering himself away from the youth. "But I have no interest in challenging Geese personally." Grant's body is weaker then it looks in a key area. One that Geese would home in on like a bee to a flower, and sting mercilessly. His chance of success is minimal in a direct confrontation alone. Although the extent of such does not need to be voiced to the younger Howard.
Rock also remembers what it felt like when he woke up in Kain's mansion after his last 'sparring' session with Grant. He doesn't particularly want to go through that again. /Especially/ if Grant wasn't using his maximum potential in that altercation. He holds up his palm -- noting that his hand /still/ hurts from bashing it into that steel and lets a small grin out. "No, no, that's okay. I don't think I need a beating today or anything. And I don't blame you, I wouldn't want to fight Geese either if I didn't /have/ to..."
"That is precisely the reason I do not intend to. I have nothing to prove, Rock. I do not doubt my strength, even if you might." Although he might not doubt it quite as much as he claimed, given the sudden hesitation where a second fight is concerned. "You pass muster in my eyes. I shall instruct you on emotional control and physical strength. But I am not a kind sensei. Yet if you cannot handle such due to the poor experience with your father, then you can either swallow your pride or quit." A snort is offered, almost doubtful, as Grant continues to retreat, apparently having no interest in further education at the moment. "See me in my estate when you are ready to start your lessons, Rock." And with a mild crouch, Grant leaps; Parting through the edge of trees, and vanishing from sight with disturbingly little sound immediately thereafter.
"Geez... Intense," Rock says to no nobody but the birds a minute after Grant disappears back into the forest. He runs a hand through his blond hair, watches the place where Grant disappeared to, and then turns away to head back across the clearing for the thicker forest where he first emerged from. He just hopes he can find his way back to Southtown; it was hard enough /getting/ here with directions. Now he's all alone.
Log created on 22:01:12 04/17/2007 by Rock, and last modified on 22:21:43 05/01/2007.