Description: While traveling Europe, Rock encounters the young Alma Towazu; the two men, both looking for their reason to fight, decide to talk about it--with fists. It's an illuminating discussion.
The memories of the last few days are a little hazy.
Alma Towazu is unaccustomed to blackouts. His out-of-body experiences during the course of the Taizhou incident notwithstanding, the psychic tends to grasp hold of emotions and sensations and not let them go, such that even when the particulars of the past escape him, the smallest hint or clue will bring details flooding back. As it is, he cannot remember how he got to Croatia -- or rather, how he ended up washing up on the coast of Dubrovnik, staggering onto its white-sanded beaches flecked with foam and seaweed. He's pretty sure the last place he was at was Amsterdam.
He seems to recall a strange old man...
But nothing past that.
The last few days have been spent recuperating and replacing some of his lost belongings. The otherwise high-minded young man can't deny he bemoans the loss of some of his better-tailored outfits, but perhaps, he reflects, it is merely another sign he should return home. He hasn't lost his beat-up PDA, however, its odd technology seeming to render it immune to the raging elements. Sitting in a clean, snug white top and dark designer jeans, his black dress shoes repaired and polished, the Scarred Beauty of Southtown looks up at the city's beautiful red roofs above, seated upon a stone stairway hewn from the living rock that leads down from Dubrovnik's old quarter to its equally tourist-attracting beaches. The beaches from whence, like Venus, he arose.
He doesn't feel much desire to go swimming after all that.
Really, it's pure coincidence, Rock running into Alma here, after running into him--and Ash--in France. Adelheid gave the young Howard much to think about, and he's always felt better thinking on the go--something he picked up from Terry. There's nothing more relaxing to Rock than getting on a cycle, starting that purring engine, and going off into the sunset; when he's got things to worry over, it's how he does it best.
And Europe, really, is far kinder to the traveler than America is, much as he loves his home country. It's more packed--meaning, when he feels hungry, or needs some gas or drink, it's much more available to him than if he were, say, trekking the desolate Southwestern deserts of the US--a place he does love, when he wants pure solitude. But it's pure coincidence, as Rock walks on the beach, draining a bottle of water, stretching his legs after a long ride. He's touring Europe, in a minor way, not quite ready to go back to Southtown just yet...
Alma didn't want to go back to the beach, but--
"Rock!"
--a man of courage must have his priorities straight.
"Rock Howard!"
Smiling warmly, his mild expression lit up with habitually restrained pleasure, the Risen Phoenix is jogging down the stone steps, dark shoes kicking up white sand as he moves lightly toward his fighting acquaintance. The two blonds are framed against the sky and sea, the multicolored towels of the tourists and locals like scattered desert blossoms, their owners turning casually to gauge the two striking young men.
"We meet again. It must be fate."
Alma is grinning now, the ex-model tilting his head slightly as he raises a hand in greeting. Right, that was a joke; sometimes it's hard to tell. His sense of humor has been permanently corrupted by overexposure to Jiro Kasagi.
"What brings you to Croatia?" He pauses, then squints one eye closed in a kind of sheepish wink as he reaches up to rub the back of his head, running burnished-bronze fingers through his now short blond hair, rustling the reddish tinges of the bangs that brush his brow. "I ask, but I suppose I have no definite answer myself. Sparring Ash was... enlightening." Rock must have seen the whole fight. Alma can't forget it. "So I've been taking my time heading back to Southtown."
Briefly, his gaze wanders over to the sea. "I want to keep reminding myself of the many reasons why I fight, every chance that arises." He then glances back, hazel eyes soft, glimmering in the unoccluded sunlight. "And you? Are you headed back as well?"
The blond-haired, red-eyed young man looks up as his name is called; for a moment, even just a fraction of a moment, he tenses, preparing for a fight--but no, he just as instantly recognizes the voice. So he finishes his water, crumpling the plastic bottle and tossing it, without looking, into an oil-can trashbarrel, turning towards Alma.
"Towszu. Wasn't expecting to see you so soon after that fight with Crimson. I heard a little about what happened in China--" and the scars are obvious, too-- "but you seem to be in good shape, all things considered." His red-eyed gaze meets Alma's as he considers the questions, considers his answers. It's not like he's got a lot to hide--but he tries to word things carefully, when he can.
"Eh. I was in Finland for a fight with Adelheid Bernstein and his friend Ichiro Oe--teamed me up with that French chick, Shermie--and so I rented a bike to ride from port back down to France to take a plane back... but I decided to detour. Felt like riding around Europe a little more, s'all. See the sights." His conversation with Adelheid was already a reminder of why he fights--Geese Howard, dead? Rock doesn't believe it. He won't--can't--'til he sees it himself, preferably done by his own two hands--which clench briefly, at the thought. "Thinking about what to do with this invitation," he says, sliding the envelope out of his pocket.
"Thank you."
Alma Towazu nods, his expression becoming briefly solemn, if not grim. He feels in good shape, despite everything. There's quite a bit he does not feel prepared to speak of-- and perhaps that is the real reason, more than anything, that he knows himself to not yet be ready to return home. For once he does, some things cannot remain unsaid. Just a little longer-- this dabbling in wandering. A man with such a natural sense of purpose as he can delight in an excursion like this, and perhaps be reminded of his better self, of the Alma that endures unscarred.
His body is the least of Taizhou's tragedies.
"I admire that," he responds to Rock's comment about taking his time in Europe, though the psychic, via a faint twinge -- half in Rock's aura and half in his expression -- gets the impression the other youth has his own issues to contemplate, even if quite different from Alma's own. "Before my, er, hiatus from the YFCC," because what else can you call it, "I'd return home as soon as possible from every tour. I've no regrets about that now, and found it very fulfilling at the time, but--" His smile spreads into a grin again. "Living at this pace might actually suit me better."
His expression relaxes again at the mention of King of Fighters, and his gaze travels to the envelope in Rock's hand. "Yes," he murmured, "I imagine so. Even after challenging Ash, I remain uncertain of my own path. I think that upon my return to Southtown, I will have to make my decision. But I also think... I won't be certain of myself unless I keep pushing myself to the limit. I wouldn't have thought twice about it before, but... I think perhaps I've changed in important ways recently." Certainly physically, at least. "I want to make certain I know myself thoroughly before I continue any further."
A pause. The sand rustles in the breeze. The gentle sea, its aroma.
"Rock. Would you give me the honor of a bout with you?"
Alma is smiling slightly, but his eyes are serious as can be.
"I know you have the strength to compel the best from me."
"Living the easy life comes easier when what you do for a living is dangerous. I've heard it said that EMTs, special forces, nurses, doctors, airline attendants... people who dangerous and stressful things... they work hard, so they put as much effort into how they live. I wouldn't say that living at your own pace is necessarily an easy thing to do. There are always people who want to change that."
Something that the young man knows well. There have always been pressures on his life--good and bad, but pressure all the same. At the mention of a challenge of his skills, Rock's lips slowly turn upwards at the corners--a grin of half-feral anticipation and half genuine admiration for the scarred young man. "Well... since you're asking so nicely," he says, sardonically, tossing back the last of his drinks hurriedly before pitching the bottles.
"On the beach, then?" he asks, mildly, turning and walking from the softer, harder-to-walk-throuhg sand down towards the wetter, more-packed section of sand. It'd be a more appropriate place to stage a fight.
Alma blinks, the psychic seemingly startled by the comment.
"Not an easy thing to do..." he murmurs.
'There are always people who want to change that.'
It's not the perspective the Scarred Beauty of Southtown takes himself, but he could hardly fail to understand. There are always those who will get in your way. Those who will fear you, or resent you -- or just try to make you something you are not. Living life at your own pace -- for the past month, it has felt like a blessing, a gift. And Alma marveled that what seemed like a release of obligations, what felt like an abandonment of the responsibilities that he thought defined him to the point of undergirding his very fulfillment, was actually fulfilling, freeing, meaningful. But Rock is right. Living like this, setting one's own pace, allowing one to be carried by what appear to be the whims of fate--
"That's very true."
That's a responsibility in its own right.
Alma Towazu smiles as he follows Rock to a more packed section of sand, his eyes softening in contemplation as he inclines his head in assent. Because thinking about freedom itself as its own kind of responsibility-- actually makes him feel better about it.
"Thank you," he murmurs judiciously. He doesn't belabor the point. He has a feeling Rock is as interested as he is, in his own way. Rock Howard -- an interesting man, with a surely interesting past. What has the Radiant Angel been missing while he's been so tethered to his own intimate relationships, his own all-consuming concerns, the false image of his destiny that seemed to so naturally unfold? He's never concerned himself with such a question before; how fruitless, how trivial, to wonder what is outside one's own world, when one's world is already so full. And yet--
"I'm understanding myself better already," he says to himself, almost inaudibly.
How many great stories utterly divergent from his own have already been told, on the grand scale of this world's history? Now is the time to seek them out. Now is the time to know -- through the clash and the union of wills and souls.
"Now then..."
Breathing deeply of Dubrovnik's sea air, taking in the crash of the waves and the glimmer of the sun atop the pure white sand, Alma Towazu closes his eyes momentarily as his polished dress shoes dig into the packed earth at his feet, his stance shifting subtly and fluidly. The pulse of the world's about him is consumed and transformed by the passion within him, churning out that relentless force that fuels him -- a drive that remains utterly unabated, even when the man believes himself to be directionless.
"Please... hold nothing back."
His fellow fighter's words have stirred him. Already, he feels immersed in the flow of battle. Already, in the midst of immanent violence, Alma feels at peace -- and ready.
COMBATSYS: Alma has started a fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rock has joined the fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rock
COMBATSYS: Alma opens his heart to the flow of battle.
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Alma 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Rock
Rock, for his part, takes a different approach to fighting. Sure, every fight that isn't life and death--and, indeed, many that -are-, are opportunities to learn, to grow, to find understanding. But the very act of being proximate to violence itself does not necessarily lead Rock to a greater understanding. His understanding of the world is a flowing one that comes into sharpest focus when he fights; he doesn't look for a philosophical understanding, but lets it come to him. He turns to face Alma, Howard the younger performing a ritual of his own--unzipping the jacket, the sleeves, tightening the gloves he once received from Terry.
And he grins, goodnaturedly this time. "Hold back? I wasn't ever taught the meaning of those words." His grin opens a little wider, and he points at Alma with his left index finger. "I'm gonna take it to the limit!" he proclaims, his usual pre-fight declaration. And just like that, the fight is on.
On in earnest, as he wastes little time in opening up, shifting to an aggressive style immediately--booted feet kicking up chunky sprays of sand as he pushes off to get leverage, then seems to flow over the ground without touching it, leading with a hard, pointed left elbow aimed for Alma's sternum.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Rock's Aggressive Strike.
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Alma 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Rock
Just like that.
Alma senses the rush of aggression before it manifests as a physical act. His acuity is as refreshing as the breeze that ripples from the water, the purity that he has felt in moments during his wanderings manifesting for the first time in combat. His hands seem to rise of their own accord, parrying Rock's outthrust elbow, redirecting the momentum of the strike as the scarred blond's body shifts, turning in an instinctive effort to expose his opponent's unprotected side.
Against an opponent as straight-forward as this--
"Hmn!"
It's easy for Alma to be reminded why he fights. No matter how they differ.
Capitalizing on the motion from his own defense, he allows himself to be spun around as he rotates, bringing up his leg it what appears to be the beginning of a roundhouse kick to the back of Rock's head. Instead, however, even as that long limb is suffused in luminous white flame traced in its usual flamboyant tones, he kicks high and brings his leg down in /front/ of his passing adversary. The feint becomes a high leg-grapple, Alma twisting his entire body powerfully in an effort to hurl Rock to the ground with explosive force, striking will and body at once as to attempts to send the younger Howard hurtling to the pale sand.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Rock with Sea of Flame.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Rock
The sun's glare, flashing off a swell of the sea--the bright white of Alma's own soul--something makes Rock misjudge, and that powered leg takes him right over and down. He lands hard, breath gushing from an open mouth, but he reacts quickly enough, rolling with the impact, not to lessen the damage, but to maintain kinetic momentum, to allow him to rise to his feet without suffering an attack by the Fighting Angel that he cannot defend against.
Of course, he doesn't come up -just- ready to defend... he comes up ready to -retaliate-. Friendly spar or not, he's never one to take it easy on anyone or anything, and he isn't about to start now. But he doesn't close in; after popping up and back into his fighting stance, he hesitates for a moment, then draws his right hand back.
A twitch of the fingers, spreading them apart, and purple firewind fills that hand, streaming up around his fingers, until he sweeps the hand forward from the down position; the energy first trails from his fingers, then explodes up from the sand into a hissing projectile of power, eating its way across the sand towards Alma's legs and feet, announced by Rock's voice echoing through the air: "REPPUKEN!!"
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits Alma with Reppuken.
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Alma 1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Rock
The body has its limits, lest the soul disperse.
Alma Towazu broke through that barrier for the first time since his powers first came to him in the presence of Taizhou's gathered energies, and he never wants to return to the mad dream world to which his 'immortal' -- stripped, really -- self was sent. Having that knowledge, it is impossible to be dispirited by what comes. For though his heart is one with the battle, though he feels the flow of combat already, so early on, as intimately as he ever has -- the clarity of his mind and the purity of his heart seeming to know no bounds -- Rock Howard's recovery is swift and relentless. He can sense it, the Risen Phoenix can. He can sense the resilience of the will against which he has impacted. There is no way, sensitive as he is in this moment, not to feel it. Rock will rise again, immediately. But--
"Urgh!"
Alma, even knowing, is simply not quick enough.
It is a testament to the younger Howard's ability, pure and simple. The First Hero of Taizhou is already dodging, and still he cannot move fast enough, that rising burst slamming directly into one of the scarred beauty's legs and tearing him ferociously off the ground, sending his whole body spiralling to the sand. The airtime alone is enough to give Rock some breathing room.
Yet Alma, too, seems indefatigable -- if only because he is inspired by his adversary's tenacity. His own passion resonates with this opponent's; this too seems to blend with the spiritual reverberations of the battle's tempo. Alma's eyes flash with white fire, glittering with pinks and purples, as his fatigue drains away. Lashing out as quickly as he can, he kicks as he rises, pushing off the sand with his hands and continuing his body's spiral, converting what remains of that momentum into an aggressive counterattack, his dress shoes scything out in an attempt to quickly hammer Rock's body with two or three kicks as Alma surges to his feet.
COMBATSYS: Rock dodges Alma's Light Kick.
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Alma 1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Rock
For all that he hates his father--and be assured, Rock's feelings about his father are true and pure, in that sense--he has to admit that what he's been taught by him -is- effective. Of course, the Reppuken isn't too far off from Terry's Power Wave--but it just seems more appropriate for Rock to use it. If Alma -is- in tune with Rock's feelings, if he's on the same wavelength so to speak, then he'll feel that surge of grim satisfaction--not at causing harm, but at affirmation of skill and that pure joy of battle.
But he doesn't revel in the joy; he feels it, accepts it, and puts it away, for one simple reason--Alma isn't done yet.
In fact, here he comes again, eyes glowing, heedless of the distance he's got to make up, spinning into a complicated, breakdance-like move that would prove to be painful indeed--
--if Rock were there to receive it. He isn't, jolting backwards a half-step, then another, weaving his body back past the last two kicks, and, from his leaned position, he suddenly kicks back with his right foot, planting the booted sole into the sand by about two inches, and suddenly reversing his momentum, hammering his right fist forward as if spring-loaded, aimed for the still-rising Alma's stomach--timed to land just as Alma does, really, Rock availing himself of a quick and sharp kiai to help his focus.
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits Alma with Medium Punch.
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Alma 1/----===/=======|===----\-------\0 Rock
Swift. So swift.
Alma's arm raises to parry the strike he perceives only a split-second before, and indeed, Rock's fierce blow is deflected slightly, the impact simultaneous with the young wolf's battle cry. Yet the Scarred Angel's footing is off upon the packed sand; his opponent's speed was such that he was compelled to block moments before he could completely return to a stable stance. Alma's feet slip out from under him, and the punch impacts heavily against his side, sending him skidding back as he wavers to regain his balance, briefly slumping to one knee with a grunt.
Yet the tension is too high. His blood runs hot. To be still--
"Hrrah!"
--would be unbearable.
What was an unintented crouch becomes a sprinter's stance as the phoenix leaps almost instantly from his weakened position, surging forward and possibly catching his opponent at an unready moment. Seeking to take back the momentum of the battle, unrelenting in the face of thsi heavy pressure, the fiery-eyed Hiten-ryu scion plunges forward with a hand erupting in a plume of soul fire, driving it up at Rock's face to potentially briefly blind him before twisting his body and arm down. If he can cut through the younger Howard's defenses, he will slam what becomes a lance of glittering, ethereal flame directly into Rock's torso, striking at body and will as one. Though Alma's eyes are filled with light, his expression is calm -- almost serene, even, his lips parted as though a revelation has just struck him. In reality, he is thinking of nothing much.
He is absorbed utterly in this battle.
He would have it no other way.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Rock with Self Expression.
- Power hit! -
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Alma 1/---====/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rock
Anyone who's faced Alma knows of his indefatigable spirit and his passion that drives him. Rock is familiar with it, himself; while he doesn't touch his emotions quite as strongly or as deeply, he doesn't sever himself from them as some fighters do. But feelings and intuition are intangible things, not reliable.
Then again, Alma's will is intangible as well--except for -now-. The hand slips through Rock's attempt to simply block it--and then the power flashes through him. His teeth click together, his mouth locked into a rictus of pain. There are legends of the Shun Goku Satsu--a technique that kills its target with the power of their own sin--and this isn't the same. But he can imagine that Alma's pure will is clashing with the 'evil blood' that burns within him. Then the lance explodes and Rock staggers back, his own red eyes almost alight with his own emotions.
"Ghh..." he growls, clenching his arms around him and then throwing them outwards, as if to literally throw off that hit--and then reaches for Alma--intent on a simple grab-and-shoulder toss, pivoting to give just a bit more umph to it. His mindset is shifting, slightly, from 'spar' to 'fight'--though he isn't getting into 'serious fight' mode yet, that mode where he throws away all restraint.
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Quick Throw from Rock with Divine Intervention EX.
! VENGEANCE !
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Alma 1/=======/=======|======-\-------\0 Rock
Seeking to push them both to the limit, he overextends.
Perhaps even to this day, Alma Towazu knows not what he does when he pursues what he thinks of as the 'clash of souls' -- or perhaps, within his heart of hearts, he believes that within the context of combat, however friendly, the potential risk or sacrifice is worth it. True, the barrier of the will that exists between different people, the naturally arising sense of identity that delineates a human being from the world that surrounds them -- their relationships, their environment, their very history -- can seem almost artificial, even inconsequential, to one attuned to the blurring and blending of vibrant auras. Still, personal dignity and integrity lie there, and to seek to shatter those boundaries heedlessly is at best disrespect and at worst trampling upon another's humanity. In combat, such walls come down normally. Alma sees himself as accelerating the process through the unique method of Soul Power. But--
"Guhh!"
How can even a psychic know what lurks behind those walls?
But he does, in his way, want to see Rock at his most 'serious', but--
Does he have the right to?
It is the one argument that, no matter how the two friends change and evolve, Alma and Frei will most likely never reconcile with one another -- and it is perhaps the reckless stance that Alma takes on one side, and less any particular weakness in battle, that betrays him here. His motivations subconsciously push him to take his momentum to the extreme, to push this young wolf into a corner. But he does not have the strength or werewithal. Even as his hand ignites once more in gathering flame, the phoenix is startling to find that his arm is already grasped, that beam of light firing uselessly toward the sea as he is hurled to the ground, stunned and confused. He manages to roll away, but it takes him a moment to recover, as dazed by his misdirected psychic energies as he is by the physical blow itself.
"Impressive, Rock Howard," he murmurs, but it is only to himself.
Yes... this young man has his own story, one that fuels him with an intensity that may well exceed Alma's own. A rare individual. One who cannot be understood fully in a single match. One whose will-force will not so easily bend into a recognizable shape.
Towazu smiles to himself, eyes softening, as he rises again.
This is as it should be. This is the true clarity he seeks.
Rock doesn't pretend to understand Alma's quest. They're different people, and though they may seek the same things, their paths are, undeniably, different. Understanding comes in moments and times, built brick by brick. Someone who can be understood in a single match is probably not worth the knowing. To be able to see Rock at his most serious... to want him to loose all restraint and go after Alma like the Lone Wolf he aspires to be... Alma doesn't know what that would mean. _Rock_ doesn't know what that would maan, not fully. He hasn't been in a state like that often; he doesn't fully remember what it means.
Alma hasn't earned the right, not yet. Nor has he earned the wrath, for that is what it entails, a rage fugue of sorts, something utterly scary to Rock and, if Alma knew, to him as well.
Rock fights for -control- of that. The Howard scion squares himself on the re-risen Alma, clenching his hands into fists once again. "Wait for the compliments until the end of the fight," he says--not admonishingly, but as an acknowledgeent that Alma is, mor ethan likely, his equal, or very close to it.
And they're both still standing. But for how long? He's aware of Alma's condition, and his own, and how much power both can really bring out... a single, power strike could potentially end the fight on either side. So Rock acts a bit more cautiously, sidling forward on the packed sand... and then lunging, firing himself forward, almost literally flying over the sand with a leading left elbow thrust--a strike meant to open Alma's guard for a powerful right palm strike, purple windfire flaring up as he strikes.
COMBATSYS: Rock successfully hits Alma with Hard Edge.
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Alma 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=======\-------\0 Rock
This unrelenting power--
Alma grunts in pain as his feet leave the ground, his entire body benumbed by the driving force of Rock's unstoppable blow. He hurtles head over heels, unable even to catch his fall as lands on his face in the wet sand, limbs trembling as his senses reel.
A roiling darkness fuels it.
But Alma is not afraid.
Coughing sand, he plants his palms upon the packed grains beneath and pushes himself up, revealing that despite the mighty blow that has felled him his eyes are clear, his scarred features calm and serious. What he finds most magnificent about his adversary's technique is not merely its overwhelming effectiveness but that Rock, in his eyes, seems to simultaneously express and contain himself, carefully checking his own ruthlessness within hard limits even as he seems to unleash his full power. This young man is proud, too proud to succumb to his own baser nature. There is a nobility in this that Alma cannot help but wholeheartedly admire, even if he does not understand its roots. But this is something he cannot express directly, not to a mere acquaintance.
Whether or not he draws out Rock at his most serious--
"Hrrraahh...!"
The Radiant Angel is himself drawn forth.
The sun, the sea, the sand, all feel to him as though they feed his strength, as though they are the fuel of the sea of flame surging within him; every sensation is felt with utmost clarity. Even his pain is beautiful, something to be marveled at. A man cannot live like this all the time, turning even his misery into meaning; it is itself, perhaps ironically, inhuman. But Alma allows himself to transcend normal considerations of health and safety in moments like this. He is an angel taking wing. He knows he will return to earth when it is necessary.
But not yet.
"UUAAAAHH!"
Not yet!!
Only a second has passed since he got to his feet once more after that punishing strike, but the young phoenix seems to undergo a transformation, his hazel eyes widening and brightening unto unrecognizability with searing light, his right fist thrust aloft to blaze with pearl-white flame. Sparks of pink and purple, red and gold, swirl about his fist to fall about his entire form before he abruptly plunges to the ground, releasing that energy into the earth. There is only a moment of eerie silence. But the rustling of a sea breeze cannot banish the oppressive feeling he has left behind--
Until a geyser, surging with scintillating colors, explodes from the sand at an angle, aiming to simultaneously catch Rock unawares and overwhelm whatever defenses he might mount, broad enough to consume his body utterly and burn away at his strength and will, the whole force of Alma's being arrayed against him.
COMBATSYS: Rock slows Full Confession from Alma with Raging Storm+.
Glancing Hit
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Alma 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Rock
The skies are clear, the weather beautiful, if cold and remote. The only indication of inclement weather is the rising breakers, white foam hissing on the tops of waves, and the stiff wind starting to blow. But...
...despite all that, the storm is coming. Not from overhead...
From the two fighters. Rock moves fluidly--he's no psion, but that buildup of energy is unmistakable. He'd have to be a robot not to feel it. Rock takes one half-step back, and as Alma's burst of power is roaring up out of the ground, Rock is going -down- to the ground. Not immediately, however; he rears back, that purple energy exploding off his hands and forearms, and then he slams his hands down, meeting that burst of psionic power, his own purple chi roaring up in a angled column of its own.
The pyrotechnic display flares, the pink energy fighting the purple, entwined, entangled--and then exploding. The backlash slams into Rock, who stumbles backwards--but looks game still, his lips quirked into a cocky smirk.
"Your move, Towazu."
Towazu is already moving.
Even as Rock speaks, the tall psion erupts from he sand, pursuing his own geyser of power. If the onslaught fails, he will be walking -- no, leaping -- directly into terrible danger. But weakened as he is by Howard's fearsome strength, he cannot offer anything less that the utmost passion. Indeed, though he feels the young wolf's power growing in response to his confession, the phoenix does not falter. He will triumph, or he will fall here, this very moment. But he can offer nothing else. He has already been called forth.
There is nothing more to say.
This surge of resolve makes him quicker, more forceful. For a moment, he has an edge on his adversary, and he takes that momentum as far as it will go. As Rock speaks, smirking to himself, the remnants of their collided power disperse into a haze of chi -- and Alma Towazu, eyes burning and scarred face almost grim with intensity, bursts from it, already in Rock's face, already there. Already attacking.
"Uuurraahhh!"
Already afire.
Fingers aglow with a light to rival the sun above, he stabbed out for the younger Howard's forehead, aiming to connect directly and in a single moment unleash all that remains of his burgeoning, soulful energy. He will unleash it all, unrelenting. He has chosen the decisive moment. He has bet it all, to cut through what remains of Rock's defenses, if he can. It may very well end here, one way or another. But Alma is not afraid. He has no further ambitions. Even that philosophical presumption he bears with him, that the intimacy of combat reveals the worth and values of a man, is abandoned, forgotten. There is only the heat of this battle. There is only perfect clarity.
This /is/ victory.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Rock with Absolution.
- Power hit! -
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Alma 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\0 Rock
And thus Alma certainly proves his worthiness to be--to consider himself--one of Rock's peers. In the absolute sense, every fighter--anyone who's ever needed to overcome an obstacle--anyone whose raised their fists in anger, or in need, or because they wanted to know if they -could-... they're all his peers.
But Rock also recognizes that he has a skill and a talent that most don't have. His is, as he has been reminded in the past, not the pinnacle of the mountain--but he's higher up than many. Climbing the steep slope is a tough thing. But Alma has managed it, proven it, in this moment.
Alma's burst of power transfixes Rock, making his back arch, his teeth locked in a rictus of pain, feeling that power burning through his body, his mind, as if at war with the darkness within. But wars always scar their battlefields, and in this case, Rock -is- the battlefield.
But this isn't victory--not yet. Rock staggers back, gasping, his eyes unfocused... and he shakes his head, sharply. "Good shot..." he says, his voice raspy with pain, "but it hasn't put me down yet..." And Alma's resolve has fueled Rock's.
There's a short distance to cover, and Rock does so in a flash, leading his assault with a twisting, lifting right knee. It's a quick, brutal assault--right knee to left hook to right jab to left low kick, and so on, ending with Rock swinging clasped hands out and unleashing a burst of pure power--pure chi, no wind or flame effect to it, just raw life energy formed into a brief, destructive sword.
COMBATSYS: Alma fails to interrupt Deadly Rave Neo from Rock with Blaze of Glory.
! VENGEANCE !
[ < > ////// ]
Alma 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Rock
COMBATSYS: Alma can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\ <
Rock 0/-------/-------|
Almost -- almost.
Alma can feel that spirit ebbing beneath his hand.
"Urrghh--"
But it's not enough -- not enough.
Rock Howard's will endures, somehow, weathering the overwhelming force of Alma's complete onslaught, the entirely of the Soul Power at his disposal channeled relentlessly into that single strike. The phoenix forsakes entirely control over his body or mind, every mote of his very essence focused on hammering his own existence into a weapon to cut his opponent down. And even he, for a moment, senses that he may be victorious. Yet in the end, he finds himself hurtling into an adversary who, though deeply injured, is yet standing.
The array of swift and powerful attacks that result are met with trance-like deftness on the part of the Scarred Beauty of Southtown, but there appears to be no flame remaining to him. Only his passive awareness remains to guard him, his subconscious guiding him to just barely parry and block the oncoming punches and kicks, being driven back across the sand. Some moments it seems as though only Rock's own force is keeping Alma on his feet, the ex-model's eyes glassy and growing unfocused. Completely drained of psychic energy, there is little he can do to reciprocate, yet somehow, he too remains standing.
And then, that sweeping sword--
A light flickers in the depths of Alma's eyes.
And somehow, pushing himself into exhaustion, as though his own blood feeds the flame within him, white flames -- laced now with a darker, ferrous red -- explode from his fist, and one last time, he slashes out with a blazing sword of his own, meeting Rock's attack with a counter of his own. The sand erupts around them, obscuring the two fighters temporarily from view, leaving only silhouettes. The curtain falls within moments. Both of them remain standing. Both swords still afire.
"...Heh..."
And Alma's sword dissipates, the fire splitting into two plumes, as though cleaved in half, before fading entirely, and the phoenix sinks to his knees, utterly depleted, his head lowering and eyes dimming.
"W... Well fought... Rock Howard."
With a final sigh, he slumps forward, quietly collapsing in the sand. His eyes shut, cradled by the warmth of the sun. The tide has risen, and their battle has moved them closer to the sea; the water rushes in then to lap at Rock's shoes and splash gently against Alma's side. Gulls cry overhead.
And the young man, though effectively unconscious, smiles.
Satisfied.
Angel arrives from elsewhere.
COMBATSYS: Rock has ended the fight here.
Log created on 19:44:46 10/16/2010 by Rock, and last modified on 22:15:59 11/03/2010.