Description: Six months ago, at the climax of the battle to free Southtown, Jiro Kasagi succumbed to his wounds -- and a part of Alma Towazu's heart retreated to join his friend in darkness. The YFCC, Rose's brainchild and Alma's responsibility and inheritance, has blossomed in the void left by Geese's fall, yet the Radiant Angel's once-inspired administration has faltered, and whispers tell the fledgling phoenix has lost his spark. But he is not alone: in this frozen city still scarred with debris, once vibrant dreams have faded, leaving only phantoms in their wake. Perhaps, then, it is up to a phantom to find Alma's lost dream, and resurrect it...
Viva la Bang says, "Finally we are along my dearest ravage victim."
Viva la Bang says, "I am pregnant with throat babies from last night."
Darkness long since settled here.
Plastic sheeting taps out a lonely tuneless beat against the smudged panes of a window overlooking a shadowed city and repairs half-complete and long-forgotten. Inside this dusty office nothing stirs, and even the wind outside is muted in the unnatural stillness of the connecting halls. Dusk has fallen, but a greater dusk still has fallen within these walls. It is as though no one has tread here in generations, leaving the eerie and solemn air of a temple consigned to nature and oblivion, air left unbreathed by man.
Yet this air was in fact stirred only hours ago -- in defiance of the leaden ambiance -- for this is the Young Fighters' Community Center, a bastion of order and beacon of hope in troubled times and home to a thriving group of those who strive to soothe the pain of this wounded city and its desperate inhabitants. Every day volunteers arrive and bring with them families and children in need of support and advice, and every day they serve with the passion and dignity that has been ever demanded of them. In the absence of greater forces, the YFCC has thus grown to a yet greater position of prominence, filling a void that eats away still at the heart of once-shining Southtown.
This success, however, emerges with no foe to contest it. Shadows gather in the corners of the halls, and whispers rise up in uncertainty. For the YFCC did not triumph due to its inherent power as an organization. The institution has ever relied on the strength of its luminary leadership, those who in their heroism inspired their peers and guided their followers to heights of excellence. For better or worse, the Center has ever been managed and cultivated by the mighty personalities that command it; deprived of these, it consumes itself from within. And as the sun sets outside a window long in need of cleaning, so a sun long ago set within these halls, and hid itself where none might find it--
In plain sight.
Shadows gather unseen, and whispers rise unheard -- by ears once among the keenest.
For Alma Towazu has been deafened by his burdens.
Deafened and laid low, low amidst the debris of a war that the people have tried to and cannot forget. Laid low atop his dusty desk, even the bright blond of his tousled locks turned gray in the filtered light, his head cradled in half-finished paperwork and his folded arms, where Alma sleeps like the dead -- like a machine with power cut. He works until he falls, and rests where he falls, and rises to work again. There is much work to be done. There always has been, and will continue to be in the face of the YFCC's nearly-finished restoration. And always he has managed to fulfill his role, in better times as well as worse.
But that window was never dirty before.
Alma has ever been a man of few and subtle requirements, but one of them has always been a window. He never speaks of it. He is not a man of the outdoors, and in fact is rarely inclined toward any one location over another; his lifestyle, like his philosophy, appears to transcend most personal boundaries and earthly limitations. Yet in every apartment, in every training ground -- not of course that you would not, not of course unless you were really looking -- Alma has always required a window, preferably a large one, and the architecture of the YFCC itself is given to grand windows, even though they seem to reveal only the desolation of a battered city. For though he radiates a formidable psychic and social presence, Alma's inner life has always sought to make a monk of him, and it is in his unusual (if not unlikely) growth into a quasi-political role that Alma has grown through a struggle against his own pseudo-saintly nature. Even feeling intimately his interdependence with his world, it is in the end a visual reminder -- for all of his psychic experiences, like his aura “sight”, are visual -- of the world outside his own that draws him forth. He has always needed that, his window, so that he does not forget that the world persists outside him.
But the window here appears long unused.
His subordinates have not seen him, only received his orders. They are as apt as ever, but without his presence seem no longer guided by the greater vision that his spark seemed always to imply. His allies has not heard of him, have received no response to any entreaty, as though he has been sleeping all this time.
Alma slumbers, but--
He has not dreamed in months.
There is nothing more to dream of, now.
Little boy, dream on, my little boy.
Dream on, my little boy, come on and let's have some joy! o/`
While Alma has underwent many times without a dream, this situation would be very different. Very different. From his mind was no longer the atmosphere of the Youth Center's library. No, this is the center of the psychic mindscape. The lost rift between reality and the other world. It is where the mind of the psychic escapes to. It is the well of power. However, this is a well of the shared power. The predominant color within this strange, misty world is purple. Purple and black mists intermingle together. This isn't the normal plane. One can call this the Dreamscape, where the mind drifts off into the imagination. However, this time, the imagination is within a nexus or limbo.
And Alma would turn upon this limbo. In the middle of the area, he will find himself in the middle of nowhere. Pretty much like Idaho. However, he can hear a song in the air. The song is a pure breeze of the wind instrument: The harmonica. The tune is a bit somber, considering the atmosphere. Yet, it is mystical in the ethereal sense.
The music stops.
"So... you are here too. Unsure of yourself. Unsure of anything. Maybe unsure of what you're fighting for, maybe unsure of what you want to do with yourself."
If Alma was to turn his head, he will see that there is a young man sitting on part of the landscape that would form to some substance similar to a rock, given the bulge. The attire is pretty more rougher than usual. The blond haired man is wearing a black vest with a pair of black cargo pants and some combat boots. The metallic gloves rest along his hands as he holds onto the harmonica.
Jiro looks at Alma. "...You know. I am dealing with the same thing." He muses, "How come you're in my dream, I don't know." He muses, "Maybe its our shared paths that we have. I wish I could say that I was hallucinating, but I remember rocks falling on me. Maybe it's because we are destined lovers."
Pause.
A laugh is roared out. "Ahahahahaha, /no/." He concludes before Alma has a chance to say anything in that regards.
"...Ah...?"
Alma's mouth is parched, as though he hasn't spoken in forever.
Startled, his head jerks up from a desk that is no longer there. Blinking wide-eyed, he leans back in a chair that has vanished, stumbling and collapsing comically back into the purplish mists. Batting long lashes, the young man once known as the Radiant Angel stares into an endless roiling limbo, half-propped against an unreality that only hints at substance. And yet amidst this chaos a shape has taken form, and a sweet sound has pierced the abyss. Gone is the tuneless tapping at his window, gone is a world enshrouded in shadow. For though this place is consumed, devoured by fog--
"...J..."
It seems brighter than the world from whence he came.
"...Ji..."
Still no words will come. The image of his friend calls out to him, but Alma can only gaze bright-eyed. As the words filtered through the dreamlike air, Alma lifts his bronzed hand in wonder, raising it to his eyes and turning it in wonder, as though he has not seen it in years. This hand once created; this hand once destroyed. Smoke from beneath him rises up to wreathe his fingers, Alma sees his own reflection in their gentle weave, and startles at how he appears: not worn from months of toil but bright and beautiful, as he once was, as he has always been, a sun undimmed by the blackness of space it dwells in.
This hand once burned.
"...Your... dream...?"
The power of speech returns, and with it a rush of memory: Alma too recalls the falling rocks. But grief has ravaged the youth too often and too thoroughly, and Alma is untouched by any further emotion. There is none of his usual restraint or resolve present in his self-control. Even in his current state, in awe, seemingly restored, his soul is drained of its usual vibrancy, of the breadth of its passion and compassion, that endless well within emptied, that sea of flame unburning even that which might touch his heart.
Alma rises slowly from the mist, soft-eyed and staring.
"...Jiro."
And then he smiles, that forgotten sign.
"...Heh heh..."
Chuckling gently at Jiro's final words, Alma tilts his head, but though his mirth seems real his eyes fail to warm, no fire within to heat them.
"How... are you?"
Your dream?
~ How can you be dreaming, Jiro? ~
Destiny?
~ And how has it been so long since I have...? ~
'How are you?'
"To be honest, I don't know anymore. I don't know how I am. I mean, I sacrificed myself to save someone, and I feel good about that. Unfortunately, I survived it." He looks at Alma for a few moments, slowly standing up at to look at the man. "Also, your thoughts are pretty much open in this area. I already tried thinking to myself as well."
Jiro's look becomes more somber. "I am still alive. I survived the crash." He smiles faintly, "Alma. It will take more than falling buildings to kill me." He shakes his head, "...Though, it would had been a nice death, considering." He shrugs, "A heroic way to die, even if the hero is forgotten about for the most part." He lifts his hands up. "...There's not much for me to go back to, you know. Jiro Kasagi is still wanted, so for the most part, he is better off dead." He grunts, "And I can't say that I care about trying to reclaim my name. It wasn't that good anyway."
He considers, "I sucked ass as an officer. I sucked ass as a boyfriend..." He shrugs, "...Only thing that I am good at is fighting. But it felt good being on an actual mission." He muses, "And I think dying in a mission would had been the best thing for me."
He looks at Alma, "...Be honest with me, and me honest with yourself. Your inner thoughts will come out otherwise." He pauses, "And how long has it been since you dreamed?" He lifts his shoulders up in a shrug, "Beats the fuck out of me."
"D-Don't..."
Emotion, long absent, flickers in the clarity of Alma's eyes.
"Don't say that!"
Swallowing, the young leader finds his throat remains dry, as though in defiance of his speech. He steps forever only to stumble slightly, his foot sinking briefly into the mist, but the moment passes and he rises again.
"Maybe you made mistakes," Alma says softly, "and maybe the enemies you made and the trouble that surrounded you pursued you in every endeavor. Maybe fighting /was/ your only talent, and rage your greatest strength. But, Jiro... you were..."
He swallows, again.
"...you /are/... a good friend."
Blinking, Alma trembles briefly, a surge of feeling through nerves decayed, a jolt that soon passes but leaves his body pained and tingling.
"My good friend. And you... you should live, not sleep forever."
Even if things seem somehow clearer here amidst the smoke; even if this world of dreams seems sharper and more true than the gray world in which Alma has found himself existing this last half-year.
"Dreamed...?"
~ You deserve to live. ~
"I... I don't know. I haven't thought about it."
~ If anyone doesn't deserve to live... ~
"I..."
Blinking quizzically, for a moment Alma averts his eyes, the beautiful young man glancing down into a swirling mist that affords, of course, no answers. When his gaze returns, it is no brighter than before.
"...I can't remember."
Swallowing, again. Why do his throat feel so dry, and his lungs so empty?
"I can't remember much of anything that's happened, since you..."
Falling silent, Alma awkwardly turns away, as though to survey the empty landscape about them, this unformed psychic landscape, this limbo that seems to beckon a will to shape it. But he has nothing to offer, and turns back still lost, no landmarks found.
"Since you... left."
Alma Towazu, incarnation of his philosophy, cannot seem to remember.
What is it has he been doing?
"I've been... no..."
Alma Towazu, moral compass, and center of world that has ever needed saving--
"...um..."
--has the eyes of the lost.
"...no, it's nothing."
Even his own feelings escape him, and if they didn't--
Somehow he doubts they would be worthy of discussion.
Alma's admonishment doesn't really earn much of a response. He does not glare or snap at him. His eyes are closed. There is a simple look on his face before he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "...Why not?" He asks. And then, Alma finally takes the moment to explain himself. While doing so, Jiro is taking a few steps towards Alma.
A smirk grows as he mentions a good friend. "...I suppose." Jiro shuts his eyes, turning his head away before he looks over at his friend once more. "...Well, I have no choice but to live, really. I mean... How would it look if I got killed by FALLING BUILDINGS?!" He snaps out, then he tsks. A hand is lifted up and he waggles a finger at that thought.
"No. I'll just have to have to have an epic death." He grins, then he looks at his friend, "But until then, I will do my damnest to make sure that I just keep on moving." He shrugs, "...Just not as Jiro Kasagi. He is dead."
And when he approaches Alma once more, he falls silent while he continues to move. So, his death has screwed up Alma for a long time, "You know, it would do you some good to forget about me and move on at some point. You shouldn'e be greiving like this."
And as Alma is lost once more. Jiro sighs...
A hand is lifted up and it strikes Alma right across the cheek with a pimpsmack.
"Out with it. I already said be honest."
...Then, he sighs, "...I guess there is only one way that we can be honest with each other."
COMBATSYS: Jiro has started a fight here.
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Jiro 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma has joined the fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Jiro
COMBATSYS: Jiro successfully hits Alma with Jab Punch.
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Alma 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Jiro
"Ha ha... right..."
Alma smiles again, though his humor is tainted by the helplessness in his eyes, a mute appeal staining his features unbeknownst to the man himself.
"There's no way... you could lose like that."
To be fair, saving a girl's life only to be crushed by the diabolical machine you've destroyed /is/ safely in epic territory, but Alma sees no reason to dwell on that. All he wants is for Jiro to be persuaded to return to him. All he can think of is that. Nothing stirring within him, it is all he can do to cling to the light of his friend. But his words must thus seem only hollow; there is no passion, only the need for the undefinable that he has lost. He feels nothing but that loss, and reacts to nothing else.
He was the light.
Always, he was the light that was there. In the end, Jiro fought every battle on his own two feet, survived every challenge directly. But in the deepest darkness, it was his rival and brother that never ceased in his loving vigilance. Two men, ever worlds apart, ever in their own ways both strays, hollow men. But both found cause to fill the voids within him, and both responded with urgency to a world that required their involvement and assistance, regardless of the difference of their responses. Both were men of conviction and, in their ways, integrity.
But the knots that tethered Alma's soul have loosened, and the personal relationships that he so caringly cultivated, that he fostered to the point that they would shine brightly even in the total darkness of absence, lost their luster, their visceral appeal.
Unable to resurrect those feelings--
Alma can remember nothing of himself.
And so there is no sense of purpose--
"Jiro, I..."
And so he has not taken a stand.
The blow takes him off his feet.
Instinctively, with reflexes worn by disuse, Alma braces himself against a strike he feels deep within his heart before he even sees the fluid blur. A spark arises in response to the coming strike, an auric shield he once used to face the darkness-- and, despite its long absence, it performs its function as well as ever. Alma relaxes his limbs even as he braces his body, set to endure the attack and react immediately, as has been practiced. Yet it is the ground beneath him that gives way-- it is the mists that part, revealing that he has no ground upon which to stand. Braced against nothing, Alma can only collapse in shock, falling into plumes of purplish smoke. He blinks, overwhelmed, and can only lift his hand to his cheek in bewilderment as the chaos swarms up to wreath him completely and obscure him from view.
Alma disappears, swallowed by the earth itself.
And the dreamworld is silent once more.
Silent as death--
"Uuurrraaaaaaaahhhhh!"
A silence shattered by a lone soul's indignation.
Alma knows not why he rises, why he gets to his feet in defiance of the power that felled him. But isn't that where it began? He recalls the vestiges of something long forgotten as the blood quickens in his veins. Defiance in the face of darkness. The willingness to live unconditionally, fundamentally without need of justification, your dignity and worth unquestionable.
"Jiro!"
Because you must. Because there's no other way.
"I... I will reclaim you from this world!"
Because you promised, Alma.
"And then... I'll tell you everything!"
Because--
"Because my passion... because..."
Alma's eyes are shining.
"True passion cannot be denied!"
Shining like an angel.
Because that is the only way for you to live, Alma, isn't it?
"Hhhhurrraahhh!"
With that faith.
The smoke around him brightens, and the chaos takes shape-- as his hand ignites, purple and black becoming white and pink with a scintillating, glittering light that has not been seen in ages, that has never penetrated this forgotten sanctum before.
The power to shape this world.
Soul Power.
His hand howls as he strikes, a lance of flame to cut through uncertainty and pierce Jiro's shadow-body, and the world around him sings and shudders, Alma's heartbeat resonating as the rhythm of battle, a rhythm long abandoned-- to a familiar tune that echoes in his ears.
The tune that Jiro had been playing.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Jiro with Self Expression.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Jiro
There is disappointment on Jiro's face when he finishes smacking Alma to the ground. The man stares at his fallen comrade, "Look at you. You've become pathetic." He grits his teeth, "You are alive. You have a lot of stuff going for you. You have everyone depending on you. Are you going to let them down just because one person is dead?!" He huffs, spitting towards the ground.
"Get up."
And when Alma gets up once more, the older man finally makes his proclamation to reclaim Jiro into the mortal world. Jiro offers a faint smile.
"...If you beat me, then I will return to the real world." He shuts his eyes, "If not. Goodbye. I'm going all out. Don't give me anything less."
Activating Combat Mode.
Condition: Beat Jiro Kasagi.
When Alma finally releases forth the lance of light, Jiro immediately takes his stance up, expanding his arms to take the incoming blow. However, when the blow comes forth, Jiro's teeth grits as the asundering pain tears against the ethereal body. "Eghnnn!" His teeth grits as the expression shows pain.
Then, Jiro walks towards Alma.
Step...
...Step...
...Step.
Jiro Kasagi comes forth towards Alma, aiming to launch his right hand out to deliver an uppercut at Alma's chin, then he launches an elbow out from the other arm to slam at Alma's gut.
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Medium Punch from Jiro with Divine Intervention EX.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Jiro
"Jiro!!"
There is no greater encouragement.
Alma's spear of soulfire slams into Jiro's form with the power to carve will from his very being, but still, with the enduring spirit of a fighter, Jiro steps forward, slowly and with dangerous intent. The deceptively steady pace of his adversary gives the angelic warrior time to prepare, and he marvels at these newfound reserves as he gathers them once again, remembering a power he has long since ceased to use or have cause to wield. It emerges unabated, buried but remaining, as though it has been awaiting this moment all along.
He senses the urge toward violence rise within his opponent.
And though he might respond any number of ways, it is his soul, deadened too long, that demands release. Arising unbidden, an appeal to the heavens -- to the principles for which he has always stood -- explodes forth against the opposition of his rival and best friend, seizing on this conflict and making of it perhaps simply an excuse to offer up a defiant spirit that has been too long smothered by the mundane.
"Uuurrrraaahh--"
Much too long.
"--uummphh!"
Alma parries the uppercut, as intended, and thrusts forward with a palm glimmering with radiant energy, a technique long practiced to a point beyond consciousness-- yet nothing emerges from his strike, a fizzled gasp that sends painful feedback biting into the recesses of his mind, flinching against his own unready art. Having achieved nothing except to prevent the first blow and daze himself, Alma makes himself vulnerable to the follow-up, and the elbow strike slams into his gut and sends him staggering to one knee, coughing violently as he lifts his blocking hand to cover his mouth.
"...Ghhh..."
But his hand still glows.
"...Jiro..."
And he rises undaunted, hazel eyes glinting with a still-rising light, shaking the damage and the cobwebs from a mind fogged by nihilism and a warrior's heart dulled by disuse.
"I won't lose!"
That radiant energy did not get a chance to make its mark on the young man. Far too long has it been since Alma has had his fighting spirit kindled. At the same time, so has Jiro. However, Jiro has spent his time mulling over his existance. The rage was lost, replaced with an introspective view. For the moment, Jiro felt that he was finished. He was at his peak. Everything was complete for him.
Jiro looks over towards Alma after the older man is now on a knee. Jiro stares down at alma as he finds himself trying to shake off the damage and the cobwebs. Jiro's gaze is hard, cold. Yet, not with malice. There is focused and intentions as Jiro approaches Alma.
"Show me that you won't lose, Alma. Show me that you have a fighting spirit left. Show me why..." Jiro shuts his eyes for a brief moment. Then he snaps them open as he bursts forward towards Alma. His left leg lifting up before he drives it straight towards Alma's face.
"...I should continue to fight when my end is finished?"
COMBATSYS: Jiro successfully hits Alma with Medium Kick.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Alma 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Jiro
The world defies Alma's will.
"Rrrghh!"
The phantom shapes here twist and turn, a roiling chaos that expands beyond the limits of the spiritualist's imagination. By nature he attempts to get a fix on his surroundings, to take in and process the ambient energies here-- yet in this dreamworld they are too vast to understand. He cannot consume a void; he cannot internalize that which itself subsumes everything. Submerged in the very essence of the passions he wields, Alma's weary soul struggles to master itself, and rekindle the energy that is the heart of his power and his awareness.
Flinching once more against his own futile struggles, Alma moves too slowly against a high kick that slams against his face, flinging the taller youth back and into the shadows to slam heavily onto an ethereal ground, purple smoke rising up once more like the soot of a long-unused hearth. He stumbles quickly from his prone position, refusing to stay down-- yet still he cannot seem to find his feet. If he cannot lie, and he cannot stand--
"Your story..."
What can he do?
"...is it finished?"
His blood gleams in the eerie umber-light.
"Even if one of us falls..."
Head lowered, still Alma gazes up through the shroud of his feathered locks, and his eyes gleam with unrelenting purpose, even if the psychic flame within them is flickering and unready.
"Our hearts are intertwined."
That light-- it demands to be released.
"Continue to fight, Jiro-- because I'm a part of you."
His body-- it trembles with the power.
"And you're a part of me. So as long as I continue to live--"
And it surges to his fist.
"So will you!"
Roaring out these words, defying the demands of life and death themselves, Alma punches down, unafraid of the instability of the false ground beneath him-- yet rather than disperse these unsteady mist, or send himself plummeting into infinity, the ground beneath him firms and solidifies with the fire he expresses, exploding out from his fist in a torrent that roils beneath his own feet.
"And as long as my fight continues--"
It is Alma's fight, of course, that has ceased these past months. Though Jiro has been the man comatose in reality, Alma's spirit followed him into slumber. The Radiant Angel's words are not for his friend alone. They are for himself, to remind him that his purpose has not died-- that it cannot, for it does not exist in isolation, for it is the shared purpose of so many--
"So too, by necessity... will yours!!"
The many people that he loves.
Erupting from the well of flame within and beneath him, a geyser of flame explodes forth, screaming out to consume Jiro in glittering, sworling light, as the reflections of that power bathe Alma in a luminesence that cloaks him in forgotten splendor.
This is it: the world that he forgot.
There it is: shining in his eyes.
This is home.
This is paradise.
COMBATSYS: Jiro endures Alma's Full Confession.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Jiro
Alma is knocked down. This is expected. Alma is on the ground, his will is once again curbed to the floor. Jiro is not expecting Alma to stay down, mind. The arms merely fold as he looks down at the fallen. His lips curl to a frown. He isn't ure what to make of this, other than it leaves him disappointed.
It is when Alma asks him an important question.
"...At this point, I am afraid so. There isn't much left for me, you know." Jiro shuts his eyes.
Hearts are intertwined. Jiro loks at Alma as the psychic flames manifest once more.
"...You and I have different goals, you know." He smirks, then he stares forth at the fighter as the power surges through his fist. Alma is charged and ready. What can Jiro do?
Step into the light.
As the Radiant Angel erupts the well of the flames from the ground, Jiro stops right into it and he finds himself enveloped by the flames. Both of the arms spread open while the lick of flames consume him. Tearing against the fabric of his reality and the form itself, Jiro is emerging from the flames in a cold, hard, dash straight towards Alma.
His body is already engulfed with the scarlet blaze. That blaze erupts around Jiro's body as the roaring blaze of scarlet death dance along him. And as Jiro steps close towards Alma....
"Destiny..."
A fist ends up emerging from the bottom end to strike Alma towards his gut. The flames are accompanying the power behind the strike.
"How amusing."
Then, the next strike is where a well of a storm approaches. Like a violent detonation, the left cross seeks to strike at Alma. That single strike will release a vicious detonation that explodes like wildfire.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Jiro's Scarlet Slaughter.
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Alma 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Jiro
A storm approaches.
Howling like a demon, a scarlet abomination emerges from the depths of this dreamworld, from the recesses of Alma's memories. Even as the thrill of his psychic release sends light through his veins, Alma feels the oppressive weight of the coming strike crushing down on him, threatening to drive him to the ground before the impact even occurs-- to smash his will like brittle iron upon the anvil of their sealed fate.
Amidst this typhoon, only one phrase escapes the flood.
"I know."
The wildfire hits, and the world is obliterated.
Alma's will had gathered the stuff of this place to a striking edge, forged of it a weapon, but had began the process of tearing it asunder. Now the purple fog within which they battle has heated into a seething hell, and it takes only this second explosion to rip it all away, like a curtain falling to blanket the stage-- instead of darkness, a bright whiteness that leaves nothing remaining, erasing everything in its path, smearing away their shared reality.
All of it--
"But it's alright."
Save one shining point.
The whiteness fades, and still this point shines. Look closer now; it is a pedestal, floating above the abyss, a pillar that extends seemingly into infinity. It is the ground upon which Alma stands; only it has endured devastation.
It expands now, reforming the banished chaos, a white platform spreading beneath them. Now they both stand upon it, a marbled background, and around them the nothingness becomes sky, beautiful endless sky above and about them. Clouds begin to form, but they are the gentle clouds of the heavens, and obscure nothing-- only beckon higher still, toward further greatness, above this arena of the gods.
Alma's dreams emerge, demanded as defense.
"Jiro!"
It's alright, that our goals are different. It's alright, that the notion of our destiny seems only absurd now, after everything that's happened. We've lived this life together. We've shared this world forever now. Nothing can tear us apart. Not your death--
"Prepare yourself!"
Not my despair.
With the will of a champion, Alma explodes forth from the ground that he has forged, leaving across an expanse of white marble to lash out at his rival with a blurring barrage of flame, a series of fire-wreathed punches and kicks that roar out in their glory, a relentless tide of passion born to wear down any guard, to cross any boundary.
Even that between dreams and waking--
"Uuuurrrraaaahhh!!"
Even that between life and death.
COMBATSYS: Jiro fails to counter Trial by Fire from Alma with Helldrive.
--* CATASTROPHIC FAILURE *-
>>> Punitive Hit!!! <<<
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Alma 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Jiro
COMBATSYS: Jiro can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Alma 0/-------/-------|
So, the setting changes. This is very interesting. It figures that Alma knew how to manipulate the atmosphere.
There was deep intentions to deal with this. Alma has said his peace. So did Jiro.
..Jiro is at the crossroad where he is under the decision of life and death. This battle is to decide if Jiro will continue to fight. And the man looks at Alma as he dashes off towards him. As he explodes from the ground Jiro's way, the Kasagi waits and he steps his right foot back.
He waits.
And then he takes the moment to step his right leg out. Both hands seek to grasp out at Alma's throat in order to catch him in a stranglehold. However, his intentions do not make fruitation as the initial punch his his head tilting over with a surprised, wide-eyed look. Then, the rest of the punches come forth to have his head turn side to side and then the kicks start having him hunched over.
The last kick has him sprawled out towards the ground, skidding against the white floor. And it is then that Jiro finds himself within the marbled area. "...I suppose there isn't much of a choice on the matter now." Jiro slowly stands up to his feet.
"...I will continue to fight..." He shifts his head over, leaning himself up to the point where he's sitting on his butt with both legs out. It is a better alternative to just lying on his back. "...I suppose I should wake up now."
Alma smiles.
Chest heaving, sweat running down his brow, the world about them begins to flicker as Alma's will unfocuses, yet the pedestal beneath them remains as solid as ever, as though there is no longer any threat of their collapse. "Jiro," he says softly, breathlessly, "you know I've... waited for your return."
His eyes are warm again, they way they couldn't have been before. But his expression remains gentle in the manner of a man humbled, the memory of his helplessness fresh, as he steps forward toward his fallen friend.
"But..."
He lowers himself to one knee, still breathing heavily, so that he might rest at the same level as Jiro, his rival and sworn brother.
"No matter what happens," he continues quietly, "your fight will live on with me. I... I won't forget my promise again. So... so you don't have anything to worry about, Jiro. Don't you worry about a thing. You do... whatever you need to do. And when you're ready to open your eyes again... whether that's today, or tomorrow, or years from now..."
Alma, voice steady, feels tears well about his brightened eyes.
"You'll be proud of what you see."
That warm smile flickers with the weight of the emotion rising behind it, but its sincerity shines on unabated, and Alma reaches out, unashamed of feelings long in coming.
"No matter how great the divide between us..."
He clasps Jiro's hand in his own.
"Your fight will live on through me..."
And, in that grasp, even in dreams, feels that invincible bond.
"Forever."
A moment passes, of shining light and perfect serenity.
And then the sky about them flickers and fuzzes again, and this time Alma blinks, stirred from his passions by the changing reality around them, as the once-fluffy clouds turn gray and begin to expand, begin to subsume this world in fog anew.
"Oh, right," he murmurs, as the blanket of colorless mist descends.
~ I'm dreaming. ~
COMBATSYS: Alma has ended the fight here.
"...Heh." Jiro shuts his eyes for a moment. He takes in the fact of his defeat. In a way, he is happy to be defeated. In a way, he finds himself bounded to his word. With this, the man shuts his eyes and he shrugs once more.
"...Good. You better not." Jiro snaps his eyes open, then he furrows his eyebrow. "Remember. ...Jiro Kasagi is dead to the public. I am sure that Adelheid has me safe, if he didn't bury me alive, that is." He shrugs, "Not that I'd care if he did." He furrows his eyebrow. He young man thinks it over.
"...I'm with Adelheid's organization and will continue to serve under it for as long as I am alive. It is something that I have left, after all." He grimaces, "...Man, this means I will have to take orders again." A sigh comes forth, then he looks at Alma when he takes his hand. "...Forever it is."
He laughs faintly.
Then... his body is slowly fading away. As it fades.... everything is slowly returning to normal. The white light is disappearing and Jiro is now gone. Alma will be awakening from his slumber.
Was it a dream? Or was it an out of body experience?
Forever it is.
The fog falls, and the light about him fades. But within, Alma can feel a light still shining, and the warmth of his friend's hand gentle upon his own.
A light...
A light is streaming from a broken window.
Dawn. Dawn has come.
Heat...
He can still feel heat upon his hand.
The heat of soulfire, flickering still upon his fist.
Blinking, Alma awakens, and realizes first that he is standing--
"...Guhh?"
--and second that there is no place left to sit.
Around him are the scars of battle. His desk is crushed, his papers scattered, some still smouldering from the punishment inflicted by psychic assaults. Against the wall and floor are heavy dents that are suspicious Alma-shaped, as though he had been hurled -- or had hurled himself -- against surfaces all about the room. And his chair, his favorite chair, is completely vanished.
"...Hmm."
Though that gaping hole in his shattered windowpane seems to be about the right size.
Blinking into the rising sun, facing the sunlight of a new day, Alma Towazu, with the professional composure and careful gaze he is known for, takes stock of his devastated surroundings as a crisp morning wind ruffles his hair, blowing through the remnants of the boundary between his world and the outdoors.
"Well..."
Unruffled, he reaches up to run a hand through his unkempt hair.
"That window needed washing anyway."
Log created on 22:16:34 12/06/2009 by Alma, and last modified on 20:49:10 12/12/2009.