Description: "Two roads diverged in a yellow road, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler..." Yet unlike this poem, these two fighters both took a route less traveled. What their overdue reunion proves is that ultimately, what those divergent paths do is bring them closer rather than farther apart. (Winner: Frei)
It is a night for dancing.
The streets below radiate light upward into the darkened twilight, the bustle of activity below the marker of a cosmopolitan city, one that never truly sleeps. The crisp air of latest evening, particularly refreshing after a summer's day, spurs on the joyful efforts of the youth seeking entertainment downtown. But one story above, on the roof of the YFCC, the new community center that has enjoyed unexpected success in its niche offering so peculiarly suitable for this city, the hurly-burly beneath one's feet seems as distant as the stars above-- and the stars themselves seem just within reach.
The echoes of pleasure always take on a hint of melancholy, as though the hollowness of the sound, though so close and surely appearing vibrant to those partaking, is a reminder of the ephemeral nature of such endeavors. At least, it is to Alma Towazu, who stands quietly on the precipice of the flat modern roof, gazing up at a moon yellowed by the reflections of the diluted reality emanating from the streets below. Hands slipped lightly into the pockets of his designer jeans, for once not wearing the well-tailored suit so integral to his identity beneath this very roof, young Alma instinctively cultivates an air of thoughtful elegance, balanced and measured by the mild-mannered expression on his handsome, open face. It is a face too few have seen much of lately, to be sure, but...
He is happy.
Despite it all, work progresses well, and he has faith in his friends that they can carry on without him, that they know he is here if they truly need him, and that his personal quest has not precluded his involvement in their lives. He has worried that he takes them for granted, but in all honesty, it is difficult for him to miss them; they are too close. His brothers and rivals, friends and loved ones, all have affected him too intimately, drawn out too much, made him so much more himself. He never truly feels they are gone.
Still, you'd think he could call from time to time.
It may have been pure chance that he and this friend were so close on the Neo League standings, that his random request for a match -- to keep the flames of his spirit burning and avoid being snuffed out by the ever-present danger of monotony in his new lifestyle -- would pair him up with this old friend. But fate and fortune mean nothing to Alma; for him, there is only opportunity. In this case, an opportunity to reunite with a man who works so close yet has been fighting his own fight so far away-- but then, again, is so close at heart.
In his right hand, dangling down from his pocket, the tall youth holds a small kerchief neatly and carefully tied as a wrapper.
Far behind him, Neo League cameramen lurk unobtrusively.
It is a night for friendship.
It is a night for a good fight.
Except for a quick jaunt to Africa to battle the young wrestler known as Domino, Frei has been easing himself back into the public life of fighting since things were resolved between he and his brother. Things were involved, of course; he stopped at Geese Tower to make an apology *in person* to the SNF people for his behavior in Hotaru's fight during the whole affair, something the staff were careful to be stone-faced about despite the fact that the soap opera drama shot ratings through the roof. The monk had stolen away to deal with life, and now rather than dive in headfirst he is slowly wading back in, letting his body adjust to the water temperature, metaphorically speaking.
Of course, when the request for this Neo League fight came down, how could he refuse?
Though the two have not spent time together for quite a while, the psychic model has been on Frei's mind ever since the revelation that Psycho Power runs in Frei's family... though the monk himself did not inherit that power. What IS the reason that Alma, and to some extent Zach, turned out how they did, while Kataki tread a much darker path? Putting the question to Kataki is of course not feasible, and Zach and Alma have been scarce with their own things to deal with. Thus the invitation came as a surprise, but a pleasant one. After all, Alma has a way of making his subject position clear through his fighting.
The individual that comes out of the roof access door, cast in the orange-yellow light of the city evening, is perhaps a little different than the last time Alma saw him. The trappings of China are surprisingly gone; the long qipao coat is replaced by a dark grey turtleneck with a short sleeved green cotton shirt worn over it, wooden sandals replaced by dark socks and a pair of sensible brown clogs. Perhaps most striking is the absence of Frei's trademark headband; auburn bangs fall farther into his face, but they rustle as he walks, occasionally revealing glimpses of the small, dark scar on his right temple, a 'brand' left by his first real student... and as far as Frei is concerned, proof that change can happen for the better.
Seeing the model across the roof, the monk gives a little wave, and when he speaks, it's with a highly affected Brooklyn Jewish accent. "You never write, you never call..."
Moments before the door opens, Alma smiles softly.
Lips parting slightly as he half-turns to see the man entering onto the roof, the psychic pauses to stare for a short but noticable time; partly out of surprise, his eyes widening minutely in his typically subdued fashion, but in fact mainly to gauge the changes he perceives. Of course, the shift in outfit is startling enough to someone who has known Frei for as long as Alma has, but in reality, though a witness could never tell, the younger fighter does not dwell on that. One effect of the aura sense that he so relies upon and savors, and that is of course so attuned to his close friend, is that the mental and emotional growth that Frei has undergone is much more vibrantly represented in Alma's visceral estimation, and as such the new wardrobe can be unhesitatingly seen for what it is: a symptom of a greater change, a symbol of what has passed.
He stares, and then he grins widely, the hazel eyes of the otherwise mellow youth lighting up with sincere enthusiasm and good feeling as he gently alights from his perch to approach the monk.
"It's good to see you again, Frei."
Simple words are weighted heavily and spoken softly, and as the young man's bright grin subsides again into a modest smile, he looks almost bashful as he lifts the kerchief in his right hand and inclines his head forward in an equal measure. No doubt he is having the good grace to look embarrassed about his utter absence.
Conveniently, though, it's also a cute expression to catch on camera.
"It looks like I've been missing out," he offers, still smiling. "You seem to have trained a great deal. It must have been difficult--" For a quick moment, he grins a little again. "But you pulled through, of course."
A great deal is left unsaid: particularly that though he might love the idea of having been able to experience what Frei has being going through and have been more of a part of whatever has trangressed, he could never wish to undo what has been done, never regret that he, too, has been taking his own path, one perhaps a little lonelier than the ones he took previously to get this far. And though it is never something he could demand, his hope is clear in the warmth of his tone: let this be seen as a sign of his faith in Frei and in the resilience of their connection, not as a lack of concern.
Obviously, though, Frei has a point.
"But I've been training too, of course," Alma murmurs, taking on a solemn expression yet a subtly lighter air as he begins to unwrap the cloth in his hands, "and I've come, as always, to share my heart and power with you. Behold..."
He draws out two small puffed cakes, artfully folded and exquisitely molded with an obvious focus on style and presentation, yet with the delectable hint that substance too exist as a thick sweet custard shows itself between the petals of the sugar-dusted dough, the golden and yellow hues contrasting appealingly.
"My newest technique."
With poise and composure, he offers one to Frei.
"It's not much, but..."
And he smiles again, eyes softening.
"I wanted to share it with you."
For a second, Alma's words send Frei right back to the previous week, and Hotaru's joking injuncture that she couldn't stand around forever waiting for him to recover from getting sworded in the stomach because she had exams. 'Remember those?' With a smile, Frei had simply said: 'I never studied.'
The same sort of grin plays itself across the monk's face as he shakes his head a little. "Training? Hmm. I don't know about 'training'... I guess you could call it that. Maybe it's better to say I came to a 'realization.'" After all, he didn't punch blocks or fight random people or wrestle bears or stand under waterfalls. But he did teach Kentou, face Hotaru's demons, confront his past, and resolve toward his future. That alone just might be worth it. "As for missing out... all it really seemed to earn people was pain, in one way or another. So it might not be a bad thing that you missed out. Still..." He pauses, green eyes lowered for a moment. Yes... he does wish he could have heard the model's read on his brother. Of course, it's not a foregone conclusion that they'll never meet. "I'd have been happy to have you around."
There's a slight pause as Alma's hand goes to his pocket, red-haired head tilting to the side a bit in confusion and lips twisting a bit as if getting *ready* to be amused by whatever's coming but not quite yet amused. When the napkin comes out and the cakes are revealed, Frei blinks, and then suddenly laughs... longer and harder than he has in a long time. His mind races back to weeks and weeks and weeks of pies, cakes, cookies... anything he could find a recipe for. There's rumors he even made a wedding cake just to say he'd done it. And yet here they are... two honest, pleasant little morsels to remind him, to encourage him.
To fill his belly.
Reaching out, the monk takes one and, saluting with it briefly as if in toast, bites into it. If nothing else the monk's sweet tooth remains, and he gets a good three big bites in before he pauses, shutting his eyes for a moment, and then grins back at Alma. "If this were sports anime, I'd be wondering what you just drugged me with. As it is, I'm not sure why you'd want to give me a ridiculous sugar high right before a fight."
It would take a better psychic than Alma to figure out what Frei finds so hilarious. Naturally, utter bafflement reveals itself as only mild bemusement on the good-natured young man's features, and he continues to extend the hand as his friend revels in the coincidence, half because he can tell the laughter is purely well-intentioned and half because, well, there hasn't been an explicit refusal and that's how Alma rolls. When you can't figure out what exactly is wrong, just persist in being yourself.
It's probably why he and Tran get along so famously.
He starts smiling again once Frei wolfs down the baked good and quietly eats his own, not finishing until the monk makes his comment. "Good question," he says amiably, in between daintily sucking on a sticky fingertip. "I suppose it's because..."
Subtly straightening his posture, Alma takes a small step back.
"...there's no difference to me."
His limbs relax and feet shift along the ground even as he speaks. "What I have to offer in a fight is exactly what I have to offer through baking, expressed in a different form. So if one thinks about combat the way I do, as a clash of souls, an intimate bringing together of individuals, for the benefit of both but valuable in itself--"
Doesn't everyone?
"--then that was my first attack."
Smiling widely, eyes brightening now with a rising passion that cannot be denied, Alma raises his hands slowly, one to waist level and one to chest, loose and serene.
"And this is the sweetest gift I can give."
The words drift through the shimmering twilight, but the psychic does not seize upon the dramatic moment, despite the supposed demands of Hiten-Ryu. Instead he gazes upon his friend and opponent, continuing to study, now with the avidity of his greater faculties, the changes that Frei's aura has undergone. This is going to be different. This is going to be tougher.
"So in return, Frei..."
This is going to be fun.
"Please, do your best."
COMBATSYS: Alma has started a fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma focuses on his next action.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|
There's a lull in the conversation as Frei digests both the comment and the snack, on multiple levels. He chews thoughtfully, one hand on his hip, his gaze out over the city somewhere. 'For the benefit of both'... what had he said to Hotaru about Kataki? 'He never had what Alma and Zach had... a reason to look outward.' Maybe the baked good analogy is a little cliche, but it works. You put effort and raw ingredients in; you get deliciousness out. In the end the only thing that can be the result of any endeavor is what you put into it... but if you create using only yourself, then the inevitable result is something perhaps only you can enjoy. Like that one kind of sandwich everyone has... the one they eat that makes all their friends blanch with terror. To them, bliss... to the world, not so much.
Food for thought indeed.
Shaking his head at a low arc in amused exasperation, Frei's other hand -- the one not on his hip -- comes up and outward, palm up. "You never change. Even the tiniest, most normal thing sounds like a book of haiku when you describe it." Dropping the exaggerated pose of 'what-can-you-do', the monk shakes out his hands and lets them fall to his side in a sort of boneless gesture, letting his body get loose. He too decides not to attack right away, but to escalate the drama a little further.
The rolling in of the aura of power -- the resonance of the world around him with Frei's subtle but powerful ability to work in harmony with the fabric of reality itself -- is different than before. There is no subtle building, no slow charging... instead, it is simply there, around his body, an invisible shroud. Rather than any clothing or way of speaking, THIS is evidence of a sea change on the monk's part. There is a confidence there before, a will extending around him, a 'person' larger than just a human body.
"Not that I mind the poetry," he says at last, smiling. "Sometimes it's nice to see things we take for granted painted in big, colorful strokes."
COMBATSYS: Frei has joined the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Alma
COMBATSYS: Frei gathers his will.
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Frei 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Alma
"Eh heh heh heh..."
Chuckling softly, somehow Alma seems cheerful even as his gaze sharpens with a new clarity brought on by the instincts by now long-honed through hand-to-hand combat, smiling and nodding once as his own ineffable energies begin to rise within him, revealing themselves in the gradual illumination of the colors of his eyes. "I'm pretty predictable," he admits easily, a faint white halo beginning to radiate from his extended fingers, his body slowly, slightly swaying. "But in some respects, so, I believe I have found, is everyone I have met with integrity and passion. There is a certain consistency to having character... and..."
Alma does indeed paint in big, colorful strokes, and so he does again, as he gracefully sweeps out his right hand and trails a blaze of white light glittering with motes of soft pink and rich royal purple, sculpting and molding with elegant twists of his fingers the energy that gathers with every breath: the Soul Power that is the manifestation of his psychic abilities and his battle fury.
"...though /what/ we do and say may change..."
Or what we wear, or what we bake, or with what we strike.
".../how/ we do and say it remains, and, I think, grows more refined and evident from the changes we undergo... which I guess is why... hmmn!"
A soft grunt, and the gathered energy becomes a spiralling burst that quickly rockets towards Frei, shifting its shape fluidly through the air in a remarkable attempt to penetrate the defenses the monk has prepared.
"You now seem somehow like more of yourself, rather than someone else."
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Frei with Sacred Wave.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Alma
My goodness, that's speedy.
Knitting his brow, Frei tries to focus on that soul flame, and does admit to his frustration that -- just like Kataki's dark violet power - he can't, entirely. It's as if it's there, but not there; his five senses know it's there but his sixth sense does not, and he needs that sixth sense to function in a fight. Thus his somewhat unorthodox choice of running headlong into the strike... and the resulting failure to power through it, the fire sending him stumbling back a few steps. However, the damage isn't as bad as it could have been... apparently the monk's been steeling his will as well as his body.
"Wherever I go, I am always myself," he says, almost automatically, as he stands up and faces Alma. "I'm not sure what's wrong with predictability. Human beings like security and regularity. Of course, just because things stay the same on the inside..."
With an almost lazy wave of the hand, Frei brings his arm up and lets his palm face out, a flicker of blue-white flashing for the briefest of seconds to tell that he made an attack at all... until the air around Alma suddenly chills to the bone, heralding a swirl of frost that appears out of nowhere, the ice to Alma's flame. Some say the world with end in fire, some in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to perish twice...
COMBATSYS: Alma dodges Frei's Hatsuyuki EX.
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Frei 0/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Alma
Only instinct saves him.
Whatever Alma may say about the meaningfulness of predictability in how one acts, in the case of combat, the unpredictability of what one does takes on a pointed significance, and this novel technique is not one he could have seen coming. His senses blaze with awareness of the power building and the coming attack, of course, yet he neither his eyes nor his second sight perceive an attack being launched. The strike instead arises from the environment itself-- and in retrospect, as Alma hurls himself into a forward roll that only barely takes him out of the range of the frigid attack, it's quite an appropriate attack for a man such as Frei, both in its naturalness and its spontaneity.
How one does, indeed.
But with this deft move, as close as he was to peril, Alma has a chance to clinch a gain in momentum, and so throws himself entirely into his counterattack both literally and figuratively. "Hah!" A short but powerful shout emerges unsolicited from his lungs as the tall blond untucks and pounces in a single smooth motion, twisting his entire body so as to put all possible force into a fierce and precise roundhouse kick to Frei's midsection. Putting everything into the one strike is certainly a gamble, but, well, it seemed like the right decision, and besides...
When one has the mindset that makes cooperation of conflict, such risk is its own reward.
COMBATSYS: Frei fails to interrupt Heavy Kick from Alma with Reiki.
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Frei 1/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Alma
Hm. Speed has never been Frei's biggest point; even now he has trouble dealing with it, perhaps because his typical reaction to danger is endurance and acceptance rather than avoidance. It's a philosophy that extends into his fighting style. He knows he's never going to be able to keep pace with the nimble, so typically he doesn't bother; instead he focuses on defense and using opportunities when they arise. Alma's strike seemed like such an opportunity... but sadly, it's not one he can fully take advantage of. He doesn't really seem to move, but something in his eye suggests that he's not defenseless; and indeed, as Alma approaches the monk with that kick the hair might stand up on the back of his neck, indicating that something is coming.
Sadly for Frei, it never materializes. The models' foot impacts with Frei's stomach, sending him stumbling back a few steps, squinting one eye shut in consternation. It doesn't knock him over, however; despite the force put into it, Frei seems in reasonably good shape, all things considered. Not as good as untouched Alma, but well enough for someone who took two relatively big hits in a row.
"As usual, you're like some sort of powerful hex," the red-haired man says, with a faint smile. "Everything I do is always a little slower, a little less focused than it needs to be. I seem to remember you hitting a little harder, though," he adds with a Sakura-like grin, brushing his hands off on his shirt.
Still standing!
That Alma's attack was successful is surely good enough, but his objective of seizing the momentum is not so easily won, for he physically rebounds from the strike as Frei fails to collapse and mentally struggles to shake off the unnerving intuition that he once again only just escaped something dangerous. Still airborne from his kick only now travelling in the opposite direction, Alma quickly twists his body again, firmly plants one palm on the ground, and flips back onto his feet, just in time to grin softly at Frei's first comment. "As usual," he replies, "you bring out the best in me."
The second one makes him blink, though. Poor Alma is actually disconcerted for a moment, and absurdly he glances down at his hands before blinking again and looking back to Frei; only then does he grin again, and wider this time.
"That sounds like a challenge."
And then again he is moving, renewing his attack as that white halo of latent soulfire now suffuses his entire form, leaving faint afterimages that faint into a pale blue as he shifts into a rhythmic series of palm strikes and sweeping kicks, a steady rain of strikes that intertwine with the remnants of their own past selves to -- hopefully -- evolve into a convoluted and indecipherable chain to press his opponent further back and against a concrete plinth that houses some of the core of the YFCC's heating unit, with Alma all the while staying poised and on his toes.
"I accept!"
COMBATSYS: Frei just-defends Alma's Autumn Rain!
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Frei 1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Alma
"Not a challenge."
Flow like water. Bruce Lee said it, though it's not where Frei first heard it. But the idea of being formless without losing who you are deep inside... that's resonant. His face maintains perfect calm even as he simply lets instinct take over. Psi-powered though he may be, Alma is still a living body, with lines of chi running through it; without them, he'd be nothing but a zombie. They're faint, but they can be detected... and doing so is a far superior way for Frei to find a defense he can live with than conventional methods. Each palm strike or kick finds itself gently turned aside, blunted, or otherwise halted; Alma's flurry of motion is matched only by the flowing movements of Frei around the strikes.
When it's all over, he lets out a cleansing breath, actually invigorated by the exercise. "Just a statement." There's a pause, and Frei doesn't use the opportunity to attack while the iron is hot, instead backing off to assess things first. "I admit I used to be angry that I couldn't seem to do anything about you in a fight. But I've had some interesting revelations lately... especially about anger."
Pushing off the ground, the monk ducks forward and attempts to grab one of Alma's punching fists, perhaps before he can retract it, and then plant his forward foot and *pivot*, bringing the model around in a tight horizontal circle before simply letting go and letting him fly... though a sudden pulse of wind chi from his hand as he gives up his grip would help speed Alma along as well.
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Medium Throw from Frei with Blaze of Glory EX.
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Frei 1/--=====/=======|=======\-------\0 Alma
Chance or fate, challenge or statement: either way, Alma sees an opportunity to bring the fullness of his being to bear. It is thus that he does not relent for a moment even against Frei's expert defense, finding each of his strikes parried with seeming effortlessness yet continuing undismayed, for in his resolve he reveals his self.
His opponent's revelations must remain a mystery for now. It appears that Alma has gained nothing from his assault. Yet he remains poised and prepared from the deft combination, and it may well be that this very preparation makes the difference between success and failure in his next execution, for as he thrusts out with one last strike and Frei neatly catches his fist, it is with sudden blinding speed that the fighting model is able to attack just a moment quicker than Frei can initiate his grapple.
"Hyaaah!"
Eyes flashing in a sudden blaze of power, what explodes from the ridge of Alma's hand can only be compared to a searing saber of fire, seemingly honed to a cutting edge as he sweeps his arm once and quickly past Frei's torso, physically inches away but close enough to let the extended 'blade' appear to cut straight through the monk's body in an upward diagonal cut, looking at first as though he has actually sheared through the man much as the Divine Intervention technique often appears to have actually shot someone through. No physical destruction, of course, takes place. But the light does indeed pierce to the heart, and the ferocity of the psychic attack can send pain and disorientation between mind and body through an opponent with a greater force than any of his other techniques.
Still poised, right arm extended dramatically towards the stars, Alma regards his opponent slightly wide-eyed, breathless from his own supreme efforts.
He looks as though even he didn't know he could push himself this far.
On, and through.
That stings, though perhaps more from the sheer disruptive force of it than anything else. When they first met, Frei was not exactly a strong-willed person. Interestingly enough, it was because he hadn't really followed his own philosophy; he kept people at bay by living cocooned nicely in his own detachment and neutrality. But rather than facing Alma in combat, other things have hardened Frei's will... including a healthy dose of self-confidence that, years ago, he lacked. His neutrality made him doubt; he could never give a right or wrong answer, never be definitive, because he didn't believe in that. He lived in the grey areas. But since then, he's been okay with the grey areas. There's a source of strength there if one takes confidence in the grey.
The force of it makes Frei put a hand to his chest, gritting his teeth. That burning feeling is quite different from the chill terror of Kataki's psycho power, but he's faced both. Perhaps not as resistant as a trained psion... but he's getting there, bit by bit. Green eyes, shut in pain, open.
He doesn't give a verbal reply.
For a moment, the monk's body is limned with a faint aura of gold-green, the color of summer grass, that becomes motes that disappear, vanishing off into the night. Letting them lie, he dashes forward, taking a deep breath, his hand low to the ground, fingers held out straight, like a knifehand. A glow, gold and silver mixed in a pearly luminescence, suddenly swirls around that extended hand like a blade as Frei rushes Alma and then, with a simple motion, sweeps his hand up and around in a parabolic arc, the metallic sheen of the light creating a blade that slices through the very air, the disruption making a sound like the striking of a tuning fork.
He wasn't sure he could be pushed this far, either.
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits Alma with Houken.
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Frei 1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Alma
"Gghh!"
Too late does Alma recover from his intensity-induced stupor, lacking either the presence of mind or ruthlessness to follow through immediately after his fearsome psychic firebrand. His preternatural faculties fade back into full operation to warn him of Frei's oncoming attack only after, not before, Alma's eyes see his opponent's movements, and he is thus unable to judge the true strength of the oncoming strike due to the auburn-haired man's unflappable composure. Though the young man brings up his arms in a defensive gesture, the parabolic blade of metallic luminescence cleaves through his inadequate attempt, and the model can only flinch back as his aura is assaulted.
Hissing quietly, still the resolute psychic compels himself to counterattack almost immediately, unwilling to let the fight settle to a slower pace, too eager to clash again with an adversary who has clearly reached a new level of expertise. He too sees no needs for words now, as the fight reaches a fever pitch; Frei's revelations will become apparent in the battling to come, as the both of them are sorely tested.
"Ha!"
All that is required is an exultant cry as Alma leaps into the air, seeking to recover lost ground and motion with an aerial kick buoyed by a burst of white soulfire that roars to life around his leg and sunders the night with a glow that for this brief moment outshines the moon above.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Frei with Rising Fury.
- Power hit! -
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Frei 1/----===/=======|=======\==-----\1 Alma
Again, Frei's timing is just a LITTLE bit off... that, and attacking Alma the way he did leaves him just a little unbalanced, and not in any way in a good position to defend himself. Stuck in a crouch, hand in an awkward position, the best course of action he can think to take is to weather the incoming storm and do the best he can to deal with the result. Sadly, the blazing aura of psychic flame causes him to mistime his rise into the strike, working on visuals alone; rather than powering through, the aerial strike slams Frei's shoulder hard, sending him right back down to the ground, where he rolls away to a kneeling position a few feet away. Not as bad as that single lance of psychic energy... but enough to really put some pain on the poor monk.
But he smiles as he rises to his feet.
"What's the matter?" he asks solemnly, holding out his hand, palm up. Faintly, a silver-white glow starts to surround it. "Usually you're a chatterbox in this sort of scenario. Quiet Alma is a little unnerving." Not that he REALLY seems to notice; his concentration is instead on that silvery glow, which becomes an orb, and then a swirling pattern of seven such orbs, holding a hypnotizing formation in his hand.
Lit by the starry glow of that energy, Frei's normally freckled face washes out a bit, but he is still smiling. "Well... time for the big finish, I guess." With that, he extends his hand, and the seven orbs fly out at Alma, surrounding him... but not touching. Instead, Frei drops his hand palm down, and the spheres sink into the floor, leaving only a telltale glowing circle as they do so... but they're also a warning.
"...give me strength," Frei says quietly, and then yanks his hand back up. Instantly, the circles of light become bright pillars of energy that erupt out of the ground, taller than either combatant here, brilliant columns of silver-white like the moon in fullest shine.
COMBATSYS: Alma slows Hokuto Rekkoudan from Frei with Full Confession.
Glancing Hit
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Frei 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Alma
Alma smiles with a hint of weariness, a thin trail of sweat marking a path down his temple as he alights again upon the roof, inclining his head again.
"I guess you're right..."
He pauses for a moment, before his smile broadens.
"But then, you're usually making dry jokes."
Running a hand through his carefully arranged red-tinged bangs to refresh himself, Alma shifts his stance slightly though he maintains a partial guard position. "It feels better this way," he remarks softly. "I don't think that my words... would add any more. You know what I would say. Because you know who I am, and the way I fight will remind you."
And, presumably, the way he bakes, at least by Alma logic.
"But I don't want to unnerve you."
Even as he says that, though, if anyone should be unnerved it should be Alma, as eerie orbs of spectral light converge around him threateningly, causing Alma to again grow quiet and intent as he reaches out with all his senses, attempting to predict when the strike will come, to time his response as best he can. And when those pillars do erupt, there is no room to escape and no hope of withstanding the blow with his guard still fractured from Frei's last blow.
"UrrraaAAAAHHH!"
Instead comes a geyser of Alma's own power, an eruption of raw might that explodes upward from the roof as Alma kneels down to punch at it and struggles in a scintillating combat with the pillars that Frei has unleashed. The two techniques sway back and forth and, indeed, seem evenly matched for a time. For a moment, the single penetrating blast looks as though it might tear between the pillars and aim straight for Frei. But eventually Alma's soul geyser twists and glances to the side, and upon losing its direction quickly folds in on itself, unable to resist the combined power of Frei's own eruptions. The kneeling young man is consumed in starlight.
He does not cry out again.
When the light fades, Alma is still for a few moments, remaining in that kneeling position. He sways once then, precariously. But then he slowly begins to rise, and soon he has gathered himself, glancing up with a mild smile at his rival.
"That was impressive."
Whoever Frei asked for strength, he must have received it.
For a second Frei stands there, hand outstretched... and now, if Alma cares to look, he can see the beads of sweat forming on Frei's normally dry brow, the intensity behind the jade eyes as he keeps that technique coherent. Not that DOING it is hard... but that the whole time, he was micromanaging that energy's flow, testing it against Alma's sudden and violent counterforce. That is hard work... work that Frei isn't 100% used to. But he's learning, yes he is. Every day in every way.
"It... thanks. I think." Dry jokes, huh... exhaling slowly, the monk brings his hand down, and his body slumps forward a little bit from the sudden release of tension. Part of him wasn't sure he could even pull that attack off, but he managed it... and though Alma's fighting style is well known, the techniques Frei's been using lately aren't. And as if on cue, he speaks on the subject in a distant tone. "This is... a different way of fighting for me," he admits. "Compared to normal. A little more... serious? I guess that's the word. Serious." Though with Frei, it's anyone's guess as to just how far 'serious' goes.
With a roll of the neck, Frei drops back into stance. A loose stance, barely there, but it IS there. The mark that he's something other than someone with what Acacia once called 'pretty special effects'. "I learned a lot about the difference between 'strength' and 'power' recently. I'd like to think it's changed my way of fighting for the better." And with no further ado he dashes forward, hoping to take brief advantage of Alma's moment of instability after that last attack to make a complicated grab on the model, a grappling technique... sort of. One hand goes for the forearm, the other the hip; if Frei can get those grips, he suddenly pinwheels with both arms, sending Alma skyward in a completely vertical arc. Green-gold light flares in his palms as he suddenly thrusts them *up*, blasting the model away as his body falls with a burst of energy that causes rings of light to ripple outward from the point of impact, like the seismic waves of an earthquake from the epicenter.
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits Alma with Shindou.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Frei 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 Alma
Whether it's strength or power, Alma is quickly being reminded that Frei's attacks certainly possess something more than pretty special effects as he finds himself unable to take the initiative again. The monk's timing is perfect, and Alma's evasive instincts kick in too slowly to avoid physical contact. Were it a more traditional form of grapple, the tall youth might have perhaps slipped away to safety. Instead, only a moment's grip is enough before a earthquake-like blast hurls him upward into the air, sending waves of force wracking through his body.
Yet even after all that, Alma recovers with startling alacrity, and even as he continues to sail upward into the air he attacks, striking back before he makes an effort to control his own fall. Though his upward journey will continue unless otherwise abated, he does have just enough time to attempt to lash out with a quick kick to the side of Frei's head, perhaps to achieve some small but potent vengeance before he is cast aside.
Hit or miss, if he is not prevented from doing so Alma will eventually flip to land on his feet several yards away, still standing. "Strength or power, you say," he'll murmur.
And then, again, he'll grin.
"Seems to me like you have both."
COMBATSYS: Frei interrupts Light Kick from Alma with Reiki.
[ \\\\\\\\\ < > /////// ]
Frei 0/-------/--=====|=======\==-----\1 Alma
There's a dull slapping sound as, against all logic, Alma's kick lands square in the palm of Frei's hand. He winces as he does it; that looks easy but is certainly NOT easy, especially against someone with considerable physical power like Alma. But it is a lot better than taking a kick to the head, and it also gives him a much needed opening. Before, Alma was spared the wrath of this technique... but with his kick caught in Frei's hand, the model is technically at his mercy.
The air is suddenly alive with power, in bright green light... the color of spring foliage. And indeed, the light suddenly becomes a flurry of 'leaves' of chi, the essence of the Wood element, each of the myriad leaves slamming into Alma's body with a force not unlike repeated electric shocks. Holding his foot fast, the monk waits until the barrage finally stops before letting go and stepping back, giving the model time to collect himself.
"At first I only had 'power'. I had... force. An ability, just the ability to make things occur. The ability to set things in motion. But..." And here, he smiles faintly, tilting his head somewhat. "What I learned from everyone once I came here, and started fighting, and reaching out to people, was that 'power' wasn't enough. 'Strength' is the ability to make your beliefs a reality, to turn potential into being. It doesn't come from 'power', it comes from... connecting with others. Accepting things that are outside of yourself."
For the first time, Alma cannot stand.
The assault, taking place so soon after the last, is too much for the psychic to handle, and reeling through the air he hits the ground in a heap, collapsing. It is perhaps thus to his benefit that Frei takes this time to talk; though, most likely Alma would have behaved in much a similar manner. It takes a few moments before Alma can shift, and a few more before he can begin to struggle to his feet one more time, but the entire time he is listening carefully, and when he is able to look Frei in the eyes again he is able to do so clearly.
"To make your beliefs a reality..."
Somehow, despite the strain, Alma is able to grin again.
"To imbue power with meaning."
A moment more to collect himself, and he steps forward, unwavering.
"To realize in what manner power is otherwise lacking, and why."
Still grinning softly, he raises his fist. A salute. A sign of strength.
"There are many who do not manage that, even those who possess enormous power-- yet never acquire strength. Such a shift takes courage, conviction... and a determination to make something out of one's life."
A deep breath, and the second fist raises, a salute becoming a challenge as a faint pale blue hue is lent to his hazel eyes.
"I've seen much of your power, my friend."
And Alma begins to run forward.
"Now, show me your strength!"
The series of blows that follow are much like what before Frei was able to parry with expertise. Yet they are marked not only by their greater speed and fuller use of Alma's own body, with elbow and knee strikes seamlessly added in to the relentless flow and rising tide of attacks, but by the trance the young man seems to enter as he engages in it. He does not seem to look at anything in particular. Swept up by his own second sight, no flames emerge from his attacks; his psychic energy focuses instead on the dance of color he engages in according to his own mind's eye, weaving in and out masterfully of a web that few can see.
Frei, of course, may be able to feel it too, and so who knows what will come of Alma's ultimate challenge? Yet in that very fact, in the possibility that Frei will see, in his own way, what Alma sees, the lesson of the changes they have both undergone to reach his point is most fully revealed: they are not so different after all.
And so, perhaps, this dance of color will be shared.
It is, after all, a night for dancing.
COMBATSYS: Frei blocks Alma's Stream of Consciousness.
[ \\\\\\\ < > /////// ]
Frei 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Alma
A deep breath.
This time there is no fancy-pants amazing defense... as one might expect. Alma ratchets up the strength and speed of the attack, and of course it gets that much harder to mount a defense. But that is exactly what Frei does; at a much slower and more deliberate pace, but he manages it, somehow. His normally jovial face goes flat in concentration, and rather than turning attacks aside he simply has to absorb them with whatever is handy: palms, a forearm, or both arms crossed over his torso. It's almost a shame, too; of all the people Alma knows, it might be Frei who would be most amazed at the vibrant display of color, the whirling sense of someone moving to his own rhythm. It's a dance, but it's a dance to the beat of an individual drum.
Not so different after all, indeed.
The monk's breathing is heavy as he steps away from Alma, staggering backwards a couple times, but staying on his feet. When it comes to sheer stupid stubborn resilience in the face of danger, Frei somehow makes it happen. You can knock him down... it just takes A LOT of effort. "A bit. This..." He pauses, then shakes his head.
"Hotaru's speed and skill, your drive and passion. Jiro's forcefulness and resolve, Mizuki's compassion. Kentou's innocence, even Tran's anger and determination. They're not things I 'possess', but by being part of my life they become a part of me. So the fighting style I call my own now -- the one I finally feel confident in -- is as much theirs as mine, because of what they've given me. That's what I got out of it... strength, not power."
Hmm. And what technique did he develop? Thinking of the Hiten-ryuu fighter?
Oh yes.
Dropping into a brief crouch, Frei pauses, then rushes forward himself. As he runs, his body is limned with a corona of red-orange flame... a corona that suddenly pulls off to the side, becoming a second self, a 'clone' of fire that rushes alongside the monk. Drawing near, the two dance around each other unpredictably, until they both get close enough to strike. Frei pivots and drives a kick straight at Alma's shoulder... while the fiery twin drops and sweeps a flaming blow of pure fiery energy at the model's legs. A complex technique... one inspired by Alma himself, in fact. 'Kagerou'... the shimmer of heat on a summer's day.
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits Alma with Kagerou.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\ < > /// ]
Frei 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Alma
Alma meets his match.
He exits his trance not feeling his own fatigue, only admiration that his opponent still, despite it all, continues to stand. Such resilience cannot come only from physical stamina. He knows now with perfect certainty that Frei's strengthened will and power have come from a true evolution within himself, and a confidence arises within Alma that he could not feel on his own: that they both, Frei and Alma too, have become the men they ought to have become.
Numbness creeps up his limbs, and he faintly registers how leaden his body is, how incapable of movement, but only faintly; not as one from a distance, but simply because it seems without relevance. And for a few moments, in a haze of exhaustion, he wonders vaguely as to why that must be, even as Frei prepares for his counterattack. Only as the flame draws near does he realize that for him, in some important way, the fight has already ended. He and Frei are in the right place, far more so than in any of their previous meetings, even if those meetings were what truly made them close. The clash of souls is no longer necessary. The blaze of blinding, boundary-piercing, self-disrupting light is not required. Their respective individualities need not be transgressed. They are already together, united, whether they are fighting or not.
Alma has always believed it. Now Frei has demonstrated it.
Alma does not shy from the flame, does not move, and is engulfed.
Not that he could move if he wanted to, mind you.
The kicks wash over him, the force sending him skidding back-- yet somehow, Alma is still standing, precariously on his feet, gaze glassy but none the less alive as he looks up at Frei.
"What... an..."
Looking as though he has reverted entirely to his non-combat mellow demeanor, he smiles gently, almost as a child, as he reaches out with his right hand.
"...honor."
What an offering.
It is unclear where Alma has struck or simply fallen forward. But that right hand will extend out one last time toward Frei, and with it will come a final kindling of soulfire, an echo of the mirror that Frei has shown him. It is simply his self-expression, and so, clearly...
It is something Frei knows well.
COMBATSYS: Alma can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\ <
Frei 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Frei blocks Alma's Self Expression.
[ \\\\ <
Frei 0/-------/-----==|
One last hurrah... and Frei's body is just as leaden as Alma's. He's not the type to constantly throw out attack after attack; he typically waits and picks and chooses when he goes on the assault. It may be that being near Alma gives him a different rhythm altogether... that just as Frei's aura resonates with the chi around him, Alma's psyche resonates with the *people* around him. That last burst of soulflame is the manifestation of that. But Frei is ready for it... or at the very least, he's ready to do what REALLY needs to be done: he doesn't think of it as a physical strike, to be avoided or shunted off. 'Strong powers respond to strong wills'... words he told Zach once, and words he tries to live by. A strong will helps bring life to an unruly universe of continually divergent possibilities.
He is not left unscarred by the burst; the energy still blazes through neurons, sears his body with its imagined heat, but it's ameliorated by Frei's attempt to draw out the *good* intentions inside the attack. The joy, the amusement, the feeling of friendship. It's a gamble; not that those would be present, but that he could do it without the mental powers Alma himself has. It's not a complete success. But it's a start.
Although shorter and lighter, Frei's hand still interlocks with Alma's before he can fall all the way forward, and props him up. As the model surmised, there is something more than mere physicality it work in the young monk's body. Perhaps it is, as his mother said, the family's stubborn side. Something he inherited from her, Isis had said.
Yep. Absolutely.
It takes some doing, but Frei finally drags himself and, provided he doesn't have the energy to do it himself, Alma, to the side of the roof and sits down, leaning against it and getting his friend seated as well. "You know? That power... it runs in my family. I found that out recently. I don't have it, of course, which makes me think it's just the kids who really take after Mom." A pause, and Frei looks up at the starlit sky. "I still don't understand a lot about it. But I have this feeling it brought my little brother a lot of unexpected sorrow." Another pause, and his voice gets quiet. "I wish you two could have met. It might happen again, someday. But I wanted to tell you... I have a new respect for you in that regard, Alma." With a helpless shake of the head, he chuckles. "Or maybe, I think you're lucky you've had the opportunities you've had. I've seen what can happen to someone who doesn't have them."
For a bit, he's silent again, closing his eyes. He'll heal; pretty quickly, too, if past experience is any indicator. What's more important was that he was able to test that newfound confidence against someone he trusts and respects. "And believe me when I say... the honor was all mine."
Log created on 02:14:17 06/15/2008 by Frei, and last modified on 15:52:31 06/15/2008.