It was beautiful. The setting sunlight shining through the water, the
crystal-clear droplets' tumultuous fall from the precipice to the lake
below, the schools of fish jetting through the serene blue; it was perfect.
Nature's balance shone through in every aspect of that lake. From the
plants below, swaying gently in the current, to the tiny woodland creatures
gathered at the edges, drinking their fill, a perfect harmony filled the
area with a tranquility that could never be matched by anything created by
the efforts of man.
Perfection never lasts long. The reaction rounds soared through the sky in a spiraling pattern of destruction. If the small creatures had been capable of understanding the events unfolding above them, they would have stared in awe at the man dashing through the air between the fiery blasts, precisely using the force from each blast to propel himself further into the air. They would have understood that the large flying machines were attempting to destroy this man with every ounce of power they had. But they did not. All they understood was that this was frightful. This was horrible. This was death. They scampered off every direction in vain before hell's fire rained down upon them, and the tranquil scene was lost in a bath of red and orange.
The man known as Crux only barely noticed as the aftermath of his fight erased the beautiful clearing from existence, but he felt the sting as surely as he had felt it a thousand times before. More destruction, more death, all because of him and his personal war. He had often wondered what right he had to bring such pain upon others who bore him no ill will. But it was not his time to grieve. The fraction of second spent lost in his thoughts brought him into the path of a slider's scythe. It was a similar fraction that found him twisting in midair, landing upon the flat of that scythe as if there were no more natural place to stand. Four hundred meters up, in the midst of a half dozen airborne mecha, it was perhaps the only place one could stand.
One moment's hesitation on the pilot's part saw his craft's arm severed at the elbow joint, a brilliant slash of light illuminating the twilight sky even as it melted through the slider's limb. A sword of unmatched beauty preceded the slash, Crux's left arm gripping the hilt as if he was barely keeping hold, as if perhaps the sword itself was responsible for the attack. As he spiraled down through the air upon the severed limb, Crux could not help but note the irony that in a way, it truly was responsible. Sheathing his sword and setting his musings aside, he leapt off the arm with enough force to completely halt his fall. For one single moment, he was merely suspended in the air, neither falling nor rising. In that moment, the sliders pursuing him rushed down past him, giving him the advantage he needed.
Battling the wind displacement from the sliders' descent, Crux's right arm swung out towards the disarmed slider that remained above him, understandably hesitant to pursue. This trepidation would prove fatal. A shimmering blue line flew out from his wrist at an alarming speed, zipping towards the doomed pilot's cockpit in the center of the mecha. Through the thin sheet of transparent metal alloy it flew, the pilot only glimpsing a brilliant flash of blue before the small cerulean diamond burst through his control panel and anchored itself in the wall behind him. It was a few moments before the pilot realized that the thin blue line had ignored the obstacle of his throat on the way to the wall. As his blood started welling up in his mouth, the pilot had only one more moment of blurred vision to note the silver haired youth flying towards him on a collision course. He did not understand that the man had merely fired a grappling device. All he could think as his target landed inverted upon the cockpit was that this creature was inhuman. Red tinged his vision, regrets filled his mind, and then there was nothing but darkness.
Crouched sideways upon the hull of the slider as the grapple held him in place, Crux had not the time to mourn the life he had just ended. Instead, he released the line and lept off the mecha with an unbelievable amount of force. As the slider crashed into the ground, deprived of the pilot that had once commanded it, Crux once more hung suspended in the air, a mere twelve meters from the ground. He could feel his body ache at the stress of such a jump and sudden stop, but it wasn't over yet. He leaned forward with his hands outstretched to cushion his fall as he rolled to his feet, already breaking into a run even as the first foot hit the ground. The lead slider was separated from the other remaining four, just ahead. It was his chance to end this fight without endangering any more innocent lives.
Once more the blade was unsheathed as its owner sped towards the small crowd of Mecha. Ascending through the air with another well placed vault, the silver haired youth gave the pilots a dubious gift-- a quick and merciful death. The incomparable oriental blade- sharpened down to the mono- molecular edge by a process not of this world- had no obstacle in slashing midway through the cockpit of a slider as Crux soared past. His line of ascent continued straight into the cockpit of a second mecha, his sword brought forward in an arc to bear down upon the pilot, piercing the alloy, the view panel, and the pilot.
Crux fell a full 25 meters to the ground on his back, momentarily stunned from the force of his impact. His vision was greying out, and blood threatened to rise within his throat. He looked at his right hand, wondering if it was time. A light green shone from within the palm as if in response to his unasked question. No, he was not quite ready yet, he would have to deal with the remaining three on his own strength. He closed his eyes and his left hand gripped the unsheathed katana tightly. He could feel the blade's light slowly dimming. That first day he had taken it up, it had been a brilliantly blinding white, as if the sword itself were pure white fire, its light piercing through any and everything. After all this time, it still emitted a radiance, but the glow lessened with every life he extinguished. Crux knew there was a lesson to be learned there, but he wasn't about to wax philosophical now, with his life on the line. He slowly stood to his feet, sheathing his sword and tilting it in preparation for another use of its incredible force. He felt some of the luminescence seep into his arm as he had countless times before, and he knew he would make it through this. Crux's silver hair was freckled with dust as he stood, but his eyes once more took on an unsettling golden radiance, and the fight was once more upon him.
***
He was walking. In front of him was a long line of hills, as beautiful as it was vast. He was uncertain of his destination, but he knew what he would do once he arrived. His right hand burned, a fire without heat raging inside of it. The left hand pressed the lead slider's power crystal into the right, and the pain subsided. The green light within the palm slowly quieted to a light blue glow. As the power supply melded into his palm, his posture straightened, and his wounds began to mend. Hairline fractures reset and stitched themselves, small cuts closed up, and the glow disappeared, leaving an unharmed and gentle looking man to walk towards the hills. He had ended 6 lives this day, his sword had lost just that much more strength. He looked off into the night sky, and was lost in his thoughts.
Perfection never lasts long. The reaction rounds soared through the sky in a spiraling pattern of destruction. If the small creatures had been capable of understanding the events unfolding above them, they would have stared in awe at the man dashing through the air between the fiery blasts, precisely using the force from each blast to propel himself further into the air. They would have understood that the large flying machines were attempting to destroy this man with every ounce of power they had. But they did not. All they understood was that this was frightful. This was horrible. This was death. They scampered off every direction in vain before hell's fire rained down upon them, and the tranquil scene was lost in a bath of red and orange.
The man known as Crux only barely noticed as the aftermath of his fight erased the beautiful clearing from existence, but he felt the sting as surely as he had felt it a thousand times before. More destruction, more death, all because of him and his personal war. He had often wondered what right he had to bring such pain upon others who bore him no ill will. But it was not his time to grieve. The fraction of second spent lost in his thoughts brought him into the path of a slider's scythe. It was a similar fraction that found him twisting in midair, landing upon the flat of that scythe as if there were no more natural place to stand. Four hundred meters up, in the midst of a half dozen airborne mecha, it was perhaps the only place one could stand.
One moment's hesitation on the pilot's part saw his craft's arm severed at the elbow joint, a brilliant slash of light illuminating the twilight sky even as it melted through the slider's limb. A sword of unmatched beauty preceded the slash, Crux's left arm gripping the hilt as if he was barely keeping hold, as if perhaps the sword itself was responsible for the attack. As he spiraled down through the air upon the severed limb, Crux could not help but note the irony that in a way, it truly was responsible. Sheathing his sword and setting his musings aside, he leapt off the arm with enough force to completely halt his fall. For one single moment, he was merely suspended in the air, neither falling nor rising. In that moment, the sliders pursuing him rushed down past him, giving him the advantage he needed.
Battling the wind displacement from the sliders' descent, Crux's right arm swung out towards the disarmed slider that remained above him, understandably hesitant to pursue. This trepidation would prove fatal. A shimmering blue line flew out from his wrist at an alarming speed, zipping towards the doomed pilot's cockpit in the center of the mecha. Through the thin sheet of transparent metal alloy it flew, the pilot only glimpsing a brilliant flash of blue before the small cerulean diamond burst through his control panel and anchored itself in the wall behind him. It was a few moments before the pilot realized that the thin blue line had ignored the obstacle of his throat on the way to the wall. As his blood started welling up in his mouth, the pilot had only one more moment of blurred vision to note the silver haired youth flying towards him on a collision course. He did not understand that the man had merely fired a grappling device. All he could think as his target landed inverted upon the cockpit was that this creature was inhuman. Red tinged his vision, regrets filled his mind, and then there was nothing but darkness.
Crouched sideways upon the hull of the slider as the grapple held him in place, Crux had not the time to mourn the life he had just ended. Instead, he released the line and lept off the mecha with an unbelievable amount of force. As the slider crashed into the ground, deprived of the pilot that had once commanded it, Crux once more hung suspended in the air, a mere twelve meters from the ground. He could feel his body ache at the stress of such a jump and sudden stop, but it wasn't over yet. He leaned forward with his hands outstretched to cushion his fall as he rolled to his feet, already breaking into a run even as the first foot hit the ground. The lead slider was separated from the other remaining four, just ahead. It was his chance to end this fight without endangering any more innocent lives.
Once more the blade was unsheathed as its owner sped towards the small crowd of Mecha. Ascending through the air with another well placed vault, the silver haired youth gave the pilots a dubious gift-- a quick and merciful death. The incomparable oriental blade- sharpened down to the mono- molecular edge by a process not of this world- had no obstacle in slashing midway through the cockpit of a slider as Crux soared past. His line of ascent continued straight into the cockpit of a second mecha, his sword brought forward in an arc to bear down upon the pilot, piercing the alloy, the view panel, and the pilot.
Crux fell a full 25 meters to the ground on his back, momentarily stunned from the force of his impact. His vision was greying out, and blood threatened to rise within his throat. He looked at his right hand, wondering if it was time. A light green shone from within the palm as if in response to his unasked question. No, he was not quite ready yet, he would have to deal with the remaining three on his own strength. He closed his eyes and his left hand gripped the unsheathed katana tightly. He could feel the blade's light slowly dimming. That first day he had taken it up, it had been a brilliantly blinding white, as if the sword itself were pure white fire, its light piercing through any and everything. After all this time, it still emitted a radiance, but the glow lessened with every life he extinguished. Crux knew there was a lesson to be learned there, but he wasn't about to wax philosophical now, with his life on the line. He slowly stood to his feet, sheathing his sword and tilting it in preparation for another use of its incredible force. He felt some of the luminescence seep into his arm as he had countless times before, and he knew he would make it through this. Crux's silver hair was freckled with dust as he stood, but his eyes once more took on an unsettling golden radiance, and the fight was once more upon him.
***
He was walking. In front of him was a long line of hills, as beautiful as it was vast. He was uncertain of his destination, but he knew what he would do once he arrived. His right hand burned, a fire without heat raging inside of it. The left hand pressed the lead slider's power crystal into the right, and the pain subsided. The green light within the palm slowly quieted to a light blue glow. As the power supply melded into his palm, his posture straightened, and his wounds began to mend. Hairline fractures reset and stitched themselves, small cuts closed up, and the glow disappeared, leaving an unharmed and gentle looking man to walk towards the hills. He had ended 6 lives this day, his sword had lost just that much more strength. He looked off into the night sky, and was lost in his thoughts.