Description: Can't a crimelord brood in peace?! Rugal finds himself horribly outclassed by a crotchety old man who apparently had opted to spend the last year or more meditating in Bernstein's 'Trophy Room' of all places. After a year of posing as a bronze statue, the Sennin is once again on the move...
Just an ordinary day on the decrepit aircraft carrier known as the Black Noah. So it began, so it was - until the silverware began to rattle, only for it to subside almost as quickly as the event occured.
Two minutes later, the silverware rattled again, and a wine glass began to defiantly vibrate its way off the side of a desk.
It isn't the engine room. The crew might not know that, but one such as Rugal would know better. A...*presence* can be felt. A powerful one that simply doesn't belong here. For no one on this ship, save Rugal, should even be capable of channeling such force through their being.
Most disturbing of all, it seems to be coming from the trophy room. Oh dear.
While the room might be normally one for entertaining guests, it also provides a nice place to relax and brood. The crimelord has spent a lot of time over the years doing that. Gazing out over the ocean from the lofty floor or staring at the dilapidated deck of the carrier, remembering days when it was new. When his wife would stand at his side and the two of them would speak of the things to come while playing their war games against armies that never came.
They had it all planned out. Well, she did. In a lot of ways, Rugal was just along for the ride... But those days are gone now. When the tremor vibrates through the ship, he pauses. The engines of the Black Noah have been idle for a long... long time, the ship carried by the whims of currents for over a year now. But he knows that the rumble comes not from massive drive-shafts slowly being cranked to life.
Turning around, he stares at the opaque glass window that seperates the parlor from the room of trophies he has gathered over the years, a shallow frown formed on his normally impassive features. Placing the cup of red wine in his hand on the bar counter, Rugal strides to a panel in the wall, placing his hand in just the right spot. Sensors detect his DNA and he speaks the word, "Amaranthine..." The wall slides aside revealing an entrance directly into the room of statues. As he steps foot in, directed lights fade in over each of the statues, small, focused spotlits that illuminate the sea of darkness that fills the room.
The tremor subsided again as the crime lord began his trek towards the origin of the disturbance. The lights kick in, and for a moment, all seems to be as it should be. Rugal is met with silence.
The silence is broken by the sound of a small tapping coming from the floor, which in further inspection proves to be a pebble. A pebble of bronze. Several feet away is the statue of a some fool who had been pretending to be a legendary fighter during the ill-fated tournament known as "Second Victory". Clearly he *had* to have been pretending, since when challenged by Rugal himself he proved unable to even put up a token display of resistence. He was bronzed anyway, a fitting end for one who would falsely claim to be of the calibre shared by those who occupy this room.
The vibrations suddenly begin anew, the entire room SHAKING with some unseen force, leaving absolutely no question that this room is its origin. A number of statues begin to slide across the vibrating floor, but one is different - a statue that vibrates so intensely that for a few seconds it actually bounces an inch off the ground a few times.
Only a few, because the eyes of the statue ignite into ominous pools of crimson just as cracks begin to form in the torso, allowing a brief moment of warning before the statue suddenly explodes and sends fragments of bronze scattering in all directions. Some imbed themselves a few inches into the surrounding walls, others put out lights, yet more knock over the neighboring statues of ill-fated fighters.
At last, when the commotion settles, the figure of a living, *breathing* human occupies the space that the statue once did. A decrepit looking old man with naught but a few untamed trands of hair that point straight up and back at odd angles. His bony chin extends downward in a yawn of great potency, flabby lips smacking noisily as if chewing cud when the jaw draws closed again. His eyes remained closed as he sloooowly cranes his neck backward, then rolls it in place.
"Well, that was a good nap."
It takes a moment to home in on the presence that should not be. The statues in the room resonating with the tremor as they begin to shuffle ever so slightly along the floor throw Rugal's senses off for a moment. Rugal knows each of them by name. He can remember the fights that resulted in them being here in perfect detail. But all that knowledge is useless in trying to explain that which cannot be explained. He had often told his victims that the bronzing was his gift to them - preserving them at the peak of their lives for eternity, so that no one would ever have to remember them as old, feeble warriors fallen from the grace of might.
But even he knew, in what lump of coal that existed as his heart, the limits of this 'gift'. The preserved weren't supposed to come back. Their fate was to stay on display. Keepsakes of the best torn down before Rugal's power. He thought he had seen it all, too. Having fought guardians of ancient seals, fought an avatar of an ancient god to a standstill, and even bested many of the world's mightiest. But when his eye fixates on the statue that is clearly the source of this disturbance, the tyrant must add yet another thing he thought he would never see to his list of experiences.
Rugal raises his arm over his face as bronze shrapnel goes flying and statues are sent to their sides, a couple of the shards finding purchase in his forearm, jagged slivers having cut through both coat and shirt. Lowering his arms, his eye fixates on the old man standing where only dead metal was supposed to be. "...impossible! What are you doing here?!" he demands, enraged. Someone is trying to psyche him out. This is a trick. A witty plot pulled by someone who is going to die so very soon. A fit to be tied, stepping forward, he shoves one of the statues out of his way, sending it careening along the floor, spinning on its side several feet away. If the old man was anyone special, he concealed it convincingly well before. His ability to obscure his true power may lead Rugal to act unwisely in the face of his new guest.
Ah, a voice. He knew the man was there of course, but when you're his age there's no need to go about *rushing* things. Naturally Rugal seems to think differently, but the Sennin knows that the lecture would be completely wasted on the man. Eyes drift back open, revealing those deep red pools once more. Only a few on this planet bear that special mark of transcendence, and Bernstein is not yet amongst that number. Even as that gaze meets Rugal's, as that thought is communicated to the crime lord without need for *words*, the sides of the old man's mouth creep upwards into the strangest of smiles for him.
"Waking up, of course. I must say, that's the best sleep I've had in a very, very long time."
The old man closes his eyes again and takes a single, deep breath, filling his lungs with the oxygen of the planet once more. At an outward glance, it's just a sinmple breath of air. In reality, Oro takes in more than just that. He feels not just that breath of air, but the air that fills the room...the halls...even the deck itself. The Senjitsu Master has opened himself to the world once more, and in an instant he knows many things.
Time has passed. Years. The ship that has been his place for meditation has barely moved at all from its place on the planet, but the sun and moon have travelled past it many, many times since he came to rest here. After a lull that had been met with Oro's desire for hibernation, fighters have begun to test their strengths against each other and refine themselves into greatness once more. Some fight to better themselves. Others fight for more selfish reason. But one thing is certain...the world is *alive* again. It called out to Oro. It's what stirred him from his slumber. But now he knows that it was not his imagination. He knows it's time to resume his quest for a pupil.
The old man's head tilts oddly as he regards Rugal, as if contemplating something briefly, but he's already shaking his head seconds later. No, no, whatever it was he was thinking of Rugal, he has already discarded the thought. "I owe you a small measure of gratitude for your safe keeping of me all the past few years. When I heard that you offered this form of meditation to the world at large at the mere expense of fanning your ego a bit, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. Times have changed though." Red eyes tilt upward as if measuring the sky, even though it's obvious that he *clearly* can't look through the ceiling. ...Right? Right. "The fighting spirit of this world has been rekindled once more. I can't just sit around in this display case getting old. I think it's time for me to go."
"Be kind to an old man and step aside, will you?"
Rugal's advance pauses. The light over Oro had been among those lost in the explosion of bronze moments ago. Which only makes those eyes... those glowing red depths all the easier to see. And's that which stops the man for a moment, giving Oro the time he needs to sample the soul of the world and taste its fighting spirit. Rugal knows something of it. Times are changing. Sleeping powers slowly surfacing. Factions long idle moving their pieces around the globe, playing a cruel game: the tactics of chess, the gambles of poker, and the consequences of death. The world Oro wakes into is different from when he chose this place to meditate in.
The disturbing thing for Rugal is that oh so very slowly he begins to realize that... he is starting to believe the old man. He can sense it now. Latent, impossible power. Constrained by choice, limited deliberately. How he could not feel it before he cannot understand. But it is there now. Like it always had been. Slowly Rugal lowers his arms, his expression a twisted mixture of facination and rage.
But then the ancient passes judgement upon him and his face contorts. Furious pride clouds his judgement. Whoever this man is. Whatever he may be. He cannot just come here, wreck some statues, toss out flippant remarks, then saunter out this room as if it was nothing! "Kind...?" His voice starts out deep, deceptively subdued. "Oh, no, old man. Kindness is in short supply here. You will go when and if *I* ALLOW it!" By the time he finishes, he's roaring, lunging forward with wreckless abandon to close the distance between them. He pulls back his arms, powerful hands clenched into fists, before he swings both of them forward at once toward the sides of Oro's head. He has, at times, easily smashed bricks with this display of force. And now, for greater or for worse, Rugal Bernstein sees fit to do the same to the head of the unwelcome sage, perhaps thinking to dash his brains against the wall for his defiance.
COMBATSYS: Rugal has started a fight here.
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Rugal 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Oro has joined the fight here.
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Rugal 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Oro
COMBATSYS: Oro interrupts Medium Punch from Rugal with Kishin Tsui.
- Power hit! -
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Rugal 1/------=/=======|-------\-------\0 Oro
Three things happen in the space of the moment following that Bernstein chooses to rush Oro.
The first, is that Oro frowns.
The second is that for a brief instant, there's a flicker in those eyes of his - red becomes white-hued blue.
The third is that Bernstein's charge is suddenly halted when Oro thrusts his unbound limb forward, his palm meeting Rugal's face and halting his charge immediately. His sledgehammer arms slam into either side of Oro's one and just...bounce off as if they had hit a wall.
One moment passes into the next.
The space of this one is occupied by Oro lifting Rugal into the air by his face, only to turn and slam the well-dressed master of the Black Noah into the floor behind him with crushing effect. That alone would have been a maneuver worthy of stories, except Oro hasn't let go of Rugal's face yet. Up again he goes, to be slammed into the floor opposite Oro. Again
And again.
And again.
And...you guessed it, again!
Fortunately for Rugal, Oro has a short attention span and his little game grows old. He lifts Rugal again, dangling him a few feet away. "You're not a very good host." He then swings his arm to the side and drops the man to the floor carelessly, and begins walking towards the door again.
"I'm going to be feeling those bristles for days!"
It's hard to understand where Rugal is coming from here. He's manhandled plenty a foe in his day. And he's fought literal titans of the fighting world and some that are beyond it, at times bringing them to a standstill. But Rugal has never in his /life/ felt so overpowered. The first slam is a surprise, locked into by the sudden denial of his attempt to strike. But it's the rest that keep coming that just leaves the man bashed, confounded, and, for once, humiliated at how the deceptively frail looking ancient crushed him.
As he falls to the ground, Rugal simply lies there for seconds, his body telling him that he just pretty much f'd up and that he really shouldn't get up again. But there's the part of his mind that insists he get back up. Strike again. Attack. Maim. Rend. Shread. CRUSH. That something on his own ship could overpower him so is impossible to comprehend. Impossible to believe.
When he finally gets up, his face is streaked with blood. His own, for once. So often it had been the crimson victory of his defeated victims that ran down his skin so. But not this time. There is no words to describe the fury with which he charges the back of the man a second, unwise time. "ENOUGH!" he growls, attempting to launch into a sequence of strikes the likes of which almost no one had ever seen from him before. Each attack would be enough to kill a mortal man. Each blow bearing enough crushing force to powder the bones of even some seasoned fighters. He attacks like a frenzied animal, as if only the sight of the smashed, bleeding Oro could sate his wrath now. His voice echos against the steel walls of the trophy room, resonating with power almost never tapped into - a taint of Orochi, the sliver that remains. "OMEGA-"
COMBATSYS: Oro blocks Rugal's Omega Destruction.
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Rugal 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Oro
Sigh. Really, he was expecting retalliation of that nature. He could hope things had changed that much in the world, but an old dreamer and an old fool are not necessarily one and the same.
But really, the stirring of that curious otherworldly taint was enough to tell him it was coming anyway. As Rugal comes charging at Oro again, the old man continues to walk, only to casually turn at just the right moment. Again, that blue eye flicker, those curious pools for eyes alternating between red and blue as his comically meaty forearm sways from side to side to deflect each blow. It's a rather strange sensation, striking that arm, as Rugal can actually feel force from each impact being redirected inward as they connect with the limb and dissipated evenly by the muscle. It isn't just a mastery of style that this bizarre interloper has, it's complete mastery of his own *body*. When all is said and done, Oro really does not look all that much worse for the wear from Rugal's assault.
For a moment, Oro and Rugal just stand there face to face, regarding each other.
And then Oro pokes him in the eye.
COMBATSYS: Oro successfully hits Rugal with Quick Punch.
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Rugal 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Oro
It's not often that one ends up actually hurting ONESELF more by trying to attack than they are their opponent. As Oro redirects the energy of each forceful blow, Rugal keeps striking relentlessly. Fists, feet, elbows, knees, one after another, unceasingly, untiring... for a while. But the Orochi spike that fueled the attack fades eventually, leaving Rugal to his own mortal devices. Powerful as they may be, there are limits. His knuckles torn, his elbow protruding through the sleeve of both suit coat and shirt, one of his shoes completely shattered... after all of that, it looks like Rugal just beat his own ass pretty damn bad.
In the end, all he can do is glare, his arms hanging exhausted at his sides, sweat mingling with the blood already present on his face. His teeth are clenched with enough force to threaten shattering them. And then up comes the old man's finger to poik him in the eye and the man is unable to move his own tired limbs to avoid the attack.
"ARGH!" the man cries out, staggering backward as he brings both of his hands up to cover the left side of his face. He's sensitive about the whole EYE thing, okay? There's really nothing left in him to attack with now. It's his right eye that glares back, the fierce red a reflection of the rage that burns within him. Rage that he would use to dismember the ancient if only he could. "Get OUT!" Rugal shouts. Apparently he's decided Oro should leave now. Kind of him, eh?
Sometimes that's all it takes - a little poke in the eye can nearly be as effective as slamming someone into the ground a few times when applied properly. Well, that and Oro is a bit of an eccentric ass at times. But really, can one blame him, filled with this much energy after having awoken from the best nap he's *ever* had?
Apparently Rugal can. Tch. These young pups are all the same.
"Very well then, I'm capable of escorting myself out. And there's no need for a boat, I'm not so old that I can't swim." The Sennin turns toward the door again, turning to look back into the room once he's crossed the threshhold. He pauses, thoughtfully considering the faces of the statues within the room as if taking in one last fond memory. His gaze drifts back to Rugal. "You have great power, but you must learn to channel it effectively. Meditate upon that and perhaps we shall meet again."
With that, the old man vanishes into the dark corridor and makes god on his word to show himself out. Surveillance videos last show him jumping off the side of the aircraft carrier and swimming across the ocean in the general direction of Thailand. One arm still bound, apparently.
Log created on 04:14:31 06/24/2007 by Rugal, and last modified on 12:10:19 06/24/2007.