Description: Civil twilight: the last few sunless moments in which the land can clearly be seen, the horizon is unmarred, and the brightest stars come out. A time when, it seems, a lot of other things become clearer as well.
Exceptions have been made.
Under normal circumstances, competitors are expected to remain within Strolheim Castle for the duration of the tournament, and for most this is not problematic, considering the amenities provided and the typical outside responsibilities that professional fighters need to take care of, which is to say, not many. Those unable to delegate all of their needs to others, however, may make arrangements beforehand to be exempt from this rule, and some have given the critical nature of their duties.
The YFCC's reconstruction is continuing apace, with most of the exterior finished and only the interior to be repaired and cleaning to be done. Yet the loose hierarchy of the organization demands a strong leader to propel the center forward in spite of its stumbles and keep its volunteer network intact, and at this juncture Alma Towazu's presence is more in demand than ever, in spite of the valuable friends he still has to rely on. Whatever his interest in the tournament, Alma could not allow himself to leave the YFCC behind-- not again.
Nevertheless...
This departure is exceptional in more than one respect.
The dusk is chill, and bereft of answers.
Leaning against the grate that marks the exit point of the center's newly upgraded heating system, Alma, his dusky skin sheathed in a snug white zip-up turtleneck and designer jeans, takes advantage on the constant blast of warm air emerged from beneath as he gazes up at the darkening sky from the roof. The light has not yet faded and the sounds of the evening remain, but the moon has emerged from behind the clouds as though to remind the sun that its time has come.
The light cannot last forever.
~ Why? ~
A child's question, echoing in the depths of Alma's mind.
~ I can no longer deny... my confusion. ~
He cannot deny the undeniable-- as Igniz has done.
~ My passion affords me nothing. ~
The contradiction in his own beliefs has loomed to great for him to avoid any longer. Alma, a man of both faith and reason, has finally found the point where the two, synthesized within his iron-clad, velvet-gloved convictions for so long, clash irrevocably.
Might does not make right. Power is chiefly the pursuit of the misguided, who in search of meaning -- and escape from their fears -- crave its cheapest replacement. Such is human folly, a folly that Alma loves; his belief in human dignity has always been as clear-eyed as it is invincible. Moreover, in necessitating a link between his own self-respect and that same belief in the dignity of all, he has allowed himself a dangerously absolutist philosophy that makes him capable of wielding righteous fury in the name of freedom and justice without ever having any reason to put himself above others or believe himself worthy of ruling them. His convictions are as fierce and mighty as any tyrant's; it has always been his sincerity of action and purity of motive that make him instead a hero.
Yet, implicitly perhaps, Alma too has believed that in its way, right makes might. Those who find it within themselves to be confident in their individuality, to forge for themselves a unique identity strengthened by the bonds it shares with others, are certain to become stronger than those who, even if unknowingly, run a vicious cycle of desire that is as ceaseless as it is inevitably unsatisfying. Those with 'true passion'-- even if they lack power, they will always have a certain strength. Those without it must eventually crumble; the truth will make itself known, even if only in the face of death, even if only in a man's last moments. The evil cannot ever truly be fulfilled, and inevitably, they will discover this for themselves; the world would not allow it otherwise; human psychology demands it thus. This is what Alma believes with every fiber of his being. Justice will find a way to triumph. True passion cannot be denied.
Yet, so often it has.
~ Why? ~
Alma's faith has not been shaken. His convictions have not begun to crumble. Yet even if he is right about humanity, and even if his belief in human dignity is both noble and justified, he may understand the good far better than he does the bad-- and it has occured to him that unless he understands both, he will continue to fail to understand himself.
~ Why... did I become so angry? ~
Jiro taught him that much: there is fury, and then there is anger.
~ There is a weakness inside my heart... ~
A weakness that has brought on decisive defeat.
~ ...a shadow that my light has cast. ~
A weakness he should have noticed long ago.
~ Someone... help. ~
A weakness and fear that may underlie that definitive faith of his far more profoundly than his vaunted strength and will-- and one he may now be unable to fight.
~ ...Mother... ~
Night draws a shrouded pall over the city as the minutes tick past. A slight wind starts among the buildings, and picks up until its sighing sheets over the smallest noises of the evening, wiping discrete sounds into a hum. The last stragglers out on the streets going home hurry past under Alma's vigil, unaware of his presence; no one ever really looks up, after all, not even in a place like Southtown: a place where excitement and danger is liable to come from any conceivable angle and dimension.
The fact that no one looks up suits K'. It means he can travel along rooftops without having to tolerate anyone's prying eyes.
But there is a calm about his solitude that did not exist in him before. A sort of settled, quiet steadiness-- the benevolent complacency that comes with having family. To a young man who never had anything-- who, in fact, was raised having to endure a life in which he was constantly robbed and abased-- the mere fact of having a sister has grounded him in a way no friends, no exposure to the world, and no amount of preaching could ever have done.
And beyond his sister (though in K''s mind, one would be hard-pressed to find him thinking much beyond her these days), there are other people he chooses to watch over in his own way. He's taken to drifting along behind Shurui when she goes to work, trailing her silently from the rooftops to see her there. He hasn't a lot else to do in these times-- not in the first reprieve he feels he's got in months-- and tracking her helps him stay a least a little bit sharp.
It's when he's circling back, going home to his sister, that it occurs to him to look in to another place he's come to watch over in the past weeks. He rarely stays long, and he doesn't go in and talk to anybody, but every once in a while he stops by to prowl around the roof and afford this place a little of his attention. He's usually never spotted, never caught. Nobody goes up on the YFCC roof.
Except today, someone did.
K' doesn't notice Alma at first. He's not looking to find the other young man up there. He just touches down right on the edge of the roof, balancing there like a hawk, and straightens up: hooking his hands casually into his jeans pockets as he glances around. He rocks back and forth slightly in a careless, dizzying sort of way, seemingly heedless of the drop (slight though it is), and then he starts picking his way around the perimeter of the roof like a stray cat. Eventually he'll circle around to a point his view of Alma isn't blocked, but for now? The psychic probably will notice him first.
There's little about K''s outward appearance that's changed, in truth, all that prickly defensiveness still present, but there is one thing that is pointedly absent: that heavy glove the young man had previously never been seen without. And seemingly connected to its absence, much of the compressed, over-controlled, and caged sense about his aura is gone. It doesn't burn with the fluency of Kyo Kusanagi's quite yet, and it still occasionally sputters and fluxes in an unreliable way, but it no longer gives the impression of a dangerous power unwillingly imprisoned.
An odd substitute, perhaps, for the person Alma wanted to see.
The blond does not brood. True melancholy is rather beyond him. But there is a wounded look in his hazel eyes as he gazes at nothing, one that he would not deign to share with others, unwilling to burden them with his weakness.
'You always hide your feelings.'
An odd ghost of a smile turns Alma's lips.
Here he is, the man of such sincere passions, seemingly ever ready to share his emotions and his strength with his fellows, savoring so much his connection with others-- hiding his weakness and fear up upon the roof, unwilling to rely upon them when he himself is troubled. How silly. Even if he is not indulging in self-pity, this behavior must surely be frivolous. If he needs help, he should simply go find it. Problem solved. Feebly he tries to compel himself to get off the grate, to step out into the cold and leave this place-- and fails.
Frivolous or not, he is not ready to leave the night behind.
~ I came here for a reason. ~
Typical Alma faith. Whatever the worthiness of Jiro's strange insight into Alma's hesitancy towards truly burdening others, he cannot seem to defy that impulse, not right now.
The night seems colder now--
And then warmer again, as a familiar aura embraces his senses.
"K'?"
The beautiful youth blinks up at the night prowler, his lips parting in his usual expression of mild bemusement. Unusually, however, those parted lips do not immediately become a smile. A faint hesitancy precludes it; one rather unlike him. Inevitably, however confusing he may find a situation, Alma possesses an underlying certainty that maintains his amiable and affable aura. This certainty itself seems lacking--
As though he is not certain he wants to see K' at all right now.
Lost in the haze of his own doubts, Alma's mind, as it often does to extract itself from problems, latches onto this abnormality. And abnormality indeed it is; for Alma, unlike so many others, seems to have possessed a faith in K' as invulnerable as that which he has in himself, and one far less easily explained to boot. Never has Alma provided a sufficient explanation for that faith-- but then, perhaps unconditional love in any form is inexplicable. Why, then, its seeming absence here, as Alma's doubts spread into his gaze?
Yet this strange look, while powerful, is brief; it flickers and dies, and Alma smiles mildly as he always does, the expression itself no less sincere than ever. His feelings toward K', /whatever/ they are, of course have not changed. Nevertheless, the smile looks a little odd, if only for having followed that awkward pause.
Alma would never present false feelings. That is a virtue.
But he might hide his true feelings. That can be important.
It can also be a mistake.
"I... I'm a little surprised to see you here."
Even if he remains the same man, he seems less confident than the last time they met, with Shurui and Whip there to balance out the situation.
Realizing a little belatedly that he probably has less of an excuse than K' himself to be here, Alma adds after a moment, "The organizers of the Strolheim Tournament are letting me take a small leave of absence while the matches continue to be set up. I thought I would check in on the YFCC..."
The Strolheim Tournament...
He mentioned it unthinkingly, but with his gaze now locked on K''s, Alma finds himself trailing off, knowing now what K' surely must be thinking of, that man who links them both to this tourney.
Long seconds pass-- and Alma cannot help but avert his eyes.
"I... uh..."
Does K' know of his team? Mustn't he? Then--
"He's strong."
Alma attempts to murmur this as he always does, but it emerges a sigh.
"Too strong."
There is no fear, no shame; no anger, no despair.
But there is confusion--
"K', I... I don't understand him."
Confusion at how his passion has been denied.
"I was," he whispers, "so angry."
He can no longer look K' in the eyes.
K' pauses at the sound of his name. He doesn't react much more than that at first, still looking out over the city in his perch on the concrete barrier ringing the rooftop, the slight wind ruffling past him in a restless murmur. And then he finally resumes his pace, slower this time, circling around to walk over to where Alma stands. He still doesn't meet Alma's eyes, nor look at his face, something animalistic in the way he fails to make eye contact unless it's to threaten or unnerve.
Alma might not brood. But K' does enough of it for the both of them, his presence seeming soaked with that everpresent thought and bitter anger. A catlike readiness suffuses him, and calm as he is most of the time he always seems a mere step away from sudden savagery. Part of that impression lies in the way he seems able to scent weakness.
When Alma hesitates, his instant reaction not its usual warmth but rather one of uncertainty, K''s eyes switch up immediately to fix on Alma's: the young man hardwired to instantly close on weaknesses and doubt. His gaze focuses in the same direct, uncompromising way a complex weapon might calibrate to target an enemy.
He stares a few moments in this manner... and then Alma continues, filling the silence with words. K''s eyes finally flick away, the young man turning his head aside to look out across the rooftops. But despite his continued silence and his seeming lack of attention... he listens. He stays while Alma excuses his presence at his own center. That in itself is enough of a concession from him.
But something about K''s stance tightens when Strolheim gets mentioned. Tension infects him. He knows exactly who is being discussed.
K' turns back to face Alma. Still standing on that raised concrete that bars those on the rooftop from a rather irritating fall off, he glares down at the other young man a moment... and then he sinks into a crouch, his right arm laying across a knee, his lean frame raked forward like a roosting hawk. Alma was angry? /Alma?/ "Now you know," K' finally comments, his voice rasping as if this is the first time he's used it in hours, "what it's like for me. All the time."
A flat silence stops that sentence with brutal conclusiveness. K' lets it drag a moment before he shakes his head, stepping down to the rooftop proper and walking restlessly past Alma. He talks as he paces. "There's no need to understand something like him. Only to know what he has done, and will do."
"Do I?"
Alma's voice is leaden, dull, unable to cut through the night.
"I wonder if... we're angry for the same reasons."
Once he says this, he is finally able to raise his gaze, looking toward the restless man, that fire within him ever smoldering and hungry however controlled it becomes. Their inner fires-- how different they normally are. Alma's, vivid white and royal tones, clean-burning, without evident fuel; K''s sooty, smoky, blazing on the stuff of tragedy. Yet K' has found a fuel that does not produce a dangerous side-effect in the love that has entered his life-- and Alma cannot seem to ignite.
Now, at the very least, he seems able to try again.
"Normally," he says softly, his composure and gentility seeming to return, "I would agree with you. Igniz does not strike me as a necessarily complicated man-- and even if he did, that would not sway me from my purpose, whether here or there. But... what troubles me..."
Those hazel eyes struggle to stay aloft, the light fighting within their depths.
"...is that in not understanding him, I think I fail to understand myself."
Alma's gaze shifts again to the darkening sky-- but it does not fall.
"True passion..."
That ghost of a smile returns.
"The truth is more complicated than I've allowed it to be."
Though his eyes are soft, his smile is widening as he looks again at K'.
"I know that Igniz is wrong, with all of my heart, and I do not believe that will ever change. But I fear I /want/ him to be wrong... a little too hard. And that-- that's something altogether different."
He gazes at K' for some time now, and in contrast to before, he does not seem able to tear his eyes away. The softness in his eyes is unlike the calm gentleness of his usual expression, unlike the welcoming harmless gesture those orbs make to compensate for the sometimes fierce vibrations his overwhelming aura can emit. Alma is not making himself vulnerable to intentional express respect or trust for another, not making those who are already more vulnerable than they would care to admit feel more comfortable being so. Alma Towazu, as he looks at the man who he, in some small way, helped put on the path to recovery, is simply vulnerable.
"K'..."
The word carries like a leaf fluttering in a heedless breeze.
"...do you know why I've always believed in you?"
"I said," K' answers without a hitch, his sudden voice possessing all the sharp incisiveness Alma's currently does not, "that you know what it's like. I didn't say you -understood-." But for all his gruff nitpicking, much of the usual invective is absent from his tone.
The distinction is rather fine. But it's there. To feel what it's like to be angry, to live with rage grinding in the backs of your teeth and heating the blood in your veins, is not something that feels all that different if the reasons differ. And in K''s view of things, Alma can understand perfectly well what it feels like to be angry, angry the way K' is, without violating any of the privacy that veils K''s -reasons- for his anger.
"Of course you're not angry for the same reason." Huffing a gruff sound in the back of his throat, K' dismisses the very idea with a turn of his head. "You couldn't be without experiencing what I did."
He goes silent thereafter, and he stays silent when Alma muses aloud. He is frankly unequipped to deal with this level of discussion. While he can vaguely commiserate with the idea of not being able to understand one's own self-- for so long, he didn't even know what his own self was-- he's at a loss to connect that to a need to understand Igniz... or with much of the rest of what Alma says. He doesn't understand Alma's distress over -wanting- Igniz to be wrong, because he fails to recognize that Alma's concern is a deeply personal one that fears the tarnish of personality as much or more than the tangible.
For K', it should simply be enough that Igniz IS wrong.
Silence from K' should not be an unexpected thing to Alma. Even if there is any gap of understanding, it's likely to be closed in an instant when Alma's senses tell him K' seems merely uncertain and confused by the words. K' doesn't like that odd new look about Alma's demeanor, either, and though he doesn't consciously realize it's instinctive unease at seeing expressed fragility, it bothers him. It seems to expect something, and K' doesn't exactly have a history of meeting expectations.
Instead of dwelling on that thought, he lets Alma's next question distract him with the surprise it engenders. Though he's come a long way since he ran away from NESTS, he's still shocked anew whenever anyone expresses any degree of belief in him or his value. Perhaps sensing an opportunity to finally learn what it is everyone else sees that he can't, he eventually slants his gaze over his shoulder. The glance he levels on Alma is answer enough. No. Tell him why.
Alma smiles.
~ K'... ~
No words are necessary.
~ ...you've come a long way. ~
Perhaps it's not an achievement that K' is often so easy to read, but it is refreshing. The concern that is evinced, even if it is not something he would ever express aloud or even know he is feeling, can only be genuine. Alma's body seems to relax, despite not having initially appeared tense. He has someone to lean on.
They don't need to touch for that to be proved.
Alma, when his lips part to speak again, feels more comfortable than he has since he first arrived at that castle and learned of the fate that was in store.
"Once," he begins, "not so long ago, I was lost. My father had died when I was a child, having never told my mother and I that he had a terminal illness. My mother... she was a schoolteacher for underprivileged children, and a very strong woman... but it seemed like every day after that wore her down more and more. I was very young, but-- I felt that it was my fault." His smile widens wistfully. "When my father died, I acquired an uncontrollable stutter. My mother tried very hard to cure me of it, but all of her abilities were for naught. Her and my powerlessness in the face of that... and that it was a constant reminder of our loss... we never really moved on, and I felt responsible for it." A brief pause. "Near the end, she found me responsible for it, too."
Alma's gaze lowers, for a moment.
"I couldn't save her from herself."
That wistful smile does not fade.
"She stopped eating. She just started wasting away, and I-- it didn't ever occur to me to tell anyone. Our world, it was so small. And her last words to me... she told me... heh..." Smile twisting wryly, Alma glances back up to K'. "'You'll never be the man your father was!'"
He is quiet.
When he continues, he sounds almost thoughtful. "I never really knew him," he murmurs, "and because I didn't know what I was living up to, I was never able to succeed. But sometimes I wonder if she knew him, either, that man... who ruined us with his silence."
There is not a mote of resentment in his voice.
"I sat in the rain, and I thought about whether or not I wanted to live, in a world where meaning can evaporate in a single breath, where no amount of strength can ensure an enduring love... or loved one."
His words are matter-of-fact-- as surely young Alma must have been.
"...that was only three years ago..."
He continues to look away for several moments, but when he looks back, his gaze seems clearer, those memories no longer shrouding his vision.
"Once," he begins, "I met a young man. He was stubborn, reckless, and not particularly clever-- but something in him struck me. He was not as sensitive to his own sufferings as I felt I had been, not so thoughtful about them, yet inexplicably, I felt in him a kindred spirit. Here was a person who arose from circumstances that, though he found them despicable, he knew he could not flee from. For all his weaknesses, he was determined, in his own way, to find himself. He would make a lot of mistakes along the way, but... I knew he would prevail... and he did. He became my best friend, and my rival... this Jiro Kasagi... and never once did I cease to believe in him, or that my belief in him was justified."
He is smiling again now, a gentle warmth re-emerging.
"Why is it," he murmurs, "that I love these hollow men, who do not trust themselves, who succumb to their darker impulses, but who have no choice except to respond to their hated birthrights lest they expire-- lest they lose to those who would tell them that their lives are meaningless?"
Alma's eyes are full of love. They shimmer with a light that is as close to heaven's as man can reach. Completely open, without reservation, full of grace, he looks upon his friend, and the night may briefly seem less dark.
"Because we can't afford to simply survive."
His head tilts slightly, sweetly, gently.
"We have to live."
He will allow that gaze to fall upon K' for some time, even if K' is unable to withstand it. That, too, will be loved, of course. Eventually, however, Alma will turn around, looking away from K' as though to give them both some psychological space after that moment of unavoidable and shameless intimacy, gazing toward the stars that brighten into view as the sun finally begins to fade completely, looking unflinchingly into the light within the darkness.
"You know, K'," he murmurs, "I think men like us are lucky."
The sounds of the street have faded, their only accompaniment now the white noise faintly emitting from the heating grate.
"Even if it's hard," he continues, "even if others cannot empathize, even if we were not asked permission before being put on this path... we are compelled in a way they are not. We perceive the opportunity where they cannot. Even if it is only because we need to, because otherwise we will be unable to lay claim to even our very souls..."
Alma looks over his shoulder, smiling wider now.
"We remake ourselves, with what we have been given."
Silence.
A yet widening smile.
"Of course," he adds quietly, hazel eyes sparkling with renewed vivacity, "I'll understand if you disagree."
K' listens in silence, more out of a frank curiosity as to what the lives real people lead look like than out of a desire or even an ability to sympathize. He'd always had an impression, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Alma must have had one of those perfect lives K' jealously projects onto everyone he perceives as decently well-adjusted. The unfolding story, however, just proves that Alma did not.
The young experiment doesn't look at Alma for the entirety of the time the other talks. Ever since he first made the mistake of watching the eyes of somebody he'd been sent to kill, he'd never liked to make eye contact unless it was on his own terms. Leaning against the concrete, his gaze fixes on the horizon, and it never looks back. It's left to Alma's extrasensory perceptions to even discern a hint of any reaction his words might be engendering, for outwardly K' seems about as receptive and reassuring to talk to as a brick wall.
Still, when Alma mentions that no amount of strength can ensure a loved one, a distinct and sharp fear-- visceral and keen-- is detectable beneath an expression that, on the surface, does little more than narrow yellow eyes.
It's also evident, to anyone as perceptive as Alma, that the one other thing that has a particular effect upon K' is the idea of striving to match someone who others are convinced you will never equal or surpass. As before, it's hardly an obvious reaction... but the downswing of his gaze and the resentment that smolders to life under his lashes should be indication enough. The subtleties of his reactions merely serve as a reminder: it's not enough simply to -speak- to K'. His defense mechanisms ensure that, in order to derive any sort of meaningfulness from a conversation with him, one must be able to perceive the subtle reactions. Failure means laboring under the belief that K' hasn't been listening at all.
That is sometimes the case, of course. But here, surprisingly enough, it isn't.
When Alma finally makes the point K' has been waiting to hear, the young man is silent for a long time. His distinct frown might imply that he -does- disagree; the way he turns shoulder on Alma, walking away from that look as if distinctly uncomfortable with it. But then, he says very quietly and with zero inflection, "I made myself a life out of three years. Because three years was all I ever got."
He isn't sure if he can agree he's lucky. If he values the benefits he's derived from having to struggle over the normal life he losts. But there's one thing he can say. It's a vague, humored, "...I thought your life was better."
Alma lowers his head, but his warm gaze never strays.
~ Yes... you did. ~
A life out of nothing, in three years.
~ You deserve to be recognized. ~
As Alma has recognized him.
~ .../we/... deserve... ~
Their situations could not be more different on the surface. Yet the substance is, under this perspective, quite the same: men without pasts to speak of, yet unable to run from the void that lack of past presents. No happy childhood, no clear path-- betrayal and bitterness, a story like shattered glass.
But one must live.
Live, or admit defeat, and confess one's powerlessness.
Is it pride? Is it childish frustration?
Sometimes. Maybe. At first.
But if a day comes when truly everything seems trivial -- fear, pride, and even pain itself -- or when something so meaningful enters one's life that it cannot be denied how everything else comparatively pales in importance, there is a chance that a hollow man like this may transcend his own sufferings and choose to believe, despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary, that life must be worth living, that something /must/ be made of all this senseless suffering-- that pain aside, to let things stand is simply not right.
He may not think of his choice in such terms, of course. Jiro didn't.
But Alma did.
His gentle smile widens faintly.
"If it were better then," he says simply, "it would not be so good now."
It's not to imply that he does all this to live a good life, but--
It is the truth.
"Those days... they've given me a special gift."
His chin, respectfully lowered for K', rises again.
"To see when another is a kindred spirit, even when he seems most different."
That no doubt irritating warmth in his eyes refuses to fade. K' can probably /feel/ it, even if he won't meet Alma's eyes; Alma, of course, never doubts that K' is fully aware of both his words and his emotions. It thus may be a relief when Alma finally glances to the side. His smile does not fade, but his eyes soften, growing thoughtful.
"Having mastered that past, I began to think of it only in terms of the gifts it brought me," he murmurs. "Of how I now know so much better what it means to be in accord with human nature, of what happiness truly is. Yet it is not enough to believe I am in accord with the world. The fact remains..." His smile spreads into an uncharacteristically wry grin. "My philosophy was born through defiance, against the despair that threatened to consume me. I allowed myself to forget that. To forget... that I am not... a..."
He trails off. His eyes narrow. He seems oddly startled.
~ ...god. ~
"My fire," he says to himself, softer now, seemingly thinking aloud, "it is bright and clear and clean. It does not burn on fear or pride. To, at heart, live unconditionally-- that is what it means to be sincere. To accept that even being oneself demands forever striving-- that is what it means to have integrity. But striving means problems, risk. I still-- however /more/ pure my intentions, my actions, my passion, my fury-- I still am a human. I am still... afraid that I might be wrong. I am still frustrated with a world that I know I must /make/ fair. And, however much heavenly grace I acquire," he adds, a hint of that wryness reappearing in his voice, "I will still... be angry."
His gaze returns to K'.
"At those who, not knowing what men are, tell us we cannot be them."
Those who anger us most always hatefully remind us most of ourselves.
"I think... I can live with a weakness like that."
Alma grins, light shining in his eyes.
An invincible faith, an ironclad dignity belying his youth. Yet what would inspire even the purest of faiths except uncertainty? What purpose has faith save to fill in the blanks for questions that cannot be fully answered? The brightest light implies its own shadow. One need not resign oneself to one's weakness-- but one must know that unless one has a weakness to strive against, one cannot continue to be oneself. However divine this young man's qualities, however enthralling and inspiring a presence he becomes, however true a hero he might eventually reveal himself to be, he is not a god. His qualities would be insignificant were he anything but human. He is not a god.
Not a god-- but maybe an angel.
"Nothing I went through gave me shit except problems."
He isn't capable of holding it in anymore. Even the profound warmth and positive presence of Alma can't stem the resentment and hate he still feels at his core. Thinking of Igniz just makes it worse, that temper of his which he has never been able to hold in. He pushes into an agitated pace, back and forth, never looking at the other young man, but cognizant still of every last thing he says.
"You want more reasons to be angry with him?" K' barks a laugh. "I'll tell you every last thing he did to me, to my sister, to Shurui, and to all the others I don't know. If you gave a shit about any of it, you'd be angry enough then. Maybe angry enough you can even get a faint idea of what /I/ feel.
"I gave myself everything I have now." Killing his pacing, K' finally fixes himself in place, if only to clutch the handrail like a hawk and hate the expanse beyond it. "Whatever I got back, I got back by myself. I had to give myself everything." His sister. Some semblance of a life. Freedom. They were things he had to struggle for, and things he even now has to struggle just to keep. Unlike Alma, he just can't see the good that can come of such hardship... perhaps because hardship hasn't left him yet.
"So what am I supposed to be 'given' from this? From losing my life? My family? The ability not to feel the pain of this--" his right hand, ungloved and unprotected, cuts a sharp gesture with a flare of fire-- "every minute?" He finally shoots a stare at Alma, eyes narrowed, gaze hard.
"What am -I- gonna get?" At least, that's the question he asks aloud. The real question, the one he doesn't want to ask, is 'when can I be sure I can keep what I have?'
"I don't need to be angry to know he's wrong."
The correction is soft, but significant. Were it not, Alma would not have interjected, however gently, to say it. Yet upon saying that he simply listens, because what K' says is fair. Resentful, certainly. Undignified. But fair.
And worth saying.
~ Did you? ~
Alma concludes this disagreement is /not/ yet worth voicing, but it remains a critical point where they would diverge-- for while on the one hand Alma takes full responsibility for his becoming a 'complete person', he does not take full credit. Did K' acquire Whip as though she were an object, or did she not choose to come to him? Could K' have found the strength to do what he needed to do, even with all the failures and hatred, without his friends-- or even his enemies? To speak of doing things for oneself, Alma believes, is important-- but often misleading.
Now, perhaps, is not the time for a lecture on that.
Now is the time...
"Courage."
...for an answer.
"Courage, K'."
His words are, as always, gentle-- and firm.
"Everyone is afraid. Everyone feels constant pain. But others find it easier to forget, to immerse themselves in trivialities, and avoid their problems. Others can get away with cowardice. But you have not had that luxury. You have been /forced/ to confront your many inadequacies-- real and perceived." Though his voice never hardens, Alma's words are as clear as they are blunt. "You have known fear, weighed it, and chosen to ignore it in favor of a more meaningful sacrifice. You have known pain, confronted it, and through wading through it imbued your actions with greater value. You are brave, K'. You are ready for fear, ready for pain--"
Alma's gaze pierces into K''s own, in this rare moment of eye contact.
"--and ready for loss, which inevitably comes to us all."
He pauses for a moment, and then continues more softly.
"We cannot choose whether or not we lose. We who are either brave or foolish enough to let people and things we value into our lives... we may only choose how to meet that loss: with dignity, or without. As warriors, or as cowards."
Alma stands straight, the light within him undeniable.
"We cannot escape loss. But..."
He truly seems to shine.
"We may make it our own."
To be brave enough to care, knowing loss is inevitable.
Is that not the epitome of loving life unconditionally?
Such is the human condition.
Sadly, it's not entirely possible, just at this moment, to rule out the possibility that K' might well think of things that way. That Whip might have been something to acquire and hoard, like a possession. That Shurui might be something to be protected mainly because he perceives her as his. That he -has- effectuated all the change in his life solely with his own hands. The one concession he could be said to truly make, in that regard, is for Whip herself. He can't deny that the only reason he was successfully able to drop that glove was because she just about seared her hand off to help him quell it.
He doesn't at first understand the answer. He hesitates, looking at Alma, and there isn't much in the way of actual comprehension in his eyes. He had been expecting, perhaps, a more tangible answer. Or at least, one more in line with his desires. But as he comes to understand what he's being told, he just lets a tired laugh go. He turns away, lifting a shoulder in a shrug, as if not sure where the value is in that.
Bravery and readiness don't seem to mean much of anything, when strength is the only thing that can preserve what he needs.
Alma's continued patience just pricks K''s temper worse. But it's what Alma says about loss that makes K' finally lose it. Of course, the first thing he thinks of when Alma speaks of the inevitability of loss is his sister, and the mere thought is enough to crash his system into a sudden, overwhelming, and possessive panic. It's hardly a reaction which would be difficult for Alma to miss.
"I won't lose her. I /will not let it happen/."
K' turns around, and starts closing on Alma again. His stance is stiff with threat. "If you want to help me, fight me." His unprotected right hand twitches a little, its fingers clawing: a fire ignites, but the process is far less fluid than it was before. All that energy in him moves far less fluently and painlessly within him than it once did, and his flames sputter sporadically. "I have to relearn."
He would never have admitted something like that if he were not true. But he's painfully aware that, in order to keep what he's reclaimed, he has to be able to defend it; and he can't do that if he never tries to reattain the skill he had when he wore the glove.
Alma is silent.
His words, though not misunderstood, nevertheless fall on deaf ears, for K' is not willing to accept them. The defiance is K''s eyes is not that of the noble struggle to value life that Alma was speaking of-- this defiance is born of terror, angst, and anguish. It is tarnished by fear. Yet Alma does not look upon it with disdain for all that-- particularly not after today, after what he has just come to realize. A human cannot be pure as a god is, without corruption or darkness. A human's purity must involve that darkness, to make courage and duty possible.
So...
It's not easy.
What Alma has said about K' finding courage? It's not necessarily the truth. Alma doesn't really know how brave K' is, how likely it is that he will survive his own numerous insecurities. But Alma didn't know how brave Jiro was, either. That's the point. That's what makes this faith.
"Alright."
That's what makes this love.
"I'll fight you, K'."
And no matter how strong you are...
"Show me what you can do with your power now."
...You cannot always save your loved ones...
Alma's eyes still shine with light, but his emotions are now obscured.
...Especially not from themselves.
~ K'-- if only I could make you believe what I've learned. ~
Still, he smiles faintly, and does not seem insincere.
~ But part of what I've learned-- is that no power of mine can compel you. ~
"Show me... how you will solve this problem."
If he wins, will he be foolishly satisfied? If he loses, will he be cast into despair? Alma cannot control that. He can only put himself forward completely, out of respect for his friend; he can only trust in this man, and do his utmost to be trusted in return. Strength of arms, strength of words, even strength of will-- they prove nothing.
No weapon can pierce this shadow.
Shifting his feet as his back straightens and his body relaxes, the dusky-skinned blond fluidly maneuvers his hands to a soft guard position, a hint of rhythm beginning in the faint sway of his body, in what is on the surface an infinitely toned-down version of the classic Hiten-Ryu style. Deep and silent breaths cause his chest to swell, and he feels that zealous fire again arising within his breast. His features are calm, but his eyes glitter.
He may only shine as bright as he can.
"Come!"
Lunging forward, blood and spirit rushing within his veins, Alma thrusts forth with flames of his own, shining white and vibrant indigo, and seeks to meet K''s own formidable energy with a glimming lance of this ethereal luminescence.
COMBATSYS: Alma has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Alma 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: K' has joined the fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Alma's Self Expression.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
Show me what you can do now, Alma challenges. For a moment, K' almost seems to hesitate. His right hand-- trembling not from effort, but from the pain of trying to use the flames unprotected-- goes out the moment his resolve seems to falter. He isn't sure what he can do now. He isn't sure if he'll ever get the kind of control over his fire he once was able to command. And he's almost too afraid to try and see. Almost.
Whether he wins or loses, he knows this much: he'll have forced himself to use his fire-- as he normally would, not as a desperate last resort or a sudden burst called out under duress-- for the first time since he took that glove off. From the experience, he'll know for sure how far he has to go.
At least, that is the intention.
Even as Alma drops into a studied, disciplined style, K' seems to make no preparations at all. He just lifts his head a little, watching Alma carefully. His sole concession to a fighting stance is that he's turned his stronger side towards the other young man. When Alma attacks, K' still doesn't move, not until the last moment: and when he does, it's to lift an arm in a guard. A brief flare of fire disperses much of that energy, though the cost of such a defense soon becomes clear in the obvious flicker of pain that runs through K' to use it.
But K' doesn't let the pain hold him back too long. Before long, he's retaliating, trying to use the proximity to snare Alma, drag him off-balance, and aim a sharp strike at the model's back.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Alma with Spot Pile.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 K'
Alma hesitates.
Perhaps it doesn't matter. K', whatever he is enduring, is an extremely agile adversary, and his speed is blinding even with the burden of his pain. Alma may lack K''s talent, if such it can be called, but he does have his usual advantage: his own reflexes -- and strategies -- are bolstered by the visibility of his opponent's emotions, those sensations taking on a vibrant form that Alma's honed subconscious translates immediately into physical cues as to how to act and react, and that his training transmutes instinctively into tactical shifts. Having such a mastery of aura-reading is a decided advantage--
"Nnghh!"
--if you have the resolve to follow through.
Alma briefly loses that, as his mental assault impacts against K''s will and he /feels/, with a true intimacy not yet reached, the depth of K''s own pain.
Startled, his lips part, his eyes widen, and his hands lower slightly.
To think it was so heinous--
He chokes as the blow drives into his lower back, the quick and powerful strike driving the breath of his lungs and sending agony shooting through his body-- yet one not nearly as profound as what he just tasted, and blissfully brief by comparison. Perhaps this is why Alma recovers so quickly, spinning about with an alacrity unusual even for him.
If this is what K' is feeling--
"Hrrahh!"
--if this is what he is pushing himself through--
Then all it takes is that one blow to put Alma in gear to fight.
If K' wants to be pushed-- if he has chosen Alma to do this--
Right hand illuminated instantly with Soul Power once more, Alma casts out with sweeping grace a spiralling dart of white flame, a cresting wave of raw power to crash again against K''s mental defenses.
Alma knows what he must do.
If he is trusted to do so, he will test K''s will.
He will draw out those flames.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits K' with Sacred Wave.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 K'
Hissing out a breath, K' recoils, returning to his slow circling like a bird of prey. For all his outward composure, his speed, and his seeming lack of strain in a fight, those with senses like Alma's can get at some semblance of the truth. Nothing of what K' can do comes without some price.
The glove kept the pain at bay. For a long time, it was a crutch K' clung to in order to use his fire without pain and without effort. It did all the work for him, and it did so for so long that he never got the chance to learn how to wield the fire by himself. Trying to do so now is visibly tiring, but nonetheless K' forces himself through it. For how tempting it is to put the glove back on, it was removed at too great a cost for him to give in to the impulse.
That, and he doesn't think he can ever stand having anything of NESTS touch him ever again.
He hesitates momentarily when Alma slings that burst of energy at him. Part of him urges for his usual defense, fire against fire, energy against energy, while the rest counsels prudence in simply avoiding it... but the instant of doubt that ensues lasts just long enough that he can't even think about gathering his fire before the psychic energy strikes him full-on.
K' takes one unsteady step back, shaken by the psychic aspects of the energy: his mental defenses, at this moment, considerably lacking. Trying to shake off the white fire, K' eventually shreds through with a considerable effort, mustering a flare of his own fire with another rending sensation of pain down his arm. He should, he reflects far too late, have worn SOME kind of glove. The crimson flames gather, more slowly than usual, consolidating before K' finally sends them bolting straight back at Alma in one shot of fire.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Alma with Second Shoot.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Alma 1/-----==/=======|====---\-------\0 K'
More slowly, perhaps, but not slowly enough.
Alma, attempting to recover his momentum, strains to lower himself under the return fire so as to keep up an aggressive pace, but he miscalculates as he moves. The blast of flame scorches his back instead of impacting against him, but it's enough to cause him to stumble inopportunely and hit the ground chest-first, ruining whatever initiative he might have gotten from such a manuever.
But the blond rolls to his feet quickly, rising into a poised crouch as he gazes carefully at his opponent through red-tinged bangs and thick lowered eyelashes.
So he can cast out the flame, then, even as it scalds him.
Impressive.
But the energy itself, internally--
Without that symbolic glove, what inner control can K' manifest?
Rising slowly to his feet, Alma chooses not to continue that tumble in a desperate effort to still seize the initiative. Rather, letting his rising spirit flow effortlessly through him, Alma allows his psychic energies to blossom into visibility.
They've changed.
That halo of white light, streaked with its characteristically awe-inspiring and suspiciously flamboyant shades of cherry-blossom pink and rich royal purple, seems to evolve as it grows, until while its core remains the same, at the outsides it is tinged with hues of shining gold and rose, a glorious auric shield that glitters in the starlight and shames the moon with its radiance.
His expression is entranced, soft, open.
His choice is quiet, careful, deliberate.
The only kind of taunt that a man like Alma would make to K'.
It looks... so easy.
COMBATSYS: Alma gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Alma 1/-======/=======|====---\-------\0 K'
Beautiful as it may be, a taunt is a taunt is a taunt. And K' doesn't miss the message in the least.
Faced with an example of perfect, effortless control, K' is almost weak enough to let the jealousy flare openly in his eyes. At the last moment he hides it, forcing it aside with a burst of self-directed anger, the only outward sign of his reaction left a mere narrowing of his eyes. He knows why Alma did that. He knows it's a challenge. He -doesn't- know, however, if it's one that can be met-- much less matched.
He's had enough of comparing himself to others. Enough of feeling like he can't manage the simplest of tasks. Enough of being second to everyone: to Kyo, to Krizalid. He's had enough of having to hurt every time he uses the flames that Kyo can wield so effortlessly.
Gritting his teeth, K' settles in and tries to grasp the fire in his veins. It's a monumental effort, nowhere near as fluent and simple as Alma's control over his own energy. And it hurts. The pain is nearly palpable just from looking at the way K' tenses, even notwithstanding psychic powers. It's almost pathetic to watch, when compared to the swift, almost graceful way K' would flare with flames when he had the glove to control all his power for him. Back when he could cheat and make that thing do all his work.
Now that he has to do it all himself, by trial and error, the process is far slower and more agonizing. Manually, he coaxes the flames out of his blood. He isn't trying to match Alma's display-- or even to match the sheer amount of fire he was able to generate in months past. He's just trying to make the point to himself: he /can/ still control the fire, even if he still doesn't quite know how... and even if he doesn't have that crutch any longer. It'll just take longer... and hurt a lot more.
COMBATSYS: K' gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Alma 1/-======/=======|=======\====---\1 K'
Alma is pleased.
He tries not to let it show, of course, much as K' burns away his own jealousy, which Alma -- still lacking any real knowledge about K''s relationship with Kyo -- understands and empathizes with but knows all too little about. His pleasure would probably only be patronizing, as would any overt encouragement. Jiro might be able to shrug off Alma's sometimes dangerously paternalistic attitude towards his friends, but K' is doubtless no one to be so trifled with, and Alma has no desire to disturb the nature of this challenge. This is his duty. As a caring friend. As a fellow fighter.
As a once hollow man.
K' has passed another test, and Alma has again been the vessel for it. What is the next step? The answer burns in Alma's veins, his passion crying out to the heavens and insisting it be released, his very soul swelling with all the power he feels himself gathering.
If he himself has reached a new level, he hasn't yet noticed it.
Maybe that itself is significant.
All Alma can think of is K'--
"HrrraaaaAAAAAHHH!"
--and furthering this clash of souls.
His fist plunges to the roof.
In the context of battle, what better way-- than Soul Power?
K''s body and mind are already being strained seeming to draw up and control that mighty but unwilling fire. Alma deliberately adds to this burden quite suddenly, with all the might he possesses. A streak of white light sears its way across the rooftop, zigzagging rapidly toward his stationary adversary, and as Alma sweeps up and turns away, he snaps his fingers with the same quiet effortlessness as he displayed when gathering that strength -- a gesture that here seems, with his calm determination, less arrogant than purely dramatic -- and imbues this moment with a sense of finality... and fills the air around K' with blazing spiritual flame.
A geyser of that scintillating light, its usual whites, pinks, and purples now joined by brilliant gold and deep rose, spirals up from under where K' is standing and threatens to consume him utterly and relentlessly--
Unless his will is up to the task.
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Full Confession from Alma with Heaven Drive EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Alma 1/--=====/=======|=======\===----\1 K'
Any patronizing word, any supercilious gesture, any indication of superiority, however benign... and K' would doubtless enrage. He is not tolerant even at the best of times, and when it comes to his grafted power, his ability to put up with anything that could be perceived as belittling is next to nothing. His temper is even more fragile when he's in as much pain as he is right now.
It's a pain that's soon to be added to, if Alma has any say in the matter. The young NESTS experiment watches the attack as it bolts towards him. He's aware of the final manifestation of this attack, quite aware of what it ultimately does... and yet, he doesn't try to move. Not quite yet. He's waiting for the trigger, the one moment he can be sure where the fire will manifest.
And yet, for a moment, it might seem that pain has dulled his wits, or else he is simply too slow... for when the flames appear, K' doesn't instantly move out of them. And while it is true that he is slightly too slow to fully avoid the fire, burdened as he is beneath the effort of sustaining his own flames at a ready... that doesn't mean he has to sit and suffer the full brunt of it.
There is a moment in which Alma might think himself beyond assailing. And then, with a sudden grim tenacity, K' lunges out of nowhere, laying into the other young man with a fire-laced, swiping blow sufficient to take him straight into the air. K' twists sharply around for momentum, striking again mid-air; and then he rolls abruptly like a jet, angular momentum built up to put force behind the similarly fire-ridden kick he slams into Alma to put him back into the roof.
K' lands, a little unsteadily, and backs up a few steps. Trying to shake away the residual sensation of the psychic energy, he also tries, inch by inch-- like trying to pry free a white-knuckle deathgrip-- to relax and release his hold on the fire.
It's a clean hit.
Alma sighs faintly, inaudible over the roaring of his geyser's flames. No matter. Even if K' could not rise to the occasion this time, this should not dismay anyone. K' has already overcome so much. It would not have been much of a test without the risk of failure-- and this is the kind of danger implied by pushing a man such as K' to his limits.
As he feels his attack sear against K''s will, however, Alma wonders if he might have done things a little different, considering his own strategy in relation to his objective.
Perhaps he could have eased up slightly--
Perhaps he should be paying more attention.
The man that emerges from the flames is foreign to him, an impossible mirage. Senses overwhelmed by all the spirit around him, Alma can only stare blankly at K''s inconceivable eruption, plunging directly through the raw force of Alma's assault. It takes him a moment.
And then he is simply flabbergasted.
By then, he's already left the ground.
The aerial combination sends Alma crashing painfully back down to earth, unable to roll with blows that have left him now beyond bewildered, completely dazed. Every nerve screams with pain; every synapse protests the reality of that pain, struggling indignantly to piece together what chain of events caused this conclusion. Alma, for his part, has no room for any feeling but agony.
If he did, he'd be proud.
Such as it is, however, it appears that his body is momentarily useless. Good news for K', who is easing back on his flames as one might ease back on the throttle of a supercharged motorcycle-- which is in turn good news for Alma, whose vision is still spinning.
For now, Alma's body suggests, a little break--
His brain is inclined to agree--
"...hrnngh!"
But his soul cries out for more.
Impossible. Alma cannot move. K''s bursting through Alma's attack might have been improbable, but it was not impossible. Right now, unless he relaxes at least briefly, Alma cannot stand. It's impossible.
So he doesn't.
Blink.
He is gone.
Maybe there was a flicker, a brief flash. Maybe he appeared to sink into the roof itself. Illusions necessarily plague such a disappearance. But the reality that he is gone.
A palpable surge--
Gone behind.
It all takes place within a split-second, silent, deadly. The only conceivable counterattack, and the most dangerous, with K''s senses trained on his own inner conflict.
That conflict may be about to be brought to a full civil war.
The only warning is the light.
K' may not see Alma-- but he will see his own shadow.
A single fingertip, glowing with a brightness that rivals the sun, briefly illuminates the darkened evening, blotting out the stars, as Alma drives it toward the vulnerable point at the back of K''s head, where both spine and brain are accessible to trauma. This trauma is not of the conventional kind--
But may be all the more potent for that.
Overwhelming light threatens to sweep everything away.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits K' with Absolution.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 K'
Eased up slightly? K' would be offended, gravely offended, to know that the thought even OCCURRED to Alma at all.
As if cognizant of Alma's failing in this regard, K' is relentless in his subsequent attack. Enraged, in a great deal of pain, he flattens Alma into the rooftop... and then, like a dog needing to lick his wounds, he stumbles back, trying to recover. He had not used that much fire in such a nuanced way in a very long time, and he is finding himself extremely hard-pressed to control his fire. In the past, the glove would have obligingly throttled the flames for him, putting them neatly away until they were next needed. But now?
Now, K' has to do it himself. The task is akin to telling a two-year-old to fold fifty pounds of dress shirts: long, tedious, and surprisingly technical.
His mind is focused on the uncontrollable lashing of the fire within him. Having struggled to bring all that roaring flame out, he now struggles simply to put it away. The one moment in which Alma vanishes is easily missed... and by the time K' realizes the other is behind him, the attack has already connected. A massive surge of psionic light rends through him, wiping his mind, and the sudden trauma destroys what control he had over his fire.
As much out of instinct as anything, K' rounds on Alma, reacting to the attack in much the same way he did the last time: with a sudden and virulent rage. With a thought, all that loose fire swiftly gathers, and it lashes out at Alma with vindinctive force.
COMBATSYS: Alma negates Eins Trigger from K' with Divine Intervention EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 K'
As anticipated.
The word 'anticipate' must be used loosely here. Alma is lacking his higher brain functions-- as, surely, K' must be once the flame seizes control of him, all control relinquished to that hateful, simmering inferno that ever threatens to consume him utterly. But somewhere deep within his heart, the heart that is now in full control of every act, this glowing young man understands the consequences of what he is doing, and knows what must be done.
Those flames, they are fast and brutal, moreso than ever now that K''s consciousness has been momentarily swept away, now that the raw instinct for vengeance and the need to loose this violent energy have been unleashed.
Alma gazes into them, unafraid.
Unthinkingly, his own hand is raised.
And a sharp piercing blast of bright light shears forth, meeting K''s own eruption of power in the air, eliciting a cacophony of raging power that must cause those few night-walkers to look up and gaze in awe at the glowing pyrotechnics above the YFCC building, white and red mingling amidst the starlight, between these two men.
They are left with silence.
It is a brief moment, but--
Alma, staring calmly, has been waiting for it.
In a second, K''s self-control will reassert itself. In a second, his conscious mind, his self will reassemble, only briefly knocked into disarray by Alma's all-consuming, all-fusing sacred psychic light. In a second, those painful flames will return, to be struggled against again-- perhaps.
And perhaps it won't go as planned.
But maybe, maybe--
Maybe, as Alma stares into K''s yellowed eyes--
There will be a moment of peace.
Control gone, flames ebbed from use, dissipated by Alma's light.
Perhaps, in this moment of divine intervention--
K' will feel what it is to not struggle against himself.
Perhaps, for a moment, he will feel grace.
For a moment.
Perhaps.
The fire falls away. Its deterioration is only catalyzed by Alma's piercing assault, the energy shredding out of the air like paper, dissipating as K' loses control and coherence. It drifts off in the wind, and for a few moments the foreign power in K''s blood is quiet-- its energies momentarily expended. Within a few moments, their presence will return strongly, painful and hot. But for now, K' doesn't feel a thing.
He grins to himself a little-- uncharacteristically, sardonically, and not entirely sanely-- and simply... takes a moment to reorder his mind. His expression transmutes, slowly but noticeably, as clarity returns. It changes first in that it loses its humor-- however self-deprecating and hateful that humor was-- and second in that it begins to bare in something like a snarl.
In this moment, there is nothing physical for K' to struggle against, certainly. No raging fire. But that does not remove the real everpresent adversary: his own thoughts. There is no grace bestowed here.
Neither is there is no further surge of fire. It has not yet come back. There's only K' falling back, even exhausted and weighted under the effort and pain of his fire, on his most natural weapons, as he tries to very simply clear Alma's head from his shoulders with a cutting kick. Unlike his little counterpart, the girl built to be his antitype, this young NESTS experiment is not prone to stopping until either he or his adversary can go no further.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks K''s Minutes Spike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 K'
Fair enough.
It was all Alma could offer. The world around him is blurring; the previous clarity with which he strove for that one moment of potential peace is quickly growing fuzzy. Now he too may act alone on instinct, in these final desperate moments of the fight-- and act he does.
Fortunately for Alma's precious head, the young man's arm snaps up in time to parry this dangerous strike, the kick slamming against a raised forearm with the sound of a thunderclap; yet Alma is twisting with the movement, deflecting the damage by torquing with the blow to strike back almost simultaneously, his body already having begun moving before K''s fierce kick impacted.
His own kick arcs up from the other side, aiming toward K''s own head in a twin movement, a slicing roundhouse. But halfway through the upward arc, /this/ one ignites, with that persistent white soulfire-- and if it hits to stun K', the blond will follow it through with another, twisting more rapidly into two more spinning kicks that will lift he, and most likely his opponent, into the air.
There's no time, no room to think anymore.
There's only the fight--
And the pure, unadulterated clash of souls.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits K' with Rising Fury.
[ \\\\\\\\\ < > ///// ]
Alma 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 K'
Many of NESTS's experiments find themselves stymied when denied their access to chi. Some even find themselves considerably hamstrung. Though K''s ability to fight isn't crippled by the absence of his fire, he is nonetheless as affected as his counterparts in that he is unnerved. He spends too much time grasping for the lost power, trying to regain enough stability to control it, and too little time defending.
Expecting at least one moment of reprieve in the wake of his strike, he is instead surprised when the other young man uses the momentum of it instead of being knocked back as originally intended. The immediate followup catches him and throws him back in the one moment he's open, the psychic energy further disrupting his mental equilibrium and his hold over the fire.
K' is quickly realizing that he's going to have to learn how to contend with these assaults upon the mind; especially now that he realizes he can no longer rely on his glove to continue operating his fire for him. While he's being attacked on this front, he can't gather the concentration necessary to use the flames. It's a weakness that can't be tolerated.
It's slow, but the fire soon returns from the momentary disruption they suffered earlier: albeit in the most uncontrolled of ways. Pain flickers down his nerves as fire flickers up his arm. He's expecting Alma to descend from his attack very close-- perhaps just in front of him-- and it's in that expectation that he strikes upwards suddenly, moving like a snake, absolutely no finesse in the way he seeks to slam all that lashing fire into his opponent.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Alma with Heat Drive.
[ \\ < > //// ]
Alma 1/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 K'
To the limit.
Both times that Alma has fought K', he has been at a psychological advantage-- an advantage he has sorely needed in the face of his erstwhile employee's superior raw power. Alma is well aware of this situation. In their first confrontation, K' was confused; confused by his homeless state and lack of direction, his uncertainty as to where to turn, and what could probably be described as a mingled suspicion and awe at Alma's own radiant eccentricity. Alma had conviction and K' lacked it; that decided their contest, and thanks to that twist of fate, he earned K''s grudging respect.
Now he has had the advantage the again-- but this fight is about not respect but trust. Trust, that K' is clearly demonstrating in him by allowing him to be the one to push his flame-wielding power; trust, that Alma is striving to his utmost to fulfill. For this ideal, Alma is just as motivated as before, if not even more so. And while K' struggles with his own constant agony, Alma plans and acts clear-headed and clear-eyed. Psychologically he has the advantage-- and he has conviction.
"Nnrghh--!"
But this time, K' has it too.
Perhaps it is because Alma's motivations are so pure, because victory here for him has nothing to do with who stands and who falls, that this explosive strike seems to come at him in slow-motion. His senses, though blurred from fatigue and overuse, convinced him that K' would fall from this last strike were it to connect; he was right that it would work, but wrong that it would end the conflict. This is no last gasp but a full-force assault-- and he can do nothing to stop it. The fist blazes towards him, a split-second that passes with aching slowness.
~ Incredible, K'. ~
Alma feels at peace.
Defenseless after his ascending kick, Alma can do nothing but take the blow, fire lashing into him relentlessly and causing him to spiral out of control, crushing him into a heap upon the ground. He rolls, but not out of his own volition so much as from sheer momentum, and seems to unfurl into some stumbling semblance of a crouch, though it's unnervingly unclear whether or not he's even still conscious: his eyes are closed and his arms are loosely akimbo.
~ You've really grown. ~
No more. His body can't take any more. That last rush after his shocking teleport was it. He's spent. The words echoing in his mind are the only ones he can hear; his brain is a void, a collapsing edifice into which the darkness quickly surges.
But his soul, it still burns--
"Gurrraahh!"
--just a little.
Just a little. With that little flame left, exploding into being to wreathe his fists with that new golden hue, white flames flickering laced with bright pinks and royal purples, Alma seems literally thrown towards K', made a projectile of some greater force...
COMBATSYS: Alma can no longer fight.
[ \\\\ <
K' 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits K' with Trial by Fire.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ <
K' 0/-------/----===|
A cascade of blows, soul aiming for soul. With the last of his spirit, seeing nothing but aura now, Alma's fists move seemingly of their own accord. He is off his feet, sailing toward K' limply, his eyes still closed, yet his arms blur with fire and motion, driving toward weaknesses in K''s defense as evidenced by his harried, fractured spirit-self. They strike vulnerable points with an accuracy and grace Alma would never manage with his own physical capacity.
This is purely the strength of Alma's soul.
By the time he is finished, Alma's strength will have already left him, his flames dying to wisps and then to nothing. He will simply fall forward, unable to even think of getting a footing again after that heedless lunge. If K' doesn't move, he'll doubtless fall right onto K''s chest.
But wherever he ends up, Alma will be smiling peacefully.
"...K'..."
And even though he can't see, he will assume K' is listening.
"...those flames... are yours..."
He made them his own.
"...nobody... else's..."
Does he just mean Igniz, or is he truly psychic?
"...but..."
Alma's final words are mere breaths.
"...not... everything... burns..."
He rests, at peace within the darkness that embraces him.
It's a common error. Many people have struck K' with the full expectation of being able to finish the fight with that blow... only to be surprised when the young man simply got back up and fought on. This is just one of the many striking differences between K' and his subsequent model, Kula Diamond. Where the latter was largely passive, preferring to sit down and give up if discouraged, K' was impossible to put down or stop until he was completely unconscious. Where the latter was docile and obedient, K' was intractable and fierce... swiftly receptive to new ideas, and yet simultaneously slow to let go of his own opinions and beliefs.
It is that refusal to stop until he is incapable of motion that keeps him moving. And it's that will that forces him to lash out like a snake, striking with sufficient force to knock Alma back across the roof. To reclaim some semblance of personal space.
But will can only carry a man so far. While K' sees the retaliation coming, registers it, has time enough to react... his body fails to obey the directives of his mind. That last series of attacks conclusively take what's left of K''s ability to fight. Stunned by the sudden chain of blows, he's forced several stumbling, reeling paces back. He startles visibly and noticeably when Alma falls against him, recoiling instinctively in alarm so fast that he buckles to the rooftop.
He retreats, leery of the contact, and pulls himself clear. But even as he does, he hears what Alma says.
His motions still. He sighs out a breath, and shuts his eyes. Letting his head hang tiredly, K' stays where he is. Sitting there quietly, Alma's quiet form several feet away, he makes no move to get up: and essays equally little effort to make a reply. For even if Alma were able to hear him, what's going through his mind is still not anything he is ready or willing to discuss.
Log created on 02:12:05 11/08/2008 by K', and last modified on 21:00:14 12/06/2008.