Description: Duke comes to the Youth Fighter's Community Center to see what potential the next generation truly holds, and comes across the founder of the establishment, Alma Towazu. Finding himself swiftly annoyed in the young man's attitude and youthful determination, Duke decides to teach him a valuable life lesson -- by beating him as brutally as possible. Featuring the best projectile overcome in the history... OF THE WORLD. Also, people die?! PERHAPS ONE DAY.
It's not easy being responsible.
The crisis on the international scene has sent most skilled fighters running off to Thailand in order to combat the great evil being perpetrated there; the crimes against humanity taking place there are occuring on such a vast scale that it would seem any warrior with the power to do so has an obligation to use their strength to defend the innocent. And surely one who has always been committed to faith in the innate dignity of humankind, and a belief that the pursuit of one's own passions necessarily includes a sense of duty toward the fellows with which one shares one's striving, would be right there in the midst of the action, wielding their ability with a clear sense of purpose not often justifiable or available-- it is rare in everyday life to be able to oppose a force so clearly devoted to the destruction of everything the people of the world hold dear. To be able to engage in such obviously meaningful action should be an honor; protecting those in such profound need should be a given.
Yet Alma Towazu, champion of virtue, is here.
He is trouble. It does not show on his fine features, the dusky-skinned blond as always calm and composed in his mellow, affable way, combining with his natural poise to make him a reassuring presence for his fellow youngsters. Dressed with impeccable formality, once again taking his break from hours of paperwork and overseeing to relax in the midst of the lobby that he himself has devoted so much to constructing, Alma looks upon what he has helped to create and sees that it is good. He has no doubt that though -- apparent serenity aside -- he feels quite out of place making such a 'political' move as aiding in the founding of a community center, and that only through his philosophizing is he able to push himself past the limits of what normally feels 'right' set by his usual distance from the larger world, he has done the right thing here. Maintaining the YFCC seems to be something that really cannot be done by anyone else; he is needed here. He has made a good choice.
~ But have I made the /best/ choice? ~
What truly should his passion for life dictate? What level of responsibility is his true self most beholden to? His family-like relationship to his friends and mentor? Or the people of Thailand, who he does not know but whose suffering thereby becomes even more meaningful by creating a situation wherein he can demonstrate more clearly the importance of duty towards others by visibly defending those who would otherwise have nothing to do with him? Where should he really be right now?
~ So many stronger warriors are there. Even sensei is there, fighting hard, and I don't think I'd be all that much use to here. But... still... even so... ~
Smiling volunteers pass him by in the quietly buzzing lobby, greeting him as they wander past the couches filled with talking young fighters and their friends, but Alma's gaze looks past them, beyond them, at something they can't see.
~ What should I do? ~
Alma Towazu is a troubled young man.
Despite the war and carnage that rages onward throughout all of Thailand, despite all the death which swarms that country in the Asian mainland, the rest of the world continues on as normal. There are news reports that blare out an almost constant stream of information as to the state of the war. Men in little bullet-proof helmets and flak jackets shakingly holding onto their microphone report in fevered tones as to the chaos they see all around them -- and the uncanny fighters that work both for and against the megalomaniac seeking to take hold of the country.
But the news is easily turned off when the masses don't want to hear it. Sometimes South Park provides a better entertainment value.
As of yet, the world outside Thailand remains largely unaffected by the war that rages on there, and so most of the masses simply cannot bring themselves to -care-. Not understanding what this will mean for the world at large -- not seeing the future consequences -- most of the public throughout the world just go on with their daily lives. And here in Southtown, it is no different. People still bustle back and forth from work, unheeding and uncaring of the disasters that happen miles upon miles of ocean away. Everything remains unchanged -- even the Young Fighters' Community Center...
... and -especially- the large, imposing figure that stands just outside it.
He says nothing for a time, staring upward towards the entrance to the YFCC wordlessly and motionlessly. Those who pass the man pause to stare at him for a time, before looking away and shuddering. Slowly, as he looks up, a hand presses against his neck. Fingers drag against a distinct scar that drags on across the entire circumference of his neck. He grins.
The door makes the simplest of noises as it swings open with the expulsion of warm air from the outside world, heralding the entrance of someone new. Someone different. Large, dark hands sliding into his pockets the moment after the door is swung open, the man takes a long look around him with dark eyes before they focus on a single, distinct figure within the lobby. The one who made this all possible --
"You're Alma Towazu... right?" Duke asks in a way that's not really a question, in a tone that would send shivers down many less-brave individual's spines.
Alma is a troubled young man.
It is too bad, then, that Hell's Executioner isn't here to listen to his troubles.
The door opens and lets warm air in, but a chill ripples down Alma's spine. Though the tall youth resists the unexpected tremble, he blinks, lips parting in surprise, and his eyes refocus with a sudden sharp clarity.
His troubles are about to get a lot less complicated...
"That's right."
...and a whole lot worse.
The handsome young man's expression does not change, and by all appearances not only does he not recognize Duke, he is not troubled by the older man's presence. Surely they get strange visitors all the time, given the nature of this facility; surely the leader of this center is a stalwart individual in any case. Yes, but stalwart though he is, Alma sensed Duke's aura before he saw the doors swing close, and now as the monstrously huge man approaches, standing even taller than our model hero, he cannot avoid being fully aware of the strength of the man before him.
~ I've never seen... a human like this. ~
Alma's met a lot of crazy characters. Fighting Ryuji Yamazaki and Iori Yagami were both profoundly educational for this sixth-sense reliant young psychic; the real extent of the possibilities for the human aura -- that vibrant expression of belief, motivation, and intent all rolled into one fascinating and intuitive package -- clearly remain far beyond Alma's ken. And still the word 'insane' means less to him than it does to others, having his own experience with, shall we say, unique methods of interpreting the world and expression the lessons derived, namely his own. Even the twisted tragedy that is Yamazaki's corrupt self and the bizarre sickening taint present within Yagami's soul have not been enough for Alma to write them off as, say, no longer recognizably human. But the man before him, while clearly a man... is not quite like them. There is a sense of vast power, incredibly well-contained--
~ It's so sharp... like that of a predator. ~
--that would make a lesser man shake in his boots.
But Alma, besides not being the type to wear boots -- you'll have to go to Soiree for that -- is naturally only interested in the vast power that others wield. Although the intent of this man cannot but strike him as profoundly sinister, and the glint in his eyes reveals both his awareness of that power and his cautiousness at it that his mild expression does not otherwise show, he does not back away, and his voice is steady.
"Welcome to the Young Fighter's Community Center, sir," he says gently, looking straight into Duke's eyes. "How may I be of service?"
Ideas of 'humanity' are just concepts that must be sacrificed in the end in order to achieve any real sense of power, in order to achieve any truly great goal. Duke realized that fact a long time ago -- and its that which ultimately brings him here.
Admittedly -- this is all just something of a -diversion-. Duke's interest in this 'Youth Fighter's Community Center' is just a passing one at best. He's here to investigate something, to see if there is any fruit ripe to be plucked from the vine. But he suspects he'll find nothing more than a dead end. There is something to be said in trying, however...
... and the ambitious Syndicate lieutenant has always been fond of looking into every potential opportunity.
Duke remains silent for a time. He doesn't find it necessary to really speak until he's been given something to respond to -- he knows who Alma is, after all, even if Alma doesn't know -him-. It's well enough; he does not want to be so easily recognized. So, as Alma speaks, and as he indulges in thought, Duke's eyes drift away from Towazu, looking instead towards the rest of the lobby and consider the rest of those who may be scattered throughout. He's not really interested in them yet, though. He has to test the shepherd before he goes looking through the sheep.
How may I be of service?, Alma asks. Duke smiles in a most unpleasant way, that dark brown gaze refocusing fully on Alma. It's clear he doesn't come here with any -good- intentions... nor does he even try to hide it. Regardless, as Alma makes his question known, Duke bends stiffly. It's a bow.
It's not meant to be sincere.
"I came here to see just how much potential the next generation has," he explains calmly as he lowers himself into that bow. With a casual ease he straightens, neck rolling as if in preparation. "I was wondering... if you could indulge me for a little bit. It won't take long." Nor is it a request.
"Promise."
"Oh oh," murmurs the high school girl at the information desk behind them as she ducks beneath her chair. "Not this again..."
Alma's been attracting all sort of attention because of this establishment; it looks like it all just comes with the territory. So be it. In anything, he's grateful for the opportunity to have others approach and challenge /him/ for a change; even if their interest in fighting is for reasons totally divorced from his own, his opponents cannot prevent the fulfillment of the one objective Alma desires-- the clash of souls between opponents, the opportunity to see and feel his fellow combatant's aura on high burn, full of purpose. This sort of thing is exactly what he wants. He's not scared.
At least, in general.
In this case, however...
~ Do I really /want/ to see this guy's aura in action? ~
...maybe curiosity has a limit.
This would be a pretty stupid place to die, for example, all things considered. But somehow, even as these more practical worries arise in his mind, Alma sees them for what they are-- the fears of an administrator, of someone who must live to protect his creation. And he dismisses them. That's not why he's here. That's not what he's living for. He can't live like that; he learned the hard way. He has to start with himself. He can expand outward from there -- the YFCC has become a part of his self, as have his friends, now family to him -- but he has to start with his own passion for life. He wouldn't ever have made it to this point in the first place if it weren't for that. He can't forget his deeper purpose in the pursuit of these worldly efforts, however important they are.
He must fight.
The beautiful young man's features do not change, but Duke's practiced gaze may see the series of emotions that flicker through Alma's expressive eyes: that quiet worry and trepidation, followed by a thoughtful contemplation of his own motivations-- and then a light flaring up, a sudden intensity emerging made all the more notable by the fact that still, the set of his face has not changed.
"I would be honored."
Hazel eyes gleaming with the passion he cannot deny, the otherwise mild-mannered young man shifts his feet right there in the middle of the lobby, back straightening and limbs relaxing as he brings his hands into a ready position, right hand close to him and high and left hand loose and outstretched, a guard similar to Fei Long's own if with much less overt movement to his stance. But there is a faint swaying there, and the sense that he is beginning to reach some kind of rhythm already, even if it's hard to detect...
"Alma Towazu, Hiten-Ryu Kung Fu, adapted. But... you know that."
His voice remains gentle even as his gaze grows sharper, honing and brightening the light in his eyes as though narrowing a beam that arises from within his fiery depths.
"Who, may I ask, are you?"
No one has moved yet, but almost everyone's gaze is upon them.
COMBATSYS: Alma has started a fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma gathers his will.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|
No doubt this place, and the person in charge, has become accustomed to fights. Both would have to be, considering the name and nature of the place. Even if those who arrive are of the less expected and less savory variety... like the man that stands tall before Alma now. Duke comes bearing nothing but ill intent, barely masked behind the man's casual way in which he moves and speaks. It's clear his intents for being here, for this fight, are hardly the most noble of motivations. But he's here.
And who would Alma be to deny the request of a fight from someone who asks so -nicely-?
The answer comes soon enough as Alma's emotions flux within the depths of his eyes and harden into something more resolute. "That look..." Duke murmurs thoughtfully, taking a step backwards as Alma focuses inward on his own reserves of strength. "... I hate that kind of look."
He remembers well enough the last time someone else gave such a similar stare at him. That young silver-haired brat who tried to disrupt his shipments at the docks. And now he finds himself gazing at a stare remarkably like it, and it boils Duke's blood. To him... a stare like that from a person so young is just the epitome of stupidity. And he'll see to it that it is wiped clean off of Alma's face before the fight has ended.
Alma prepares, yet Duke's own preparations are extremely simple; his legs bend slightly, his hands slipping out of his pockets. Slowly, his right hand lifts to drag fingers against that deep, ugly scar once more -- a habit of preparation the man could never bring himself to quit.
'Who, may I ask, are you?'
"You can call me Duke."
Without a second of hesitation, Duke's right hand snakes forward, to grasp Alma FIRMLY by the face in the midst of his preparations. His intent being... to simply lift the young man up, and then THROW him straight down into the hard ground with an almost simplistically brutal efficiency.
"My fighting style is my own."
COMBATSYS: Duke has joined the fight here.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|====---\-------\0 Alma
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Duke's Quick Throw.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Alma
"Gghh--!"
Hey, man, not the face!
Alma's gathering spirit has, fortunately for him, heightened his already psychically-enhanced senses so that he intuits the moment of Duke's expression of his violent intent, as it were, a split-second before the powerful fighter begins moving. It is thus that the younger fighter is able to, teeth grit and muscles straining, block the sudden grab attempt and knock it to the side with his forearm, but only barely; Alma is a big guy in his own right, but Duke is just, well, huge. Grimacing slightly as he struggles to keep his powerful opponent at bay, a second passing that seems to last far longer, the fighting model abruptly begins a counter-attack by gripping Duke's outstretched arm and leaping straight up. Vaulting into the air with his opponent's powerfully muscled forearm as an axis, buoyed in part by his rising Psycho Power, Alma releases as quickly as he can before Duke can pull away or otherwise mess up his momentum and attempts to lash out with an airborne hooking kick right in front of the man. Soulfire blazes into existence around his right leg as the blond vice-president brings his heel crashing down at Duke's face, throwing himself fully into the attack in an effort to strike the man before he can withdraw, hoping that having used the man's arm as a tool in his jump will be enough to unbalance him at least a little.
"Urryaaahhh!"
He'll give it everything he's got.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Duke with Shooting Star.
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Duke 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 Alma
It's not often that a person uses your own arm like some sort of a strange spring-board. This in and of itself is more than enough to confuse Duke for the split second it takes for Alma to leap. His intention is clear, though, the moment that Alma swings up; Duke has no intention of moving at all. The large, dark-skinned man seems intent to just take the full force of the blow head-on, as if in testing of Alma's own strength and power. And so he does, though he's not as braced for it as he thought. The full-force of that attack SLAMS into him. The kick slams into his face, sending him staggering backwards from the force of the blow several steps before he comes to an ultimate stop several feet before Alma.
That fire... it burned differently than chi. It stung. Duke's eyes narrow as a small trail of blood runs down the corner of his mouth, staining the blonde hairs of his goatee. His right hand lifts, wiping at his bottom lip, and soon after -- fire begins to swell around his hands in chaotic tongues. He smiles.
If Alma is going to put forth that much strength, than Duke might as well comply as well. Lifting his hands HIGH into the air, Hell's Executioner does not even pause to conisder that they are inside the lobby of a youth center. Instead? He clasps his hands together, and -slams- them straight into the ground beneath him in a vicious sledgehammer blow. An instant later the ground beneath him EXPLODES outward in a rain of rubble, chunks of stone flying everywhere as a line of fire larger than Alma is tall bursts forward, carving a path through the hard floor towards the blonde model, intent on impacting against him head on in a fiery explosion of power. "GRAAAAAAARGH!!"
COMBATSYS: Duke successfully hits Alma with Sledgehammer.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|=======\=====--\1 Alma
Clearly Duke didn't like that kick, and clearly he's about to make a really big mess, because clearly he's not concerned about the children, and when a clearly shocked and awed Alma gets completely knocked out of the air with what is a clearly painful *wham* and sent *wham* right against the front of the information desk, sliding down limply into a sitting position, Duke's vicious chi attack has clearly been very effective.
The only thing /not/ clear about this situation, in fact, is what's going to be more expensive: the repairs to this lobby once this fight is over or the repairs to Alma's expensive suit and, well, priceless face.
But Alma, once he manages to lurch to his feet, teeth gritting as blood seeps from a corner of his mouth, somehow does not seem to have broken anything just yet, and though his chest heaves for breath after that savage explosion the fighting spirit in his eyes, so unintentionally irritating to his opponent, is unmitigating-- if anything, it is more forceful than ever.
"You--"
Staggering into a forward run, Alma leans in and then begins to sprint, with iron resolve recovering his wind quite suddenly in an effort to startle his opponent with his resilience and get the edge again; he needs all the edge he can get. But his blood is up now, for he is not only striving to new heights but defending his home, and it's a simple matter for the young psychic to focus the potent soulfire that is the physical manifestation of his determination into his hand and stab out with a lance of unrelenting white glittering flame.
"--will /pay/ for that--"
He means that quite literally, by the way.
"DUKE!!"
This place was expensive.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Duke with Self Expression.
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Duke 0/-------/-----==|=======\=======\1 Alma
He'll pay for that.
"... I doubt it."
Duke's response is unbelievably calm despite the determination and the fury evident in Alma's own words, in his own strike. Duke finds himself annoyed; this boy's movements are slow, easily predictable, and yet he finds himself unable to mount a defense. That psychic energy that stabs forward in a lance of fire breaks through Duke's defenses, and for a moment, the ambitious lieutenant is wide-eyed in shock. It lasts only a moment, before shock is replaced by a seething, unbelievable rage. Rage that isn't even entirely focused upon Alma himself; rage that fuels the inferno that is Duke, simply let out in a single instant.
Duke staggers bacl, body wobbling as that lance slams into him harshly. But it's not enough to knock him down, and only a moment later he has recovered himself, dark eyes narrowed and lips pulled back into a sneer. He won't be made a fool of by this boy. And he'll be teaching him just -exactly- what it means to fight against Hell's Executioner.
Only a moment after Alma's lance flies free and strikes its intended target, Duke recovers himself. In an instant after -that- he flows forward, intent on rushing at Alma with his right hand snapping forward -- seeking to get a stranglehold on the young man's neck with brutal force...
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Treadmill from Duke with Divine Intervention EX.
- Power fail! -
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Duke 0/-------/--=====|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Alma
"That look on your face... it doesn't suit you at all."
Large fingers grasp securely onto Alma's throat, wrapping around tightly in an unrelenting grip. He is lifted up, and for a moment it might seem that Duke is literally going to choke Towazu to death; the cold look in his eyes, the rage that burns like a firestorm inside of him, and the twisted smile that crawl across his lips all do not bode well. That grip holds on longer than usual, as if to let the thought or promise of death linger -- but it does not last. Instead of death's cold embrace, Alma feels the cold embrace of the floor as he is SLAMMED into it harshly, spider-line cracks forming throughout.
"Desperation would be a bit more fitting. Try it."
Duke's grip releases, but it's a brief reprieve. Not a second later, Alma will feel the man's foot SLAMMING into his chest with titanic strength. Harshly, he grinds his heel into Alma's sternum and -does not stop-. The force and pressure exerted by his foot grows, until finally, it gets to such a degree that... Alma is literally, -somehow-, blown UPWARD into the air, as if the force exerted by Duke's foot simply -explodes- the model straight upwards so high he threatens to slam into the roof. And all the while... Duke watches on with an unpleasant stare filled with cold rage.
Alma is just too slow.
He's a lot of other things as well, but right now, that's what counts-- oh, does it. He thinks he sees his chance. Maybe he /did/ have a chance. Maybe that would have worked if he were stronger, faster, more experienced.
Maybe in a hundred years.
But today he can only reach beyond his grasp. Light crackling silently around his fingertips with yearning to stab right at and through Duke's very soul -- such as it is -- Alma attempts to brush past that mighty grip and slam his hand against his opponent's chest just more. But he has no chance. The crushing choke elicits only a strangled gasp, his power fizzling away as he dangled, in shock at the sudden overwhelming pressure crushing his throat; gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly, beads of sweat form at Alma's brow as he tries to summon the strength to break free.
But again he is too slow. It seems like an eternity but it is only a moment before Duke sends him crashing to the ground, only to send him back /up/ into the air, blood fountaining from the beautiful youth's lips as the surge of power explodes against his sternum and the ricochet effect hurls him bodily up and into the air again. He hits the ground hard, bouncing against shattered tile, and rolls to a stop.
So much has been damaged so quickly that the onlookers can only stare aghast, even the worthiest of them completely intimidated by the awesome power of the scarred man before them.
"Hrrnn..."
Only Alma is man enough to get to his feet.
"...I..."
Which is kind of ironic, if you think about it.
"...won't give you the pleasure."
Clenching his fists, handsome chin now streaked with blood, Alma rears to his feet and stumbles forward before taking a deep breath and righting himself, straightening again to his usual poise, undaunted and unfazed despite the brutality of that attack.
"Desperate, maybe..."
And indeed, the fervent pitch that the passion in his eyes has now reached does border on a kind of desperation, all the more apparent that he begins to charge forward yet again, plumes of white, pink, and purple-tinged fire bursting into being around his fists.
"...but never afraid!"
It is a desperation to give his all, to force every ounce of energy from his bleeding body, to offer up every mote of his unyielding spirit. He is not some harried animal struggling to survive. It is not merely a desperation to live.
"So-- come on!!"
It is a desperation to live /fully/.
Standing tall, eyes burning, Alma refuses to give in.
"..."
Duke watches on with an impassive stare as Alma slams back into the ground again the a sudden, harsh bounce. His right hand slides into his pocket, his left wiping any remaining excess blood from his lips. His gaze lowers to stare at the dark blood at the back of his hand, a thick black brow raising almost thoughtfully. To think someone like him could have made Duke bleed with only such a limited number of blows. He has potential, that's for sure. But still--
"... You're worthless."
Duke says the words with a frown as he watches Alma slowly, ever-so slowly, stagger back onto his feet. His tone is condescending and unforgivingly cruel as he swipes his hand downward through the air, blood splattering against the ruined tile floor. "You say you'll never be afraid, eh...? Did you even think about that statement before you made it? Did you think through all the possibilities?" Duke's glare is harsh as he levels it on Alma, but carries with it a thoughtful consideration. "Are you saying you wouldn't be afraid for the people here? After all..." In an almost casual gesture, Duke cracks his neck with his left hand. It gives an odd contrast to his next statement, slipping from his lips with all the coldness in the world:
"... what if I decided to kill them all?"
He might be joking. He might be goading Alma. In the wake of that fury, though, and the cold contrast of his gaze, its hard to tell. But there can be no doubt, if it served as any benefit to this man, he would kill any of the people here -- or all of them. Whatever he needed to keep on climbing. "You're not desperate. Not yet. And you can't really be strong until you learn to tap into the rage that comes with it..." Duke's right leg lifts, eyes narrowing to slits.
"... but you will."
That foot SLAMS down, and it happens with such vicious force that the ground all around them begins to shake, tremors rippling from Duke as if they were in the midst of a miniaturized earthquake. That in itself would only be enough to unsettle, to knock Alma off his feet... but a moment later? A circle of /fire/ sprouts out in an omnidirectional blaze from Duke's foot, spreading across the floor to crash into Alma and blast him straight through the air with burning power. "HRAAAARGH!!"
COMBATSYS: Alma overcomes Seismic Impact from Duke with Full Confession EX.
Glancing Hit
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Duke 0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0 Alma
Alma glares in stony silence, still as Duke's power builds.
The whole lobby, tuned in to this epic confrontation, hears his words, and at the sound of his suggestion they begin to panic. The lot of them are more disciplined than the average youths, being who they are, but none of them signed up for this; with the aid of student volunteers, many of them, including the younger ones, begin to file out through the YFCC's main doors. But some stay. They don't interfere, not yet, not as long as it hasn't become completely necessary. But they remain, and they watch on, many of them glaring in just the way that Alma is.
"Tch!"
If not quite so intensely.
"Do you really believe that?"
Alma's burnt and damaged suit begins to ripple around him, his own gathering spirit beginnin to ruffle hair that has otherwise somehow manage to survive this raging storm of a battle almost entirely intact. If his eyes were only gleaming figuratively before, it's certainly literal now. There is a light within them, echoing the color of his Psycho Power, a growing pinpoint of ethereal might that ensnares the gaze and captivates the awe of most onlookers.
"That concern must give birth to terror? That true strength comes only from anger?" Alma's fists clench and his muscles tense, but though his gaze holds seemingly unlimited fury his expression /still/, somehow, appears still and calm, face now smudged but still at peace. "Fearing what you might do... allowing you to provoke rage within me... that would be a submission to you. That would be letting you provoke me, coerce me. How is that strength!?"
Alma shouts those last words, and as Duke lifts his leg-- he actually begins to tremble. A halo of light slowly begins to suffuse his arms and upper body as Alma shakes with the sheer force of the power now building within him.
"Duke! /This/ is strength! The very essence of my being!"
Now is the time. Here, at this moment, he can prove his devotion.
"WITNESS MY HAND!"
Who could ask for more?
"FEEL MY POWER!!"
And punching the ground, Alma sends a trail of ominously gleaming energy rolling rapidly across the shattered tile and toward Duke's own spreading attack-- whereupon it erupts suddenly from the ground, passing /through/ and dispersing the Seismic Impact and shooting upwards in a cascade of scintillating lights toward his opponent's body.
COMBATSYS: Duke endures Alma's Full Confession EX.
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Duke 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Alma
"Don't be afraid of me, or what I'm capable of doing," Hell's Executioner states plainly as his feet spread to either side of him, a look of utter contempt etched across his dark features.
"Be afraid of what your bullheadedness will do to your volunteers and the youth you've brought here one day."
Duke isn't looking for Alma's fear towards him. He gets no satisfaction out of it like some sick freaks out there; and really, he takes no pleasure in this, either (though beating on this hopelessly determined young man has been something of a -stress relief-). It's just that -- that look of Alma's pisses Duke off, and he'll make sure he sees it gone before the fight is through. That is his only interest in this now -- Alma's potential is worthless, after all, if this zen-like determination is all that Duke can bring forth from him.
"But let's see it," he says as his wave of fire washes over the floors. "Let's see -how great your power is.-"
And then Alma shows it. Somehow, through that determination, the young man manages to break through the wave of fiery chi that Duke has ushered forth from the strength of his foot striking the ground alone. His eyes narrow, a distinct look of displeasure crossing over his features.
"You think that's power?" the large man questions. His arms spread wide, as if welcoming the geyser of soulfire that pours forward.
"That's -NOTHING-."
It strikes. Whatever strength that culmination of Alma's might had when it struck Duke's wave of power, it is all but gone now. When it hits Duke, it washes over him in an almost futile effort to harm him; power flows across his shoulders like a burning breeze, dissipating like a wave crashing into the hardened rocks of the shoreline. He says nothing, at first. And he doesn't even deign to attack. Instead... he adjusts his elegant suit, and stares pointedly at Alma.
Like I said...
"... it's nothing. Show me something -stronger-."
COMBATSYS: Duke gains composure.
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Duke 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Alma
Urk.
"Wh..."
Under other circumstances, punching through Duke's fearsome attack would be enough. That's pretty hardcore for someone of Alma's skill level facing off against Duke, by any normal standard. But this isn't a normal situation where normal standards apply: this isn't just Alma strutting his stuff. He is fighting for his own passion, yes, and it's that truth that keeps him from despairing, that keeps his determination immaculate in the face of Duke's apparently invincible prowess. But he's defending the YFCC. It might really be in danger. He wants to involve as few people as possible. What if Duke does go on a rampage? Why shouldn't he? Who can stop him? Who else has a chance?
Blinking the sweat from his eyes, Alma's lips part, and for the first time his expression changes-- brow furrowing, he lowers his head slightly and looks up at Duke through long, damp eyelashes, swallowing once quietly.
~ This is bad. ~
Does he /have/ anything stronger than that?
"...fine."
Taking a deep, silent breath, Alma straightens once again, settling into his stance as he did at the beginning of the fight, centering himself, reminding himself of his purpose-- and somehow, he starts to feel better about all this. It's a bit absurd, really. This is pretty important. He really ought to win this, for everyone's sake. To save his own skin, at nothing else. But he just can't allow it to bother him for too long. With his priorities, even impeding doom seems unable to truly faze him for long.
This is it. He's living the dream.
~ I never imagined I'd ever come this far. ~
He'll die here if he must.
"I'll do it!"
And if his soul is called to task for his attempting an impossible fight...
"Prepare yourself, Duke!"
...he will say only that he loved this life too much to turn away.
And that he sacrificed everything will be his proof.
COMBATSYS: Alma gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Duke 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 Alma
He waits. He waits for something to come, something that will prove to him that Alma's determination means something more than simple words. That such a tremendous blast of power overcame a small exertion of Duke's might isn't enough. The aftereffects are sad at best. Duke is not staggered, and to be truthful... it looks as if he can continue to fight for some time to come, now. And so he waits. He waits...
... and nothing comes. Dark eyes focus in on Alma as he stands, unphased and unmoving. And still with that look on his face. "You don't deserve to have that kind of a look if all you can do is make pathetic declarations, boy," Duke explains as he begins a slow stride forward. He pauses midway through, and frowns.
"Let me demonstrate."
Hell's Executioner's pause in his stride is brief at best. His gaze has moved from Alma, and he seems to be scanning over the lobby, -looking- for something. Those dark eyes focus in towards that small cafeteria area within the main room. He considers... and then begins walking there. While Alma prepares, Duke strides -away-. Is he leaving? Is he conceding defeat? No.
He's grabbing one of those big tables from that dining area.
The purpose of this should be clear in a few moments when, after gaining a secure grip on the thing, Duke begins a measured, but fast walk towards Alma.
'Prepare yourself, Duke!'
"Oh, I am."
One swing. One swing is all it takes, and Duke sends the broad, top end of that table down in a blur of motion towards Alma, intent on using it like some sort of oversized, malformed baseball bat to knock the smaller fighter not only through the air... but into that round desk in the center of the lobby with undeniably painful results.
"GRAAAAGH!!"
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Duke's Random Weapon.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Duke 0/-------/-======|=======\===----\1 Alma
The table /explodes/.
Let's see that again.
The table /explodes/.
Not because Alma has done anything. In fact, Alma hasn't actively done anything at all. He just stands there-- and takes the massive brutal swing with that table like a man. But it would be enough if the table just shattered around him. That doesn't happen.
Because the table doesn't actually touch him.
Sure he flinches and grits his teeth, so some impact has obviously occured, but closer examination of security tapes will reveal that the table never actually makes physical contact with Alma's body. What it /does/ make contact with, though invisibly, is Alma's incredible aura, grown so mighty and intense that it has reached a level of palpable force sufficient to rip apart an inanimate object brought to bear against him with such ferocity. This is in fact partially thanks to Duke's own strength; only through reciprocating Duke's sheer power with an equal level of fury and resolve can Alma's aura reach such a scouter-cracking plateau of awesomeness. But it's mainly thanks--
"UUUUURRRYYYAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
--to his glorious passion for the fight.
"YOU'RE NOT READY!"
Alma isn't angry. It wouldn't be fair to call him enraged.
"NOW--"
/Furious/, though... That's a good word.
"--SURRENDER!"
He thrusts out a single fingertip, glowing white hot.
If he can only make contact, then...
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Duke with Absolution.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Duke 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Alma
His entire world is unleashed.
Light and laughter, the smell of spring and dew on grass. Two faint smiling faces, a man and a woman, looking down; a single butterfly, flickering through like a dream already forgotten. The feel of clenched innards, stinging tears washed away by autumn rain; a broken bowl in the dust. Fear and anguish and terror and loss and a resulting void that swallows everything else leaving only the tranquility of emptiness, the hollow peace of a world forever destroyed, and then-- a light again, brighter than before, a warm and soothing and indomitable light, a faith beyond hope, a resolve beyond will, a cleansing light that burns like fire and caresses like a mother's touch, and then--
Alma is there, chest heaving, the last glimmer fading from his eyes.
"There," he rasps. "That is..."
He sways once, only barely catching himself.
"...my strength."
Furious... good.
But he's not furious -enough-. And despite the fury of the young man's attack --
-- Duke finds himself disappointed.
It is mildly surprising when the table shatters, and yet Alma does not move. It's not entirely -unexpected-, of course, but it is still something that catches the once-calm (relatively) Duke off-guard. Enough so that, what happens next, is not something that he can react to in an appropriate amount of time. Alma's fingertip thrusts out and, blinking, Duke looks down upon it.
"-I'm- not ready?"
The blow hits. Duke doesn't have time to put up a defense; soon enough, Alma is plowing through his defenses with a single finger--
--And Duke finds himself in the midst of something he does not expect.
There are really words to describe it. In a moment, Duke is in the heat of battle, and then -- he finds himself experiencing a series of images as that psychic power rends not the physical body, but the soul, leaving him to stare unseeing as his mind sees everything in an entirely -different- light. Sadly -- sadly, it's not to last. Despite the oddity of the images, despite the potency of it all, it's--
"-NOT STRONG ENOUGH-."
That bellow shatters everything in a single moment. Duke doesn't know what has happened, save for now he's panting, and now... he is full of blinding fury. Full blown, Duke takes a step forward. He swings outward, straight for Alma--
--There is a blood-curdling bellow that follows as Duke seeks to deliver one powerful haymaker to Alma's face, contained within it unfathomable fury and power. All of it, delivered with searing rage in his eyes.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!"
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Volcanic Bomb from Duke with Shooting Star.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Duke 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Alma can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Duke 0/-------/-----==|
In one hit, Duke seeks to introduce Alma to Hell.
In one hit, Duke delivers more than enough power to floor Alma. He seeks to power through with such strength that it might even break bone if the poor model isn't strong enough. One swing, pushing downward to slam Alma into the cold and unforgiving tile. That in itself would be brutal enough. If only it ended there.
In start contrast to what Alma had used against -him-, Duke's next blows are unforgivingly physical in nature. As soon as Alma is thrust groundwards, the massive hands of Hell's Executioner snap forward, taking grip of the blonde young man's legs with strength that could crush stone to powder with ease. Alma is lifted up higher and higher as Duke begins to swing around in a circular motion once, twice -- -three times- before he is released straight into the air at high velocity, at such heights that he threatens to slam into the ceiling. And as he descends?
Duke runs straight at him.
"HRAAAAARGH!!" In a single jump, Duke launches through the air like a rocket, intercepting Alma upon his downward path towards the ground. This descent isn't hindered by Duke -- but aided, as he seeks to thrust the young fighter DOWNWARD into the cold ground in a powerbomb so brutal that the tile beneath Alma literally EXPLODES into a mess of rubble, creating a deep, jagged crater as soon as Towazu impacts in a deafening BOOM -- as if a bomb had gone off within the center. And it might as well have.
In the aftermath, Duke pulls himself up and away, straightening out his coat with a stare of cold rage.
"I hate that look... because a child like you doesn't know what determination means. You don't have the slightest clue. And that means you'll never be strong enough to beat me."
It's never clear whether Alma hears these words.
The first punch may have been enough to knock him unconscious. He could barely keep his feet after his final effort, in any case, and the sheer shock of seeing Duke recover so quickly from his mental assault on its own might be enough to make the poor boy keel over. This? This is just the bloody icing on Duke's brutal cake. ...As it were.
The savage beating to follow involves some miserable-sounding crunches and a few healthy blood splatters, but the resulting Alma seems somehow relatively intact once he hits the ground to create a massive crater-- at least until the sheer force of that landing sends him bouncing away like a ragdoll to impact against the side of the information desk and partially shatter it into chunks, eliciting a terrified scream from behind it.
Alma slumps to the ground for the last time, eyes closed, jaw slack, body limp. Apparently, he has nothing more to say.
But his face...
It's still beautiful. Even like this, beaten and bloody, unconscious, he seems only at peace, as though merely sleeping and dreaming sweet dreams. Like a fallen angel laid to rest he lies, the room silent save for the occasional crumble of wood and stone.
Then, with another shriek, the young girl volunteer lunges from behind the desk toward Alma, stumbling through the dust to kneel next to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Towazu-san! Towazu-san!!"
She looks up at Duke-- and freezes, utterly terrified.
No one else has moved.
Silence.
They all freeze. It seems as if everyone looks upon Duke, almost horrifically expectant of the terror that should come next. Despite this, there is no sense of sadistic pleasure in Duke's eyes, no look of unrelentingly evil rage. Just that cold fury. The fact that he -could- just kill everyone here and not even bat an eye. Without so much as feeling pleasure over it, or agony.
There is silence as Hell's Executioner looks down upon Alma, disregarding all the others. "... hmph. Pathetic." Alma is bloody and beaten, and Duke is not so savage as to crush him even further. He's made his point. Whether Alma lives or dies at this point -- he does not care. Hands slipping into his pockets, he turns, back presented towards the horrified stare of that young volunteer, to the battered form of Alma Towazu.
"That's real determination. When you can stare at the gates of Hell and not flinch, when you've tasted what true desperation is... then come and find me. I'll be more than happy to escort you to those gates."
He doesn't know if Alma can hear him. Likely the boy isn't even so much as -conscious-, if he's even clinging onto life. Duke doesn't really care, though. Instead, he starts to walk at the slow, casual pace he took coming in. No one here is going to die today. And Alma should have the tenacity to cling to life. Cockroaches are like that.
"When he comes to, tell him I spared everyone despite his bullheaded stupidity. You all are still alive... because of -my- generosity."
Once more, the doors open with the warm breeze of the summer outdoors. It closes with a metallic clang against the silence, and with that... Duke is gone.
COMBATSYS: Duke takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Duke 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Duke has ended the fight here.
Log created on 15:21:41 06/28/2007 by Duke, and last modified on 20:59:36 06/28/2007.