It was a body, lying helplessly, stonily in the ground instead of on it, back tunneled in to a broken dent of cragged, smooth surface. It was the sparse of the dawn, the scarce of moon of the intertwined night and day, the cold mixing with hot, the joy compounded with hate. It was the wide, clear land, unlike last time, where it had been clouded in eruptive smog, fading sight, deleting eyes. It was Derek, who now lay carelessly without even trying in the first place, who laid in the ground, as if waiting to be killed, asking for homicide. His limbs were limp, hanging, protruding from the dent he had been pummeled to. It was Déjà vu of last time, really. With the stormy yet non pouring clouds, the confusing, indecisive weather and air. Only one thing was definite. He had lost before. And all the same, he knew he would lose again. So he didn't try. He didn't lift a finger to help himself anymore; if he should die, then so be it.
His eyes were voluntarily closed, his lips locked with grace, his face unstressed, his muscles unused, unwanted. He lay there, breathing barely, half-gone from the world, divided from reality and consciousness and into his own fantasy blatancy of surreality. His arms failed to gesture, failed to try anymore, to lift him up, for they had no motivation that drove them, that controlled them from the inside. The legs – they had forgotten how to walk, how to move and run in determination, confidence. His fingers remained still like an army of ants, ants that remained still in awe, not knowing what to do as an elite being stood before them, dark. They had become their own amnesia of wielding weapon, of striking punch. Inside, he held nothing but an indifferent compliance. Toned skin and dashing features were no longer necessary; dark, piercing eyes hid themselves, for they now rested, and they deserved it, too. Dark, straight spiky hair held themselves in prickled perfection. No movement that stirred his mind; no heart that brought him confidence. His breathing insufficient, his lips unmoving, as if they had nothing to say anymore.
Then, before him, like the shadow that stood belittlingly before ants, before his laid down, weakened state of body and mind, was him. The enemy, the opponent, the hypocrite of Derek's rival. He was the fake one, the one that didn't deserve the title of "rival." Yet he claimed it anyway. It was Eruption. His face had become dark, blistered with darkened coal and thin streams of lava, crooked around his half, half of it in the glassy crescent of hot, molten rock. It had been horridly distorted from power, from excessive, unnecessary strength. Half the face had been possessed, deviated as if by demon, by hell. It glowed with streams of white-hot lava, his teeth becoming crooked as well, crooked with deep, dark secrets, cragged with unholy tone and song, a satanic face. The teeth remained, wide and clenched, dribbling the clear liquid outward, playing with it at the corners, fingering it with invisible hands. A low growl came from the side of his body, a restrained scowl of rasp. His human eye that was now isolated as the only one became wide, petrified out of its emerald color. That wide, psychotic smile kept growling, kept purring and yearning for something more, something else other than its selfish needs.
"I wonder…" his voice now symmetrical of hell and human, filled with rasp, tinted with traces of once humane being stuffed into the deep, dominative corners of morbidity. Derek felt himself as a body of melancholy, his dark features now lifeless, meaningless. "Do you want to die?" the voice rasped out. He walked over with sizzling steps, hissing at the ground threateningly, hatefully, murderously.
The deity of unholiness protruded; inched with every godly step it took of his immense power. That low, weak smile of satisfactory amusement quickly turned to dissatisfaction, and toppled over to a bit agitated frown. "You're no fun," he growled as he leaned over and brought Derek's body up with force, holding his body by his black coat-like shirt, and that was it. The stretching of clothes led no care to Derek's mind. His eyes crossly opened. They did not stress either; they did not show any emotion other than compliance. Eruption could do the most horrifying thing he could, the most morbid thing that came to mind, the most incest; Derek wouldn't care. He guessed he'd die anyway. The scowl turned showed on the gritted, hot lips. They exhaled sharply, thoroughly in a hot, steamy breath, damp with disgust. Derek didn't care. Then, noting the absence of reply, Eruption struck a blow into his face's side.
The punch stung, deeply into him; he didn't care. He was sent, toppling over the floor. He lay on his side now, watching the ground, watching it as if it would speak to him, as if it were to befriend him in his moment of unwanted need. I can't beat him, he told himself, gazing into space, gazing into the distance to the future he thought he would have. All of it was unclear now, anyway, faded and discolored into low quality noir. It's pointless fighting back, he figured. I'll just die here, then. It won't matter. It won't matter at all. And then, the shadow brought itself over him once more. Derek's eyes wandered to their corners, to find the darkened features of the dark divinity before him, scowling in scorn at his presence. He stared with indifference. The scowl grew meaner, darker. A low breath of beast seeped out through his teeth. It sizzled against the air.
As if that look had been poisonous, as if it had hurt him, Eruption knocked a hot, glowing fist against Derek's face. It knocked his head to the opposite side now, and the side of his teeth throbbed with pain. He refused to shout in pain, he refused to admit that he was hurting. And that fact made Eruption yearn to kill him even more, yearn for this boy's blood, this boy's screams of agony and pain. He would be pleased when he heard them; he would be pleased when he spilled blood. Spit spurt out from the sudden impact to the side, a spraying pattern of wetness upon the ground. Then, another punch, again to the face. Then another. And another. And another. His face became hot and bruised, reddened with pain, and still, he denied the agony. Still, he denied the feeling of ceasing from his loss. And that made the punches even harder, even more determined. And soon, there came another punch. And this one – this one spilled blood. Derek's head was knocked over once again; blood spilled from his mouth and to the ground in a horrid, splattered puddle. Still he refused to shout. However, even so, it gave Eruption a slight satisfaction, a slim, insignificant throbbing of excitement and heart. Seeing the blood, seeing Derek's blood – it made the insides of him crave, desire his torture even more. It derived him from boredom, and derived Derek of nothing. And so the permitted round of blows continued.
Eruption soon began to move on, and began to trail the punches to his neck; it forced a bit of an unexpected squeal from the boy. More anticipation filled him. The trail of punches continued down his chest, where the squeals formed grunts, and at the stomach, the grunts formed shouts, loud shouts of despair, proof of pain. Eruption liked that. He liked seeing him in pain. And then, the punches continued at his stomach, crashing down on him as Derek continued to cry out after every punch, wincing with every blow. His teeth trembled as they grit each other, trying to hold back to shouts, the pain. His eyes winced themselves shut, as if that were to protect him. However, Eruption's permit did not fade, or falter in the least. And so, laughs of satisfaction, laughs of excitement continued, from the enemy, psychotically with dribbling, widened teeth, broadened eyes that were so stretched to the point that they were sickening.
Not too far away, too isolated to assist, Zack and Mark found themselves back to back, scowling at these infinite production of clones, of copies. They despised them at this point, hating them and their every bit of fading existence. Zack was the first to call out with a seeping, sharpened inhale. Troubled over Derek's own good, the situation vexed him horridly, as if a spell had been cast upon him and his life. He scowled, wanting to cry out, wanting to beat Derek himself just because he wasn't trying, just because he wasn't being Derek! He had never known he had cared for him all that much. "We're getting no where fighting like this!" he shouted angrily, groggily. He wanted a faster solution, a better way to finish this fight before… before Derek…
"Zack, calm down," Mark continued to beg of him. He gestured with his hands as the two boys stared opposite to each other, watching the crowd of white replicates lean closer ever so slightly, so carefully as if they were delicate birds, ready to flee at any moment for they were afraid of these beings, which, at some level, they truly were.
"No, I won't calm down!" Zack snapped. Mark seemed shocked at the sudden defiance. Zack had always followed with obedience before every time Mark had suggested it. He guessed the boy had just gotten too tired of not being able to do anything. "It solves nothing!" Zack spat. "Derek…" he said the boy's name with a growl but a little more calmly. "He's going to get killed!" he shouted in demand. "Is that what you want!? You want Derek to die, Mark?!"
"Just wait!" demanded Mark out of his pressured eagerness. He strained, and took a sharp breath of calming. It brought no tranquility to him, but it cleared his mind somewhat, to some scale. "Let me think of something!" Mark begged. Zack trusted him with another, impatient chance. Mark could think of nothing under his pressure, and he soon immediately began to regret with worry and striving comfort and peace of mind asking Zack for his last straw, his last nerve. They could no longer see beyond the multitude of white.
Another echo of punch filled the broken sparse air. The punch thrust right into Derek's midsection, pushing immense energy into him, immense pain. Derek called out in hurt, wincing terribly, shouting terribly. His arms flailed into the air from the force, and his legs jumped up, to some scale. Then, they fell back to his side, uselessly, mindlessly. He had now been punctured into another hole, another dent. The corner of his lip was bloodied, streaking out a red line as if it had been painted on. His eyes were weak; they seemed to beg for sleep, beg for rest, for death. But something inside him, even if he denied it, wanted him to live on. It was just too far back to be noted with recognition. In fact, it was too far back in his mind to be noted at all. "You were more fun last time," Eruption scowled, bringing himself back up. His shadow fell over Derek belittlingly.
"What's the point?" Derek muttered weakly, uselessly. There was no strength or annoyance in his voice, no power, no effort. And that… wasn't Derek. "I'll just end up with broken ribs again," he remembered. The thought flashed into Eruption's mind, as if he hadn't remembered since the fight began, which wasn't true. The enemy smiled victoriously, as if he had all ready won the battle.
"Smart man," he rasped demonically. The igneous rock masking his face seemed to infect him more, spreading out more towards the other side of his face now. He scoffed with amusement. Derek was nothing but serious.
"Just hurry up and kill me," Derek suggested with no demand, no reluctance. "There's no point in wasting time," he mentioned.
The request made the foe smile with enthusiasm. "You really are pathetic," he sneered. Derek didn't answer. He made no more attempts to speak, for it would just postpone the deed even longer; it would stall. "Fine then," Eruption granted pleasingly. He reeled in a punch, and that punch made a sickening blow into Derek's body. A grunt of pain groaned out from Derek's unused voice. His eyes winced in requested abuse. Another punch came in; another scream came out.
Mark scowled, breathing sharply once more as if it were to help him. "Damn it," Mark scowled his luck. "I can't think of anything!" he complained.
Zack roared. "God damn it!" Zack he shouted in complete insanity, his mouth widening to lengthen the scream. A huge burst of energy rushed out of him, a large burst of wind that threatened the White Cloaks backward. His teeth ground to a growl, a beastly growl as he got on all fours. His once innocent eyes became unfriendly with dark features, narrowed confidence. His body burst out hints of white aura that caked his body like decorative chunks of Half Spirit. His hair became ruffled, flustering with the absence of wind. Cool touches began to surround him, all his muscles seeming to spasm with great energy at the same time, in the good way. Mark could feel the slight exhaust of breeze release from him. He backed away, surprised. His eyes widened in shock.
He – what's happened to him…? Mark thought as he put his arm before him, readying his defense just in case something would go wrong. He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes as well; ready to fight, ready to act. Then, Zack seemed to snap out of it a bit; the white energy faded as he growled one more time from his humane anger and burst into the swiftest, most agile blur you could ever see – you couldn't even see it – you felt the gust of wind it left by as a trail. That's how fast it was. Zack blurred right out of the surrounding, encasing crowd, knocking over several replicates in the process, fading them away into their original nonexistence. He… Zack… Mark was left thinking in awe. Words could not even begin to describe how he felt.
Just in time, with just the right distance from Derek, Eruption reeled in the last punch that seemed to burst with lava, gurgling with heat, and sent it flying. Its deformed fist held spikes for knuckles, ready to inject the hot lava into anyone's body. Just in time for rescue, Zack zoomed right into the scene, taking in the punch. The pikes of igneous sunk into his chest, and he scowled, grunted in pain instead of screaming like he felt. Eruption froze his hand in awe, unable to pull it out. He… he immobilized the stream of lava, Eruption thought. A low growl from Zack scowled at the opponent. The foe just stared, breath taken.
From the ground, Derek stirred just a bit; his eyes opened into half-dead slits. His body was slowly repairing from the blows. There were no major injuries; he had just been weakened by the reckless, unplanned punches. His voice was bare to speak, barely motivated. His cheeks were reddened and scuffled against, his body's skin filled with tire marks. A short breath was necessary before attempting to speak again. "Zack…" he grunted, a bit questionably. Derek's body stirred a bit, weakly. "What are you doing?" he asked as if he wanted the boy to get out of the way.
"You…" Zack growled at Derek in his suspended position. He could not move; his voice had weakened to his body's equally current state. It was a bit raspy, too, but it still managed to talk, weakly. "You idiot…" he mocked Derek while trying to help him. This made the black haired boy widen his eyes a bit. "Have you forgotten all ready?" Zack muttered difficultly. "What Kawari told us… back then?"
"I think you're at least somewhat strong when you're brave enough to stand in front of an attack, and take it," Kawari had said with his childlike smile. His eyes twinkled as he spoke. "Like Dylan before; he had to take an attack from the last opponent for the weathering plan to succeed, right? That's the kind of stuff I'm talking about. When you're brave enough to do that, it's a big step to showing that you care, and that you're powerful."
The two Minors had suddenly remembered it at the same time. "Are you really just going to give up like that? After all we've been through!?" Zack said with anger, annoyed by Derek once instead of the other way around. "You sicken me," he groaned. Derek remained, listening silently with wide eyes. He strained, choked on his own breath. Blood leaked from the stabbed chest in a dripping streak. The opponent listened to this, too, as if he had been frozen by the words. "Derek…" Zack said his name calmer this time, calling out to him attentively. Derek's eyes shuddered in their sockets. His features were frozen in alarm. Zack was the one…being the one disciplining him now. What's wrong with me? Derek wondered. "Are you really going to let go of everything you've learned… everything you've realized!?"
Derek waited a moment. Then, his eyes narrowed, his features tightened once again. "You shut up," he suggested. Zack scowled, knowing that his talk had not worked on him. "Against this guy, I'll die anyway," he scoffed meanly.
"Shut up," Zack spat with scorn. Derek seemed a bit jumpy at the sudden change. Zack argued well, for the idiot he was. Derek would remain silent now. "Derek would never say that," Zack said. "Just shut up." And Derek was just left there; staring at the back of the Minor he had always looked down on and felt like he had to look over, now protecting him, now acting bigger than him. Was he right? He just stared, gazed, for he didn't know what to do now, in awe. "What happened to… to the tough guy I know?" he asked the Minor roughly. "Are you really going to… going to let yourself prove your parents right and… and Eric wrong by letting yourself die so easily, by letting yourself prove that you're weak as you showed pain?" Zack asked loudly, trying to get into Derek, the Derek that was buried below this new, alien one, this despised one.
There was nothing but silence, and the sizzling of Zack's blood on his skin. He strained in difficulty. His breath began to heavy, but he knew he had to continue speaking, he didn't want Derek to die, to fail. "Even after Eric risked his life just to do it the first time? Are you really going to die when you didn't even… even try, like a weakling? Huh!?" Zack demanded loudly, spitting out the words in ridicule. Derek gave no reply. "Derek!?" he called for the Minor, the boy. "Are you listening to me!?" he demanded once more. Then, as his next words came out, his mouth clamed, his perspiration cooled and his voice became slight with certain sadness. "If you really believe that, then you might as well. You're not Derek," Zack told him. "You're dead to me. You can just…kill yourself." Complete and utter silence. Shaking of eyes, indecision of heart. "Derek!" he called his name once more. More silence. More indecision of heart.
Seconds passed. Minutes. Zack strained in pain, feeling the cragged igneous rock prick his ribs. He gulped in uneasiness. Then, the silence was broken. He had stalled enough. "Idiot," Derek remained to say. His face was shaded over now, nothing but darkness over his eyes; his mouth was the only thing that showed, and it showed no emotion, seriousness. Zack was the one put in slight shock now. His innocence returned. Slowly, rocks brought themselves to the floor beneath. Eyes opened up, narrowed. Feet and arms regained their motivation they had so lost, and the heart of bravery began to beat again, and set on passionate flames. The legs sprawled into themselves, bringing the body of the boy up. Cragged, broken rocks fell to the ground as he stood, unable to cling on to him anymore. Slowly he dusted his pants ever so slightly, so gently. His back straightened slowly, suspensively. Then, he picked up his head, showed his mean, cold stare that he had always had, held that tough, light scowl of confidence that Zack had always respected him for. "You're too loud," he said. "I don't need you to tell me what I'm doing," Derek smiled as he brought a hand to the corner of his lips and wiped the blood away. After the wipe, there came a smirk, a readied smirk of prepared prowess. Dulled eyes were now piercing and dark, sharp and dashing once again. His dark features were put back to use and became striking once more. Derek scoffed, his old self brought back into norm.
"That's the Derek I know," Zack muttered as loud as he could as he continued to deal with the leakage of blood and input of pain. He forced himself not to wince, but instead, smile at Derek, wink at him in assurance. And Derek smiled back in gratitude. Then, Zack strained, winced for he couldn't help it anymore. The pain was beginning to sear with heat. It was no longer safe. He stammered a bit.
Noticing this, Derek began to suggest. "Enough, Zack," he called to the boy, now fully stood up. Derek no longer felt the punches on him anymore; he could no longer feel the pain of the blows from before, because those blows weren't to him. It was to another him, the hopeless him, that shall never return, for he was deleted into fantasy now. "You've done too much all ready. I'll take it from here," Derek assured with a winning smile. He stammered a bit in the dent in the ground. He slowly put one foot out of it. He readied his arms.
The enemy sneered. "You're funny. It's not like I haven't beaten you up enough," he scowled.
Derek sneered back. "You're joking," he laughed. His face immediately turned stern and serious, prepared. "Those punches didn't even hurt at all; they're nothing compared to what I have in mind for you," Derek assured with that tough, forgotten smile he had regained, thanks to Zack.
Derek and the enemy stared at each other tensely, feeling nothing but readied arms and dark scowls on their faces. They both promised to beat the other one down, and now, with Derek regained back to his full norm and even better, could he still have the ability to take this Eruption down, who still gained power by the second with that morbid mask of power that continued to dominate him? A chance of revenge came from this battle. A chance of a second win did, too. Who would win? The tough, spiky-haired seventeen year old with dark, well-built and striking features, or that horrid monstrosity of prowess crave emitted from darkness, from the past? And now, they just stared, both ready beyond belief, both prepared, and neither looking more situated better than the other. So they stood, waiting, smirking, glaring.