Description: Everybody knows that Alma and Tran are Best Friends Forever, but can an Emperor of Muay Thai ever-replete with festering resentments tear them apart? Perhaps literally, with a firetruck. Will Adon avenge his previous humiliations? Will Alma overcome an unspeakable fashion tragedy [no spoilers] to finally figure out how to use psychic powers while incredibly drunk? Is Tran, in fact, invincible? /Did Sparky the Dalmatian survive the crash?/ There's only one way to find out: an epiclogue.
SOUTHTOWN, 4 AM
Dr. Richard Tran has no idea why he is here. In the chaotic vortex that is his brainmeats, he can faintly recall something about a crowd, and maybe some fighting, and something about fire, but after that it kind of gets extra blurry. He's pretty sure that alchohol was involved, though. Is involved, since he can barely put one foot in front of the other.
He's not sure why his companion is here, either. Again, there's the odd sense that he's missing something of vital import, like there's something /wrong/ with that fact, but Tran just can't pinpoint it.
"God, why do I even bother with you?" The words are surprisingly clear, considering how painfully pickled the doctor has been. "This is...this all just the same! And you never learn, and you never..." What, exactly, his friend never does is up to debate, since Tran finishes with a vague wave with his free hand; the one not tightly gripping his friend's shoulder, both to give and receive support in these trying times.
Stumbling through darkened streets, past the fallen streamers and banners announcing the culmination of Southtown's own charity tournament, the shouts of the tourist-fueled continued revelry fading in the distance, Alma Towazu savors the great and sweeping happiness that swells within his breast. Amidst him, the fruits of his and his closest allies' labor, the work of hope and faith and defiance; by his side, a dear friend and rival with whom he has finally been reunited, the bonds of seething spite and self-righteous denunciation and all good things in between living and true and experienced with unmitigated warmth within the noble psychic's heart. Yes, he is certain, there is no fate better than this. A triumph march into the distance, his arm about his friend and his friend's arm about him, a golden glow like the rising sun within his soul, within his very being--
"B- Because we're f-f-/friends/!"
--and afire within his veins.
"Traaaan, we're /friends/, Tran. We're b-b-b-bound together by d... by d-d-d-d... fate."
Yes, there is truly no more pleasant sensation than this: glorious v... vict... uh... winning.
The Totally Sloshed Angel of Southtown makes a truly awkward and comical sight, paired as he is with his shorter companion, leaning over at an exaggerated angle so as to support himself and looking as though he might simply collapse atop the other man at any moment. Few even remember the days when Alma struggled with his persistent stutter, his bearing with regard to his speech impediment, interrupting his most fervent efforts to articulate himself, often the surest example of his composure and dignity. It returns only very rarely.
"W-W-We both have s-s-something to learn from each other. T-T-That's what I think. And... and... furth.... fur... also... we're like... like /mirrors/, you know? We're like /mirrors/. For each other. S... so... so we know, when we go t-too f-f-far."
Dude, totally.
"It's... it's a b-b-beautiful thing, Tran!"
He too gestures with his free hand, passionately and, uh, convolutedly.
"But... n... no matter what, you know? You can count on m-me. Right? To... b-b-be what I am. B... because... world is crazy... umm... in a c-crazy world... you gotta have... compass... even if you... d-don't agree."
Alma seems to be losing his train of thought, but still, as they meander in what is generally a forward direction down the street, he forges on.
"B... because it's not like... /all/ I b-bring you is trouble."
The pair's becoming brotherly banter was suddenly underlined by a distant, drawn out siren. What one would associate with a police car, or maybe a fire truck. The siren seems a bit out of place, especially at 4 AM. But there it was, distant, and howling, and growing louder and louder by the second.
Suddenly, like a bat out of hell, a screaming, flashing firetruck turns around the corner, entering the street with a screech. The wheels spin out, and burn out as the truck accelerates again. In the darkness of the witching hour, in the haze of a few too many, Tran and Alma might see who, or rather, what was sitting in the driver's seat. He had tried to ambush Alma before, but that only ended with a chance run in with the one mayer of Metro City. He had fought him before that, and before that, both times leaving him humiliated with failure... and defeat. But this time, the Emperor of Muay Thai had a tactic that could not fail. He had been driving around Southtown for several hours now, sirens blazing. The fire department had not noticed the truck has been stolen. And now, his eyes bleary from the relentless driving, he had found his prey.
Adon smiled.
"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGAAAA!" Came the scream, piercing higher and louder than the blaring sirens of the firetruck. The vehicle speed forward, moving faster and faster towards Alma and Tran. There was nothing subtle about it. There was nothing stealthy about it. It was Adon coming out of nowhere in a loud, brightly-painted automobile, and was now upon the two drunk... frenemies. Slamming down the brake and the emergency brake, Adon turns hard, attempting to sweep the trunk gracefully into Alma and the not-Alma. But as he turns, the truck begins to roll, tumbling and scraping as it barrels towards Tran.... and Alma. Hopefully, they won't be...
Firestruck.
COMBATSYS: Adon has started a fight here on the right meter side.
> //////////////////////////////]
|-------\-------\0 Adon
COMBATSYS: Tran has joined the fight here in the center.
> //////////////////////////////]
|-------\-------\0 Adon
[ |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|-------
COMBATSYS: Alma has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Adon
[ |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|-------
COMBATSYS: Adon successfully hits Tran with Huge Random Weapon.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Adon
[ |||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|--=====
"Oh my god what is wrong with you why are you still talking." Clearly, being drunk has immensely improved the doctor's mood, since he's only telling Alma to shut up instead of trying to beat Southtown's favorite bachelor to death with his own limbs.
"Who even bothers with compasses, these days it's all GPS! This is...this is what you /get/." Tran pauses to collect himself, an effort doomed from the start, but pushes on headlong as he has been known to do on occasion. "For...for living in the past?" Whatever, it doesn't matter.
And then Tran stops, squinting ahead. "Hey, do you hear something? Like a...a baby jackal in an exploding hot rod?" He pushes off of Alma, turning around to look for the mystery noise, presenting a fine target for the firetruck. He intently scans the complete opposite direction, eyes asquint, lips pursed.
Then he gets nailed, the impact sending him hurtling through the air, limbs splayed wildly, tumbling over and over the asphalt like a ragdoll. Finally, Tran comes to a halt, an impressive distance away. He coughs, then strains to lift an arm, pointing it accusingly back in the direction he thinks he just came from, and bellows not at the firetruck, but at Alma.
"HOW DO YOU DO THAT."
COMBATSYS: Tran gains composure.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|---====
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Huge Random Weapon from Adon with Blaze of Glory.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 0/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|---====
Moral GPS? Alma's mind has just been blown.
But while he is reeling from the shock of Tran's insight, he remains blissfully unconcerned about the intensifying siren, and this, ironically, turns out to be an advantage: for as Tran cranes to detect the source of this cacophony, Alma remains facing the correct direction.
"T... T... T-T-T-T-T-"
Wide-eyed in shock, a flood of adrenaline seeks to purge the alcohol from his veins. But it's no use: he can't get his mouth to shape the words in time. There is only one hope to save his friend-- and with the reckless courage that makes him such an irritant to said friend, given the disastrous circumstances, he can only hope the collateral damage that will result will be minimal. Such as he is-- he must save Tran!
"TRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"
Finally, the word is ripped from his lips as he raises his free hand skyward, preparing to unleash a huge and mighty blade of flame that would carve through the truck itself, sending terrible sparks flying and both halves of the vehicle flipping wildly down the street, causing it to split down the middle and spare the two men standing in the middle of the street-- and most likely terribly injuring the driver.
Needless to say, this does not happen.
In fact, adrenaline is all well and good, but it is little condusive to psychic power functioning effectively. A few fitful sparks fly, and Alma only has time to glance up warily, lips pursed in thoughtful impassivity, as though instinctively reluctant, as a natural leader and bastion of confidence and inspirational charisma, to share his thoughts.
~ Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuu-- ~
And then he gets hit by a truck.
Twisting at an angle, he is flung against the wall, flying less far than Tran himself as he rolls to a faster halt in the gutter, emerging sputtering and covered with unappetizing sludge and yesterday's newspaper.
Damn, it didn't work. And Tran is frustrated too.
"I HAVE TO CONCENTRATE!" he shouts in reply, pointing at his still-sparking hand.
Alma greatly values communication between friends.
But what of the poor fireman in the truck? Is he alright!? Somehow still able to stand despite the debacle, Alma sways to his feet and staggers into the middle of the street, looking out after the finally still vehicle. "Are you alright!?" he shouts, as though /they/ were the one who'd just been hit by a truck and gotten their hair all messed up /god/ this takes him half an hour every morning.
The truck rolls across the street, tumbling with a flash of lights, sparks, and sirens. Catching Tran and Alma in the sneak attack, the firetruck finally rests on its side with a grinding scream. Scraping across the asphalt, the truck comes to a stop in the most bone-crushing way possible. The siren continues to howl. But where was... where was Adon?
"KYEEEEEEAAAAAAA!"
Oh there he was.
"SO! ALMA! We have MET AGAIN!" Came the cry as Adon emerges from the passenger side of the truck. Placing a foot on each side of the entrance, he balances, standing tall with his eyes burning with rage... and passion. Hands tightened into great meaty fists, his entire body tightened. Not even looking at Tran, his eyes remained fixated upon the one who had mocked him so. "I! The EMPEROR of MUAY THAI! Have finally FOUND YOU!" Jabbing a finger at the boy-man-child, he continues to bellow and howl. "You thought you were so clever, making it IMPOSSIBLE to FIND YOU by being a WANDERER! A WANDERING FOOL like the one named RYU! But like ALL WANDERERS, only the TRUE POWERS of MUAY THAI can track such a fool down! I knew the only WAY that I, ADON, the EMPEROR OF MUAY THAI could find you, by WANDERING! And then I WANDERED! I had WANDERED in a FIRETRUCK, for I knew what your true weakness was ONLY THE MOST UNEXPECTED of SURPRISES! Yes, ALL has COME to PLAN! THE FIRETRUCK! The AMBUSH! And above all... FINDING YOU!"
Adon drops down from the truck, landing with the grace of a jungle cat. Swaggering towards Alma with his eyes dead focused, he continued to NOT NOTICE TRAN. Tran was kinda like that one guy for Adon. He wasn't really important. I mean, hell, he didn't see him when he drove up. "And now, ALMA! COME! Put up your GUARD! It is time for a TRUE DUEL! A BATTLE... on the STREET! A STREET FIGHT! Between two.... STREET FIGHTERS! JAAAAAAAAGGGAAAAA!" The Emperor pounces, lunging towards Alma with both arms spread open, high above his head. Diving towards the bright one, Adon closes in. If he manages to make it to Alma, he will slam both of his elbow down, attempting to smash in Alma's own skull. That is, if he made it. Because Adon was not paying attention to the true maker. The true breaker. Tran. Alma's good friend. Already Tran was probably moving in to save Alma from the might of Adon.
... Aaaaaaany minute now.
Wh- Tran's eyes widen as he watches Alma in the aftermath, as he hears what the man is saying. Is...is that actually possible? It doesn't seem like it, but the power of the human mind is nothing if not ill-defined. There's only one possible conclusion to draw: Alma used his magic brain powers to summon a fire truck, for the sole purpose of ending their argument before he lost.
Look, it's late and he's drunk. Shut up.
Mind racing with the possibility, Tran doesn't even really hear Adon, or notice him, or anything. Who cares about some pathetic pawn, mentally compelled to crash a fire truck? Even if, judging by what is surely a foreign language he is speaking for all the sense it makes, this poor mook has been pulled from far off reaces? Just how far does Alma's influence extend?
It dawns on Tran that Alma could have been pulling strings and influencing events against him from across the world, and by god this /cannot/ be allowed.
"YOU BASTARD, I'LL KILL YOU!" Flinging himself into what is quickly becoming a fray, unmindful of the confusion he may cause, Tran makes to pummel Alma's skull into powder.
He sort of trips on the way, but his own skull should work just as well, right?
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Adon's Fierce Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 1/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|---====
COMBATSYS: Tran successfully hits Alma with Strong Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Alma 1/----===/=======|=------\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|---====
Oh, in the name of all that is righteous and true and well-groomed.
"YOU!"
It's /him/.
"Y-Y-Y..."
That /guy/.
"Y-Y-Y-Y-You..."
Alma Towazu, Derelicte model extraordinate, points at Adon, eyes blazing.
"You are a BAD MAN!"
All of Adon's outraged exposition is for naught in the face of Alma's uncharacteristically succinct and, let's face it, absolutely right-on denunciation. No, you know what, let's add to Adon's many sins and personal deformities. As Alma points, his gaze is directed to a small figure, whimpering, emerging from the wreckage of the firetruck: Sparky the Dalmatian, local mascot, who was peacefully napping inside the truck when it was so abominably appropriated by the anarchistic Adon. He limps, superficially injured on one leg, as he emerges from the sundered vehicle, evoking wholesome emotions from the studio audience.
"You..."
As Adon lunges, Alma's eyes widen-- and then narrow, his voice briefly steadying as his tone drops an octave and his stance shifts, a flash of light -- the light of justice, and also terrifying psychic destructiveness -- glimmering in his gaze.
"You are /adoninable/."
And then he hesitates, because he's pretty sure that was not what he meant to say, and thus has only time to mount a hasty block against Adon's vicious jagganaut rush. His reflexes, if not his frayed intuitions, save him-- but only from one of his assailants. He turns to mount a counterattack, and instead collides headfirst with Tran, forehead to forehead, sending him flailing and staggering back. But it's all the same in one respect: the attack that he had meant to respond with, a lance of pure soulfire, is struggling fitfully anyway, sparking and hissing and scattering ethereal fairy-dust everywhere. Confused on all levels, Alma shakes his hand out like a rag, trying to focus his energies, and launches them out in a wildly distorted dart instead: not as fast or as honed as usual, but streaking around at a bizarre angle that just might penetrate the furious Jaguar's defenses.
Either way, Alma, his back to the wall and hair a /mess/, takes a deep restorative breath and begins to wipe the mud from his hair and eyes, his instincts a tangle and his head pounding for-- all kinds of reasons.
COMBATSYS: Adon blocks Alma's Sacred Wave.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Alma 1/---====/=======|==-----\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|---====
"I am ADONINABLE?!?!?!"
The Emperor of Muay Thai erupts in pure, unadulterated outrage. "WHAT!? That is not even a REAL WORD!" After his attack is rebuffed, the Emperor's rage only boils over more. "If you were PURE, then why do YOU make PUNS!? I, ADON, find your PUNS to be AWFUL and a SIN AGAINST ALL OF MUAY THAI! I! ADON! THE EMPEROR OF MUAY THAI! Has passed JUDGEMENT!"
Bringing his arms up, the Emperor tenses up, his body turning into stone. The beam comes at a strange angle, but Adon was IN THE ZONE. Glaring at the lasers, he swings his arms into it. Deflecting the blast of energy, his feet dig into the ground, scaling back. It is only this time when he notices that Tran... exists. Yes. A mook. The perfect target.
"And HERE is your SENTENCE!" Diving forward, the Emperor attempts to grab the drunken nurse, much like he had grabbed MANY drunken nurses when he was in a body cast, thanks to Sagat. He would GRAB TRAN. And like so many thai nurses, he would HURL HIM into Alma, allowing his TINY LADY BODY to COLLIDE with the BOY!
"TAKE THIS!"
COMBATSYS: Adon successfully hits Tran with Medium Throw.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Alma 1/---====/=======|===----\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 1|-----==|=======
Dr. Tran has the manliest tiny lady body known to man. This is science. /SCIENCE/. And he will fight anybody who says otherwise. Also people who will agree. Also Alma. Also Adon. Especially Adon, because somebody is getting a little bit /grabby/.
Which is to say, he is grabbing Tran's parts and throwing him and suddenly the doctor has once again turned into a ragdoll, spiralling completely out of control, up, up and away like some kind of tiny Asian Superman.
Like, /really high/. It's a little bit absurd, until Tran smacks into a wall and then slumps down to the ground, headfirst. Then it's more absurd, and he can barely manage to stand. We're talking even closer to the edge, here. And he's /double-pissed/, now.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK"
With a hearty battle cry, Tran leaps back into action, straight toward Adon's neck like a frenzied vampire monkey, looking to wrap a small, surprisingly muscular arm around it. And if he gets a hold, he'll bear the bigger man down a way, and then bump hips as hard as he can. /Repeatedly/. /Into things/.
Like that garbage can. And that street light. And the fire truck. And the dalmation. And the drunken bystander. Or is that Alma? Whatever. IT'S A LOT OF STUFF.
Alma, having been backed against the wall himself, dodges the hurled Tran in the nick of time, insofar as he accidentally staggers out of the way, cradling his aching head in his hands.
"...Urrgghhh..."
This lack of access to Soul Power is making him sick with frustration.
But he must contain himself, for the sake of justice and Tran's dignity and Sparky the Dalmation. He must preservere, for the honor of the YFCC and for love of truth and so as to maybe recoup the cost of repairing his office window. Adon!!!!
"ADOOOOOOOON!!"
Yes, that's his name. Roaring with a fury that would be truly splendid to behold if Alma's face did not look like a damp yellow cat sitting on a brass lamp -- a /very expensive/ lamp -- the Divine Diviner surges toward his adversary with all the clarity and intensity he can muster, at least for the time it takes him to lunge into the air and spiral into a surprisingly graceful kick, which in fact only happens because he torques too early and in fact intended to feint a kick and chop instead. It's /okay/, because maybe if Tran connects or distracts Adon sufficiently, Alma can follow through with his flying kick and twist into a fierce elbow drop, aiming to bring the pretender to the Muay Thai throne down with him.
COMBATSYS: Adon endures Tran's Dr. Tran's Peanut Butter Hula Quest EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Alma 1/---====/=======|=====--\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|----===
COMBATSYS: Adon interrupts Light Kick from Alma with Jaguar Throw.
~ Cruel hit! ~
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|======-\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|----===
This was not the first time that Adon as endured the righteous drunken flurry of a lady-boy giving all he has against him. Especially with the bumping hips. After chucking the good doctor, the emperor of Muay Thai was tensing up tightly. "KYA HAA HAA! Your THRUSTING is NOTHING to the EMPEROR of MUAY THAI!" Standing tall, he just lets him hump him. And when Adon was done, he will simply toss Tran away. Like a used tissue.
Just like what Tran deserves.
No, Adon was more focused on another target. With Tran's majestic hammering starting to cause significant bruising, the Emperor was directing his attention to Alma. There was no Sparky. There was nothing except the pretty boy. He was not looking at Alma, though. He was watching Tran, letting him ram against him. He lowered down... and as Alma moved in with his grace, and his shouting.... Adon leapt.
And he clutched the pretty man-child.
Taking the kick hard in the torso, the emperor's rock-solid body took it hard. The emperor's wild eyes were burning, like a tiger, like a madman, like a fire. Tightening his grip like a pair of vices, Adon held Alma. "No, Alma. You have deserved this for TOO LONG. YOU! Have embarrassed ME! The EMPEROR of MUAY THAI! DISGRACED ME! And for that... it is time to collect my due. You will know AGONY. You will KNOW PAIN. And now..." Adon suddenly releases one of the hands, and there is a blur of steel. Of plastic. And the sound of metal scraping against metal.
"THE JAGUAR HAS STRUCK!"
Adon hurls Alma away, across the street, into another far building. Both Tran (who was probably going at it, the little trooper) and Alma were being treated as nothing more than TOYS to the EMPEROR. Of course, Adon had practice, using his great harem of Muay Thai beauties to dress as Alma, so he can throw them about. But the Emperor's grin was something far greater than pure indulgence of pain. As Tran continues his assault on the large, black welt on Adon's body, the Emperor raises up both of his hands. One of them bore a pair of scissors, much like what one would find in a barbershop. The other one was clenched into a tight fist. With a leer that would make even Akuma tremble, the emperor opens the clenched hand.
A fistful of feathery, strawberry blond hair gracefully drifts to the asphalt.
Dr. Tran, definately a doctor and implacable enemy of sorcerers the world over, mentally places another category on the list of people he wishes he could just hate to death. Emperors.
/Especially/ emperors who are too dumb to shut their god damn mouths and give him a moment's peace. They're like kings, or presidents from tiny tropical nations that have never had a straight election in their entire history. The biggest egos you'll ever find, barring a different category on the list, which of course is just Alma.
"WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING, GOD, DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF?" Having finished smacking his hip into the bigger man in a /strictly/ platonic fashion, Tran just takes a step back, unaware of the tragedy(?) that has just occured, instead choosing to collect himself and also keep bitching.
"I mean, seriously! SERIOUSLY. You're just shouting random words! They don't make any sense, have you heard of context? I mean, don't get me wrong, if anybody deserves what you might be talking about and who knows for sure because you are COMPLETELY RETARDED, it's that fairy over there, but come on, go take a class or something, or better yet run off into the mountains and take an oath of silence because I SWEAR."
Tran kind of keeps going on like that for a while, the air around him wavering like he's a highway on a blazing hot summer day, distorting around him with the invisible passage of power.
COMBATSYS: Tran gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|======-\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|=======
Something is missing.
Something important.
Getting hurled from the sky would not be enough to quench the flames burning within him, to soothe the heat of the alcohol still coursing through his veins. But a chill spreads throughout Alma's beautiful body, even as the chill water of the gutter further soaks his irrevocably stained (and still somewhat charred from before) clothes-- and a chill wind blows atop his head.
Slumped upon his knees, he raises a trembling hand to his head.
It's not all gone, of course. But a significant chunk, awkwardly removed from the side of his head, is clearly missing. Alma's face is not obscured-- but his expression may give little satisfaction. It is flat, and empty, and inscrutible.
Vanity is not the issue here: a carefully cultivated personal style being undermined and ruined by one man's jealousy, however, cuts to Alma's heart, and that of course is the problem, which is very profound and has absolutely nothing to do with petty concerns. No, this is a very /deep/ and /nuanced/ attachment to hair; in fact, probably too deep for you to understand. The point is that Alma does not explode into rage-- rather, he is struck by the overwhelming problem that this may have created for him vis a vis self expression, a yawning chasm opening up beneath him, much akin to the chasm now on his head.
Taking deep breaths, Alma closes his eyes, finally beginning to feel the effects of a night of drinking and a day of fighting begin to fade in the face of this incredible dilemma. He lets Tran do the talking for him, and slowly rises to his feet, doing his utmost to open his heart to the tragic reality that has been thrust upon him-- for he cannot continue until he does.
Staring into the distance, still inscrutible, Alma remains silent, contemplative.
COMBATSYS: Alma opens his heart to the flow of battle.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Alma 1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0 Adon
[ ||||||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|=======
Adon, being as good as a speaker as he is a listener, finally looks at the man who had been beating him so. "YES! Why does, YOUR GOD, ADON! THE GOD EMPEROR OF MUAY THAI! Speak?!" The Emperor glances from the still screaming Tran to Alma, and he sneers. Alma was broken. The blow had cut to the bone. Adon had delievered the grandest of insults. And with that, he tilts his head back and cackles, throwing the scissors to the grounds.
"KYA HA HA HAAA!"
"I have WON, ALMA!" Adon erupts, standing tall. "You STUPID BOY! You are STUPID FOREVER! As the EMPEROR of MUAY THAI, I only KNOW how foolish you are! I have won by PURE POWER ALONE! And CUNNING! You, Alma, and your DREAMS. You DESIRES. YOUR HOPES!?!?! " Adon sweeps his hands. "They are NOTHING to the PURE MIGHT of MUAY THAI! And now..." Adon turned his eyes to Tran.
"To destroy your friends!"
As Tran finishes his own shouting (yes, Adon and Tran were shouting at the same time), Adon suddenly snaps, his leg whipping around into a powerful, straight kick. His entire body was whirling into this single, powerful blow, attempting to not only break Tran in half, but to cause him to completely explode.
"JAAAAAGGGAAAAA!"
COMBATSYS: Tran effortlessly blocks Adon's Strong Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Alma 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\0 Adon
[ |||||||||||||| ]
Tran 1|-----==|=======
It is painful. Physically painful. Alma's over there in la-la land doing who the hell knows what, and this shrill, screaming /jerkwad/ just won't shut up. It is infuriating, an assault against everything decent and upstanding and probably a bunch of stuff that isn't. At this point, Dr. Tran is willing to claim that Adon is the enemy of everything, by dint of his voice alone.
Hell, in comparison, it's easy to deal with a simple kick. Not even looking at Adon, Tran turns to Alma, pointing with one hand while absorbing the impressive brunt of the Emperor of Muay Thai's might with the other. "God damn it, GOD DAMN IT. I can't take this anymore! I CAN'T TAKE IT." Shoving off, Tran hops away, toward Alma, beckoning for him. "Alma, you stupid son of a bitch, stop gawking and help me do something about this!"
Summoning up what energy he can, Dr. Tran's very body begins to waver, as steam begins rising off of him in copious amounts. It's thick, it's heavy, it's downright oppressive. And it's taking shape; still indistinct, but there's the impression, the suggestion of a great, serpentine head, maw open and screaming.
And then it splits into three indentical copies of itself, each of which wavers dangerously. "Pick up some of the slack, I can't handle all of this myself, jackass!"
Alma blinks.
Through the hole in his heart, a voice calls.
"...Tran...?"
And his fighting spirit, stilled in mourning for his loss--
"...I see..."
--stirs once more within him.
That's right. The shock of this unspeakable tragedy -- let's not even mention it again -- stunned him too utterly for words. Yet no individual loss -- of his voice, or even his ability to fight, or even, no I can barely say it, his beautiful face -- no matter how often or naturally he relies upon it as a medium for sharing himself with the world, will preclude his ability to do so. Insofar as he is human, he will find means toward sincerity-- not because he can, but because he must-- because that inextricable intertwining is the essence of the human condition as he understands it.
Plus, just think what exciting changes to his style he'll have to make.
Tran's deep sentiments -- or the deep sentiments that Alma projects onto Tran's words, same difference -- move Towazu, and once more he turns his gaze back to the fight, in time to see, most impressively, Tran deflect Adon's attack through raw prodigal ability. That sea of flame within him reignites-- and with it, for once, finally, the channel of Soul Power within him seems to open in entirety.
His friend calls for him.
Actually for real calls for him this time. Not just a miscommunication like all the other times. Just so we're clear on that. This should be saved for posterity.
"...Of course!"
Thus does Alma leap into action: quite literally, a smile growing upon his features, for while his bizarre haircut can mar his style, nothing can drown out the light of passion in his eyes and the presence he exudes as his unassailable certainty returns to him. But this is all well and good. What may be the worse for Adon is not that the splitting steam dragons shrouding the powering-up Tran engulf Alma as he leaps, that the light summoned within his eyes channels through his spread arms into the steam, making of them sparkling constellations; no, not even that Alma carries them with him, the three dancing illusions receiving the very fullness of his being as Soul Power suffuses them, roaring dragon heads rising from each arm with the middle seeming to emerge from his chest, nor that as he descends the three of them lash out as one, two seeking to chomp down on each of Adon's legs with scalding steam and psychic fury while the middle plunges down to swallow him whole, encompassing his entire body and immersing him in a storm of Alma and Tran's combined energies -- no, nor /even/ that if this is accomplished, Alma's descent will finish with a final blow of concentrated Soul Power directly to Adon's head, plunging a central core of white-hot energy into the tempest already upon the unfortunate Emperor.
He'll probably get over that.
No, the worst thing...
Is that Alma, you know, kind of looks okay like this. Like, you know, it's this post-punk, rakish look. Like, not exactly your typical Japanese hipster, and all that trash on him is a strange choice, but I mean, it's totally, like, fresh, you know? Like, he knows what he's doing.
Is it the way he stands? The way he moves? The look in his eyes?
Subtle, passive psychic manipulation?
If any despair sets in upon Adon, it may be from the realization--
That it is impossible for Alma to ever, truly, look bad.
COMBATSYS: Tran and Alma successfully hit Adon with Illusion of Drunken Dragon.
Glancing Blow
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Adon
[ |||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|-------
What do you mean he can't ever look bad?
Adon does not conceive of this post-punk japo-trash look. Hell, he doesn't even understand Gackt! The only Gackt he can understand is what those damn kids on their Nickelodeon do! "GGGRAAAAH!" Was the scream as Adon slammed his larges- NO! His *second* largest limb- into the Tran. And he simply watched it get effortlessly blocked.
But then they team up.
Adon is left to handle a team-assault of only the most vicious that both could muster. Alma had somehow recovered, and the loud one was somehow RESISTING his TRUE GOD! But the snakes and the energy and the power.... Adon could have tried to block. But he didn't. Instead, he tried to parry.
The defense holds itself steady at the first pass. When the steam comes, he tries to deflect the illusions with his arms and legs, forcing them to only graze him. It was when the Alma's power comes to surface that the imperfect defenses began to reveal themselves. Adon could not hold up the defense when the middle one goes for the strike. Adon tenses up as the bite lands, and he is stunned. But not long enough. As Alma comes in for the final blow... Adon suddenly flexes. And with a scream, he explodes.
"JAAAAAAAGGA!"
Flipping over Alma's charging blow, Adon rights himself up, his right leg, the second longest limb, flinging high in the air. His body seizing up in raw power, Adon's heel wreaths itself in raw, orange chi. The Emperor's body was burning, and his body was like raw lobster quite cooked, in both the physical sense, and in the lobster sense. "YOU! ALMA! You cannot look GORGEOUS with your HAIR CUT like THAT! YOU CANNOT! I! ADON! THE EMPEROR OF MUAY THAI! ORDER YOU TO STOP BEING SO SEXY!" And with another scream, he hurls his leg down, attempting to drive it right into the skull of the now grunge-pop-hipster Alma.
"JAAAAAAGGGA KEEK!"
There's a sound like leaking air. A persistant 'Fffffffffffffffff', which is quickly revealed to be coming from Tran after Alma fucks everything up. "ffffFFFFFFFFUCK!"
"What the hell? What are you even doing? That was supposed to be...rrrrrgh!" Frustration running rampant across his features, Tran steams impotently for a minute, in a considerably less literal sense than usual. At last, though, he seems to come to a conclusion.
"Did you balance get thrown off? Is that it? Do I have to do this myself? I do, don't I. Well fine. Fine! See if I don't, then. Asshole." And with a mighty sprint and an equally mighty leap, Tran takes to the air to intercept the Emperor of Muay Thai. In the chest. With a dropkick. And then land on him. And then jump up and land on him again, just to make sure Adon knows he means business.
Dr. Tran says, "JAAAAAAAGGA!""
Dr. Tran says, "JAAAAAAGGGA KEEK!""
COMBATSYS: Adon successfully hits Alma with Jaguar Kick.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-======|=======\===----\1 Adon
[ ||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|-------
What the hell /is/ Alma doing? Getting kicked in the face, that's what.
Adon pursues an impossible victory, but that does not mean he cannot kick some people in the face in the process. Alma is unable to direct the entire force of Tran's chi squarely past Adon's defenses, and the screeching Emperor explodes through his final assault, catching the disheveled model unawares -- it does not help that neither Adon /nor/ Tran will /stop shouting/ at him for /one second/ -- with a mighty blow that sends him spiralling back to crash painfully upon the asphalt, rolling until he slams, to some relief, into a spare firetruck tire that had rolled into proximity.
Gracelessly he rises, staggering obviously as he does so -- he's up to the equivalent of about three firetruck impacts right now -- but Alma rises nonetheless, his hair, well, impossible to muss now that it is in a state of permanent muss, this new style evidence perhaps of a heel turn (??). None may say, for heroism has nothing to do with what follows: sheer willpower grants him the initiative necessary to wordlessly follow up on Tran's strike.
From Tran's own perspective, he may be doing everything himself. But it will not hurt that, as Alma's fist meets the ground, a streak of light carves its way in an arc along the street to quickly find a position opposite the direction of Tran's assault, only to erupt into a cataclysmic geyser of scintillating Soul Power to engulf Adon from behind, demanding a quick response lest he be overwhelmed by Alma's apparently still-burgeoning psychic energies-- distracting, perhaps, from Tran's serious dropkick extravaganza.
"UUUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"
And that's all he has to say to that.
COMBATSYS: Adon dodges Tran's Dr. Tran's Summer Splash.
[ \\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Alma 0/-------/-----==|=======\===----\1 Adon
[ ||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|------=
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Adon with Full Confession.
[ \\\\\\ < > ///// ]
Alma 0/-------/-----==|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Adon
[ ||||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|------=
Tran is hardly even noticed by Adon. He simply weaves out of the way of the eternally frusterated one, allowing him to land on the ground a good distance away. Adon, on the other hand, was focused upon the blast of energy. Adon's foot struck Alma with a powerful, reeling blow. Adon was now in the prime position. Alma was weak. All the Emperor had to do was pounce. Ready to evade the blast, Adon charged Alma, only tumbling away at the last moment-
Oh, wait, he just missed that last moment.
The beam sucks up Adon, burning him to his very psychic bearing. His nerves grew numb, his senses were replaced with... nothingness. The blast carries the Emperor back, and smashing into the wall of the nearby building. And quietly, the Emperor laid down. It was over. Alma could rest assure that Adon was down for the count. He would not be coming back up, attempting a ruthless sneak attack, designed to take Alma off guard. Such an action would be tasteless, cruel, and above all, dishonorable.
But Alma should know Adon better than that.
"JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJAAAAAAAAGGGAAAAAAAA!!!" Was the scream and the explosion as Adon erupts from his unconsciousness. There was something unholy coming from the Emperor now. Pure, unbridled, distilled spite, the strongest force hidden deep inside the Emperor was coming to the full head. Spite against Alma, and maybe against Tran, even though he is a pretty cool guy to Adon. If he only practiced more Muay Thai. Yes, he would fit right in with his ladyboys.
Adon lunged for Alma, and began to attack. The eight limbs of Muay Thai came down, the fists, the kicks, the knees, and the elbows. Adon's entire body was aflame with chi, bringing upon all his spirit into Alma. He was going to tear Alma apart, and he was focused on only one point: The same point he had struck before. The head.
He was going to make Alma ugly.
He was going to drive him back into the wall of the turned-over truck. And once he had him there, he would keep striking him, literally and metaphorically dribbling him against the truck. As the frantic frenzy of blows died down, Adon slowed, beginning to waver. His senses were shot, his spirit released, his spite fulfilled. Adon stumbled to the side, falling over...
Adon suddenly slams his foot down on the ground. With a slow, spider-like movement, he rises up. His shoulders straighten out. And gingerly, he turns around, to gaze at Tran.
He is grinning, fiercely.
Woosh. That is the sound of Dr. Richard Tran, human missile, soaring past his intended target. Thankfully, even without someone to knock the hell over, he manages to land somewhat gracefully, like a cat except more asian and probably more intoxicated.
But, on the plus side...Adon's pretty much stopped talking. It's a god damn /blessing/. Sure, there was a jagga in there, and a shit-eating grin on the man's face, but the endless stream of crap spewing from his mouth seems to have finally dried up. It's a miracle, and Dr. Tran can feel his anger evaporating as though it were never there.
Of course, he's still going to try to mess Adon up, pretty much on principle. And who's to say the man won't start again? No, it's best to be safe, and in the best way Dr. Richard Tran knows. Heedless of Alma's fate, the doctor leaps into action again, getting right up in the Emperor's business, right up close, /so close/. And then he rips his shirt off as violently as violently as he possibly can.
This seemed like a better idea five seconds ago.
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Jaguar Thousand from Adon with Divine Intervention.
[ < > ]
Alma 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Adon
[ |||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|------=
COMBATSYS: Alma can no longer fight.
> ]
|=======\-------\0 Adon
[ |||||||||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|------=
Alma does know better than that.
It is all he can do to ward off Adon's final onslaught, and as the stream of relentless blows continue the Somewhat-Less-Radiant Angel is made well aware, through the haze of fatigue and pain, that the Emperor of Muay Thai, for all his own weariness, is still not finished yet-- that his defiance bears him on to greater heights. As hollow as the man's pride may be, shame and envy burn within him with all the brightness of a truer passion, and they fuel the hammer swings of his fists and feet. Thus is Alma unable to avoid being driven back even as he defends against a critical blow, pushed farther and farther until his back is against the fallen truck.
Yes, Adon's fury burns brightly-- well-- rather--
"HaaaaAAAAAAAH!"
--/almost/ as brightly as a truer passion.
For so long as Adon is thus motivated, he cannot understand that what he seeks is an impossibility. Not, of course, referring to the self-confidence of the truly great, or the dignity of one who does not rely on the praise or high regard of others to maintain feelings of self-worth. No: that beauty, true beauty, is eternal.
From which we may logically conclude that--
Alma's face is invincible.
Adon staggers as he launches a final epic blow-- and it is then that Alma acts, throwing himself into action with a fervor not yet displayed, an unbridled fury to overcome Adon's own-- and glowing eyes become suffused in a halo that encompasses his very head, a head that slams with a primordial defiance against Adon's own face, a savage collision completed by the eruption of a terrible beam of light that emerges from the impact, seeming to cut through Adon's own head as it shears the last of his fighting spirit to pieces. What I am trying to say is that
ALMA SHOOTS A LASER OUT OF HIS FACE
and only then reels back, eyes sparking as they close, and slumps against the back of the truck, sliding to a seated position before groaning softly, utterly exhausted--
"...Tr...Tran..."
--and beautiful, beautiful face intact.
COMBATSYS: Adon interrupts Dr. Tran Takes Off His Top from Tran with Rising Jaguar.
> ]
|=======\-------\1 Adon
[ |||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|-======
COMBATSYS: Adon can no longer fight.
[ |||||| ]
Tran 0|-------|-======
Invincible. Adon will never be graced with invincibility. He will forever be a footnote in history, underscoring the greater Sagat, and likely overscoring the greater emperor that will certainly follow him. A novelty. As Adon stands there, he is suddenly taken by a laser of powerful energy. After being so close to the brink... this blast knocks him over... and into Tran.
"J-J-JAGGA!"
Adon rockets straight up, hammering Tran's glistening, naked chest with a single, powerful knee. His momentum from Alma's blast carries him just enough to unleash another knee. However, the emperor is no long conscious as he unleashes the second knee. Adon falls like a ragdoll as he falls to the ground... collapsing in an ungraceful heap.
The Emperor was Fallen.
There's another hee-larious sound effect to accompany Adon's knee smashing into Dr. Tran's chin. Sort of a BAM, or maybe a POW, possible even a HOLY HELL MY MOUF. He might have been /aiming/ for the chest, but, well. Tran isn't what you might call 'tall'.
In the part of his brain that is completely sane at all times, even if it doesn't actually get to have a say in matters, Tran thinks to himself that he's going to need a good dentist later. This is immediately drowned out by the intense pain in his jaw and what he already suspects is a concussion.
Landing roughly on the pavement some distance away, Tran slowly pushes himself up, woozy, but still concious. Which is more than he can say for Adon, /thank god/. Staggering over to where Alma fell after a moment of confusion, Tran looks at his fallen frenemy, considering.
"You're going to pay for this," he solmenly states. Tran crouches down, reaching his fingers in to grab what hair of Alma's remains, still unmindful of what's been done to it already, and starts to drag the Trash-Smeared Angel away.
"With beer."
COMBATSYS: Tran has ended the fight here.
Log created on 19:57:51 02/16/2010 by Alma, and last modified on 22:58:40 02/21/2010.