Description: What result when two aggressive young men itching for a decent fight get put in the same room? Rock blowing up the YFCC, a lesson in just how many successive power hits K' can tank, and both boys setting a terrible example for children everywhere. Careful and crafty, Rock displays the influence his brutal father has had on his style... and the uncontrolled K' starts to wonder if there isn't something to that mentality.
Rock Howard's been laying low lately, focusing on self-improvement over fiery combat after the frentic pace to his fighting life in the last year. He lives to fight, but a part of that is recovering and training before you go back out there and test yourself again. And when you've been through what he's been through, you need to take that month or two to get back to the basics. You need to go off with the Legendary Wolf and do manly things like train in waterfalls without your shirt on.
But when you've got a fighter's spirit, that siren seductress always calls you back. And you listen to her, you give yourself to her, and you give her what she wants: sweat, blood, and tears. The good thing about Southtown is that you're never more than an hour or two away from running into someone who can give you the fight. Especially when you spend the entire day hanging around at the YFCC, causing a small commotion with your fairly sizable celebrity, turning down challengers right and left because they aren't tough enough; they aren't good enough to take you to that edge.
Howard's hanging out near the sparring arena. He's got on his usual, unmistakable, red coat and black clothing with a duffle bag over his shoulder. It's sole purpose is to make him look like a wandering fighting spirit to all the impressionable kids who make the Y their home. He's in the middle of talking to a fourteen year old street rat. "Yeah? Which Kirishima fight? There's been about twenty-five."
Put two aggressive, cocky young men together in one small space, and what do you get? An inevitable territorial struggle. K' only got to the YFCC a couple hours after Rock set up shop there, stepping off his bike, putting down the kickstand, and slouching into the center with his usual pulled-teeth reluctance, but Howard's name was the first thing he heard upon getting into the lobby. 'Hey K, did you know -Rock Howard's- here today? He's been ch... heeey, have -you- ever fought him before? H-- K?"
He was gone already, long-legged strides taking him down those familiar corridors.
Rock gets about two minutes more of privacy with his flock of admirers before the door opens, a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. K' promptly pokes his head in inquisitively, letting his shades slip down his nose for more unobstructed vision as he tilts his chin down and squints at Howard. An instant of hawklike regard passes, in which K' just studies the other boy. Nobody says anything; the room's gone kinda quiet, waiting to see how the two will 'get along.'
K', for his part... eventually lets out a scoff. The sound is more interestedly revelatory than it is dismissive. "Huh. So you -are- here." And K' invites himself about two steps into the room, one to get him inside and another to put him in an indolent lean against the far wall. His arms cross, K' letting that vaguely-challenging, vaguely-threatening smirk he reserved for Rock flit across his face. "Was starting to think you finally got your ass killed..."
Rock's expecting that, in time, some mid-tier fighter will show up. Someone like Sean, or Kevin. You know, someone who he can safely beat his knuckles against for a half hour, work up a good sweat, and roll out of here. That last person he expects to meet is the infamous K'. At the Youth Center. Something there doesn't add up properly.
"Heh," Howard affords K' a small grin, leaning forward from his own stance against the far wall. It's a requirement that all late teen fighters cross their arms and lean on a lot of walls. The kids around him take a pair of their own steps back from Geese's son, wanting both a view of both famous fighters and to avoid any potential fireballs.
"--You here on parole?" Rock asks, tilting his blond head. "Part of your community service requirements?" Pleased with his words, he takes a step forward and unshoulders his duffle bag. It drops to the training mat with a hollow thunk.
Something -definitely- doesn't add up, no. What -is- K' doing here, in the last place one might expect such a volatile and violent-- even dangerous-- young man? The answer is one word: Maxima.
K' still hasn't really forgiven him, but he's learned to put up with the environs. After a fashion.
Still, while the YFCC is a decent place to hang if you need sparring room or equipment, it's sadly lacking in other ways. It doesn't have anybody within its walls really capable of standing up to him one-on-one. That's where Howard comes in. K' -knows- Rock can give him a good fight, maybe even beat him down hard, and K' has been itching for that kind of thing for a while. Taking opponents two, three at a time is all well and good, but after a while you start longing for a straightforward one-on-one. One where the opposition isn't something that bores you stiff. Something where you're in danger of leaving on a stretcher.
K' barks a short, humored laugh at Rock's greeting, rolling his neck in an idle crack and languidly reaching up to slip his shades off. He folds them away with a practiced movement. "Please. I never killed anybody anywhere I could get caught for it." Joke? Not a joke? K''s voice gives no indication, but for just a moment there's something hard and bitter about his gaze. Pushing off the wall, he regards Rock calmly, pacing forwards slightly with a circling, gauging step. "Now shut up and let's go."
Rock stares at K' for a few seconds after that statement. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but he's clearly weighing the man in his mind. He stares until K' puts those sunglasses into his pocket, knowing -- from a half dozen fights over the years -- that the shades equal serious business time. With a smirk, Rock's red eyes flick left then right. "Excuse us," he says, bending down to a knee. "KayKay here wants me to give a tutorial."
Rock tears open his bag's zipper, digging around in the contents. He takes his time with it, letting the tension build in the air. The kids in the ring start filing out, the audience pretty split in their favor for either fighter. The move up into the balcony bleachers, vying for the best seats. Some other people from around the Y get word of what's about to happen and begin filing in.
Howard finally finds what he's looking for in his bag. Slowly, he pulls out one black fighting glove, tugs it on tight, and then the next. He stretches his fingers deep into the leather, his head dipped to stare at his fists for a second, and then with deep exhale... He stands up. He locks his red eyes onto K', ready to do it.
"Are you ready for this?" he yells, challenging. His hand coils out to beckon K' at him. "Come on!"
COMBATSYS: Rock has started a fight here.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: K' has joined the fight here.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
KayKay? K' just stares at Rock for a couple moments himself at that, before he lets his head dip and breathes an amused, headshaking chuckle. Unbelievable. Hopefully the media doesn't get wind of that and twist it around, the world seriously doesn't need any implications or slash fiction cropping up.
For the time being, K' just drifts his eyes shut as Rock leans down to get ready, waiting in silence as the other boy pulls on his gloves. His own hands flex in their gloves, long fingers coiling open and shut with a crack of knuckles. Eventually, one yellow eye cracks open to watch as people start filtering in. He couldn't care less about the audience, though how crowded it's starting to get is putting him on edge just a little. His focus, right now, is entirely on Rock Howard.
He's -been- ready. By the time Rock motions him on with that called challenge, K' is a hound straining at a frayed leash. A flash of a reckless 'thought you'd never get to it' grin later, that paltry restraint snaps, loosing the NESTS experiment. There's no windup, no in-between; there's just K' at a standstill, and then K' lunging in a blur of speed, aiming a snapkick straight at Howard's face.
COMBATSYS: Rock dodges K''s Minutes Spike.
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Rock 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
This is what Howard wanted. He didn't think he would get it, but this is what he wanted. A challenge. A ferocious opponent who lives for this type of thing as much as he does. He was content to get a good work out, but now? Staring down the barrel of another wolf? He's hungry for it. And he's ready for it, too. K's snapkick comes cycling towards him.
Rock pivots around it, cutting lower at the waist to let K''s foot cleave through the air above him. He spins out of his pivot along the other fighter's perimeter, but doesn't press a follow up strike immediately. Instead, he backpedals a pair of steps to put some distance between them.
"Gonna need to be faster," Howard chides, knowing that K', much like himself, is a fighter with a short fuse. While people usually hit a lot harder when pissed off, they're also a lot sloppier. Sloppy opponents play to Rock's strengths as a fighter.
Taunt fired, Rock snaps his momentum forward after a plant of his back right foot. He shoots forward, sending his own leg hissing along the horizontal to try and crush K' in the side of his leg.
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits K' with Medium Kick.
- Power hit! -
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Rock 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 K'
Landing in a skid, low to the ground with one hand cut into the floor to kill his momentum, K' twists around in the wake of his whiff and considers Rock carefully. That was faster than before. Looks like Rock has been spending that time away being productive. His blood stirs slightly at the consideration, his eyes narrowing slightly as the buzzing thrill of facing down a real peer stokes the stolen fire in him. He flashes a hint of a smirk, the expression more a twitch than a real smile, at Howard's chiding words.
It's only a brief needling at his temper, a subtle jab-- but it's enough to make a break in his concentration, especially when it's coupled with the fact Rock has changed since the last time K' came to blows with him. His defense against Rock's incoming attack comes about one second short of succeeding-- that cracked kick gets through hard, sending K' skidding sidewise across the mats, fetching up several feet away. His weight comes off the leg in question instantly, K' cycling that side back and away from Rock to give it a minute to recover out of range.
"Hit a little harder, then we'll talk," is his prompt rejoinder, before he abruptly snaps his gloved hand upwards and carves a blasting trail of fire in the air, aiming to sling the sacred Kusanagi flames straight towards Howard in a searing rush.
COMBATSYS: Rock blocks K''s Eins Trigger.
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Rock 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 K'
Great. Flames. Rock hates flames. He doesn't care if they're 'pure', 'stolen', or imitation. It's still fire and it still hurts like hell. Teeth slamming shut together, Howard braces himself for the rush of heat and fire. His arms cross over his chest, the barrage of licking smolder striking him squarely and truely. The heat is like a whip, it cracks and then it retreats, but for that brief moment it is hard to tell the effect.
As the smoke clears, Rock is slow to lower his defense. His arms drop back down towards his sides, visible burns etched into the fabric of his red fighting coat. He lays a measured gaze across the training arena at K'. The ability to will such power on the slighest command is rare and formible. It is also harrowing and a quick reminder to Rock about what he's dealing with here. This is not a mom and pop street brawler. This is a man capable of incredible power. This is a man who was bred to fight.
Rock shakes his right arm out, putting on a few theatrics for the fans. He likes to please the people who dream of making it big in the fighting circuit because he remembers the effect that same dream had on him. It made all those hours in the dojo, being brutalized by his unyielding father, seem worthwhile. He knew that it was forging himself into a weapon that could one day be something great. "Same old Kay," he says, bemusement on his lips. You just want to punch his head off when he does that.
Rock's arms suddenly freezes. His muscles snap tight, like ripcords, and he cuts a strong step forward into the padded floor. His arm follows his momentum, slicing forward, a sudden plume of glowing cobalt chi snaking off it. The energy swirls across the ground, a burning, familiar missile. Same old Rock, too.
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits K' with Reppuken.
- Power hit! -
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Rock 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 K'
K' returns that gaze levelly, letting the flames linger about his wrist an instant before a slight twitch of his hand cancels their existence. His still-smoking hand flicks up briefly, pushing hair out of his eyes as he judges Howard with a long stare. On some level, perhaps he can sense the similarity between himself and Rock-- the shared drives, the similar natures, kindred pasts of undergoing exacting brutalization... of existences not unlike those of irons being beaten in a forge.
Rock could accept that as something of a honing, as a litany of pain that would make him something extraordinary. K' never came to terms with his past, however-- what little of it he remembers. NESTS turned him into something formidable. It gave him, in a mere few years, the kind of power and ability that it took Rock his entire life to acquire. But that sort of thing comes with a distinct cost; one which shows every so often, like now. That cost is experience. K', expecting Rock to stick to physicality, doesn't anticipate the cutting energy instead; he gets cut off, slammed back, and though he's got resistance to this kind of energy swimming through his blood it doesn't stop him being knocked past some fair distance, put at even more of a striking disadvantage.
For a moment, K' allows himself an instant of blinding, self-directed temper-- mostly because he just got reminded of what Rugal said to him. He has the ability-- but unlike Rock, he hasn't had his whole life to learn it. He's got the will to summon fire at a thought-- but in the end, he was simply given power he didn't deserve, and left thrashing with no idea of how to use or control his own strength.
Then, that moment of anger breaks. K' chisels it in half with a sudden, humorless kind of smirk. "...Huh," K' comments lowly, amusement haunting his lips even as that Kusanagi fire starts to build again, searing along his shoulders and down his right arm. "I thought you didn't like playing with energy..." And K' cuts back into movement. Heedless of the distance between himself and Rock, K' just tries to crush it in a single bolt of speed. The fire slams towards Rock again, and simultaneous with the blast of force K' tries to crack a sharp kick at Rock through the flames, helping them in their crash course for Geese's son.
COMBATSYS: Rock dodges K''s Second Shell.
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Rock 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 K'
Rock is surprised that the Reppuken strikes home. He had intended it to be a way to make K' move closer, so that he could do something far more painful when the kid got in close. But this works just as well, and Howard seizes on the advantage it gives him. Transitioning smoothly, he draws his extended arm back down and tucks it towards his body. Willing more chi with a burst of his golden aura, Rock starts to build power.
K' comes at him before he can unleash it. He's surprised by the fighter's resiliency. He's surprised by how quickly he can deal with the damaging effects of a Reppuken and get right back into the combat. He remembers to use two next time. And as more flames strike out towards him, a memory pings in Rock's mind like a burst of lightning across the night sky. He knows what's coming. He anticipates and he reacts.
Howard breaks his stance and drops down onto his back, seconds before the wave of kick-propelled fire scorches through the air. It clips the edge of his body as he falls, but saves him from being melted down. Rolling on his side, Howard clears the blast radius and kicks himself back to his feet. He's running before the flames have even started to die.
Each step forward brings more energy to him. It wheels into existence around his body, a corona of glowing light that meets along the length of his hand as he collides towards K'. With his final step, he drives his right arm forward, a column of energy burning around his palm as he thrusts it towards the other kid's face. He'll banter more later.
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Rock's Hard Edge.
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Rock 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 K'
K' drops his heel instantly as he feels it cut air, twisting around and skidding back defensively in a circling prowl. Rock's reprisal slams into his hand instead of his face, K' seizing the attack and shoving it wide with a sharp breath of effort and a flinch against the sting of Howard's golden chi. He's sustained a couple hard hits, has taken the full brunt of Rock's strength twice now, but while he's showing those signs of -injury-, he still doesn't look tired in the least. His breathing comes shallowly and evenly, his gaze still measured and watchful. He looks like he's waiting.
K' can sense the energy strung within Rock-- can taste it, a humming that resonates in the air, perceptible to his infused and heightened senses. Absorbed in tracking that signature, in the back-and-forth of their fight, like Howard he eschews further speech. The kids craning their necks to see and hear better get only silence for their pains.
Eventually K' straightens up, and like he's got all the time in the world, he just holds his ground with a faint, cryptic flicker of a half-smile that lasts for about two seconds before fading into neutrality. His stance has a voice of its own: Keep on bringing it, Howard. How long's it gonna take for you to get me down?
COMBATSYS: K' gains composure.
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Rock 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 K'
Rock pulls back after K' swallows his strike, suitably impressed by K's fortitude. He takes a few steps back from his opponent, studying him with a renewed fascination. He thought for sure, after the Reppuken, he could have his way with K' (in the purely combat sense! He's not Ash). But K' handled the Hard Edge like a professional. There aren't very many people on the planet that can claim as much. So with thinning eyes, Rock starts to pace a perimeter, intrigued -- until K' smirks.
That pisses Rock off. What the hell is he smirking for? He hasn't done crap in this fight! He's been a punching bag. He's stood there and swallowed punishment and gotten up to swallow some more. There's something to be respected in that, something primal and deep that Rock gets from all the asskickings he's taken in his life, but you don't smirk about it.
Jaw settling, Rock swipes a hand through his blond hair and adjusts his Hakyokusaken stance. He rolls his shoulders once, flexes his fingers, and then he brings the fight back to K'. Taking two hop-steps forward, Rock jumps on the third. He gets strong altitude, tucks his favored right arm, and drives it forward as he eclipses into K's airspace. It's a simple technique, but one that he uses in a variety of moves throughout his skillset.
COMBATSYS: K' endures Rock's Medium Punch.
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Rock 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 K'
K''s eyes half-lid in the wake of that infuriating expression, his head dipping as he watches Rock storm in angrily from the corner of his eye... doubtless lured by that odd and out-of-place smirk. When K' wants to, he can really get under a person's skin: can really push people from bafflement to anger in an instant. Who knows what the motivation for his current amusement is? Perhaps it's his way of covering his own irritation with himself-- or perhaps, it's just an insinuation of mockery, a subtle jab at Rock's blows to date.
As for the other's latest attack? K' just takes it again. He turns and steps into Rock's strike, accepting that punch across the face; it snaps his head to one side, dizzying him for the space of instants, painting blood across Rock's knuckles. Eventually, with a thick chuckle from deep in his throat, K' spits blood with something almost approaching gratification and glances back. "More like it," he acknowledges, heedless of the remaining trickle of red that draws down from the corner of his mouth. He's been hit harder by other blows from Rock over the past few minutes, but this? This was the first to draw blood.
More importantly, accepting that strike put K' right in close proximity to his opponent. There is a pause only of an instant before K' snaps into movement, bursting a surge of fire into the air before him again, and wheeling to kick the gathered flames: driving them towards the other from point-blank range.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Rock with Second Shoot.
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Rock 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\1 K'
"You got blood on my gloves --" Rock says, shaking his hand out in famous Howard fashion. He should learn modesty because, while he's busy posturing, K' is busy preparing to murder him. Howard only gets two shakes of his hand out before that column of flames is being slammed towards him again, and this time, there's nothing he can do to stop it. He can't pirouette, dive, drop, or dodge. It hits him right in the chest, knocking him back.
Rock slams into the ground on his back, smoke wafting from his body. That hurt like hell. He knows the feeling well. He knew he'd find this sensation the minute he saw K' walk through the doors into the sparring room. That at least gives him the strength of mind to shove that hurt into a tiny compartment in his mind, roll onto his side, and haul himself back to his feet.
Rock drew first blood, but he's pretty sure that hit by K' hurt more than anything he's managed to lay into the kid tonight. Slowly and deliberately, Howard pulls his half-trashed coat off, his eyes locked onto K'. With a final glaring stare, he tosses it to the side and readopts his standard stance. "I'm glad you finally remembered how to fight."
COMBATSYS: Rock focuses on his next action.
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Rock 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\1 K'
Real laughter rips out of K''s throat at those comments, the kid letting liberal mockery and no small amount of malice lace that unpleasant sound. He eventually cuts off, leaning into a lazy smile, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching Rock shake the fire away. "You're telling -me- I forgot how to fight," he starts, incredulous and questioning, "and you can't handle a little blood on your hands? Che..." With a nonplussed, 'I can't help this man,' lift of a shoulder, he finally licks that tracery of blood from the corner of his mouth, regarding Rock evenly as he swallows that sharp metallic taste.
His yellow eyes narrow, instants later. "I don't consider anything a -real- fight until I feel blood."
He holds that intense stare a few moments. Then, his eyes drift shut, almost dismissively. But utter -asshole- though he may be, he's still not so absorbed in his own taunting that he isn't careful enough to crack open one eye shortly afterwards. He knows how blisteringly fast Rock can move. "So come on, Howard." K' tilts his head in a brief, inviting jerk, just -standing- there in that same infuriating way he's done this entire fight. "I walked in here expecting to hurt a lot more."
A lick of gathering fire punctuates his words, sacred flames encircling his wrists as he talks. His hands don't come out of his pockets, but the fire-- as if it had a mind of its own-- spreads steadily up his arms, lacing his shoulders, trailing off him in a dripping network of heat and light. He watches Rock zero in on him, notes the way his eyes focus: he can sense something is coming, and moreover... he can guess what. He's fought Rock enough to know... "I know how hard you -really- hit."
COMBATSYS: K' gathers his will.
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Rock 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 K'
"Yeah," Rock admits with a roll of one shoulder in a deferrent half-shrug. He'll let K' lay compliments on him infront of the next generation of World Warriors if the guy really wants to. Rock doesn't buy them for a second, though. He knows that K' is trying to psyche him into something. He's standing there like a smug son of a bitch, talking about how hard Rock can punch, wanting Rock to come in and prove it. But Rock knows how K' fights as much as K' knows how Rock fights.
He smiles a rueful smile back at the kid. "I do hit pretty damn hard, don't I? Sometimes, I'm completely impressed with myself. I've got these killer genetics, this historic blood line that goes back a thousand years in human history. I'm a walking beacon of unlimited potential and power. What's not to love?"
Howard's fingers flex, curling and uncurling. There's a small stalemate in the action, each fighter knowing exactly what the other one wants them to do. But it's Rock's turn. It's his move in the chess battle, the tactical facet to a sport that looks to be, from all external appearances, about who can punch the hardest and get up the most. And Rock plays his moves well, when he's thinking with his head instead of his heart.
He moves. That barely perceivable twitch of his toe before he's coming forward. But he only takes two strong steps before he stops. All the chi around him erupts into a brilliant indigo flash. Howard's body twists, his arms slicing forward through the air, first the right and then the left. He doesn't come right at K'. He doesn't use the ancient technique, that pounding, pulsing, song K' is anticipating.
He Reppukens. And remembers to use two.
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits K' with Double Reppuken.
- Power hit! -
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Rock 1/---====/=======|=======\=======\1 K'
The fight has, by now, wound down to something which looks pretty boring to the onlookers, for lack of a better word. The two fighters find themselves standing some considerable distance apart, facing one another, not moving at all. To those watching, those without the experience or knowledge to know better, it looks like nothing's happening in the least.
In truth, what is transpiring is a kind of chess game. Each taunt exchanged is an attempt to get the other to make a wrong move. Each moment of nonaction, bland and boring as it is to those watching, is instants of calculation all wound up in those moments no one moves or says a word.
Then again, K' always hated chess. Or, for that matter, thinking.
But whatever K' was expecting, a continuance of this long-distance war wasn't precisely it. K''s brow flicks upwards as another crescent of power cuts towards him, and his flames focus before him in an attempt to defend; but he doesn't get that power cohesive enough in time to fully shut out Rock's blistering force. The first cuts through, and the second stacks further damage on top of that. Something small against his chest shatters, and K' allows himself a brief mental groan: Not again. Driven back even further, finally starting to show the wear of this fight in the slump of his shoulders and the wideness of his unsteadied stance, the young experiment buckles.
'What's not to love?' Rock inquires. K' eventually resurrects yet again, his figure picking itself out of its slump, and the boy finally finds the wherewithal to lift his head and meet Rock's red eyes with his own. A flicker of a smirk pulls at his mouth. "How nervous you look, hanging back and hiding all this time."
K' himself is done with skulking in the background. Reckless of him to attack or not, he is no longer interested in standing back and letting this game of timidity play out. He's barely let the words go before he steps clear out of mundane sight, lunging so fast he seems to teleport clear across the prodigious distance between himself and Rock: at least, in the eyes of the watching kids. When he resolves into something visible to the onlookers again, he's inches from Howard and aiming a crushing, stunning blow at the other's chest.
COMBATSYS: Rock interrupts Chain Drive from K' with Raging Storm'.
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Rock 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\1 K'
Now it is Howard's turn to be the sly son of a bitch. He looks positively Geesian when K' breaks into his halo of defense. A decade of training flashes through his mind in a white instant; feeding him possible scenarios and reactions on an instinctive level. It flows out through his mind until the one, single, golden path aligns itself in the front of his mind. There is no other option.
K' hammers into Howard, his knuckles tearing a blitzing hole in Rock's defense. He gets slammed in the chest, the first strike grinding him back on the padded floor a solid three feet. The second strike crashes into Rock, snapping his head back at the neck. But before the third in the unstoppable combo can land, K' can see it. He can see it as clear as day. That Howard grin. That Geese Howard grin.
The rest happens fast. Reserves of energy, a heritage of power, is willed to life in that fraction of a second. It explodes around Rock, surrounding him in its embrace, blotting out the arena in the blue-white glow. Before the third strike can land, a blossom of chi shoots out from Rock in every direction. The Y shakes from the tremors of force, dust falling down from the roof, as Rock takes his fists and slams them down into the ground.
The wake of the Raging Storm is slower. Whisps of remnant chi rise, like smoke, off Rock's body as he slowly stands back to his full height to survey the damage. "Heh," he says, pulling one of his gloves tight again. "So much for hiding, huh?"
K' comes alive. That unnatural mask of waiting, of calculation, of consideration he'd assumed to mirror Rock gets decisively discarded, cut apart before the force of pure reckless fervor as the experiment loses his mind in his first few clawing strikes. K' can mindgame, but he can only mindgame so long before he breaks and slams forwards with full intent to rip open his opposition from throat to hip. Watching Rock stand there and plot eventually got to be too much for him; K' doesn't care to waste much time on inaction in a fight, the only times he really stops attacking being those moments he prepares to hit -even- harder... or to catch his breath if he's being pushed hard.
But for all K' scorned that careful attitude, the fact remains that it is an attitude -designed- to outthink, outwit, and tear apart impatient and violent creatures like him. On top of that, two miserable years of life-- not mere training, mind, but /life/ as a conscious, waking being-- is not experience enough to break through and overcome ten solid years of endless, relentless training by one of the best in the world. A boy who can't remember anything before he was sixteen, who barely knows what the power he controls even is or how to use it?
K' gets -torn- into by Rock's reprisal, his senses shaken loose by the force of impact. For an instant he's graced with a look that hammers home Rock's heritage-- a crafty little grin that promises to show, in the next few raging moments, just why it was Rock let himself get hammered by those first couple hits. Then that sudden release of surging chi rips into him, disrupting his concentration and momentum, the concussive force sufficient to blast him clear back across the breadth of the room. He hits on one shoulder, skids a moment, finds it in him to twist so he can finish out his momentum on all fours. He fetches up, finally, a few feet from the far wall, sucking in a breath in an attempt to regain his wits. It catches in his throat, and he ends up coughing blood to the floor.
A few moments pass, where it's uncertain whether K' will be able to get up at -all- after that crushing blow. But with time, K' finally stirs, and the splashing of blood before him immolates.
Loosed and wild, finally in his real element-- reckless and unhindered chaos-- K' starts bleeding pure fire like most other people bleed chi. Mantled like a beast, inches from the far wall, K' barks laughter with a genuine sort of punch-drunk, unhinged humor. Yeah, so much for hiding. This is what a fight should be. "Better!" he calls back at Rock across the distance separating them, his voice thick with blood; and then, he kills that distance again with a surging lunge. He goes from zero to some ludicrous speed in the space of an instant, searing right back at Rock in an attempt to slam headlong into him; and he brings all his massed fire along with him.
COMBATSYS: K' can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rock 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Rock blocks K''s Heat Drive.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ <
Rock 0/-------/-======|
Rock's attention turns razor thin when K' gets back up. There's no rational, reasonable, way that this guy should still be able to fight. And the bravado, too. He just got knocked halfway from Southtown to Metro City and he's actually happy about it. It reminds him of ShenWoo. But that's fine. Rock's experienced this before. From K' and a hundred other men filled with potential and promise that give in to that seductress's song. This is why you do this; to get to that point Rock watches K' reach. That outer limit.
But Howard doesn't have time to be awed and envious of K''s reaching that point of no return. Of hitting that ultimate high that only comes when you're body is burning beyond the red line. Because to win this fight, and win it he shall, he needs to stop the human torch --
Rock only has one option to deal with this. He braces his body, slamming his feet hard into the ground and raising his arms. K' washes across and through him like some sort of tempest. It only stops when Howard's back is against the wall of the sparring ring, smoke billowing off his body. His black t-shirt is ash and cinder, scraps sticking to his burnt pink skin. But he's still there. He's still standing, still surviving, and still smiling.
But the smile is for posterity sake, born from the exhileration of being attacked like that and surviving. With a grunt, Howard drops down to a knee and slams his fist into the torched mat for support. Sweat buries his hair against his forehead, forcing him to use his other hand to swipe it clean. And he squints at K', breathing deep and hard breathes. "Fall down," he says, sounding insistent. "It's over."
COMBATSYS: Rock has ended the fight here.
K' does bear a lot of similarities to Shenwoo. Both are wild, reckless; both enjoy a chaotic, formless element to their fights, and both seem to only get more and more stoked and driven by the damage that gets heaped upon them. But to tell the truth, there are some differences. K' is a marginally worse loser than Shenwoo is, given his sour nature; and Shenwoo is actually a kinder sort than the NESTS runaway, lacking much of the cruelty or malevolence of which K' is capable.
Some of that shows through in how rough and violent K' is, even now-- even at the limit of his endurance. He couldn't hit Rock often, but when he did, the Howard -felt- it. And even though he can feel Rock forcing back against him-- can feel his momentum starting to break on Rock's guard-- he still presses onwards, burning himself out against Rock's defense, all his remaining force bent towards one aim: crushing that guard, and the person behind it.
But eventually, he has to give. He goes out, the fire dispersing, and he backs up a few unsteady, halting steps and hits the mat on both knees not far from the panting Rock, bracing himself upright by a pillaring arm. Breathing heavily, he slants a sharp glance at Rock at those words, air hissing past his bared teeth as he cracks something half a snarl, half a mirthless smirk. "Over this time," he replies between breaths, the words rough, "but we'll see how far luck gets you next time."
Rock, not being entirely exhausted, is able to stand up. He gives K' one of those pitying shakes of the head. "Lucky? From the guy who couldn't stand up if he wanted to?" he says, walking past him and towards his discard duffle bag near the stairwell. "Have some dignity, Kay Kay. I'll see you around." People from the stands have already started to pour back into the sparring area, wanting to see the wreckage first hand. Rock's going to have to cut another Trust Fund Check to the Community Center to fix things up again.
Hoisting his bag over a shoulder, Rock defers commentary, prowling through the crowd to try and make it to the street. Just another day at the market.
Were K' capable of doing so, doubtless he would have attempted to bodily tear off Rock's head for that infuriating patronization.
Fortunately, he is not, so he just worries about frightening off fellow YFCC staff who even think about trying to approach and ask him anything.
Log created on 14:20:16 02/24/2008 by K', and last modified on 00:57:32 05/27/2008.