To the West Side of the Swamp of Mystery the tiger gate growled. Striped ribs poked into the ground, hot warmth of light making a luminescent glow to the black pipes of denying trespass. Shadow covered corners of it, wanting to stretch and grow, a tight triangle of compactness it found itself trapped in. Delicate fingers of wind gripped tightly to limbs of unsightly trees. They lightly combed heads of green, wrapping around timber hips. Eric, Walter, and Mark waited at the gate, jaded as they watched the metal bars glowering back at them in the lively afternoon, yachts of clouds returning, ferries of white puff arriving once again.
Unsuspected, a pair of faded eyes watched them, stalking spheres lingering past the forest, trailing against the floor. I've waited long enough, it told itself. The sun is about to begin to descend towards the horizon. So, let's begin. No smile widened on these lips. Just an utter frown, a secretive seal, hiding clenched teeth of habit. First comes love, a croaky thought sounded, echoing through the one and only mind who could hear it.
Protruding from the shadows came a glimmering blade, a kanji form of love portrayed on its silvery, second-place blade. The curvy, pale and narrow end of the head held a rainbow, blistering star in its hands, playing with it, knocking it side to side. It glowed infatuation, an affectionate, blood caked handle years old from birth. With a swing, the axe was flung through the air, a scissor blade sound slicing through the air. A circle of fading and unfading sunlight whirling like roulette, spinning in a chance of gamble. The flat top spun in deadly, air slashing whorls, zooming through the air, approaching the unnoticing teenagers with a ready silver blade. New blood shall provide a fresh stain and shield the beauty of a glimmering silver.
"Watch out!" Eric cried out as he reached toward Walter, who soon turned around. His brown eyes were narrowed in a sort of annoyed question spoken from the lips of his retina. In a flash, Eric jumped before Walter, arms spread out and legs wide, feet steady against the ground. Walter, still turning in the slowest motion possible took a while to fully understand just what was going on. When he did, it was too late.
Slicing and slashing like a pizza cutter streamed through the air, screaming, singing with a dead melody that had been forgotten to be played. Cries of an eighteen year old boy followed the sound of metal against bone, a sickening shout indeed that died as seconds passed. The scream widened eyes, two sets of brown pearly ones dilating to half their size.
Eric, biting his bottom lip restrained the pain. The blade was right in the middle of his ribcage, and even then, it continued spinning, spilling splotches of blood through the air, an overkill that wouldn't stop, and a train wreck almost, something you couldn't bear to watch, but even so, you had to. More screams from the red clothed boy pierced the afternoon sun and split it in half. Mark said nothing. Walter said nothing. Realization pulling into his eyes, Walter jumped away as he watched the still spinning blade splice right through Eric's chest, cutting a driven hole inside his body.
Stopping to a halt, the axe reversed its rotation, and started back into the darkness. No cries echoed now, things were a blur, voices were silenced, eyes were widened. Fists were clenched and teeth were ground, eyes somewhat wanting to narrow but finding themselves unable to. The blade came back to discolored, grayish hands, the promise of a new stain fulfilled, and then broken. Slowly, the splattered red turned to a thick, tanned brown. Particles fell to the floor in a pile of sediments, a pyramid of sand. "What?" a croaked voice asked.
Unregretful eyes pried themselves off of the hot shiny blade and fell upon a red Minor looking as if he were about to fall to his feet, his knees weak and his legs given up. Then, slowly, as if in slow motion, the red drops that poured from both sides of him turned and dropped to a pile of sediments as well. The skin began to discolor, fading into a dark, earthy brown, thickening into a skin punctured with ancient holes, cragged with deep cracks, vulnerability showing everywhere. Blood was made into sand, skin was made to rock. Wide O's of horror that the statue used to call a rock erupted sunburned sediment as they turned chapped and brown, a cracked kiss in the air. Tongue was carried off by the wind, teeth falling into molded, grayish rocks, color of the dark, stormy sky.
Brown eyes fell to a more deep wood, liveliness being sucked out slowly like a leech in the air. Reflection of sun's light became no reflection at all as hair and clothes was lightly carried away as tiny, compressed particles. Crackling of stone like a wild patch of fire echoed instead of screams now, and wide chunks of brown stone fell to the floor like crushed armor, a new pile of sediments deposited, and its own digestive system. Cheeks and shoulders fell like they were barely attached, hands crumbled to a crisp as if it had never existed. The two fellow Minors watched with the widest eyes, as if they had been shocked as well, for they, too, became brownish, and they too began to spill faucets of sand, founts of crackling stone.
Holding the heavyset axe of "love" in his hands, the owner's croaky voice asked, "No pain paid," as if speaking of a debt, and owing of someone else. Three tall, healthy young boys were now three separate and identical piles of rocks. The sedimentary pyramids lay there like a memoir of trickery, and the deviant eyes narrowed at the thought of it.
From behind, deep into the shadowy forest came a wave of sand. The sand, shaped like a tiger with a thick body and a snake like waist down rushed past the trees. Pointed ears and narrowed, beady eyes threatened as not only its fangs but its whole body hissed wearily, a chorus of intent. Trailing sand three feet behind it, the sand wave shook dust off it, as if caring for cleanliness right before impact. At the same time, curls and whorls of orange and red flame erupted, a trio of blazing dragon tails readying themselves, their red and orange wisps churning together, rolling themselves to gain anticipation and stamina. Together, they lit up the whole forest, lit up the unattractive bodies of trees, crooked, begging hands, and heads of vegetation never given a second glance. Hissing flames fused in unison with the snaking, approaching sand, fuming their hot, yellow glow like an artificial sun.
Dodging swiftly and professionally to his left, the body of the pair of abnormal eyes caused the sand to miss, dissolving themselves into tiny, spread out particles glimmering the light of the growing flame. Now that the tiger was gone, the flames roared. They cracked horridly, swearing revenge for taking its singing partner, and breathed itself onto the ground in a long streak, trailing the hot burning incineration behind it, the team of hot, swirling tails bursting through the ground and air like a dragon's yawn. The streak of flames missed the body ever so slightly, burning a tree to a crisp. The once normal tree was now set ablaze, its green head leaves dispersing to a crisp, its begging, crooked hands now pleading more than ever, a second chance wanted – needed. A cragged body turned ashy, a woody brown turning a smoked gray. A frame of crispy, heated light spiraled around it, taking out its anger on the randomized target.
Thinking he had escaped it, the enemy suspended himself in the air, waiting for gravity to take him back down again, a drag of hate, waiting for the feeling of sinking in quicksand to overtake him. He waited, but not long enough. He watched the show of blistering heat and bursting shine, the tree becoming a star of its own, its peasant hands no longer needed to beg to the sky for a drop of gold from the twinkling night. The tree itself grew angry, demonic tails, whirling, mixed fire churning themselves as if in process cotton candy, the usual curled tail of puffed pink replaced by an angry set of whorls of heated red and vengeance. The demon-set tails burst themselves together in a midair blast, overtaking the enemy and pushing him downward through the forest, bright yellow trailing through the trees and giving them eyes for the first time.
A hot streak pulled the foe backward, and more backward, until to the point where he could not anymore, his back supported by a tree that was slowly leaning away, as if wanting to escape the fire itself. Something about the opponent made it stay, made its feet slower than ones stuck in the ground as roots. As soon as the flames died out to a wisp of ashy, white air, the antagonist was left standing, spinning the handle of his "love" axe wildly, the propeller like movement slowly fading away, gravity's sense of perfectionism getting o it, seeping into it. The world wanted everything perfect. It wanted everything to stay down and stay in place. As the foe took the handle of the axe in his hot, waiting hands, the blade hissed with an eerie tongue, white smoke piling in midair streams above. The hot metal was unaffected, so was the perfected wood, the sign of love unharmed. "Not enough pain," its owner's raspy voice muttered.
Far away in the depths of the newborn shadows of the crisped forest, the real Eric watched, not believing a bit of what he saw. He blocked the attack with… with a spinning axe? Impossible, he though, his mouth hung open in doubt, astonishment filling his eyes and stretching them out into wide diameters. "What does he keep saying though?" Eric asked, wondering just what those words meant.
With a rush of surprise and presence that unaffected the red clothed Minor, Mark jumped from a nearby wooden limb and landed on Eric's. The Fire Minor remained still, not even knowing what to think, his hand lying delicate on the body of an unburned tree, the green head of the panicking, fearful body leaning away from him with the bristling wind. The Earth Minor could hear a loud gulp of nervousness, forcing down a knot in his throat. "It doesn't matter," Mark told him, the heaviness of the weights on his limb desperately ignored. "We have to continue," he told Eric. The Fire Minor gave an assured nod. Mark was pleaded, and sprung off the branch and into the forward darkness once more.
Eric was prepared now. "Maina Ka: Karanpu! –Minor Fires: Firelight-" Eric held out a busied hand and sent out a large yellow sun, a sphere of heat levitating through the forest. Its ominous glow clicked and not clicked upon bodies and bodies in the campus, all wondering if they would be the next to be incinerated to an ashy crisp. Their faces were frozen with horror, their bodies leaning away from the center of all the fighting, their roots slowly and impatiently disconnecting. The blazing fireball shot like a heat seeker past the trees and aimed for the still concealed enemy. Light of the fire was the only way to find his face – but not for long. The fireball shattered into wisps of candle's flame as the rival dodged easily, somewhat stumbling on his feet. He hadn't made an attempt to attack back, underestimating the prowess of the three Minors. Three… Would this be his downfall?
Mark landed a fair distance away, unseen by the now unsuspecting opponent. His stance shifted powerfully, the Half Spirit in him screaming and banging for a chance to come out; its wishes were granted. Brown energy filled the insides of his arms as Mark released it invisibly. The ground around him flipped over patch by invisible patch, sewing itself to the underside of its actual form. The flat forest grounds became a mushy, uneven quagmire, and was about to erupt against the foe.
The unseen opponent jumped out from the trees and into the sunlight, dodging the wave of quagmire; Mark smirked as he fixed himself, standing straight. The two Minors remained in the darkness as the enemy found himself in midair, waiting once again for the force of gravity to pull him down. He wondered why it defied him so much. Time slowed, one of heaven's arsenals of clocks and hourglasses breaking, cracking a vulnerable spot into visibility. Noticing deviant dots of transparency above as he remained midair with his back facing the ground, his pure black eyes widened, his mouth giving a short gasp, not one of too much emotion, though. This was not his type of style that he found himself to be.
Far away, settled on the ground, Walter stood, arms crossed and legs straight together. Blue energy circled him like a round shield of protection, pouring out constantly into the air to show the level of his new attempt. "Suihangan!" he shouted. The tiny bullets of water burst into action, one after the other falling with immense pressure to the new enemy's body, a million breaking raindrops. The half invisible specks raining down with crazed power, bringing a better sense of gravity to the impatient body of the rival. The bullets pushed him to the ground, erupting loud amounts of smoke all together, dusty brown whispering into the air and the sound of cracking ground beneath the back of the foe. No cries were made, but none were needed.
The loud echoes rumbled the ground, as if construction were taking place. Trees shook their head full of puffy leaves, rattling them like an infant's toy. Once again, as the smoke cleared faster than usual, the enemy was found with the swirling axe of love again, bubbles of wet air dissolving, his body completely unharmed. Walter squinted and grunted at the wasted attack.
Getting up to his feet, rocks bounced to the ground off his back. It seemed hard for him to do so, his legs seemingly weak yet not weak at all, his shoulders drooping in their sockets, as if he were a sickly, elderly being that needed to be taken care of every second of their lives. His eyes were dark, demonic and black, pure ebony with nothing to hide. His lips were crooked, always struck in an upset frown, always serious and full of pain and sorrow. His discolored gray skin reminded Walter of Sanshouuo and Gaia. His hairstyle was somewhat the same as well, the gray kind of ones that drooped down the side of your head, like Hyoumaru's, floppy dog ears almost. Deep, red scars sliced at the backside of his abdominals, as if two thin slits for storing something, and one of them did. One of them held the "hate" axe. He wore an old style, raggedy kind of skirt. Although it looked like a skirt it was long and old-styled, more like very wide pants with a topped layer of fabric from the waist down. He wore no shirt, proud of his rigid body. "Love goes first," he suddenly began speaking, holding the love axe to Walter's face who was yards away, as if threatening him. "… then is replaced by hate, and when it does, it all comes crashing down on you when you least expect it and will follow you wherever you go," he explained, a random saying that somewhat confused Walter, forcing a strained, jumbled expression out of him.
What is he talking about? Walter asked himself, tightening his fists and fixing his stance, readying himself to the fullest extent.
"You should pay attention to what I say," the enemy warned. "You just might tie against me," he said, his serious lips still frowning in a no-fun symbol. Walter scoffed.
PoVS
Marissa thought, her eyes lost in a trance as they stared off into the emptiness of space. The jagged rock had not supported her even for a second, its prickly, rocky feel uncomfortable to her legs and thighs. How many more hours? She thought, asking herself how much longer she really had to stay in this place full of danger. She swayed her feet up and down in a childlike pattern, the ripples of the water slowing them down and comforting them as they tickled her feet with fun-loving, elfish hands.
Lance sighed as he got up to his feet, tired from a short rest and packing things. They had eaten their last meal, and Rick was kind enough to give up most of his meals for the whole week. That guy sure is one with a strong will, Lance told himself, watching the blonde sit gracefully on the floor, legs crossing each other in a friendly pat. His tired, tanned hands were at his knees, as if supporting himself while sitting. His eyes were closed meditatively, his blow hair swimming in the bristling breezes that brushed by once in a while. Turning to his side and taking his mind off the sacrificial Minor, he watched the calm, murky waters of the lake and watched Marissa play in it. Sounds of splashing of her feet were easy to hear even at his distance. She might get sick like that, fooling around in water with such a color, Lance thought. He sighed and actually examined the water. I think this is the only gate that has its legs rooted inside a body of water, Lance realized as the stench of sickly murk filled his nostrils with nausea. How can she be so close to it and not throw up?
The horrid stench was knocked away from Lance's conscience as he peered to the right of the lake, and found a puddle right by the bank. However, this puddle piqued Lance's interest. Any normal puddle might have been fine, but this one was different. That puddle… Lance thought, beginning a new sense of tone. It's fresh water and really blue and clear…. The Metal Minor noticed. But… this lake is made of murky water, not clear water. So that means… Lance took a sharp gasp. His eyes stretched as if they had just awoken from a deep sleep. The silver gaze fell upon the water, and his eye for detail caught everything. No way! He thought in disbelief. Then he realized something again. Marissa. No! "Marissa!" Lance cried out desperately. Marissa's attention was caught in the tension and panic that she didn't even realize was there. The blonde turned her head in acknowledgement, her face blank with a kind of "what" question painted over it with obviousness. "Marissa!" Lance continued to cry out. Her questionable gaze grew even longer. "The water! Get away from the water!" the silver haired boy waved his arms frantically, motioning for her to get away.
When the words finally reached her ears, Lance thought it might've been too late. The blonde turned to the lake, and the calm waters began ripples, ripples that were far away and started horrid currents with bursting water. Marissa gasped, not really sure of what was going on and slipped her feet from the water easily, that same cool feeling that gave her comfort now giving her a sense of parasitic fear. She slipped on her shoes as fast as she could, feeling the coldness and wetness of her feet get absorbed by the wooden finish of the Geta slippers. Water began pushing out from the lake and came out in snaking waves like enormous tubes, arms that wanted to grapple Marissa tightly and overtake her into the water. They needed a new friend, and now it was time to choose one.
"Damn it!" Lance cried out as he watched Marissa run as fast as she could towards him. The wave of water was hot on her trail, and the Metal Minor knew she wasn't going to make it. With a burst of speed, Lance sped to her rescue, taking her in his arms and bringing her outward from the bank of the lake, and setting her to his side. His arms slipped easily off away from her. "Everyone just stay attentive," Lance told everyone as he saw Rick rise to his feet, giving the dragon-like bodies of water swim through the air. Lance couldn't help but force down a tight knot in his throat. What the hell was going on?!
Slowly, he removed the leather gloves he had put on from the first fight. He stuffed them uneasily into his pocket, feeling the soft leather pile against his thighs and the coolness of the lake area begin to overtake his hands and fingers, giving them a sensational feeling. "This could get dangerous," he muttered silently to himself. Marissa caught his words in her reluctant ear, and she winced and gasped, afraid of the danger that could take place. At some point, she wished she was knocked out again and protected once more like she was in the last battle. Did she feel guilty for that emotion? Even she couldn't answer that.
"So you think you're special," a voice sounded as a being softly rose from the rushing waters. His skin was wet and his eyes were narrowed demonically. His face was covered in a deep shade of the rushing waters above that slowly churned downward, losing their energy to the other. Strong currents played around with him, but he wasn't afraid. He controlled the currents, in his book. "…you're not!" the voice screeched, narrowing eyes taking place. A powerful glow inside his burning, scorching deviant glare showed itself, and a wide grin of preparedness installed growth as well, tensing Lance and all his muscles throughout his body.
With one afraid girl, one injured condition of a boy, and one who just hurt himself from certain training, can they really defeat an opponent who rules the area of the eastern dragon gate?