Description: As the Trial of the Dragon charity tournament nears its end, one weary optimist and one wary cynic meet in battle and compare notes. (Winner: K')
People like to tell you 'That city'll eat your /soul/, man.' There's a lot of reasons they say it, personal apocalypses and brighter memories of long-eroded locales - be they right or wrong. Sunshine City, though? It's a misnomer from hell. K' noticed it riding into town, the half-abandoned suburbs left bone dry in the outskirts, beyond the ghost towns of gang-ridden tenaments, last refuge of the poorest of the poor.. and first choice of the vilest of the vile. The answers aren't there, though, at least not on the surface, not in the city's roving gangs, the terrified populace.. it all feels like the recipe for something greater, and the charity fights for the last bastions of 'civilization' left within Inner Sunshine?
It could be the anti-authority streak as big as his attitude, but it just doesn't sit right with the rogue prototype. He refuses another fight with bright lights and.. any sort of production values, managing to argue the venue somewhere that illustrated the actual /problem/. It's possible that K' doesn't understand how charity is supposed to /work/. It's also possible he just wants an escape from the ridiculous theater; or a chance to get a real measure of what an old acquaintance might think of the problem.
The rogue picked - some would say angrily demanded - one of the very outermost suburbs, the edge of an economic and social no-man's land, failed businesses and bunkered locals mostly isolated, but living on the edge from the nearby gangs, not beyond roving so far from time to time when prey gets scarce enough. At one time, the little hamlet had a populated main street, now those shops are boarded over, pecked with gang signs and more destructive marks of vandalism.
There's a single bar open near the corner, the 'R' nearly burned out of the sign declaring 'The Auger'. The turnout for this particular fight was anticipated to be light despite the sudden increased demand for the warriors involved.. there aren't too many of the Inner Sunshine elite willing to brave these streets, though an impromptu audience has begun to form, mostly bar patrons and intrigued locals filling the streets in periodic pockets, as the last rays of the sunset lengthen the shadows cast by the dilapidated structures that line the street. K' stands pensive against a burnt out streetlight - or at least, leans there mostly ignoring everyone, waiting for Frei to arrive.
Seeing the YFCC teacher's name pop up was something of a surprise, even if rationally it shouldn't have been; not to mention the tendency of paths to cross at the oddest times. The monk was always attuned to this kind of shit; maybe /he/ has a more solid clue why the demon-slaying weapon fused to the very core of K''s being roils angrily just being here.
All the atrophy, all the terror, all the chaos. This fucking city. It's as if something were trying to devour his very soul; and not just the renegade's.
It all starts a long time ago in a kitchen, with a stove pilot light that won't turn on and an impatient K' who wanted a snack. It's not as if a lifetime friendship was formed or anything -- in a bizarrely ironic way, Frei is probably closer to K''s antithesis Kula than he is to the fire-wielding renegade -- but it was the point when, at least in Frei's eyes, K' stopped being "Whitehair McSulksalot" and started to become an actual person. Which is good, because what followed was a minimum of three severe beatings he took as 'messages' for K' and Maxima. Not that he begrudges the pair that; after all, protecting people is just sort of in Frei's blood, even if they probably don't really NEED his protection. But it's been some time since they last met... and ever since between the two of them, Kula Diamond and Kyo Kusanagi actually outlined all of this Orochi NESTS clone sacred fire insanity, K' has occasionally been in Frei's thoughts.
How fitting, then, that he should end up announced as his opponent in the semifinal round of the Trial of the Dragon tournament.
Frei's been staying in Inner Sunshine. Not because he's particularly afraid of the wrecked outer city, per se -- on a normal day it'd take a particularly nasty street thug to make an impact -- but rather because he's been increasingly worried about the Black Dragon ever since his visit to the decrepit temple however many days ago. There's been no sign of Freeman, no chance to catch Lynn Baker, and no sign of the other three 'dragons.' With the tournament drawing to a close, the redhead is even more desperate to find some sort of indicator of just what's going on... since his intuition -- and experience with past tournaments -- says the dragons and this sudden charity event are related. He just can't *prove it*.
While K', with his anti-hero rugged good looks and black leather, looks perfectly in his element at a corner bar, Frei's red hair, pale skin, and partly Asian clothing stand out like a sore thumb. Yet in a weird way, as he makes his way to the venue, it works in his favor. Someone who looks like Frei just doesn't DO what he's doing right now: walking the sidewalks as if they're safe and he has nothing to be afraid of. A few of the more aggro and less intelligent thugs are giving him the eye, but the more nervous ones are actually cutting him a wide berth because they *don't know what he's going to do*.
Apparently what he's going to do is walk up and espy K' and give him a wan sort of smile, before studying the NESTS escapee's tanned face a moment. There's a pause, and then Frei sighs and glances off to the side a bit. "It's getting to you too, isn't it." There's a pause, and then the YFCC instructor scratches the side of his cheek. "Somehow that actually makes me feel less crazy."
Lots of people have gotten hurt on K''s account, over the years. He does his best to prevent it, or at least convince everyone who might do it he doesn't have two fucks to rub together.. at least once he stopped deluding himself on that count. It's a large part of the REASON so few have seen the firebranded for so long. Taking his vendetta on the road, striking NESTS where they least expect it, involving as few others as the bioweapon /could/... it's kept events like that down for a few years, now. On the plus side, since K' is a notorious optimist. It was up to Maxima to keep his partner sane during that time, and too often vice versa; to say it's been an interesting span of time for the Beast of Flame is a remarkable understatement.
NESTS has their own interests in Sunshine City - Maxima's been on that trail for a little while, now. K' may not have a lead to the darkness at the heart of Sunshine, but he is pretty aware of another cancer that needs to be cut out. There's a grunt somewhere between dismissive and acknowledging, K''s gaze not immediately shifting to Frei, though the rogue prototype almost certainly senses his approach. Crimson shaded eyes remain on the pothole-dotted street, as a fresh breath is drawn. "That.." the genetic template marketed as a clone intones with a humorless smirk, "Shouldn't make you feel less crazy."
Being in tune with K' is being far, far, /far/ from the pulse of what any 'sane' jackass would call normal. Usually, that's something K' considers a benefit of his fringer lifestyle, "Yea, though..." It's half sighed, murmured. Somewhere between frustrated, and ominously fervent, that air of a hungry predator owes no small amount of weight to the literal glint of orange fire behind amber eyes, glimmering in momentary points of light behind the shades as he looks towards Frei. "/Something/ in this city needs burning." Probably an understatement, but K' has a renowned gift for that, too. No really.
Slipping out of his motorcycle jacket and leaving it rest on a bike that, one assumes, must be his, K' walks out towards the center of the road; a good battleground, and farther from prying ears. He rolls up the long, black sleeves of a half-undone shirt, and discards his gloves in a heap at the side of his bike, a motion that's just a tad flourished with defiance. "Don't suppose you came here to explain it to me, though." It drips with sarcasm, but some part of K' certainly /would/ like to believe the sword-monk isn't here just as contestant or chaperone.
COMBATSYS: K' has started a fight here.
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K' 0/-------/-------|
He may have meant it as a self-deprecating joke, but K''s implication that being tuned to Radio Kay-Dash means Frei is perhaps a little bit nuts doesn't seem to bother him all that much. Why? Because he realizes what he's about to tell K' -- or at least hint at, until they might be in safer company -- really will sound bloody insane. These two fighters have both faced down their share of inexplicable supernatural threats to humanity, after all; if you don't turn out a little bit crazy after something like that, then there's probably something REALLY wrong with you, anyway. Crossing his arms over his chest for a moment, Frei seems to give things some thought, before putting a hand up to his mouth pensively, regarding K' with a careful gaze. "I know part of it. If you're looking for 'not crazy', though, you probably want to leave well enough alone."
He's aware of the stares on him now, and for a second he grimaces. K' can feel there's something wrong, but does he want to get the refugee involved? Considering NESTS is probably still after him, K' has his own trouble... and there's no sign of his partner, the muttonchop'ed linebacker, at the moment. Hopefully that's a momentary separation. The real problem is that Frei doesn't know who it is that's taken the Black Dragon, yet, and so that person's eyes and ears could be everywhere. Here might not be the best time and place. "I, uh..." He tilts his head over his shoulder, ideally indicating any of a number of onlookers who would be ANYBODY. "You know how it is." Hopefully this code for 'ask me later' gets across.
There's a pause after that, before Frei lets out a deep breath and then hops on the balls of his feet a bit. "Anyhow. I suppose these people came to see some violence... I guess we should oblige. But, uh, before all that starts... it's good to know you're alright. After KoF, I wasn't sure about... well, anyone." Slipping his wooden sword into his back beltloops, Frei gets into stance, and looks at his opponent carefully. He's never fought K', except the once... and then, Shurui and K' had issues to work out so Frei stepped carefully aside. This is certainly their first one-on-one... and the redhead expects it to be enlightening in many ways. Ducking forward, he starts things simple: an open-palmed punch to the stomach, surrounded in a field of invisible force to give it extra kick.
COMBATSYS: Frei has joined the fight here.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Frei's Fierce Punch.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 K'
"Heh." K' breathes, more than really chuckles, in slightly amused tones. "Not crazy wouldn't know what the fuck to do with me." Without the world being what the world is, a being like K' wouldn't exist; he'd never have been abducted, he'd never have been tested and tweaked, much less found to be the key to opening a very unique sort of door. One to the furnace of divine might that roars not /at/ the very heart of the firebranded, but /through/ him. For the longest time, those fires threatened to consume him, literally and metaphorically subsume his body and identity in holy fire; there are, as they say, worse ways to go.
If it weren't for Maxima and Whip, for Hotaru, for the YFCC teaching him that not everyone is out to kill or be killed at heart, that's where his path would have ended. Burning out with rage against overwhelming light. Instead, he found a way to channel that inner furnace, proved capable of wielding that Promethean weapon; perhaps was simply accepted by it. Semantics of religion and philosophy have always been secondary to the very tangible effects on the people and places around the firebranded.
The rogue bioweapon doesn't really bother showing signs of 'getting' Frei's dropped hints - just arching brows behind his shades, for just a moment. "It's all about the gaudy, giant cups." K' loves trophies, "And the hungry children. Right." He is never cynical. There's a bit of tension to the words not for any doubt in the sardonic dismissal, but for the stressed guard that's raised against the monk, that thrusting palm caught above the wrist by descending elbow, even as the strike grazes in towards tensed abdominals. If there's one thing the firebranded is familiar with, it's how to take a powerful hit, and keep coming.
In this case, 'keep coming' involves stepping forcefully in on Frei, invading the swordsman's space in an instant. Arm already descending to guard, he simply snaps his elbow forward, flowing from violent act to violent act with a disturbingly natural instinct to every brutally graceful motion. His other fist is already coming around, aiming to deck the (ideally dazed) monk in the skull with a sudden, swift cross. "Yea. We're all fucking lucky to be alive." It's inspirational. One can tell.
COMBATSYS: Frei blocks K''s Medium Punch.
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Frei 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 K'
There's a nasty-sounding *THWACK* as K''s elbow smacks into the bottom of Frei's chin, one relatively hard and bony striking surface hitting another in an unpleasant-seeming fashion. Fortunately, however, the redhead is able to keep his senses rather than go spinning into a sense-scrambled haze; his right arm suddenly whips up into the path of the right cross, Frei's forearm catching K''s intended face blow before it can land home. Still, that elbow hit smarts, even if it was just a setup blow. Frei steps back, rubbing his jaw with a grimace. "Ow, dangit."
Now that they're in the closet quarters of fighting, however, he feels like he can speak a little more freely, if a bit sotto voce. Placing a hand on the hilt of the wooden sword worn crosswise along the small of his back, he gives K' an analytic once over, before kicking off the ground and rushing the fire-wielder. With a sudden whistle of displaced air, Frei draws the wooden blade in one swift movement... but an astute fighter with K''s experience can likely tell there's something off about this. For starters, there's no telltale field of chi around the various probing, feinting strikes Frei is making... and each one of them is easy enough to avoid, almost purposefully so. But they keep the two in close proximity, enough for Frei to deliver a few choice comments between slashes. "Something about..." *swish* "...dragons and..." *swish* "...somebody named Lee Song..." *swish* "...who was their 'guardian'."
Having delivered that last bit of information, Frei suddenly swings backwards and, even as he sheathes the wooden blade through his back belt loops again, turns that movement into a spin that ends in a quick, force-empowered kick at K''s shoulder. There had to be a real attack in there SOMEWHERE, after all, but in an attempt not to be a jerk about it, Frei at least attempts to make the division between 'obvious ploy to talk' and 'actual martial arts' as visible as possible.
COMBATSYS: K' fails to interrupt Light Kick from Frei with Fierce Kick.
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Frei 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 K'
Frei is right about one thing. That does sound just a touch crazy. As already established, however: crazy is sort of what they do. Everything is relative, in the right circles. While the battoujutsu combination may be feinting, trying to keep K' back, on guard, he doesn't retreat in its face far. Several swishing strokes are scarcely evaded with weaving twists of his deceptively lithe frame, the sleekly muscled supersoldier stepping into the last, the back of his hand cracking against bokken before it's snapped back to its home.
K' is stepping in at that instant, right leg coiling up, bent at the knee... he's anchored on his left, but suddenly dislodged as that swift stroke falls, Frei's spinning strike catching the Beast of Flame in the ribs and jarring his stance, bruising where it strikes; where the energy erupts against and through him. He skids left, nearly tumbling entirely, right boot snapping back down to skid and reset his stability, before the firebranded falls back a half-step, then a full one, grinning wolfishly as he rights his shades over his eyes.
"Guess something got fucked right up, somewhere." Rare humility? Probably not, K' just uses the easy cover to respond to Frei in brief. They'll look into it. Just what K' and Kompany can /do/, well. As ever, that's negotiable at best, in this world, not to mention a shitty city /this/ bad.
For a brief moment, as he pulls back from the clinch and observes with one raised eyebrow the extension and then retraction of K''s knee, Frei gets a momentary impression that he, thankfully, has the wherewithal to keep to himself. Why? Because if he sat here and told K' that in a weird way, the Beast of Flame actually reminds him quite a lot of his not-quite-progenitor Kyo Kusanagi, the veil of civility would be more or less blown out of the water, and things would go to hell in the blink of an eye. While he does keep that eyebrow raised a moment, and then smiles a private little smile at the thought, all Frei SAYS in response is: "You got that right."
There's a pause while Frei stands there a second, rubbing the back of his neck, and then he shakes it out and gets back into stance. Another little piece of creative cloak-and-dagger work to get more information to K' had popped into his head, but some part of him overrode that, and perhaps rightly so. It's not as if the redhead is a WW2 collaborator, slipping information to the French Resistance. He glances at the bar to see the type of people who've gathered to WATCH this, and seems most of them fall securely into 'oblivious drunken lout.' If the Black Dragon's got spies in this crowd, they're bloody good spies.
"Supposedly there's five of them... dragons, I mean," Frei says, circling K' for the moment, trying to be cautious; the Beast has considerably greater reach than Frei does, with the former's lanky limbs and Frei being five-foot-Dr. Tran, more or less. "One's bad. The other four aren't, and I know where one is, but the others..." After a moment or two of analysis and conversation, however, he presses the attack, lunging in and grabbing for one of those lanky limbs, attempting to front flip K' onto the ground Aikido-style before firing off a burst of chi-shaped wind to hammer him even harder into the ground.
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits K' with Strong Throw.
- Power hit! -
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Frei 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 K'
Kyo Kusanagi. The origin of the genetic structure used to forge the circuit that binds NESTS' 'products' to the holy battery of the Kusanagi line; the divine spark meant to slay demons, to seal back evil gods. No, K' wouldn't see the similarities easily; his resentment for his slackass 'donor' is matched only, perhaps, by carefully hidden jealousy for the boy's 'easy' life. "Somewhere, Falcor isn't doing his fucking job." K' observes drily, enigmatically enough to give little away.. but perhaps on the mark enough that Frei knows the acerbic Beast of Flame is at least paying attention; and not completely stupid. ".. and somewhere, religious fanatics are fucking it all up again." With a dark entity ascendant, a city in turmoil, you pretty much HAVE to blame people, right?
Fucking /people/. K' hates them, almost all of them. Sometimes all of them, really. Too much thinking is bad for one's health, however, and while he tries to shift with the force of Frei's grappling assault, the monk grabs a half-step of advantage with swift acceleration and raw power, and K' finds breath leaving his lungs as he crashes down on the other side of Frei. The blast of wind-chi sends the firebranded toppling, tumbling end over end, ending in a resounding crash as K' comes to a crouching, skidding stop, new cracks amending themselves to the edge of the worn sidewalk. "Bet there's one thing they all have in common."
Everything burns. One just has to get it hot enough. Orange-yellow plumes in a myriad of hues melt the asphalt in an instant to bubbling, protesting goop as K' takes to the air in a blur of black, a hurricane of his own energy within. A similar windshear might have been his birthright, under other circumstances, but all that fuel is consumed by rampant fire, a perfect synergy that leaves K' a surprisingly able conduit for an ancient, occult weapon that most would say was never meant to be his. It roars from him like second nature, not so much conjured as released, a torrent of napalm raining from heaven itself as K' burns like a newborn star in the dimming evening light. The meteor that falls from heaven explodes like an airstrike, releasing roiling, liquid waves of devouring destiny-touched chi in all directions; with Frei at the intended epicenter.
COMBATSYS: Frei just-defends K''s Air Trigger EX!
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Frei 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 K'
It's again for the best that Frei swallows his immediate response, because it would likely be something along the lines of 'How are you even old enough to KNOW that movie?!'; thankfully, the mental image that follows of K' sitting dutifully in front of a television, watching The Neverending Story enrapt, is hilarious enough that it drowns out anything else. Indeed, though you readers at home get a good laugh, through the magic of narration, Frei's life is spared another day. Still, the mention of an overseer puts him in mind of the old man who 'guarded' the Black Dragon and who is, by now, certainly dead, possibly even for sharing what he knew with Frei. The humor he saw in K''s comment quickly turns a bit grim, and he can only answer, "...probably."
But then he has much bigger problems to deal with, and considerably more immediate ones than some guy who might be dead. The Beast is suddenly airborne, and that power that makes the hairs on Frei's neck stand up comes to bear, a concentrated burst of roiling flame headed the YFCC instructor's way. Left with few options, he lets instinct take over, getting as creative as he dares. One hand comes up, palm out, as if to 'catch' that meteoric fireburst, but unfolding from that palm like the opening of a lotus flower is a bloom of blue-white ice... not enough to stop the entire blast, but enough so that K''s attack has to burn through layer after layer of flash-frozen moisture in the air to get to Frei... and with his *other* hand, he takes the newly-melted water as K''s fire churns through the ice, and then *refreezes it* so that the barrier of ice is, effectively, never-ending. He doesn't need to overcome K''s power... he needs to merely hold it at bay long enough that the burst wears itself out. The final push of liquid fire shatters the last of the barrier, leaving only uncomfortably warm air to wash over Frei's form.
Taking the initiative, Frei doesn't let the shattered fragments of ice fade; with a wave of both hands, moving in tai chi-like, ciruclar motions, he sweeps them toward K', using the remnants of his impromptu defense to now strike back at his opponent. "And what would that be?" Frei asks, curious as to the Beast's insight on the goings down in Sunshine.
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Frei's Hatsuyuki.
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Frei 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 K'
It's impossible to say where the idea began, precisely. Perhaps a tattered-edged book was favored in the alleged clone's earliest days.. perhaps it's the lingering imprint of one of the overnight security's favored movies, during long weeks, months, years, who knows how long as bottled experiment. Perhaps it's the eccentric tastes of one of NESTS more unique operatives, in a rare moment of tenderness spared the firebranded. The Beast of Flame did not grow up like Kula, coddled and nudged in the direction they wished; she was his antithesis in more ways than her weapon of choice... but he's had countless unendingly boring hours of stakeout and surveillance to catch up on pop culture. Sometimes, he even understands the language.
Landing into the blast of ice is an unexpected outcome, particularly with the spike of power K' could feel come to the fore, required to dismiss his furious onslaught... but it doesn't dissipate at all. Instead, the wintery burst meets K' as he crashes back to Earth, trailing plumes of dissipating flames. They shudder back from the impact as the chill shockwave rolls off crossed arms in all directions, drawing frosty etchings on the flesh of the limbs used to bar passage to that potent projection... for a moment, at least. K' smirks wryly, unfased by the impressive display so far, "Come on, you should know the answer to this."
Those weakened fires surge suddenly back to full, like a furnace flicked from embers to incinerating intensity, a (very) roughly spherical solar flare held in each hand, meteoric tendrils orbiting limbs as the Promethean flame seeks to escape, to rampage; as all fire does, the bloodline spark hungers. Purposeful hunger moves worlds, and K' learned long ago never to dismiss it, "You get it hot enough, it'll fucking /burn/." It's obvious, not even very insightful or wise, on the surface. There's a layer of truth to the words, whether the firebranded template realizes it or not, however: it's just a question of critical mass. Enough pressure, enough light, enough earthbending might projected towards the right point; if one can find it.
COMBATSYS: K' charges his next attack!
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Frei 0/-------/-----==|=======\=------\1 K'
Frei hadn't expected the icy attack to faze K' that much; he's fought both alongside and *agaist* Kula Diamond before, and Frei knows that the elemental ice upon which he can draw is nowhere near to the primal force of pure cold that Kula's genetically-engineered powers can produce. And if K''s literal nemesis might have trouble in that department, Frei's certainly not going to produce something at that level... not casually, anyway. But it did give him a moment of breathing room and space to think. His brain always heads in strange directions after the occasional hide-saving moment of insight, as it rarely does IN those moments. Pulling himself out of a reflective mode, trying to analyze how such things could be done on a more regular basis, takes effort.
"Well... you guys are the experts on millennia-old occult forces, not me," Frei declaims, though in a wary tone. It's the sort of sentence that to a casual observer or listener sounds joking, even sort of wryly stupid for its own comedic sake. The truth is that he's deadly serious. "I mean I exorcised that demon that one time, but it's not something I'd like to try and repeat. So... let's hope you're right." Part of Frei knows he has to keep being responsible for things; part of him thinks that he'd rather like to be able to just pass this on to K' and company and wash his hands of it.
Well, and then K' starts glowing like a small sun. What's the smart thing to do in this scenario? Probably take a breath, hunker down, and ride it out. Yet some pull at the edge of Frei's consciousness is telling him not to do that. He knows K' has tremendous inborn power, but some inner voice is telling him that facing it head-on is, perhaps, the wiser course. Maybe that part of his brain has never spent time in a burn treatment ward, but there you go.
"Everything burns," Frei says with a faint grin, "eventually." Bracing his arms in front of himself, the YFCC instructor slams one foot down on the ground in front of him, hoping he can borrow some of the earth's resilience, as he charges K' regardless of the fire, looking to tackle him down to the ground and, if he can get the upper hand, slam both hands onto the Beast's chest and unleash a torrent of violet chi lightning through his entire body.
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Crushing Throw from Frei with Empowered Heat Drive.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 K'
When it comes to otherworldly energy, well.. Kula Diamond is indeed ice to K''s fire, his opposite number, as aforementioned, in more than one regard. The Ice Assassin's innocence may have been tarnished in recent years, but she's still a far cry from the cynical, volatile creature that K' at least manages to appear to be at more or less all times. Here, he's facing down Frei with a dangerous intensity, eyes hidden behind his shades.. but there's no doubt they're utterly fixed upon the swordsman. The prototype may hear the monk speak, but all his instincts are screaming other information.
Where Maxima sees everything in readouts, in lightning-fast computations of probabilities, K' can only feel, act; infused with so much honed instinct that, coupled with his own natural will and ferocity, there's sometimes no ignoring it. He was born to fight, and then tempered to fight.. made into a weapon, a destructive implement of endless war. Even the people that did this to him, that perpertrate such war on the world, they'll burn; all it takes is the right weapon, in the right hand.
"/Everything/ fucking burns." K' agrees steadfastly, and as Earth anchors Frei's foot, the sky opens up.. a hurricane of wind and fire, there and gone in a flash. In that flash, K' meets the monk's charge with his own in a tangible, violent shockwave of energy. For a moment, stances oppose, locked in the moment of impact, each form refusing to budge; then the firebranded scion explodes, forcing a gout of intense fire forward before /launching/ like a rocket all but /through/ Frei.
Fist and flame fuse in a single, rushing stroke that brings him to Frei's opposite side... as a reaving plume of solar fury arcs off his wake in either direction, washing the instructor clear. K' twists to face the seeker anew, tendrils of flame licking along his fingertips in the aftermath of the volcanic, hammering charge.
It's easy to see who came out the worse of that; K' simply switches sides of the arena, while Frei drops to his knees, then leans forward and starts coughing violently. He basically just got Falcon Punched in the stomach, and that's going to take a second to recover from. The grey fabric of his shirt is torn in some places, charred in others; just some of the Realistic Battle Damage one can accrue fighting K' if you're not careful, after all. Still, after a few moments of recovering himself, Frei does indeed get to his feet and back into stance. He doesn't look it, but the short redhead is surprisingly tough when it comes to surviving this sort of stuff.
"I wish I had more to tell you about what's going down," he says, brushing himself off, "but I really don't. I'm trying to find these 'dragons'. I know where one is, but let's just say it's... having a hard time right now." Poor Lynn Baker; first a Freeman attack, and then rumors say that she's had visitors of all shapes and sizes at the Ryu Zui Ken dojo. "So, you know, if you happen to run into overflowing with an ancient and terrible occult power, send 'em my way. Unless they've also got a hunger for human flesh or whatever. Those, you keep," he adds, trying to give a small smile.
And that's that. The exposition portion of our game is complete, but there's still the issue of the tournament. Frei didn't come here to win -- he's shocked he's even come this far -- but so long as he's participating, he'll do his best. Of course, one might wonder if what he's doing now -- watching K' intently, body shifted low and forward, one hand circling the 'hilt' of his wooden sword in true battoujutsu ready stance -- actually qualifies as 'his best'...
COMBATSYS: Frei focuses on his next action.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 K'
Sometimes it seems like it never ends. Just when one /really/ needs Crystal Dragon Jesus, the damn thing has a crisis of faith, starts to question its existence and the nature of souls, all sorts of inconvenient and evil enabling things! "Far as I can tell the average bitch in Outer Sunshine doesn't even know what they're doing here." If there is a deeper agenda - and when is K' going to doubt /that/ - it's being played close to the chest. "It's always the same equation, though. You just follow the money." K' points out, even if that's more complicated than it sounds. /Something/ is lending this city its militant problem, and keeping them entrenched. Figure out who's backing the play, and the answers might be a hell of a lot clearer.
As far as ancient, occult power? K' makes a momentarily sour face, "Don't know anyone like that." The rogue prototype snarks, even as he gives that new stance a cursory glance. It's clear that the YFCC manager is preparing his own formidable techniques, and this time it's K' who springs the trap, bursting towards Frei in a blur of violent motion. The Beast of Flame hurls himself into the air, just high enough to bring brutally leading knee in line with Frei's skull, a stroke that would flow evenly into a twisting snap of his opposite boot, coming around with the intent of robbing the monk of his footing entirely.
Of the bout, truth be told.. the tournament wasn't really what brought the Kusanagi-infused template to Sunshine City. It would be nice if he could believe in it, but the value of the battles have little to do with the 'charitable' bracket filling the sponsors' corrupt pockets. At least, that tends to be K''s default assumption; at the moment, even Ken Masters has proven his villainy to the rogue prototype's properly paranoid perspective. Information? Perhaps backup? These things, however, remain invaluable.
COMBATSYS: Frei dodges K''s Medium Kick.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 K'
Evasion isn't in Frei's typical bag of tricks; rather unlike his mother, he never developed the footwork speed that makes her an amazing swordswoman. However, it could be that infusing his own style with that of his family's inspired him, in some ways, to pay more attention to that notion of footwork. Or perhaps it's just that he was studying K''s moves so intently, that he's got an edge that otherwise he might not. Either way, as the Beast leaps forward, Frei uses his low to the ground posture to rush *forward*, head down so that the initial kick sails over him. In effect, the two fighters merely switch positions a second time, though without any apocalyptic fire involved.
Standing and then turning, Frei grins faintly at K''s little joke. When Kula told Frei about her own origins -- and by extension, K''s -- he had remarked that it seemed like a terribly lonely way to come into the world. Yet the man in front of him has clearly survived. Not without some serious issues, but. In a weird way, it gives Frei hope that people are people pretty much everywhere, no matter how they were born. "Who does?" Frei tacks on, blithely, in response.
Seizing his moment, however, there's little time for small talk. Dashing forward in that low crouch, Frei runs at K', hand on the hilt of his 'blade', until he gets almost to within striking distance. With a shout, Frei whips the wooden sword into action, the wooden blade -- and its aura of silvery metallic chi -- sweep a parabolic arc through the air, looking to 'cut' right through K''s midsection. If the blow hits, there's even a slight sound like a struck tuning fork.
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Frei's Houken.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 K'
Really, alone would have been an improvement.. though lonely terror of the profound and piercing sort found in the less than cordial confines of a monster's lair certainly leaves its resonant marks; a course-defining deviation, some would call it an intolerable affront to nature.. for all sorts of different reasons. Frei both has and holds that dangerous edge, a step ahead of the firebranded scion as they clash.. at least for the moment. K' lands out of his missed leap in a skidding spin, twisting about to face Frei in a flash.
The rogue prototype brings around a right arm to cross with that blade, the living weapon gritting his teeth as energy and implement bite harshly into resilient, tensed muscle. He doesn't waste any time, pushing the rest of the way to his feet, stepping forward on his right foot, to bring that corresponding arm in straight for Frei's mouth. It's the first of several, an unrelenting flurry of quick rights and lefts driving the augmented flamewielder forward in a brutal quartet of strokes aimed to painfully pit fist against skull, enough force behind each to rattle both their bones.
There's no verbal retort, in that moment, locked against the monk's capable assault. The renegade throws himself fully into that violent dance, determined to seize the momentum back; or simply make the swordsman work for every stroke.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Frei with Fierce Punch.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Frei 1/---====/=======|==-----\-------\0 K'
From the outside, this is mostly a blur; observers focus on the result, which is Frei's body heading backwards in the air until it hits, interestingly enough, the very lamppost that K' was leaning against before the fight even starts. He might be tougher than he looks, but he's light, and apparently K' really, really laid into that attack everything he had, wanting to land a decisive blow. If the YFCC instructor's bloodied face and the new slight bend in the lamppost are any indicator, he succeeded. It's not even entirely clear what Frei tried to do to defend himself; it was over so fast, it's hard to know.
But, to his credit, he gets back up.
There's a moment where Frei slumps forward, hand gripping his face; it comes away bloody, and he sort of trains his green-eyed gaze on the palm of his hand for a moment before staightening, shaking his head and trying to get ahold of his faculties. This is the moment where his fighting style usually fails him. He's not a tactitian; he goes with the flow, deciding what to do moment to moment. Against a superior force the smart thing to do is usually to choose your moments carefully, take defensive positions, and strike the opponent where they're weakest. But after an attack like that, is that really possible anymore?
Besides, that's not really how he does things, anyway.
A hand reaches back, gripping the hilt of the wooden blade slipped across the small of his back. His other hand hovers in front of him, just in the case the need to guard himself becomes necessary. But he doesn't seem to actually... do anything, really. He doesn't speak, doesn't move except perhaps a shifting of his feet now and then. He does track K' with his eyes, however, and he *concentrates*. The only indication that he's doing anything at all is the kicking up of wind... unseasonably chill wind, but nothing that couldn't be attributed to the cooling effect of evening's onset. The reason why is because nobody's standing near Frei at this time. But an observer might note that along the asphalt he's standing on, spiderweb cracks of pale white -- barely visible, but there -- spread along the ground near where he's standing.
Until at last, he finds his moment, and says, forcefully but without yelling, "_Now_."
He takes a step and swings his blade forward in an arc, toward K', but it's mostly a gesture, a somatic focus. The second the wooden sword starts its arc, the air in the area more or less flash-freezes, creating a curious fall of spontaneous snow. The windows of 'The Auger' suddenly frost up as if it were late January. And as for K'... there is a tremendously large slash wave of pure primal cold headed his way, looking to effectively freeze the Beast of Flame solid.
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits K' with Shinra Banshou.
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Frei 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 K'
It is a powerful testament to the swordsman's brilliant and versatile defenses that it has taken K' this long to really bypass them without relying on powering through Frei's -own- assaults. This is, after all, what the Beast of Flame /does/. He strikes with predatory intensity, with the fury of the molten core of the Earth herself, he overwhelms /any/ defense, through overpowering tenacity and sheer cagey instinct. It is very much to the monk's credit that he so expertly deflects K''s unrelenting violence for so long, though the blood drawn in the instant that his step falters is certainly satiating reward for those same feral impulses that drive the firebranded in battle.
It is a foolish hunter that underestimates even wounded prey, however; the ache on his fists from Frei's facebones, a dull echo of what the swordsman must be feeling, draws shrouded amber eyes to consider the spatter of blood. Even in a 'friendly' match, the prototype bioweapon was augmented for a specific purpose, tempered to unleash divine fury. The rogue's targets may have changed a great deal, but in combat all he knows is life and death, adrenaline and clarity, blood and fire. He'll push on until Frei or himself can fight no further, and that moment... is not yet; but one can see it from here.
K' waits only moments for the bloodied swordsman to right himself, eyes narrowing at that gathering chill, at the unseen forces that flow with it like a cold front off a wintery lake, gathering with deceptive subtlety into a snap the likes of which few can hope to conjure. The divine spark within him roars at the gathering threat, and K' all but roars back; outwardly, his teeth clench, his jaw set. Muscles /tense/. The arguably insane superweapon /charges/ that gathered force.. and is sliced nearly in twain by that edge of ice.
It cuts right through him him, cleaving through without carving, right through resilient, nigh-unstoppable exterior which is.. for a moment.. frosted in a flash. K' staggers back, and holds there an instant, like a statue bisected by winter's wrath; which gives way to a scorching, violent summer. It's as good a time for high noon as any. Fire melts ice, surging from K''s frost-touched fingertips and suffusing his frame from within as he falls to one knee. Amber eyes /burn/ with intense orange flame, points of vengeful light that lock onto Frei with a beast's instinctual attunement.
The bioweapon launches from where he falls, failure serving him to lash out anew, the Beast of Flame's right fist reaving through air suddenly consumed by a brilliant gout of fire, the sun's unyielding glare refracted in the meteoric strike as the prototype seeks to rise /through/ his opponent in an angularly ascendant, fiery haymaker.
COMBATSYS: K' successfully hits Frei with Crow Bite EX.
~ Cruel hit! ~
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Frei 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0 K'
Problematically, Frei put everything he had into one last-ditch offensive effort. Even as he reaps the fruits of that effort, he slumps forward, planting the bokken in the ground and leaning on it, trying to take a moment that he knows he's going to need in a bit. Sadly, that moment's not enough, and the truth is that K' has something that Frei has never had, and it's critical to success in the fighting world: killer instinct. Perhaps not the desire or need to do actual harm -- in spite of his somewhat antisocial personality, Frei doesn't think of K' as the type to hurt people needlessly -- but the... aggressive impulse. K' might think of it as predatory instincts, perhaps, but Frei can recognize it even in his less vicious-seeming friends. People like Hotaru and Sakura, for example, have it too... that drive to finish a fight on top, to give their all.
The thought that he doesn't really have that, made clear in the face of K''s rallying strike, hits him like a collapsing wall.
He tries to grit his teeth and hunker down, but that rising, vicious arc of fiery pain isn't going to be denied. It effectively cleaves through Frei's defense like a sacred flame through butter, carrying him through the air a bit before dropping him on the asphalt on his back with a loud groan. For a second, he simply lies there, staring blankly at the sky and breathing heavily, stomach bobbing up and down. Something pushes him to his feet, though... some urge. His stance is wobbly, tattered, but his mind is working overtime. K''s power over flame may be something different, but his natural chi does resonate in certain ways. Vestiges of fire and wind left behind, like the wake of a boat across a still lake.
Improvising on the spot, Frei reaches out, gathering those remnants, compressing them down into a tight space. That alone takes so much concentration and energy that his movement toward K''s landing spot is jerky, uneven... but when he gets close, Frei does the only thing he can think of -- he lets go. The result is a fiery microburst, an explosive detonation that cracks the pavement in all directions and sends Frei himself flying backwards away from the spot, to land in a heap on the pavement, unless K' does something to arrest that movement.
Either way, however, the YFCC instructor's fight is over. "That was... enlightening," he says, finally, before slumping, unconscious, onto the street.
COMBATSYS: Frei can no longer fight.
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K' 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Reiki EX from Frei with Eins Trigger EX.
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K' 0/-------/-----==|
K' may be a killer, may be a living weapon, but he doesn't take sadistic pleasure in it the way some do. He does what he has to, because someone fucking has to. Sometimes, what needs to be done just isn't very nice. The world doesn't understand what NESTS is capable of, what happens behind closed doors to secluded labs and compounds. K' does. The world, as a rule, is full of dipshits without the power to act against such corrupt collusion. K' has that power, it's been grafted to his fucking soul; the instinct to use it was probably already there. Just look at Krizalid.
If one asks K', though, everybody has it. That ragged edge they can be pushed to, that primal instinct that can carry their survival for a certain distance all on its own; all the various instincts, emotions, highs and lows that can lead one to themselves... or the farthest from it they've ever been. Sometimes, the people who know the most about that? Still surprise even K'. Pushed to his own limit in an entirely different sense in combat against the imbued swordmonk, the bloodied, frostbitten K' only marginally wills his own muscles to act.
In that last instant, survival instinct kicks in, with explosive result. As that charge of chi reverberates, and rocks outwards, K' has only moments before the shockwave impacts his face, washes over him, knocks him the fuck /out/ in all likelihood. A torrential roar of flame erupts like a fuel-air bomb at his feet in that instant, however, literally appearing to the suddenly gasping then re-gasping onlookers considering the dramatic final exchange. K' then /launches/ himself into the compressed blast, kicking that ragged tongue of elemental flame into and /through/ it.
The underside of the shockwave kicks out fiery exhaust on all sides as the entire blast literally combusts, and explodes away in a combusting firework; this secondary ignition launches K' skyward, over and beyond the blast. For a moment, it looks like he might sail off to a rooftop across the street, before his momentum /abruptly/ alters, and a second impact cracks the sidewalk and street beneath him, only slightly more subtly, all around a braced knee.
"Yea." The firebranded confirms, utterly unfased by any glory that might be found in the postfight bar, in light of the various more pressing issues weighing on him tonight. He'd just end up kicking some poor motherfucker(s) right in the ass. Instead, K' moves for his motorcycle, intent on carrying the enigmatic news of demonic forces and their counterpoints into the night... for all the sense /he/ can make of it, he does at least know how to get anything very, very hot.
COMBATSYS: K' has ended the fight here.
Log created on 20:38:51 07/03/2012 by Frei, and last modified on 20:16:51 07/06/2012.