Description: ...or K''s lack thereof. K' runs into Krizalid in a rather unexpected place, and being a reckless asshole he opts to try wrecking Krizalid's face immediately instead of actually premeditating an attack. Or listening to anything the man has to say. Though he's improved enough to physically match his 'better half' in combat, getting past the mental block that is years of hearing and believing he's vastly inferior to Krizalid is a bit harder...
"Higher, Daddy! Push me hiiiigher~!"
The plaintive wail of a child wishing for the highest of heights. It's a simple little clearing, where a small set of playground equipment rests within the forests for those who live in the woods nearby to take their family. It's an idealistic little drop of paradise in a world otherwise torn asunder by secret battles and inner hatreds. It sets the stage for something almost poignant, something that will shatter the surrounds and lay waste to the clearing, to the equipment, to the little boy who squeals as his equally Japanese father pushes him upon the swing-set.
A faint breeze rustles more than just leaves. It passes through the fluffy boa that encircles the neck of one Krizalid, sending feathers all a-ruffle. He knows no other name; as far as he knows, he never had any other. With no family name to guide him, he instead proves a voyeur, watching the family from relative safety. That is to say, he's got his vehicle parked at the side of the road which runs by the playground, curving upwards through the forest. The path isn't broad, but then, his vehicle is far from the standard. Even it draws gawks, as the regulars of the area walk by towards town or over to the seldom visited shrine. Their stares and their whispers mean nothing to him, and it has little to do with the fact that he fails to acknowledge their language.
Krizalid watches the child yearning for dizzying highs. He cannot see anything but that child and his father, and he privately wonders at the mist that clouds so much of his past. He does not recall the feel of a father's hands against his back. He cannot remember a thing. His earliest memories are pain.
Unusually sombre, the Irishman exhales a stuttered breath, emotions clouded as he continues to watch the sight below. All he lacks is the binoculars. He's standing beside the hot air balloon.
Some relatively safe distance away from Krizalid, his dark-clothed form nearly lost in the shadows laid thickly between the trees, stands the closest thing to a brother that the NESTS commander has. K' had come across this unusual tableau a few minutes ago, drawn away from an intended visit to the shrine by the sight of a familiar sort of vehicle, and for those past few minutes he'd been standing frozen in a particularly thick knot of trees: watching Krizalid in cold silence, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from being too impulsive.
His jaw sets, teeth gritting as he takes in the sight: notices what Krizalid's looking at. A stung flicker passes through his eyes, and his gaze turns away quick. His hands twitch, and unsheath from his pockets. They coil at his side: still for the moment, but wanting to rip into that 'brother' he could never match.
If he were smart, he'd back off now. He'd wait for a better time-- he'd call for Maxima. He wouldn't expose his presence to his former superior so soon, so recklessly. But he's not particularly smart. Barely-stifled fury breaks down what little sense he has, urging him to try and cut off one of NESTS's heads while he has the chance. And then, there's that nagging desire to prove himself-- though it's anybody's guess who K' even has to prove himself to. Probably just himself.
He breaks from the tree line, his sudden movement almost involuntary. Stiff-legged and bristling in the way a frightened but determined dog will advance to attack, he's headed for Krizalid's turned back, his presence hardly difficult to detect. Especially when his voice lifts: the tone of it, surprisingly enough, just sounding tired. The hostility is a little more hidden: layered a bit deeper. "What are you even doing here..."
This wasn't really high on K''s list of places he expected Krizalid to be. Of all the talents K' has, the ability to understand others or empathize isn't typically one of them.
The voyeur-like watching of the family in the park continues unabated, the watcher blissfully unaware of the person who watches him from behind. Caught up in his thoughts, in his internal monologue and a profound sense of loss, Krizalid does not heed the tell-tale signs that would warn him of approach by a particularly dangerous individual until his beloved 'brother' is almost close enough to be literally palpable.
But even then, the taste proves not distasteful.
Words flow from his other half, but they do not illicit the expected reaction. There is no storm of violence from him, no whip of chi rising into the skies. There is simply silence, until he imparts his feelings onto K' in a manner most unlike him; he uses words, simple words. "Do you ever wonder," he quietly inquires, the question ignored as that Irish lilt takes his voice, "just what your childhood was like?" As those final, seemingly cryptic words leave his mouth, he turns to regard the shorter, significantly lighter K'.
And still, there comes no violence. From amidst the feathers that surround his mouth, his features twist into a smile that some would label almost deranged. Beady eyes observe one of NESTS' most wanted targets from between macabre markings. A gloved hand lifts with sudden speed, spiked fingers abruptly parting the coat he wears at the front to reveal his face properly.
"Whatever brings you here, Kay?" he turns the questioning edge back in the direction of the person he stares at now. "Are you as drawn to forgotten nostalgia as I am?"
COMBATSYS: Krizalid has started a fight here.
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Krizalid 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: K' has joined the fight here.
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K' 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Krizalid
A spasm crosses K''s face briefly at Krizalid's first remark, the look of guarded, barely-restrained resentment and hostility mutating in an instant to something pained. Like Krizalid actually had struck him instead of simply talking. The boy falters to a halt several feet away, his entire stance closed up and defensive: shoulders sloped and head lowered in a wary, furious regard. The temptation to attack-- the bitter thought that consumes him-- is so obvious as to be nearly palpable.
The sudden movement of Krizalid's hand elicits an equally-sudden, but quickly-controlled flinch from K': a swiftly-aborted sign of readiness to jerk back and hit a defensive stance. It's not merely the quick reaction of a fighter, or mundane startlement. It's the full expectation of being struck at any moment. Being attacked, killed like the traitor he is. He turns it smoothly into a solitary step back, a backwards slide of one heel that opens his stance. His shoulders mantle further, head lowering: the overall effect coming to resemble a dog that wants to cringe and bite all at once.
"You've got nerve," he replies quietly, a choked-back snarl edging his voice, "asking that of me." His hands twitch visibly, before he forcibly hooks them into his pockets to keep them controlled. He's silent a moment longer, the line of his jaw drawn tight as if he'd spit a great deal more venom if his teeth weren't kept nailed together. Malevolent eyes never leave Krizalid's face.
"I didn't come here for you. Or to think about the past," he eventually replies. It seems an effort for him to speak-- as if that pent-up frustration and anger has mounted so high he's become like his namesake: forgetting words and able to talk only in snarls. "I wasn't going to come -here- at all. But you're good enough reason to stay..."
His hands unhook, any last vestige of self-control gone, and he snaps forward: finally off his leash, a lab animal driven to bite. He lunges clear at Krizalid, snapping a vicious kick at his jaw, trying to shut his 'brother' up the only real way he knows how.
COMBATSYS: Krizalid endures K''s Minutes Spike.
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K' 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Krizalid
Whatever responses leave K's mouth, there's an eerie and very real chance that Krizalid does not presently hear the words. Is he so lost within nostalgia that he fails to see the way with which his words affect the youth across from him? Perhaps he does not. It seems that he may be so lost within his own sense of loss and his own sense of grief for that which he considers forgotten that his head is suddenly tipped back in a strike as that boot of his other half's explodes across his jaw-line.
Reeling backwards, the Irishman falls onto his rear, sliding into the dirt with his gloved hands there to brace him. "Oh, my," he gasps, brought back to reality by the bloom of pain that spreads from his face and through his body. A hand lifts, fingers feeling at the split lip he now sports, and the trail of blood that threatens to fall down his face. "You're in a violent mood, aren't you, Kay?" he questions, staring up at K'.
And then those eyes narrow, and the reality of the situation becomes his awareness.
"How interesting that you choose violence over the exploration of our mutual pasts," Krizalid speaks as he rises, voice momentarily clenched as he rights himself. With a lofty sigh, he shakes his head, the disapproval very plain and about to become physical.
Such as the sudden shift of his hand, to drive his fist right into the jaw of his 'brother.' Tit-for-tat, as it were, even as he speaks on as only he can. "I wager you were a spoiled child," he goes on to say, as if he were oblivious of the truth as to K's true origins; perhaps he is, the secrets lost within the myriad of files that only Igniz and Zero have access to. "And a spoiled child earns the rod, doesn't he? A wooden spoon across the knuckles."
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Krizalid's Strong Punch.
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K' 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Krizalid
There are a myriad of reasons K' resents and hates Krizalid the way he does, and remarkably few of them have to do with Krizalid himself. He hates Krizalid for being better-- for being picked over him again and again-- for being the source of the genetic techniques that made him what he now is. The older brother he couldn't match. It's unfair, true, it's shortsighted and cruel-- but then again, children are always so tunnel-visioned. And K' isn't that far removed from a child: hurting and angry. Krizalid is right about that much.
The look and tone of disapproval just brings back memories. He's heard that note of disappointment too much, dealt with that cold loftiness too often. The rage overwrites much of what's said to him, K' blotting out the meaning of most of Krizalid's words: just as Krizalid doesn't seem to hear him. The two men aren't even listening to one another.
"There's nothing to explore," K' retorts lowly. His armored hand lifts to catch the blow even as he sidesteps, his fingers shutting like a trap around Krizalid's fist. The heavy metal of the glove is a cold and cutting reminder of just why K' is the way he is. "I know enough. And if we're really that similar--" a sneer cuts open K''s tense, half-mad expression at that, "--then it's twice as unforgivable that you stay with them."
Resolute words. If only the kid looked convicted about them. K''s expression convulses as he stands there, tensed, the look on his face warring between anger, frustrated confusion, and a fear whose source isn't the man before him. Whatever second thoughts he might have had at Krizalid's words are strong enough to get even him to pause for an instant-- if only because the ideas they presents are so novel-- but in the end they're not enough to stop him. K' only has enough room in his bitter heart for his own grievances. He doesn't have the capacity to feel sympathy: to carry anyone else's grief. His own troubles are heavy enough.
That, and Krizalid's last words set K' off. Just like pulling the trigger on a gun. "Spoiled...?" He looks incredulous an instant-- and then he barks a harsh spate of laughter, shoving away from Krizalid and stumbling back a few paces. He lunges back in soon enough, though, an open hand snapping forwards-- only to slam shut into a fist just before impact, his entire body driving forwards behind that point-blank blow. "Christ... you don't know shit about me! "
COMBATSYS: Krizalid fails to interrupt One Inch from K' with Rising Darkmoon.
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K' 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Krizalid
Despite what emotions may have been there, and despite the words that leave the elder Krizalid's mouth, it seems that there is only one path for this to head down; violence. It starts with the younger, but the older is more than willing to return it, to escalate issues further. The words which are spoken ignite a fire within K', and it's the strike which the elder seeks to intercept; as he's shoved backwards, the Irishman seeks to retaliate.
Energy all his own is what flows out. Winds snap into existence, but for once it seems the younger 'brother' is the faster. As Krizalid rises off his feet, that fist strikes him square, driving him back and down the road into another tumble.
Dust stirs on the path as he rights himself, sliding the rest of the way on one knee before staring up the slope at his lesser half. "Then humor me, little 'brother,' and tell me about yourself. Do you enjoy long walks down the beach, the moonlight on your back and the hand of a lover held in yours? Somehow I doubt that anything so poetic runs through your miscreant little mind." The vitriol he spits is thick as he stands, arms spread wide. There's a burst, and his coat shatters instantly into ash as his entire body is encompassed by the stolen genetics they both are able to harness.
Remaining alight, the Irishman watches K' very carefully in the moments thereafter, before snuffing it all. Within his battle suit, now it seems that K' stands between him and his mode of transportation; that balloon of his. "I almost felt that one though, Kay. Why don't you try a little harder? Isn't that your motto? You're always a little short!"
White teeth bare in a humorless and vicious look as Krizalid goes skidding, the satisfaction printed in K''s eyes brief and bitter: devoid of any real joy. He starts a slow prowl as Krizalid pulls himself back up, circling closer to the NESTS commander, the look on his shadowed face crawling closer and closer to full-on, rage-inspired madness the longer Krizalid talks.
"Don't MOCK ME!" The boy rips from deadly silence to a snarling shout in instants. This is too familiar-- too like the other times he's clashed with Krizalid in the past over his failures, his worthlessness-- too like the sour, jeering note in the voices of his 'superiors' as they reviewed his performance with blatant dissatisfaction.
It's Krizalid's last stab that hurts the most though. The breath physically hisses out of him at the words, as though Krizalid had walked up and kicked him. A strangled sound rips out of his throat, a noise that could have been a snarl of rage if K' had still been coherent enough to even communicate on -that- bestial level, and he vaults forward, killing the gap between himself and his 'brother.'
He rushes Krizalid head-on, mindless and foolhardy with fury, his entire right arm lighting with vivid fire as he goes. Once he gets close enough he slams forwards towards his 'brother' with a clawing upwards swipe, slinging a ring of fire at Krizalid: too enraged to speak.
COMBATSYS: Krizalid blocks K''s Eins Trigger.
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K' 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Krizalid
So easy to stoke. That's the remarkably lucid thought that tumbles through the otherwise empty mind of the Irishman's. The anger that all but explodes out of his beloved 'brother' is all too predictable, and despite the time that has passed since they sported the same affiliation... it never changes. "You just don't grow up," he admonishes further, the Irish lilt gone from his voice. It isn't the charming Irishman who speaks -- it's that 'older brother' figure who's never had anything but criticism for his 'younger' self.
Perhaps it would have been different today though, given the way he first spoke with K'. There was perhaps a chance there for a connection to be made. But that too falls by the wayside, in favor of what K' knows best; striking. Mute with rage, that ring of fire strikes out in the wake of that powerful arm, but it's met by the simple and yet potent defense that is Krizalid's ringed forearms. They brace in front of him, allowing the flames to wash over him, lightly smoking his hair as he shuffles back a pace or two.
"You never change!" the Irishman roars, harnessing his own flames for but a moment. It's just a precursor, a tell-tale sign of what awaits K' if this continues on the course it does. "Find your voice, or I'll rip it from your throat!"
From amidst that wreath of flame, his fist suddenly streaks forward with a simple aim. Those tipped fingers of his seek out K's throat in an attempt to help him speak; if grasped, blood is bound to floor as the muscles that rope his arm tense to lift the much lighter clone from the ground, and then deposit him back down into it with a vehement slam.
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Krizalid's Chokeslam.
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K' 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Krizalid
He hates that voice. That tone. The instant he hears it again, after all this time away, it's as if he never stepped out of NESTS's shadow. Hearing it, he's ten again, standing in sullen silence and listening to men trade bland words about him over his head-- continue development? Blow the money on training him anyway? Or just shelve the failure, relegate him to the ranks?
He remembers actually feeling relieved to hear them say they'd already wasted so much money on him that simple termination wasn't an option.
The only mention they had made of -Krizalid-, on the other hand, was to commend his swift progress and recommend him forward in the ranks. Such a success! So promising. Perfect replication of the Kusanagi fire. Such a pity the same treatments failed on this little one. He had been jealous ever since, angry and bitter, and in K''s childish mind jealousy turned easily to unreasoning hate.
That hatred is written in K''s face as he lunges in, trying to torch Krizalid where he stands-- trying to prove his worth the only way he knows how. But it's not enough. It never really is enough. He's improved since he last saw Krizalid, but he's still not -better-. And Krizalid chiding him about his predictability, even as he easily blocks K''s fire, just fans the flames. The boy almost runs clear into his 'brother,' so fast he's going, and that proximity means he won't be dodging the retaliation.
His arm swipes up to block that incoming grab, a harsh breath kicking out of him as his forearm's laid open instead of his throat. He hates it, hates it the way a chained dog hates his leash, but the direct command from Krizalid is hard to ignore. It touches on all his programming and training, pries his tense and reluctant jaw open to snarl a shrinking reply. "I've got nothing to say to you... nothing but that I'll stop you. You and all of NESTS. You're all sick..." His rent arm whips downwards, his torso twisting, and his armored fist lashes out again in an attempt to strike Krizalid clear across the face.
COMBATSYS: Krizalid dodges K''s Medium Punch.
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K' 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Krizalid
The voice is really the least of the concerns that should be plaguing K's mind at the moment, and no doubt that's precisely the case. The voice simply serves as a constant, grating reminder in the lesser man's ears as to the history between them, the past that has led them to this little road in the middle of no-where. His solitude ended by the intrusion of the lesser clone, instead allowing for violence to generate.
A part of Krizalid is distantly sickened by the one-track mind of K'.
That fist that whistles for his face strikes little but air though. Literally bending over backwards, he neatly evades the strike. And thanks to his grip on his beloved 'brother's forearm, he is able to swiftly pull himself back up and be right back in his face. "You think we the sick ones? Look at you now, Kay. Look at you, an instigator of violence. How near are we to that little family I was so busy watching?
"Oh, you need not worry. They're long gone. People know better than to hang around when delinquents act up!"
Exerting that grip though, Krizalid tugs K' past him and retaliates, bringing his sizable fist to bear in an attempt to bury it a good two-inches inside of his brother's -- his enemy's -- torso with enough force to send him flying back into the waiting basket of the balloon. "That's all you are! Nothing to say? Your body speaks even if your mouth will not! You think yourself above this? You think yourself beYOND what you were MADE for, you miscreant?!
"Well you are NOT!"
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Desperate Moment from Krizalid with Claw Bites.
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K' 0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1 Krizalid
Krizalid is right, of course. About the danger K' just created to all in the vicinity. Krizalid is rarely wrong. But the fact that he's right, that he's caught K' in one of his too-frequent moments of hypocrisy, is just the twist that makes the impaling knife all the more painful. Expression spasming with stung rage, K' throws a poor strike in the heat of the moment; Krizalid smoothly avoids K''s rushed attempt, weaving beneath it and using it to snap upwards with a retaliatory blow.
It hurts, but the words hurt worse.
The attack sinks home, knocking the breath out of K' and bursting little stars of white pain in his sight. Through sheer force of will he lashes out even through that breathless haze, his right hand carving a trail of fire through the air as he slams it into Krizalid in a bid to get the man -away- from him and break his hold. K' retreats instantly then, backing swiftly away from Krizalid and the expected reprisal. "I'm... justified..." he retorts between sobbed breaths, even knowing the words to be empty when thrown at his cooler-headed 'brother.'
Panting, literally exhausting himself not with exertion but with pure rage, K''s shoulders slump: left hand clutching his right arm as if it pains him. He talks bravely, harshly, but beneath that it sounds like he's just trying to convince himself. "And I'm more than that-- more than just a letter..." It's all Krizalid has called him. Just the letter. He hasn't even given him the grace of that dash mark. K: the single letter reserved to designate any iteration of Kyo Kusanagi. It was the -only- name given those multidunious clones that failed completely, never even getting off the ground. K-Dash was just one step beyond that-- one step beyond useless. That was the implication.
For all the anger that K' is letting fuel his blows, it seems that he's gradually gaining the upper hand. Between the two of them, it seems that there's more of an emotional exhaustion overtaking the lesser of the two 'brothers,' whereas the elder is being drained physically with each blow that strikes his body. Even in a blind rage to separate them, it seems the lesser proves the greater. Krizalid takes a full strike to the face, one full of explosive gusto, enough to break the hold and give them both a bit of space.
Panting as well, Krizalid considers his options even as they speak. "Kay is your designation as much as it is your name! You cannot run from your past, so instead you fight it in some perverse attempt to right the wrongs -- you claim to be justified, to be what? Some harbinger of justice? Some gavel of righteousness? You and that pathETIC Canadian, you think you can bring the Cartel to its knees?! What would you be without us, hmm?! Tell me that! You would be nothing! You would know nothing of the power you have at your beck and call! You would not be 'Kay,' and you would not be ANYone! This Cartel made you SOMEone! You were a success, and then you proved just how much of a failure you are!"
It proves quite the rant from the Irishman, hatred and vitriol spewing from his mouth along with spittle, until he's doing little more than rasping the words, almost choking on them as he dispenses them with such raw emotion. Gathering himself, he takes several steadying breathes to right himself, to gain back that which has been lost so far. "You think this a game, do you, Kay? You think this is the chance for you to redeem yourself, to change the past for a brighter future?
"You would shoot smoke up all of our arses. Get over yourself, Kay.
"The Cartel already has."
COMBATSYS: Krizalid gains composure.
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K' 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0 Krizalid
[OOC] K' .... d.... damn ._.
[OOC] K' just turns around and goes home ._.
[OOC] Maxima says, "you just got owned with words"
It might just be that overwhelming anger that's let K' last quite so well as he has. Stress and fury can cause him to make mistakes, same as anyone... but more often, they actually improve his performance. He's been built and tweaked to operate under strain-- to eke up to his very top performance when under duress. That, and he hasn't been spending his time out of NESTS sitting on his hands. Freedom from the Cartel, in many ways, has sharpened his resolve and focus, increased his drive to excel. Even despite hating those fake commercial matches, despite sometimes taking truly brutal beatings from the nightly fights and brawls he gets himself into in order not to fall behind, he keeps pushing himself harder and harder. He won't get anywhere with his goals if he doesn't.
Mere physical strength, however, can't give him the emotional or mental maturity or fortitude to withstand what Krizalid is capable of throwing at him.
He flinches back visibly as Krizalid throws that vitriolic, hate-ridden stream of words at him, every phrase so pointed one could imagine each one drawing blood. If the boy had any less pride than he did, a whimper would have wrenched out of his throat at the biting retort to his protests: a dog, being sharply and soundly kicked. Be grateful to the Cartel for all they've given you, even despite your ultimate worthlessness. Thank them for all you have-- because without them, you'd just be another grave marker. Another kid dead in infancy, born sick and frail with no chance to live out life. But the way K' sees it... NESTS didn't give him much of a chance to live out life either. Even if they did, initially, save it.
"The Cartel made me a -thing-. It gave me something I don't want..." His voice eventually rasps out from a raw throat, his left hand's grip tightening on the burning ache in his arm. "And without it, I would have been a normal human. With a normal life. You took that from me, and now I want it back. I'll take it back. And I'll keep you from taking it from anybody else."
He lunges abruptly, ripping out of his standstill, leaping recklessly at Krizalid with a vicious rear-leg hook kick aimed to silence that incisive tongue. "It's NOT A GAME to me!"
COMBATSYS: Krizalid interrupts Strong Kick from K' with Strong Punch.
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K' 1/------=/=======|=======\=------\1 Krizalid
For all the words, it still comes down to physical blows. Words are simply words; they know violence much better. And it seems that there's a most definite need for K' to stop the flow of words, and it's done through violence; that hook kick that springs out of no where, aiming to catch the Irishman square in the jaw with a bold declaration. No, it's not a game. But Krizalid's reaction practically is.
The blow buffets him to one side of the face as he takes a half-step forward for a simple purpose.
Driving his fist square into the groin region of his lesser 'brother.'
It's a cruel, calculated blow, but it has reason. Straightening, the Irishman finds his mouth still working. "If you don't like what we gave you, then die. It's a very simple choice you face. You cannot change what has been taken from you, and by fighting us, you will NOT get it back. A normal life? You want to be the child down there, being pushed by his father? Please! That life is not for me, and it is not for you, Kay. Daydreams are simply that, daydreams! They are not something for you to mold your life around! Grow up! Stop being such a child, and grow up! Realize your purpose, and stride towards it!
"If you wish to throw your life away, the life we GAVE you, then by all means!" Krizalid roars the words, his arms spread wide as the grip of insanity beckons. "Then let me place my hand into your heart and end this for you! For you are entirely too bold, entirely too self-righteous, and entirely too dangerous a beast to be allowed such freedom!" And then his volume descends, the next a hushed whisper as he looms as tall as ever. "This is not a game, you are quite right... so stop treating it as one. Your supposed purpose in fighting the Cartel is simply that. A child's game. A fool's errand."
K' has no way to avoid the point-blank blow-- and he barely expected it, taken completely by surprise as Krizalid simply stepped clear into his attack. -That- gets even the pain-conditioned boy to give voice where no other attack would, a strangled bark of pain ripped out of him as he's smashed mercilessly into the ground. And for once, he simply -stays- down, dragging on hands and knees in a blind agony, unable to even think through the pain. The sobs aren't just panting essays for air now-- they're real and wrenching, mingled with tearing coughs that drag at his lungs and drip blood from where he's bitten clear through his lip.
That shuts him up pretty well-- at least for the duration of time Krizalid needs to castigate his errant 'little brother.' Expression pulling into a bloody snarl the instant it can-- the instant the pain starts to relent, K' angrily swipes the back of his left hand across his mouth as he struggles to rise. Blood smears across his dark skin.
"I won't get it back," he repeats, almost dazedly. "And it won't ever fit me-- a normal life." Fine. He admits that. The way his shoulders buckle is proof enough he can't argue that. "But I won't have any chance at life at all," he repeats, obstinate, his voice hoarse from pain, "while you still exist. So that's gonna be my purpose-- to end you." His mouth twists, some hint of a mirthless smile struggling to life briefly on his face. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's foolish. Maybe revenge is all I can get. Even though it doesn't change anything-- doesn't give me anything back."
He tries to stand, but only gets as far as a kneel. It's enough. His eyes fix on Krizalid as he forcibly pushes the pain from his mind, focusing hard on his 'brother's' declaiming form. "The fact I get to -choose- what to waste my life on is enough."
COMBATSYS: K' focuses on his next action.
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K' 1/------=/=======|=======\=------\1 Krizalid
Able to sprout from his private gospel without interruption thanks to that rather skillful strike to the nether region, Krizalid is at least nice enough to listen in turn as the lesser of the pair, although more likely to be the victor this day, slowly rises to his knees. Staring down at K', there's a hint of madness within those beady eyes as he hears the promise made. "You really think you can do it?" he asks softly, concentrating on that oath. "You'll dedicate yourself to stopping me, is that what you'll do...?"
The rest goes unheard. Simply staring back down at K', the Irishman seems to be in his own world as if playing out that possibility in his mind. He draws it to a certain conclusion...
And it makes his lips quirk into an awkward smile.
"How interesting. Yes, I think I would like you to do that, Kay. Dedicate yourself to stopping me, if you think yourself strong enough. Perhaps you'll even prove me wrong about you... perhaps you'll surprise me." There's a slow nod from Krizalid thereafter, as if he were settling matters in his mind. But with that all said and done, he does not believe today to be the day. What he believes he's just arranged for is a date in the future, years from now; what he must do now is set the ending for this stage as he sees it.
A veritable maestro, the Irishman spreads his arms as he bursts into flames, his hands reaching out to grasp the kneeling man before him--!!
COMBATSYS: K' endures Krizalid's Desperate Overdrive.
[ \\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
K' 1/=======/=======|-------\-------\0 Krizalid
It's a simple enough transaction; burst into flames, and then grab your opponent so they too are all lit up. That's what Krizalid does, taking a firm hold of K's shoulders as the boy kneels there before him. But unlike a priest, the only sermon that follows is a violent organ bashing. Gripping the lesser 'brother' solidly, he heaves him into the side of the basket -- and then rains down a myriad of fists, his limbs seemingly elongating as he pummels the ever-living shit out of K'.
When it's all over, the Irishman is left breathing hard -- but damn if he doesn't punch deep, and hard. But that sure takes a lot out of a man, beating K' up like a red-headed stepchild.
K''s eyes, wolf-yellow and gleaming with some intrinsic, warm red glow, stare up at Krizalid's looming form through a curtain of matted silver bangs. He doesn't even reply, except in the form of a defiant bare of the teeth. The answer is in his unblinking gaze, and it stays there even through Krizalid's punishing assault: as if that burst of fire that consumed him before the smashing series of blows burnt the promise irrevocably into it.
That rain of attacks is so brutal it robs K' of the breath he'd have needed to cry out in pain. He crumples after the fact, sinking to hands and knees, coughing blood liberally to the ground, his breathing a bloodsoaked rattle in his throat-- but he doesn't seem as disoriented as he should be after so brutal an assault. It's as if he'd steeled himself before the fact, waiting and watching for the moment Krizalid pulls back, tired out from his rapidfire blows.
One could call it 'dedication,' yes, that he would weather through that brutal attack for a chance to strike back in equal measure. He takes it the instant Krizalid steps back.
He doesn't bother with frivolities or precursors this time. There's no playful, mocking toss of the shades, no belittling fakeout such as he would pull in other situations. He simply licks blood from the edge of a canine, eyes fixing on Krizalid with savage focus, before he lunges forward with a deep, rasping snarl: attempting to smash a brutal, full-strength upwards hook with his armored fist, straight into his 'brother's' jaw.
COMBATSYS: K' can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Krizalid 0/-------/------=|
COMBATSYS: Krizalid fails to reflect Chain Drive from K' with Typhon's Rage - Reflect.
COMBATSYS: Krizalid can no longer fight.
That blow is only the first of many. The first strike makes certain Krizalid's propped up properly to meet the second-- a punishing downwards cross that cleaves from left to right. A rapid succession of swiping, almost-rhythmic blows follows, kicks alternating with scything punches, half of which are aimed at an upwards angle solely to knock Krizalid back upright and force him to stay right in range. Fast-moving knuckles strike indiscriminately with no regard to fair targets and no clement consideration of pain, rapidly carving away like water beating against rock. The only time K' lets up is right near the end, when his strikes abruptly pull and he slides back a few steps; but then, he only does so in order to give himself room to come searing straight back in with a piercing, point-blank blow plated with a blast of fire.
But that's all K' has left in him. He doesn't even have the strength or breath left to say anything to his former superior-- his 'brother.' He hits the ground immediately after that last impact, skidding to his hands and knees, and from the look of him he won't be getting up again. Not anytime soon.
And with that decisive retaliation, there's the very good chance that the end for Krizalid may well be near. The fist strike into his jaw is the beginning of pain, the blossoming of agony that quickly spreads across his body. It culminates so very swiftly with a blast of flame, and there's the heavy thump of a man's body slumping down into the basket of his balloon.
Fitting, that he lands there. Several moments later, the ballast is thrown over... and with a burst of hot air, the balloon rises from the ground. "Another time, Kay..." a very injured Irishman says from the floor of his basket. He does not get up to stare down at his fallen 'brother,' a little too distracted by the pain that courses his body. The suit will make up for it shortly, releasing all the endorphins he needs... but for the now, he's too hurt, too injured.
And too busy laughing like a true madman as he rises off into the night.
Log created on 18:39:44 10/16/2007 by K', and last modified on 04:56:00 10/18/2007.