Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Andrew's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, September 25th, 2008
10:01 am	As Tzeentch would say...progress! Managed to finalize all of Evil Shine's lyrics. Now translation phase begins, which will be a pain in the ass but hey, any practice I can get for working on my project is good. I love Saiga-JP. Best kanji-hunting resource I've ever seen. I also love having Thursdays off. Not a three-day weekend, but it's time to relax and recollect myself, plus do any last-minute emergency work for Friday. 猛る魂 神に抗え 秘めたる力解け 呪術の声高らかに 大地翔ける Current Mood: accomplished (Comment on this)
Friday, May 9th, 2008
11:30 pm	Thank you, finally Birthday season is done. Finals are done. THANK YOU. FINALLY. Birthday season being done means that I don't have to write stories during finals. Not that I HAD to, but I wanted to, which technically doesn't give me grounds to complain about it, but I'm doing that anyways. Because I'm mostly so elated to have everything done. It is my pleasure to say, happy birthday to Leah and Homes. I hope you both enjoy the pieces. I also hope that everyone has finished (or is finishing) the year well enough. It's been a unique experience for me, and I look forward to the next year. Ooooh, and if you stay the night - oh yeah We'll make the wrong seem right So come on now! ROCK ME! ROCK ME! ROLL ME THROUGH THE NIGHT! ROCK ME! ROCK ME! ROLL ME THROUGH THE NIGHT! ROCK ME! ROCK ME! ROLL ME THROUGH THE NIGHT! There's nothin left to do but make sweet love to you! (Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008
10:47 am	Truly, this body is made of infinite swords It has always been my belief that there are orders of insanity, and then at the pinnacle of insanity there is yet one more unattainable level where I make my nest. I recently have been proven wrong. There is yet another, unseen level wherein rests the truly insane mind of the math major(s). These people should be given a wide breadth, as at any moment they are liable to launch into a tirade of double-integrals, Taylor Series, and differential equations, before tearing into the soft flesh of the nearest human being in a crazed, bloody ritual to their depraved math god, P'thagor. When in the presence of a math major, remember that the best defense is a good offense. Subdue them, preferably with animal tranquilizers, before they begin to discuss their eldritch material. Once they have started, only large arms fire contains sufficient force to disable them. Remember: forewarned is forearmed. Current Mood: awake (Comment on this)
Saturday, December 15th, 2007
11:24 pm	U.N. Owen was her? Presumed 3.76 for the semester, which is far better than I had originally anticipated. Just have to keep it up. Some get a kick from champagne Beer, alcohol doesn't thrill me at all So tell me why should it be true That I get a kick out of you? Current Mood: amused (Comment on this)
Monday, December 3rd, 2007
9:14 am	For those who have courage, there is no boundary The first class is done with. Three to go. Friday, Saturday, Monday. Chem, Calc, HE. Not too bad. Tired as I am of GaoGaiGar, that's one of the few things I never get tired of. 18 credit hours next semester, sheesh. Reconsidering major. The world is wide. I am not afraid to step into it. Felt like stopping in and saying hi, even if nobody bothers saying hello in return. Like a gift from the heavens It was easy to tell It was love from above That could save me from hell She had fire in her soul It was easy to see How the devil himself Could be pulled outta me Current Mood: calm (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, September 17th, 2007
8:19 am	Huh... Interesting line I just happened to write whilst doing an english paper. Gone are the days of Superman where good was an ideal everyone strived for, where there was good and evil and the area between. Now, the world is a sea of grey, and any action is justifiable because everything has to be subjective. The question is, how can you have any concept of what grey is without knowing what black and white are? Current Mood: pensive (Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 5th, 2007
10:04 am	Revolution It's still kind of a surreal experience, even though I'm halfway into my third week here. The campus is big, but easily negotiable, and most of my classes are lumped up on the McAllister-University intersection anyways, so I don't spend a lot of time searching for the right place anymore. I find it interesting that, having left high school, I rarely if ever think about posting on this thing. In fact, the only reason I'm even here is because I was browsing a friend's and decided to toss one up. What does that say about my school experience? What does that say about me? Who fuggin knows, I just enjoy the lack of connection I have here. I've seen people I know (including BDB, which was weird), but other than a wave and a 'hello', the only person I've actually talked to consistently has been Zach. On the whole, I enjoy my classes. English isn't as boring when the majority of it is discussion instead of lecture or timed writing. Human Event is great (thanks for recommending Susser, Sarah), Chem is...tolerable, the lab is three hours long (not a good thing), I can teach my calculus class better (and with an understandable accent) than the teacher can, and ASU 101 is really just a way to burn an hour and a half on tuesday afternoons. I do notice a void in my life where band is supposed to be, so it's something I'm considering going for next semester. I suppose it's hard to discard something that's been a huge deal for seven consecutive years of your life. House is a great show, and I can't wait for the fourth season to start (even though I have no TV in here). We the Order of the Hammer, shall delve into the Dark Shadows. We shall seek out the Tainted, we shall pursue the Vilest Evil. It is we who stand guard, our Eternal Watch shall not fail. For we are the Ordo Malleus! Current Mood: calm (Comment on this)
Monday, June 18th, 2007
6:35 am	It's taken miles of lines to learn the right from the wrong Summer break has, thus far, been enjoyable. Done nothing of any importance, just laid around, occasionally tried for a job or two...but yeah. There's something to be said for having nothing to do in that it gives you a great deal of time to put a great number of things into perspective. As a result, several issues I previously had at the end of the school year have been laid to rest as a matter of thought process. It's the next best thing to fixing them, but when the second party suddenly stops all pretenses, well, it's difficult for a first-hand solution. I've continued to keep in touch with people, and thus I assume those are the people I'll talk to when college starts. Which is fine for me, and honestly something I expected. Some of the people surprise me, but I'm not entirely immune to such things. Super Robot Wars Original Generations is released in eight days, something I very much look forward to. Since I didn't grab a ticket in time, it looks like California/Blizzcon this summer is out, which leaves me with about $500. What to do. Oh, and. Idly. While I'm still posting this. To those of you who've been lying to me to my face about important things for the past year or so... Toki wa kumo o tsuku yoo na nami o tate osou yo Kesarete yomichi o hau koe tachi ni kotaete Wasure wa shinai Kimi no koto wa Kanawanu michi ni Nao hitori tachi (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, May 10th, 2007
4:32 pm	Dawn is the promise of light Tamawo hitotsuhasshini issenwo asonde / 弾を　ひとつ発しに　一戦を　遊んで、 Ishhukan no kurushimi, ichibyou ni yorokobikara / 一種間の苦しみ、一秒の喜びから Sentouto bunka ni / 戦闘と　文化に Chotto ryoku taerarete / ちょっと　量く　耐えられて Shitakujanakatta hito ni tega sasete / したくじゃなかった人に　手が　させて、 Ima kimi ga bokuto ikijigoku ni itte / 今君が　僕と　生き地獄に　行って Gekiryu no Koketsu ni yoroshiku / 激竜の　虎穴に　よろしく And I'll take this in college so that I can do this myself! Time holds a candle for each of us Don't let it burn without meaning or cause My cause? To awaken what lies within. Truly, the lair of the raging dragon. (Comment on this)
Monday, April 30th, 2007
10:07 pm	How time flies In two days, it will be May 2nd. That means in two days, it will be the birthday of a friend that I'm fairly certain I've lost all ties with. I can't even remember how we met. I know the basics - I saw her writing, IMed her, and we hit it off. And for a great deal of time it was good. Come the end of freshman year, I was dealing with a lot of confidence issues as well as suicidal urges; as a result, she said some harsh things that needed saying. Needless to say, it shaped me up a lot. I became overall a bit more happier. That summer, I believe it was, I said that phrase that is oh-so-deliciously deceptive: "I love you". And I thought I meant it. I think the whole time she knew better, but she played along, and I think my feelings were returned to some degree (unless she was just a very good actor). Then something happened and ultimately we just stopped. It was a winter month, I know that much. But we just stopped. And I hoped, hoped beyond belief that even with the whole thing we would remain friends. And we did. Sorta. Between the middle of my sophomore year and the late fall/early winter of my senior year, we cooled off to each other; no longer shared the laughs, got on each others' nerves. I'd always been a proponent of the need for conflict in a relationship in order to make it work, but nearly-constant arguing does not a stable friendship make. I can't remember the last conversation we actually had. I know it was after October because I had spent parts of break in Alabama calling her and we had tried to convince her to come down and meet us. But I know that in the end of it all I just gave up. Haven't heard a word since. And now it's been more than half a year, and it has been both long and short. And in the time I've reflected on friends that I've gained and friends that I've lost, and ultimately the lost category is so much higher, and I try to figure out why, but no answer makes itself apparent. What am I trying to say? I lost a damn good friend this year, and while I would like to talk to her again, on some level I just can't. Because I know that the things I find hilarious are the things she finds offensive, and that the things that she finds entertaining are things that I stopped liking way back when. Maybe I'm making too much out of nothing, or maybe I'm not making enough out of a very important thing. I can't really say. What I do know is that I have a stomachache that isn't going away until I get this thing posted, and I would like some sleep tonight. Leah, if you're reading this, I honestly don't know what to say. We've had our differences (hell, a LOT of differences) and despite that I consider you one of the best people I've ever known, and I know that you know a lot more about me than anyone else. Would I like to be friends again? Yeah. Is it even possible? Damned if I know. I've changed, you've changed. We weren't getting along well for a while before, and I don't know if we just needed some time not talking or what. It'd be terrible to let you go without saying something though. I can't promise a letter or a rough draft. Even that got out late last year. Way late (the letter was written at the beginning of April, after all). But I can promise that I will have something again this year to celebrate your birthday (how old are you now? I was never good with ages). In short, if you've read this, I can't decide if I should call this a peace offering (were we ever at war?) or an attempt to reclaim something that was once very dear to me. "Nobody can tell who's the victim and who's the aggressor" as the intro of Ace Combat 0 so summarily puts it. Maybe you remember this better than I do. But this is two things. It's an offer of friendship, or at least a renewed acquaintance if we can't manage that right off (and maybe we can't). And it's a promise that you'll see something come Wednesday. All I can do is send this off. The rest is up to you. I can't really figure out a way to end this appropriately. Perhaps... In remembrance of what once was, in hopes of what will come, and in honor of your birthday, Andrew David Repko (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 21st, 2007
4:40 pm	"A hero? That's a sandwich, right?" Random thoughts on the modern hero. I'm going to be stealing a lot of quotes from a similar post made by my good friend Mousse. And we'll kick this off with one. "There's no place in modern fiction for the classic knight in shining armor, his sad little cliched ass end ups killed by a cruel and unaccepting world in the first few pages." It is a sad but true comment. We no longer have heroes that do good for the sake of doing good - there's always an underlying motivation, and most of that motivation belongs to revenge. Batman is a classic example: he's a protagonist, but one can hardly call him a hero simply because of the fact that he uses the same methods that the thugs he relentlessly pursues do. Most stories these days feature just that: protagonists, not heroes. We have become so disillusioned by SOMETHING, and as a result we can no longer have the pure of heart, merely the motivated by personal interest. Perhaps the big shift occurred during Romanticism? Authors wrote of the hidden evils in man's heart, that regardless of how one acted, there was that blemish of original sin (a "birthmark" if you like Hawthorne) that said that mankind's default behavior was not good. Yet even then these were probably the last HEROES of the time - while one cannot label any character a hero or heroine in The Scarlet Letter, Henry David Thoreau's works (as much as I despise them) like Civil Disobedience display at least some manner of heroism. Philosophers like Thomas Hobbes write of the natural state of man as being nasty, brutish, and short. Cynics comment that mankind only does good because he expects something out of it - a step towards salvation, monetary compensation. This notion then trickled down further and further and in the aftermath of the Civil War and the birth of Realism, it took root and has yet to be removed. Stephen Crane's infamous Red Badge of Honor. From there to Naturalism - Jack London's various works like To Build A Fire. Can you call any of these men honest-to-god heroes? I can't. I believe the most recent examples of actual honest heroes are holdovers from the beginning of the previous century - Superman, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins (they were unlikely heroes, but they did good for the sake of doing good, not because of any thought of compensation). "We live in an age where heroes can't be heroic anymore... no, all modern stories must be ruthlessly patterned after the soul crushing truth, where heroes can go out and rape, murder and steal, because real people (as opposed to stereotypical tropes) are horrible, and this is how real life is." This is what Realism did to us. We have to constantly live with the fact that we are but human and we are evil first and foremost. We are constantly surrounded by and always take delight in the evils of our existence - the big news is always a murder case or the latest celebrity scandal; kids making a difference go on page E8 under a small headline in a teeny tiny column to make enough room for the big juicy gossip stories. And because violence and smut sell so well, this translates into modern media. Especially into books. As the quote I intro'd with states, we can no longer be satisfied with the knight in shining armor because we cannot accept a character who holds himself to a higher standard than we do because it makes us realize how downtrodden and corrupt we have become. Perhaps it's just me, but I read because of something called "suspension of disbelief" - I want to go places I don't know, see things that aren't real, and get to know characters that are beyond human because of what they exemplify, not just because of what they can do. What is the point of being superhuman if all you do is act as though you ARE human? It makes no sense. The Incredibles is a big proponent of what I think of. Robert Parr struggles to accept his normal place in society because he was an exemplar of Law, an exemplar of Good and now he must sacrifice his morals to fit in with the rest of society. The mugging scene where he loses his job is proof positive - he is better than us. And it's not just because he's got superhuman strength, it's because he possesses a moral code that we lack. Unfortunately, The Incredibles is lost amidst the sea of titles of characters with the power to make a difference who ultimately refuse to do so because it's in human nature not to give a flying fuck about anyone but yourself. Or they happen to do so only because it's one step along some goal that they and they alone have. I think that Realism's common theme of the loss of innocence is true, but only because it forced us to do so. Being able to see the forest for the trees is a skill that humanity lost in the late 1800s. And now in a time where we need moral direction more than ever, we have no place to turn to because everything is corrupt; we are eternally disillusioned because of a literary movement that centered around the poison that is mankind, rather than focusing on the good that mankind could do. I was born into the wrong era - I want heroes where there are none. The populace, it would seem, does not want heroes anymore - they want Joe Schmoe who looks out for number one. Because hey, it makes us feel better about not doing stuff that we morally should. Am I saying that the protagonist trend needs to stop altogether? No. But I am saying that honest to god heroes need to come back so that we can find some kind of moral center again. Shades of gray may be the best way of describing the world as we know it, but defining an absolute white and black gives us a way of knowing how gray each shade is. Current Mood: Inspired (Comment on this)
Sunday, April 8th, 2007
7:50 pm	The Unsung War Idle thoughts go here. I can't seem to understand how people can feel the same way about a certain issue and yet constantly find ways to not to agree. I want to punch my friend for not ignoring sound advice and asking anyways. I've done it several times and been rejected every time. He's at least got a shot. And in the midst of this chaos, I find a kind of distinct satisfaction. For once, it seems like things are beginning to come together. Still a short run to the finish line, but the path is clearer now than it's ever been. There are things that I need to say that I'm still working up the proper nerve to do so. But shortly. Very shortly. This trip will be memorable. Last band trip, but that's not the biggest thing about it. There's something...more to the whole affair that I think will present itself shortly. But I can tell that this is going to be something that stays with me for a bit. There's a lot of questions that I want to ask, but no opportunity as yet. All in good time. Don't change I love that you're deranged You've got me trapped and caged I'm so diggin your scene I said You're playin with my head I could split Instead, I'm so diggin your scene Current Mood: Hard Read (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 31st, 2007
10:14 pm	Drabble 4: Arctic Portrait ~Chapter 1~ This is the first chapter of my novel. --- Huff. Huff. Puff. Athens, Greece, 21:42 Huff. Huff. Puff. Footsteps, the hard, rhythmic thud of someone running, occasionally interrupted by a foot slipping on the cobblestone roads of the ancient city. And not far behind that, a clank-clank-clank of armored feet meeting ground. Everyone knows what it is. They live in constant fear of that sound now. Huff. Huff. Puff. A young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty, scrambles down the street. Her face is slick with sweat. Her hair, a stunning, vibrant blue, is matted to her forehead, and her clothes – or what pass for them – cling to her, saturated with the byproduct of her cross-country run. Huff. Huff. Puff. Her breath is coarse and heavy, her throat is raw. Her eyes water, and her entire body screams for her to stop. She has been running, non-stop, for nearly twelve hours now. The enemy is right behind her. She cannot stop. Not yet. Not when she’s so close. Huff. Huff. Puff. At last, she sees it. The grave of Theseus, protector of the downtrodden. There is a myth that slaves and those in need of help could find solace at Theseus’ grave from any threat. She is here to test that myth. A shot rings out, loud and clear, and suddenly a huge chunk of the cobblestone in front of her rips up. She barely manages to plant her right foot, launching herself to the side as another pair of shots slam into the cobblestone road, tearing up the pathway. She does not halt her momentum however, continuing forward on her adjusted path. Ten more meters. All she needs is to go ten more meters and she’ll be safe. More shots tear up entire feet of cobblestone as the .70 caliber bullets slam into the ground. It feels less like rifle shots and more like cannonfire to the girl. Huff. Huff. Puff. Finally, after a small eternity since their first shots, she dashes across the line marking Theseus’ grave, and finally comes to a stop – as does the gunfire. Almost amazed, wondering if Theseus still had power even in death, she turns slowly, wincing as she notes several soldiers exiting their hatches, their own revolvers trained on her. “You’re out of luck, slave. We’ve been chasing you since the shoreline off the Corinth Gulf. If you’d given up sooner, we might not have had to do this, but you’ve caused us to delay our timetable a great deal. I don’t know if Burilgi even wants you anymore. You’ve been a bad whore.” The slave doesn’t seem to respond. Her eyes are closed, thinking of her life. Most people in her position pray for some salvation from some god – not her. No, instead, she prays for salvation by her own hands, her freedom won by the blood of the men before her. A machine, decorated differently from the soldier units chasing her, armed with a longsword sized for the unit, separates the lined units, approaching slowly. Finally, after a long moment of silence, the hatch pops open, and the slave girl truly knows fear. Burilgi Maidar slowly descends from his mount, absentmindedly tugging off his gloves. Even in the middle of fall, Athens is fairly warm for these people, and so Burilgi finds himself striding towards the cowering blue-haired girl. She flinches as he extends his hand, but all he does is brush her hair aside from her cheek, and then cup her chin. She opens her eyes, wondering if she’ll be spared. He tilts her chin up so that she looks him in the eyes, and she knows there is hope. He is not like the others, he’s not… He drops his hand back to his side, and turns to walk away. With a small sigh of remorse, he waves to the soldiers. “Kaiqiang.” She looks relieved for a moment. Then she hears the tell-tale cocking of the bolt-action rifles. And at once her relief turns to horror. Then they fire. Do you want to live? She blinks. It seems that for a moment, time itself has stopped. Then she hears that voice again. Do you want to live? Yes. Will you form a soulbind with me? A soulbind? Error. Incorrect response. Will you form a soulbind with me? …yes. In that instant, the edge of Theseus’ grave shimmers, and the bullets fired at the girl simply bounce off. What is your name? My name…my name is… “Kori Cirenni.” Chapter 1 Athens, Greece, 21:51 To say that the soldiers were shocked would be an understatement. They fired their rifles again and again, but to no avail. Then, one of the soldiers got the idea to use his mount’s rifle. The machine lifted up the rifle and took a moment to aim at the girl, and then pulled the trigger. The enormous round met the same fate, slamming headlong into a shimmering barrier before simply falling to the ground, inert. The Zhuqing mecha squeezed off two more rounds, and watched both of them fall to the ground, completely and totally frozen. Kori watched on in amazement. She had no idea where that voice had come from, but somehow she was being protected, and could only stare on as these supernatural things happened. Well…she knew about herself, but supernatural fact and theory were two entirely different things, and watching any kind of defensive spell in action the first time was bound to leave an impression. However, Kori had more important things to be taking care of. Master, please come. Almost mechanically, Kori felt her legs pull her towards the tomb of Theseus. She was surprised that her body was moving of its own will, but eventually she realized that the spell probably couldn’t hold forever. So she ran again, following the tingle in her mind. As it grew more and more, she wondered what exactly was speaking to her. Master, stop. Stop Kori did, not exactly aware of what was going on. Suddenly, from behind a pair of pillars, a sleek-looking machine strode. It was shorter than the Zhuqings that had been chasing her, and leaner. She noted the blue orb in the middle of the chest – she had seen that on several of the machines while she had lived among the enemy, but the machines she was most familiar with, the Zhuqing, had nothing like that, nor a place for it to go. What…are you? I am Nrvnqsr Ark. Guardian Armor classification N-04. Guardian Armor…like the Zhuqing? Yes. I am a hybrid-type Guardian Armor. Hybrid…I see. So…do I get in? That would be the idea, Master. Kori hesitated to think that the machine was snarky. She rushed and clambered up onto the machine, into the cockpit that hovered twelve feet off the ground. Adjusting herself to the new controls, she suddenly felt something pressing against her neck. “Wha-“ “Relax, Master.” Now, rather than simply communicating in her head, the machine itself spoke to her. “I am simply performing the necessary adjustments so that we may interface better.” “Necessary adjustments? What do you me-“ She found out when a sharp pain suddenly coursed through her neck as something unwanted forced its way in. As she reached her hand around to check, she felt the machine move, and realized that as her arm moved, so too did the machine’s. “So you…connected my movements with the machine’s?” “Correct. In order to facilitate spellcasting on the same scale as the Guardian Armors, the Guardian Orb and Direct Link are used.” “…I’ll ask more about this later. So you’re saying that I can cast spells in this now?” “Correct, Master. Of course, this is assuming that you know spells.” “Now isn’t the time to be picky!” Kori muttered under her breath. She knew magic, bits and pieces from her father. She was the daughter of a strange magician, and her father had stayed around long enough to teach her several of the basics, but she was sorely out of practice, forced into slavery for over ten years. She had tried to practice when she could, but the opportunities were few and far between. One spell came unbidden to her mind, and she let whisper arcane syllables, and the hand gestures came with them. Suddenly, before her a shield appeared and shimmered. “Defensive spell analyzed and stored. Rho Aias.” “So how do I walk? I mean, if I try to walk in here, I’ll run out of room.” “Thought process. Only the arms are controlled by body movement during the Direct Link, but it allows you to move me. If you tell me to walk, I will walk.” Kori concentrated for a moment, and heard the telltale sounds of the Armor walking forward. “So…I presume we have no choice but to fight, right?” “That is correct, Master. There are five enemies, three in front, and two behind. Our path to either side is blocked.” Kori winced. She still had no clue how well she could make this handle. “So…weapons. Do you have any weapons I can use?” “Yes, Master. Disengaging Claiomh Solais now.” Kori heard a whump behind her and spun the Ark, to see a greatsword proportioned for the Armor begin to tilt. She reached out quickly and grabbed the hilt with one, then both hands, and lifted it up. Surprisingly, it did not cause as much strain as she had figured it would. “Well then. Ark, we’re going.” “Yes, my Master.” Still taking unsteady steps as Kori tried to prepare herself, the Armor began to approach the opposite side of the barrier, unaware of Burilgi and his two companions leading their units around, seeing that she was attempting to retreat. At the edge of the barrier, she saw the two Zhuqing units staring her down, rifles leveled. “Here goes nothing, I suppose.” With that, the blue-haired woman inside the twenty-foot armored shell stepped out. Almost immediately, a pair of .70 caliber shells lanced through the air. She raised her arms instinctively, turning her head away, when she felt a slight vibration but nothing more. She hesitantly peeked out. There in the air before her, a shimmering shield of many layers loomed before her. On the ground were the two rifle shells fired. Before her, the two Zhuqing units opened the bolts to replace the cartridges with fresh ammunition. Kori wouldn’t give them the time. Still unsteady, the Ark dashed forward, the Armor’s hands raising Solais above its head. Both Zhuqing units hurriedly dropped their rifles, drawing their own longswords. Charging the closest one, Kori brought the Solais down as hard as possible. The two blades clashed, with only Kori’s unsteady swordsmanship keeping the soldier alive. The second Zhuqing suddenly went on the offensive, forcing Kori to disengage and thrust her hand out again, summoning upon Rho Aias to deflect the incoming blow. This time, she was determined. Gripping the Solais yet again with both hands, she struck again, this time sweeping sideways and up. Again, she met steel, but the effect this time was a bit different. It almost seemed like the force of the blow had projected a small rush of air, before the Zhuqing’s upper torso suddenly separated from the rest of the machine. In morbid fascination, both she and the pilot of the other machine watched as the Zhuqing toppled backwards. “Danger! Master!” Feeling an unknown pulse in her head, Kori turned in the direction that it came from, extending her hand again. The Rho Aias, looking thinner now, was summoned, deflecting more bullets. The one mech that looked different, Burilgi’s mech, was not firing, but instead moving forward to engage in combat as well. It hefted a bardiche, and some fifty meters away kicked off the ground. With a sense of awe, Kori watched as the Guardian Armor arced through the air, gripping the haft of the polearm with both hands. Sense returned as alarms went off in her mind, and gripping the Solais she brought it up in front. The Ark’s sword swung upward toward the bardiche and both met, the shock and sudden force forcing Kori’s machine to groan under the strain. Her machine seemed to sink a foot into the ground, the tremors spreading out to the surrounding houses. The same wind that that cleaved the Zhuqing in two did not appear. Kori had no time to wonder why, as Burilgi’s mecha came at her again. Opting to try and immobilize him for a moment to try and cut him down, she summoned up Rho Aias again. The bardiche slammed into the barrier – and then a moment later the layers shattered. This was all the time Kori had needed, as she suddenly thrust forward with the Claiomh Solais. The Guardian Armor was forced backward, taking additional steps as the wind appeared again. Suddenly, Kori could hear the commander’s laughter. “So you have some fight in you after all. My Jagun-Vachir has yet to truly scratch you – an impressive feat, I must say! This has been a most heartening contest. But you’ve no place in Armored combat. If you give up now, I will spare your life.” Kori snarled. “The same way you spared my life earlier? No thanks! I’ll take my risks!” She rushed forward, Claiomh raised high. Burilgi shook his head. With one sweep of the bardiche, he stopped her assault, and then shuffled forward a few steps, tearing up the cobblestone street. The haft smashed into the ground between the Ark’s legs, and even as the Solais came around to hit him from the side, Burilgi jammed the Armor’s arm with the upper part of the haft. With one swift move, Burilgi swept the lower haft back towards him, taking out the Ark’s left leg and simultaneously pushing forward on the Ark’s right torso, dropping the Armor to the ground. Pointing the tip of the bardiche at the torso, Burilgi took another moment to speak. “A slave trying to fight against us? We are the Revitalized Mongol Empire! Under Tegus Arslan, we will again rule the earth! And a lowly slave like you thinks you can take on one of his commanders?” Burilgi’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You will die like the swine you are!” With that, he raised the bardiche to bring it crashing down. “RHO AIAS!” Kori screamed, thrusting her arm up to block. The bardiche slammed into a revitalized Rho Aias, forcing Burilgi to grit his teeth in frustration. He forced the bardiche down harder, and could see the fourth barrier winking out of existence already. He was already almost down to her. Then he noticed the machine’s free hand moving. She couldn’t possibly be casting one-handed, could she? He was about to find out. Current Mood: Aku. Soku. Zan. (Comment on this)
Friday, March 30th, 2007
11:55 am	Drabble 3: A Second Chance A Second Chance A Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha A’s fic by Joak Drysso Boring Disclaimer: I hate writing these. I don’t own Nanoha. --- A small fire burned about a quarter mile from the bunker. A woman rested there, watching the fire burn, listening to the crackle of the wood. She held her hand out, and let the fire kiss it for a moment – she pulled it back, relishing in the brief bit of warmth it provided. It wasn’t that the planet’s temperature was cold – she just preferred heat. Cold always made her think of the past. She never liked doing that. “General Signum, a moment of your time?” The woman lifted her head up, and looked at the soldier that approached. He was young and new – exactly the kind of soldier Signum hated seeing in the battlefield. With a reluctant sigh, the woman forced herself to stand. “What is it, soldier?” “The Time-Space Administration Bureau has agreed to temporarily cease hostilities with us, on the condition that you consent to meeting with their leader to discuss the permanent cease-fire.” “Tell them that I accept, then.” “Begging the general’s pardon, but, uh, it seems that they want you to say it.” Signum sighed. “Very well.” She turned and walked over to the fire, picking up a dish of water and pouring it, extinguishing the light and sending a burst of steam up. Retrieving the sheathed blade that rested nearby, she turned to the soldier. “Lead on, then.” With a sharp salute, the man turned and began walking back. --- “We too grow weary of war,” Chrono Halloun spoke over the communications link. “Therefore, with your presence, we hope to finally put an end to this conflict.” Signum regarded the face before her. She knew Chrono Halloun as well as he did her – although he didn’t realize it. She had known him since her childhood, actually. He had saved her on several occasions. The fact that he didn’t recognize her baffled her still, but such considerations were not the primary purpose of the TSAB. To her, they were a machine built for war and destruction – one that would inevitably have to be removed completely to make every planet safe. Still, she had more pressing matters to attend to before she could consider such lofty goals. “Understood. We will meet on neutral ground to discuss the terms of the peace agreement. I’m glad that the Time-Space Administration Bureau is as exhausted by this as we are.” She flashed a rare smile – dazzling in its beauty and effectiveness – and absentmindedly flicked the switch, terminating the communications link. For a moment, she studied herself in the screen’s reflection. She touched her hair. When she had been young, it had been red. As she had grown, so too had her exhaustion – now her hair was faded to a reddish-pink tone. This had earned her the nickname “Crimson Devil” amongst the TSAB forces, and the name had even spread to her own. She struggled for a moment, trying to remember how it had happened. Ah, yes. One of the few memories of the past not wrought with agony. --- The kodachi hadn’t been Signum’s favorite weapon, but it was what her brother and father were the most proficient with, so she had learned it. Her personal favorite was the bastard sword – there were a lot of options for combat with it, and it was aesthetically pleasing to her. So when she presented herself on the battlefield, she usually had both. This was one of those times. The teen clenched her fists, and the ring on her right hand pulsed with light. The magical energy she had discovered entirely by chance fluctuated, and through the ring it channeled her powers into flight. She hovered above the ground, watching the skies. The soldiers around her looked at her bewildered – they knew that the enemy had mages, but not that one of their own had that strange gift. Some were frightened – others felt bolstered knowing that someone could truly fight the enemy. Sure enough, the first ranks descended from the skies, and a sheet of anti-air fire converged on them. Most of them remained unharmed – one took a rather particularly powerful barrage head-on, piercing the protective barrier and soon enough his body. The corpse began to free-fall. That seemed the cue for the counterattack. From beyond the clouds a return barrage fired, powerful lasers liquefying anything caught in them. A group of soldiers near Signum started to scatter before the pillar of scarlet energy hit. Then the mages loosed their own attacks – Signum smirked as she noted the majority were aimed directly at her. She crouched for a moment, and then pushed off the air, launching herself directly at the incoming magical artillery. The first to reach her were a barrage of weaker shots intended to batter her protection spells – they weren’t aware Signum didn’t have any, but fast as they were, Signum was used to this kind of pattern. She weaved through them without issue, coming face to face with the second, and probably the strongest of the spells she would be faced with. She could have easily dodged this one, but the damage it would do to the forces beneath her – what was left of them after that first barrage, at least, was incalculable. She didn’t have much of a choice. The twin kodachi slid from their sheathes, and she continued her charge. “Panzer Geist.” The two blades shimmered now, coated in magical energy designed to protect them from attacks – she never used it like it was supposed to. She led with her right, striking the tip of the projectile. The Panzer Geist did its job, the sword did not shatter on impact. In fact, the weapon seemed to be actually carving into the spell. Then, Signum truly began to work her own particular magic. A flurry of strikes disrupted the magical flow of the spell, and it soon died with a burst. For a moment, the mages thought they had won. Then she came charging out of the cloud of smoke. Her first Enforcer victim. Killed when the kodachi blade burst through his barrier and sank into his skull. Her second Enforcer victim. Killed by a thrust to the heart, a quick, clean kill. Her third Enforcer victim. Killed when Signum retrieved her weapons and stabbed through his neck and heart. Her fourth Enforcer victim. Bisected at the chest by Signum’s bastard sword while the three others had just begun to feel the influence of gravity. Signum turned and pulled the two blades out of the third Enforcer’s corpse, kicking the body away. Sheathing them, she looked up at the skies. “Really. Is this all they can offer?” She propelled herself skyward again, passing through the clouds. She knew that in another minute the battleship that had entered the atmosphere to loose its barrages and deploy its troops would have finished charging the cannons for a second shot. This army would not survive that. She entered a third cloud, and with a sharp inhale suddenly spun her hips, bringing the sword across her midsection. She was greeted with the grotesque sound of metal tearing through body, and knew in an instant that some unfortunate soul on their way down to fight had just been killed for choosing the wrong path. She chose not to let it bother her. She shot through the last cloud separating her and the ship she knew as the Arcanum. She had even served on it during her brief stint as an Enforcer. And now she was going to destroy it. --- Signum allowed herself a rare smile. She had won, of course. She knew the ship’s schematics from both her service and the intelligence – it had been a simple matter of vaporizing the hull to gain access. Inside, she was free to wreak her havoc. Weapons systems, shields, engines, everything she had access to she destroyed. Almost as a passing thought, she wondered what Fate would have thought of this. A memory came unbidden – a young blonde girl screaming in terror as the reality around her was ripped asunder – and she felt sick to her stomach. “Excuse me. I’ll be leaving now.” Not waiting for a response, she rose from her chair and left, leaving a disquieted command room behind her. Once again outside, she ran a hand through her hair. Looking up to the night sky, she allowed a moment to breathe, trying to quell the nausea again. That’s…how this all happened. That’s why I am who I am, where I am…why I am. But am I enough? With Levantine by her side, she had thought so. Even before she had received the Demon Blade from the Book of Darkness in exchange for her service as a Guardian Knight, she had been a terror to the TSAB. Armed with the Belka-type armed device, however, she seemed nigh unstoppable. But for one weapon. The Arc-en-Ciel, the weapon that the Asura had equipped. The weapon that was able to destroy entire planets in single shots. I have to beat that. I have to beat Chrono…can I really do that? And at long last, she began to explore her memories. The screams echoing in her mind, the screams of Fate Testarossa as the Garden of Time collapsed around her. The first girl she had been unable to save. It had been hard on her – she had finally made a new friend, and then in the chaos had lost her almost immediately. It was a kind of survivor’s guilt, but the cut went deeper than that. That was not, however, the end of the sordid string of deaths. Fate’s screams were joined by a chorus. These were the Wolkenritter, Hayate’s Cloud Knights. Signum paused for a moment, trying to recall. There had been…three. A young hotheaded girl with a hammer…an older woman who avoided direct confrontation as much as possible…and a familiar, kind of like Arf had been to Fate. And then there was Hayate herself. Signum shivered. Her screams joined the rest. She had been forced to watch as Hayate was frozen by Chrono. Hayate had not protested, merely wept and screamed for her friends and knights. And she had not been able to do anything but let Chrono freeze Hayate. Her hands clenched into fists. That had been the start of it. Shortly afterward, she had become an Enforcer. She took her first real life at age 14. Plagued by memories of Fate and Hayate, and horrified of the blood on her hands, she resigned from the TSAB and returned home. This was when she first started having difficulty using Raising Heart. Spells took more energy to cast, had a more harrowing effect on her body. Soon, even possessing it was straining her body – it was how her hair had faded to the color it was now. She returned the item to Yuuno, who had taken pity on her and given her the ring she had now as a basic magical storage device. By the time she was halfway into her fifteenth year, the lessons of her father and brother had paid off – she was equal with the kodachi. She had also begun research on techniques with which to use the hand-and-a-half sword. At 16, she left her home. Adopting the name Signum, she went from planet to planet, helping those in need, saving them from a terrorizing TSAB. That was when her first real battle against the TSAB had occurred – that was when she destroyed the battleship Arcanum and gained the nickname “Crimson Devil”. The most powerful day of her life had occurred just before her twenty-first birthday. In a stunning display, the Time-Space Administration Bureau had used the Arc-en-Ciel on a planet. It was obliterated, with everyone on it. That was when several worlds declared war on the TSAB, and when Signum became a true legend. She had led the united armies against the TSAB forces in a crusade that she knew was destined to fail. Hope seemed so bleak when a dimensional rift opened before her, revealing to her the Book of Darkness that Chrono and the others had sealed. She pledged her service in exchange for some method of emerging victorious. She was granted Levantine, and with it she led the united forces to victory after victory. However, she learned soon enough that Chrono was in command of the fleet. Not wanting to lose another friend, she had arranged for this cease-fire. And now her plans were about to come to fruition. There would be peace again. She wouldn’t have to be responsible for a third friend’s death. Calm now, she stepped back into the base to begin preparations for the meeting. --- Signum entered the clearing at a leisurely pace, her two bodyguards accompanying her. From the opposite side, Chrono Halloun emerged, guarded by his own pair of guards. They took a moment to look at each other. Signum was amazed at how much Chrono had grown – Chrono was acting like he was seeing her for the first time. Idly, Signum wondered if Chrono did not recognize her. But she didn’t say anything. That wasn’t the purpose of this. “So, I presume you have decided on your terms?” She offered, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. Chrono nodded. He extended one arm, containing a scroll, and with the other, pulled the warrant down. “Crimson Devil Signum, you are wanted by the Time-Space Administration Bureau for high treason and murder. You will come with us.” As he finished, before Signum or her bodyguards could react, a group of eight hidden mages released their spells. Signum’s bodyguards were killed instantly. “What - you lying son of a bitch!” She swore at Chrono, who merely shrugged. “I don’t need to concern myself with your problems. You will come with us. Now.” The ten guards present raised their hands, and the magical shackles that had been laid out in advance rose and clasped her, forcing her rigid. “Chrono, don’t you remember who I a-“ Her desperate plea was cut short as one of the mages knocked her unconscious. “Thank you. Let’s go.” As one, the mages and their captive teleported from the clearing, back to the ship Asura. --- “Ah, the Crimson Devil awakens.” Signum blinked a few times as she woke. Her body was rigid, refused to obey commands, and then she could feel the magical shackles binding her. “You betrayed your word.” “I did. My job is to ensure that the Time-Space Administration Bureau wins. Not some ragtag alliance of rebellious worlds.” Chrono’s words were cold. He had changed a great deal. “Now. You can use your legs. Rise, and follow me. I have something to show you.” Chrono did not wait for her, but immediately started walking. Signum, confused, forced herself up and stumbled after him. Soon, they were on the Asura’s bridge. Several members of the staffing crew shot amazed looks at Signum, unable to believe that the Crimson Devil herself was bound before them. Outside the viewport was the world she had been on before the kidnapping. She could already pinpoint the locations of seven different bunkers simply from geographical familiarity. “What do you have to show me?” “The destruction of the last hope you had of winning.” Chrono turned to the gunnery captain. “Prepare to fire the Arc-en-Ciel.” Chrono had not exactly expected Signum to attack him. She still could not free her arms, but her legs were more than strong enough to drive her into Chrono, checking him to the floor. She raised her leg to strike at his head when she suddenly felt something press into the small of her back, and suddenly her nerves flared up in pain as the stun weapon discharged into her. She nearly immediately collapsed, but was caught by the man who had pressed it. Chrono gave her a cold look as he rose from the floor. “That act of defiance will be your last, I assure you.” He walked over to the console and inserted the key. The Arc-en-Ciel discharged. The planet disappeared. Signum, who could only watch, tried to scream, but her body betrayed her. “Take her back to her cell. She will be executed in a day.” --- In the end, it was a fairly old-fashioned execution. She had been forced to stand, blindfolded, her arms bound behind her back, as a member of the executioner squad leveled a pistol at her. She could have resisted, but at this point it was mentally impossible for her. Everything she had worked for, undone in a single moment. She welcomed this. Your part in this tale is not done. Signum looked up. You promised your service. I call upon you to fulfill this oath. Signum’s head fell. “I am worth nothing now.” Chrono blinked. You are powerful. You will recover your confidence. You will come with me.” Signum finally nodded. “Very well.” In the instant between the shot being fired and the bullet drilling into her and killing her, the Book of Darkness stole her essence from her body, encoding her into the book. --- Now, Signum looked down on the sleeping Uminari City. In the streets below, Vita, the youngest Wolkenritter, pursued her enemy, a young mage. Signum had been too busy assessing the city to notice who exactly it was Vita was fighting. When she did, though, she suddenly inhaled. Down there, on the street, engaging Vita with her very best, was Takamachi Nanoha, nine years old. For a moment, Signum refused to believe that this was actually happening. How could she be down there… Perhaps…this is a chance. A chance to keep this from happening to her. Signum smiled. Yes. I can prevent this tragedy from ever happening again. Sorry, Nanoha. But I have to kill you. The elder Takamachi Nanoha, now Crimson Devil Signum, leader of the Wolkenritter, looked down, as Vita’s Missile Hammer connected, throwing the young Takamachi Nanoha into a nearby building. She remembered this – Yuuno would show up, and force Vita back. What she did not expect, what shocked her to the core, was that it was not Yuuno that gave chase to Vita as she retreated. A young blonde girl, wielding a sleek scythe-like magical device, pursued the child. Locked in combat, the girl was joined by another form. Signum recognized this as a familiar. Instinctively, she raced towards Vita. She could not stand by while her ally was being attacked. If this was Fate…if this was truly Fate, then perhaps this Nanoha would not follow the same path she had. But she could not leave that up to chance. Nanoha…show me that your reality is stronger! Current Mood: The CHS God of Rock (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 29th, 2007
12:36 pm	Drabble 2: Killing Fever Killing Fever A Tsukihime fic by Joak Drysso Boring Disclaimer: I don’t own Tsukihime or any of its characters. Foreword: You might be wondering, upon starting into this story, “Who is Shiki fighting? Why are they fighting? What is the point of this story that has absolutely no context but a hell of a lot of violence?” In short, this piece is simply an attempt to get the creative juices flowing again, as well as to regain the descriptive edge that has dulled in my writing recently. That said, enjoy. --- Frustration, anger, fear. The clearing reeked of it. Tohno Shiki could smell it. They knew something of him, though how they did he did not know. He didn’t even know who sent them after him, but at the moment, that didn’t matter. They had done something unforgivable – harmed someone close to him. That was really all the persuasion Shiki had needed. And now here they all were. What they didn’t know was that they were about to meet one of the most frightening people in existence. As they slowly crept from the trees, armed with various weapons – he saw a few poleaxes, hand-and-a-half swords, and even a few dao and jian. And all he had – all he needed – was the Nanatsu-Yoru. That knife was more than enough. For a moment, Shiki tried to count the bodies leaving the foliage to engage him. He lost count at about eighty – half because he didn’t care anymore, and half because the first ones were close enough that he had to start paying attention. He slid his right leg back and presented his left profile to the group. Blade clasped in his right hand, he raised his left arm and gestured for the first ranks to charge him. They paused, perhaps wondering if he were stupid or insane, or even both – the possibility that they had even been lied to entered some of their minds. They began to charge, obliging the madman before them. The first to reach was an axeman, wielding two tomahawks. His opening flurry was easy enough for Shiki to dodge – it was nothing compared to Nero, or Roa, or Akiha, or Arcueid – and so the boy dodged and weaved through the charge. The blade lashed out and scored an initial glance across the man’s chest – Shiki’s unconscious skill combined with focused energy born of anger tore through what little armor the man had on – drawing a thin trail of blood. This forced the charge to halt, giving Shiki the time he needed to bring his arm back in and clash the blade with the first tomahawk – his free hand caught the other hand by the wrist. For a moment they seemed deadlocked, and then Shiki swung his right leg in and slammed it against his aggressor’s, knocking his feet out from under him. Disengaging from him, Shiki raised the dagger overhead and then drove it down, piercing right through the man’s chest and slamming the body into the ground. Silence pierced the forest as all movement stopped. Slowly, the boy withdrew the blade from the man’s corpse, and drew himself up to full height. As the moonlight pierced the clouds for a moment, Shiki almost seemed transformed. Calmly, he removed his glasses, folding the sides and then carefully placing them in his pocket. He spun the knife a bit, almost playfully, with a deftness that struck awe in those nearest him. Then suddenly, he clasped it firmly in his hand again, and threw himself into their midst. Tohno Shiki fought like man possessed. He danced from opponent to opponent, not so much seeking to immediately kill any of them as much as seeking to disrupt their rhythm and force his own pace onto them. Even their best warriors were confounded by the unbelievable skill with which he wielded that small blade. He rarely clashed directly, especially with their bigger weapons – the dagger would have broken instantly. Rather, he struck at precisely the right angle to turn aside their blows so that they passed him, leaving them totally exposed to his counterattack. His second takedown was one of those, a man with a zweihander. The swing missed by mere inches, but Shiki drove the hilt into the man’s throat with such force that he fell back, clutching at his crushed windpipe. Shiki left him for dead. He had more important – More fun, Nanaya interjected – targets to worry about. Now that his glasses were off, Shiki no longer worried about the men armed with the longer weapons – with the slightest strain, he could see the lines. The dull ache of seeing so many lines in so little a place was already harassing him, but that was the least of his worries. He charged again. The spearman thrust his weapon forward, his eyes widening to the size of plates as the boy simply jumped above the thrust, and then used the shaft of the spear as a springboard, diving past him; it was the last thing he saw as the knife tore open his throat. He was now truly in the middle of the enemy, and Nanaya was practically begging to be a part of the fun. Shiki promised him his own time; right now he wanted his own personal vengeance. He lunged forward again. This foe wielded one of the jian, with better proficiency than his other enemies had. He lasted six seconds, two more than any of his comrades, before the Nanatsu-Yoru pierced his heart and he fell. Then, Shiki noticed that he was in a very bad position. On his left was a man hefting a two-handed axe, swinging horizontally, and on his right another prepared to skewer him with a katar. Okay, Nanaya, I’ve had my fun. Come on out. In that instant, something happened, but neither of them realized what until far too late. Nanaya jumped to the right, using his left arm to intercept the katar and force it aside without injury. His right foot hit first and he used his inertia to spin, driving the blade of the knife all the way to the guard into the man’s neck. Using the hilt as leverage, he had less than two seconds to act; the giant axe had missed its horizontal swing but the man had taken a step forward, using the wasted momentum to bring it up high and arc it down in a devastating vertical blow that would easily split Nanaya in two. He gripped the dead man’s hair and the dagger, and pulled the man into his shoulder. He brought the corpse up and over him into the axe, arresting the momentum and even forcing the weapon backwards, while Nanaya simply ripped the knife out and dove forward, his arm a blur as he drove the weapon in a flurry across the other man’s chest, flaying skin and bone without hesitation. As they fell together, Nanaya turned, and grinned with almost feral glee. “More.” His form blurred, then vanished. And reappeared in front of an unsuspecting soldier, horrified that someone who was supposed to be a teenage boy had already killed six of their hundred. This poor soul was, at least, spared more terror, the Nanatsu-Yoru finding a snug spot in his chest. Nanaya shoved the soldier off his weapon, already whirling to meet a trio of aggressors who seemed to have the right idea; they sought strength in numbers, rather than engaging in solo combat like their earlier foolish allies had. Three weapons – two of them spears, the third a dao, were thrust at the space that Nanaya had, half a second earlier, occupied. He appeared above them, descending and smashing down the weapons. “Really. Was that supposed to work?” He flipped the knife from his usual reverse grip and, with three quick jabs, dispatched of his latest adversaries. In a moment of inspiration, he kicked the dao up and, handling it as though he had trained with it for years, rushed forward, fencing a machete-wielder with it, before batting the blade out of the way and slashing the Nanatsu-Yoru across the stomach, the sword biting deep. A veritable whirlwind of steel, Nanaya did not hesitate to use this momentum, whipping his left arm which now contained the dao as hard as he could, hurling the sword. The weapon coursed through the air and sank into a waiting soldier’s skull. As his knees buckled, a war cry rose out. The remaining eighty-eight warriors began their desperate charge against this murderer. “Finally. A real challenge.” Nanaya idly switched the blade into his left hand. Now, even he was starting to feel the first pangs of the headache – that meant that if he switched back to Shiki, the pain would be rather intense. He had yet to use the lines simply because they were not, up to this point, necessary, nor as rough and bloody as Nanaya (and even, he suspected, Shiki) wanted. But now that he was forced to fight the horde, he had no choice. Now, he was going to show them the true meaning of terror. He had no doubt that their frontliners were wondering why he had changed his weapon to his off-hand. As his form blurred, then disappeared, only to reappear in front of another axeman, they found out why. The desperation swing of the axe was easily parried and shrugged away by the knife – with a spear-thrust of two fingers, Nanaya Shiki jammed his fingers into the man’s right shoulder, and dragged his fingers across the line that went diagonally down to his mid-stomach. Where the line ended, Nanaya withdrew his fingers. The process lasted less than half of a second. A bloody line in the man’s torso signified the brutality of the attack, before he collapsed. Whatever morale the men had bolstered before disintegrated – now it was just a group of horrified men looking to save their own skins by swarming him. Nanaya felt some glee. He hadn’t known how his body would handle cutting the line on its own. But the desired effect had been achieved, and now Nanaya’s bloodlust had been taken to another level. The silent intensity in his eyes had expanded, and now his entire body quivered in excitement as he danced among partners. Two more fell to knife blows, and a third fell prey to his newly-coined “Fingers of Death”. He parried a short-sword thrust and drove his fist into the man’s exposed neck, crushing his windpipe. Nanaya saved him the pain of choking to death by snapping his neck shortly thereafter. His next attack sent him blurring again, planting his foot and skidding forward as he began to transfer his forward momentum into centrifugal force – he halted both movements when he slammed his left foot to the ground. His right and left arms were extended. His fingers had solidly delved into a man’s line, and with a flourish, Nanaya traced it and tore his blood-soaked hand away, letting the man collapse. His knife had been flung from his hand, and found itself embedded in another’s skull as even more charged past him. Nanaya crouched low and dashed after the blade. In two bounds he had moved past a surprised trio of warriors and snatched the blade out of the man’s head as his legs began to fail. He spun it again, and assumed the reverse-grip for parrying. It was then that he heard a twang and spun. He didn’t know if it was too late or too early until he had cleared the turn. It would be close, but his left arm wasn’t exactly weak. He lifted the arm, blade intercepting the crossbow’s bolt, batting it away. For a moment, the blade was raised to the heavens even as he rotated. Then it fell, and once again flashed from his hand. This time, it found its mark in the would-be assassin’s chest. “Kyokushi…” Amidst the crowd, he disappeared faster than normal, and none saw him until he appeared above their comrade’s head, inverted, hands reaching down to grip his head. A brutal twist later, he fell to the ground. The demon they had been sent to pursue landed a moment later, his knife retrieved. “Nanaya.” Nanaya kept a mental tally. He was now one fifth of the way done. At least their swarming tactics were making it easier for him to kill them faster. The headache was growing in intensity, but Nanaya really paid it no mind. He knew the consequences it would have if he kept this going on too long, but the natural-born assassin had no intent of drudging through this group for hours on end. A group of four charged, and fell to a faster-than-sight flurry of knife-blows. Another trio hurled themselves at him, falling prey to his knife-work and Mystic Eyes. In the moonlight, Shiki’s finishing poses seemed like those of a werewolf; the soldiers genuinely believed that the moon had granted Shiki these powers to wreak hell’s vengeance upon them, a gift of killing fever, as the moon granted the werewolves of lore their transformations. None of them realized how much more extraordinary their foe was than any vampire or werewolf. He might have been human, but he had a power that nobody else did – a truly unique being in this world. It was his blessing, and that blessing was going to kill him shortly. Nanaya just wanted to have his fun while he was still alive. Swiftly, he kicked up one of the corpses that now littered the clearing, and pivoted his foot, rotated his hips, and then drove his right foot into the body’s spine, launching the human projectile into the first ranks. He followed behind, two swift strokes decapitating the two that had been caught by the corpse. Now he was among the horde. They moved to encircle him, trying to press in. Nanaya belatedly realized that this was not a good position to have pushed himself into. However, the same analytical mind that had allowed him to deal with Akiha in the school, the same analytical mind that had allowed him to drive off all manner of beasts and creatures, was already processing new data and providing him a way out. He struck out to his right, his foot flying right into waiting hands – this one was apparently pretty good at martial arts. Nanaya turned to face him, and then brought his left foot out from under him, striking at the man’s groin. The impact was muffled, as Nanaya had half-expected. He caught himself above the ground with his hands. Then he demonstrated how powerful his body was. Through sheer leg and arm strength, his body twisted, and the man who was now gripping one foot with the other between his legs twisted with him. His left leg removed itself from the region, and dipped low, flashing forward and colliding with the man’s left side, hurling him into his compatriots to Nanaya’s right. Nanaya landed on all fours, and then pounced, driving his elbow into another soldier’s stomach before bringing his knife-hand straight up, drawing his own line vertically up the soldier’s body. He pushed the body into the arms of his approaching allies, and then spun, slashing the Nanatsu-Yoru up at an angle through his new aggressor’s armpit. The severed limb fell just before the man’s death. Nanaya Shiki built himself a fortress of the dead. He held his new position moving very little, continually striking. From this position, he killed ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five. At thirty, he had to move – no longer could the soldiers even reach him, for the bodies simply stacked too high. WHAM. Nanaya stumbled a bit, dazed. What had just hit him? WHAM. Oh. The headache. He held his head for a few moments, trying to get a hold of himself. As much as Nanaya didn’t mind the pain, his body did. Nanaya actually enjoyed it – pain was proof that you were still alive. Against Akiha, and Nero, and the others, it had been an irritation, because it distracted him from the fight – pain was plentiful there. But against these soldiers? The only pain he had experienced the whole fight was this headache. Nanaya just chose to relish in it, and finish his task. He cleared the wall of bodies with a single bound, landing near enough to one of the remaining soldiers to drive his hand forward and spear the man’s stomach with the knife. He forced it down, not caring much to look at the results. His job was almost done. Nanaya loved nights like these. FIN Post-Script: This piece is iffy for me. On one hand, I like it because it’s a descriptive work, and I haven’t done many of those lately. On the other hand, and I bet that by the third page many of you would probably agree with me – it’s boring. It’s action-y, yes, descriptive, brutal, violent, but it lacks a certain something that makes it not so interesting. Granted, I had fully intended on leaving out the dialogue and just going with the violence and stuff from the get-go, but I had hoped to come across something that would make up for it. For those wondering why I didn’t have Shiki go for the lines from the get-go, it’s two-fold. The first is that Shiki was wearing his glasses to begin with, and also because he was rather upset. That’s my bullshit reason. The second, real, reason is that I had originally thought that when one cut the lines it was a relatively clean process – I had totally forgotten that when he sliced and diced Arcueid in the game it provided a rather messy bloodbath. I was talking with a friend and she reminded me that it was, in fact, not clean, so I put the lines in. Yes, I did rip off Kara no Kyoukai in allowing Nanaya to cut lines with his fingers. I thought the idea was pretty badass myself. One reason I decided to end this piece before the actual end of the showdown was because I was growing kind of uncomfortable with where it was headed myself. My descriptions of the wounds, I thought, were not graphic. Yes, there was blood spray, and the fight itself was graphic in terms of choreographic description (at least, I thought so, but I’ve been proven wrong before), but I’m not a person that enjoys gore. Towards the end, I was beginning to run out of steam in being creative with the attacks without getting descriptive with the wounds (which I think was obvious), and so I chose, rather than to start getting descriptive THERE, to just go ahead and end it while I wasn’t getting disgusted with my own work. Yes, I’m squeamish like that, and I read Berserk. I’m a weird person. Current Mood: Kyokushi Nanaya (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 28th, 2007
1:09 pm	Drabble 1: The Wanderer So yeah, I forget what exactly brought it all on, but at one point I was joking with homeless about her eventually getting fed up with all of her fanboys and cleaving them (and the world) in half. Then for some reason I started turning over the idea and thought of a swordmaster who cut the world in half and then wandered the galaxy looking for an apprentice. This is the product of that little bit. --- Once upon a time, there was a swordswoman. She was the greatest of her time, but she was humble. Her technique was never named, nor did she ever feel the need to name it. She simply practiced and perfected. She was idolized to an extent, held to the highest ideals of the world in an attempt to personify greatness. This was why she grew tired of them. She did not want greatness. She did not desire true perfection. She simply wanted to do what she loved to do. This was not good enough for the world around her – what good living ideal would simply be content with itself when it could become so much more? So the people begged her to do this and that. She would slay ogres, and they would shower her with praise and coin, but she refused both. The people begged her to depose some tyrant, and she would, and they would offer her seats of power, but she refuse those too. Soon, simple acts were not enough for the people – they wanted true demonstrations of ability and grace and power. And so individual practitioners of various martial arts began to challenge her. From spear-fighters to halberdiers to other swordsmen, she took on everyone who challenged her. And every battle she went through unscathed. And the masses grew more and more in awe. Soon, they even began to treat her as a god. She grew weary of this, however. The constant attention, begging for her to do this and that and the other for people who had the ability to do it themselves began to gnaw at her. She still did as they asked, but the discomforted feeling that she was doing something inherently wrong by acquiescing to their demands never truly left her. Instead, it grew more acute. Some of her more famous adventures took place in this era – she saved entire nations from natural disasters with mystifying techniques, things like halting avalanches with gusts of wind created solely by swinging her blade, or protecting a town from a volcanic eruption by creating barricades for the lava flow and blowing away the soot and raining lava. These only caused her worship to grow, and with it that sharp feeling. Her stay on the planet ended rather abruptly. At one point, she simply stopped aiding the people. They were distraught – why wouldn’t their goddess help them anymore? Had they done something wrong? The fear and paranoia cast by her sudden absence led to executions of those who were believed to have slighted the swordswoman. Millions died during these hunts, their last cries prayers to their goddess of blades, hoping for salvation. At long last, enraged by their behavior, the swordswoman exited her seclusion. But her return was not a happy one as expected by those who had killed in her name. Infuriated, all of the cataclysms that she prevented, she visited on the people she had protected. Ogres ran lose, and her mystic techniques were used to destroy rather than protect. In her maddened grief for the millions slaughtered “in her name”, she finally grew too upset. With booming voice, she gave the world her grief and anger, and with one clean blow cleaved the planet in twain. Separated now, the planet-halves could no longer stabilize themselves and collided once more, completely obliterating the surface of the planet. Now fully aware of her deeds, the swordswoman had no choice but to travel the galaxy, continuing her quest to aid people in order to atone for the destruction she had wrought. However, enlightened by her experiences, she would not give aid more than was necessary – let those who are able to struggle and succeed do so. After helping someone in true need of assistance, she would leave so as not to continue to influence those people as she had on her home planet. One day, she finally decided that she was ready for an apprentice. Though still relatively young, she knew that she could not do this for eternity. So she sought out someone who was like her, someone she could impart her knowledge to without worry that it would go to waste. She found three such candidates. The first was a young boy who, on his world, was similar to her in that he was a defender of the weak. However, she had misjudged his personality. He did not want power to protect everyone, only the power to protect those loyal to him. After she had imparted her knowledge and abilities to him, he returned to his home and subjugated his people. His lust for power and the techniques he had learned from his training allowed him to overthrow the peaceful government and install himself as the ruler. Upon hearing word of her apprentice, she visited to see if it was true, and lo and behold, she found the horrors of her techniques being used once again to destroy and consume. He would cut mountains and crush rebellions with not a thought to the lives of people. They lived in constant fear. Disguising herself, for she had already visited the planet once before, she dueled her apprentice and though he was younger and more agile, she had wisdom and experience on her side. She killed him, shedding tears for him at the same time. And then she left again, leaving the people to their own devices. Her second apprentice was a young woman, who was known to be as humble as one could. When the swordswoman appeared before the young woman, she honored the swordswoman even in her rather disarrayed presence. This act of kindness and humility led the swordswoman to believe that the girl would be a humble apprentice. She trained the girl, and warned her of the first apprentice’s mistake. She told her that ambition for power would lead to corruption. The girl understood, and bowed twenty times before departing back to her world. The swordswoman was satisfied. She would not have any problems with this new apprentice, and after her time in the galaxy she could pass on knowing that she would be succeeded by someone worthy. This was not to be. The girl had lost all sense of her humility. She became arrogant, and anyone that challenged her view was killed, as they were an affront to her own opinions. In a way, she had become as terrible as the swordswoman’s first apprentice. The swordswoman, fearing that she would have to kill again, returned to the world to watch. Indeed, her suspicions were confirmed. A man challenged her opinion, and was promptly killed. Those around her cowered and bowed to her beliefs – they were not stupid and did not desire to die. The same happened to a woman and child, and at last the swordswoman could stand it no longer. Disguised again as an old beggar, she approached the girl. In no uncertain terms, she argued that the girl was wrong, and when the girl moved to strike her down, the swordswoman retaliated. She did not kill her apprentice, for her crimes demanded a different approach. Instead, the girl lost both of her arms, and was robbed of her money and forced to find a way through life in her current state as a repayment for the grief she had caused other families. Now depressed, the swordswoman wondered if her third apprentice would amount to the same. This was another young boy, who had impressed the swordswoman with his tenacity. She had taken him into her training, and at the end of his training she revealed the mistakes of her first and second apprentices. She told him not to fall into the same traps as them. The boy acknowledged her. However, the swordswoman was not totally satisfied. She disguised herself yet again and awaited what would become of the boy. Surprisingly enough, the boy did not succumb to a drive for power, or become arrogant because of his gifts. Rather, he strove to hone his abilities so that one day he could achieve his dreams, and reach the stars. She was about to leave, content that her third apprentice would one day take up her mantle, when she heard horrific news. He had disappeared, with no explanation. That night, however, she noticed a new star, and knew at once that her apprentice had realized his dream, and moreover, had become his own star. She consigned herself to her destiny – she would wander the galaxy until her death. But once a day, before she would go to sleep, she would venture into space to have tea with her third student. Current Mood: Singing loud (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 25th, 2007
11:21 pm	Irony of the highest degree I look back on this...thing and wince at what I see. Granted, a lot of it rang true at the time, and some of it still rings true to this day, but by and large I read this and feel like tearing my eyes out. It's just...painful to read. I think I'll use this as a motivational tool - if I ever feel bad, I can pull this up and laugh at how stupid I can be and suddenly not feel so bad. Or wonder how I was ever this stupid to begin with. The more I think on it, the more I think I'm going to go to Auburn instead of ASU. I've wanted to leave this place behind for a while, and that's definitely one way to go about it. In any case, I do think this thing has had a very odd impact. It was both a place to vent my private frustrations and to air my open concerns, but the whole damn thing was visible to the public, so it wasn't as if it was invisible. Honestly? It was a bizarre social exercise that went horribly awry. It's like a magnet for drama, really. Meh. Anywho, I've kind of gotten sick of this thing (Disappear. This LJ is an eyesore. This LJ. This LJ. This LJ. This LJ.), so shortly I'm gonna flood it with random drabble (yay random drabble) to flush most of the trash off of the top page in order to make way for something productive. Graduation in three months, and then I leave everything I've grown accustomed to behind me to begin life anew. I like the thought, even if it's impractical. But the thought of leaving everything and everyone behind is very enticing. I found all the answers I needed. Now the only questions left to ask are those that will take me in that direction. Alone, preferably. I play this game one bullet at a time An hour's pain for a second's euphoria In the blazing fires of combat In the arctic colds of society My hand was forced by those who refused to act. And now you join me in my own perdition; Welcome to the Lair of the Raging Dragon. - Koyu Kekkai: Gekiryu no Koketsu Current Mood: All is in the past (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, November 24th, 2006
8:58 pm	A sort of limbo I am in the strangest state of existence right now. I'm aware of things. I know things that I should be doing. I know things that I need to get done, but oddly...it just doesn't strike me as mattering. It's bizarre. It feels like I've hit this plateau and burned myself out or something. But even that's a bit inaccurate. I mean, I want to do well, it's just that I seem unable to find the will to go out and do it. It's hard to describe. I think every part of me just wants to have some time to literally do nothing but veg out. Just...sleep, really. And giv eme some time to recover from the chaos of one really, really weird senior year. Unfortunately, I've still got another couple of months to go. MIT decision in a month. God willing. (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 19th, 2006
9:54 pm	Summarization It's always weird to have conversations with people who summarize you perfectly. poundthechorus: I'm sorry that you're so young and full of anger. Akujiki445: so am I One of the most apt statements I've seen. (Comment on this)
Saturday, November 11th, 2006
5:05 pm	Oh joy of joys, my senior pictures came in. To pre-empt. Nobody is seeing them unless you happen to be very friendly with my mom. And to think that I'd almost forgotten that they were even done. (Comment on this)