The air seemed to fasten into excitement; the climax of the battle was soon reached. Daniel's foe rushed to him, as if bound to him by destiny, a connected fate that filled with detestation; a battle of eternity that never gave the slightest chance of cease, the smallest hint of end, demise. The air swirled with the morning dew, the wet, thickening tension that seemed to bring unease, discomfort to once tranquil states of bodies. The roaring beast soared violently, eagerly through the air as if ensured of his victory, his mouth watering disgustingly with the crave and hunger for triumph, the lust for blood filling and manipulating his insides so expressively, so dangerously and passionately.
Time had reached an end; Takiato Daniel was ready. "Whether you like it or not," he leaned backward, creating distance between him and the lightning fast foe. "We win this battle," he declared readily. "Now!" he shouted, breaking the solemn air with certain anticipation; the tension had broken; the cue had begun. "Go!" he demanded himself as he shifted his feet in a tamed excitement. The rushing rocket of a poor excuse for a body, as if on cue, went vertically into the air with screams of dreams as specific places on it exploded with certain power, sending pain all throughout it randomly. It roared like the beast it now was, the dragon-like body it had become with the worm like structure. It was a rush of excitement, a burst of adrenaline.
The opponent fell hard to the ground in a seizure of shock, immediate petrifaction after a blistering surprise. The explosions were still hot on its body as it slithered back down to the floor desperate and sparse of comfort, sparse of calm-minded ness. He now lacked tranquility; everything was going according to Daniel's plan. The redhead had to act swiftly; he could not waste another second. "Kenneth, get to that tree!" Daniel pointed to what appeared to be any ordinary ancient sapling of norm. Daniel washed his face over with urgency.
"What?" Kenneth asked in suddenness. "Which tree?" he spoke from his own quickly decided compliance.
"That one!" Daniel pointed more eagerly, frantically as he ran to his own respective tree. Kenneth wasn't sure what to do; he stammered a bit. "Just get there! Over there!" Daniel commanded, speaking rather quickly, outbreaking in wearisome motion, a wordless turmoil. Kenneth quickly acted, recklessly, taking himself imminently to the worn out tree, unable to find the significance of it, or why it was so important. Daniel, now liberated from that worry, brought his hand to the thin bark of his tree, grasping its body tightly, as if he were about to throttle it, suffocate it with bare, ungloved hands of carelessness. If I can take away life from things and turn them to stone, Daniel thought carefully, full of hopes, for he had no time to experiment with it. Then I can give it, too! He declared.
His grasp grew tighter, thicker, hotter around the cold wood of the thin tree of anorexia. Its well nourished limbs began to glower with a silent hum of yearned midnight, a slight electric melody of neon green foliating it, tracing it as the human energy exerted into it, and remolded itself into a tree's support. The bushy head of it grew hotter, grew excited in passion as the energy filled its insides, and rustled it so slightly, so hotly, and so gravely. The limbs began to stretch and grow, inching outward towards the sky, for now it had been awakened, before morning, before usual. Its elderly leaves tickled the air in gratitude for its second chance, softly caressed the light breezes that would be so willing to come to it, for its feet were still rooted to the ground, immobilized, yet now, in a way, liberated from imprisonment. The head shook in life, in grace as it drained all the sediment in the ground, drained it, sucked it in for unselfish needs, for it was someone else pulling the strings, and not itself.
The ground remained silent; the night remained watchful, patient in the cool air that would soon rise with dawn, clarity. But for now, there was none. For now, emptiness stirred into emptiness, piling upon patience and patience that never seemed to die, that never seemed to weather away into nonexistence. Nature waited. Daniel waited, Kenneth waited. The trees, all silent, all solemn as if they never were, waited. And then the rumbling. The noise of low magnitude underground that signified one thing and one thing only: a presence. "Now!" Daniel's voice broke the silence, crushed the air. "Kenneth, freeze the tree down to the ground!" he cried out to his brother frantically. "Now! Do it, now!" he shouted in a rush, as if he were speaking to an alien.
"Okay," Kenneth assured in enthusiasm. Grasping his cool, raw fingers around the tree's thick trunk, he began to frost over it, on command. Layers of cold, thick blue ice seemed to crawl from his hands, seep into the body of the tree as it was frosted over with decorative numbing. The ice crisped all the way to the roots, and even then, they didn't stop. They froze the ground below, the canopy of the bushy head above. They froze the limbs, the limbs that had so long wished, tried to reach the sky, the stars and that periwinkle moon. Now they would never get a chance. But another time, then, would call for it. Destiny didn't call the end of plans for the live of this tree yet. The roots cracked with frost as the ice continued to grow. The light, frothy chill of the freezing intruded into the air, intervened and stood out rather comfortably, usefully. It was a refreshing moment of breath.
And below, a life froze as well. Eyes underground widened as body froze; arms were put to useless position. Features became periwinkle raw themselves, and deathly, cold. No longer was there a wait. No longer was there a battle.
PoVS
Derek and Eruption continued to soar higher and higher in to the air, as if paradise was calling them, reaching out to them. The Minor put himself in position, radiating with confidence. He brought his sword forward, and crashed its body into Eruption's. No pain was felt; nothing happened but a slight increase of ascension. Derek leaned upward, and did the same, over and over again, the costumed enemy of glassy obsidian feeling no pain. They continued to climb into the cold, waiting air. Nature was now waiting for these two, carefully watching for the outcome, carefully examining Derek's attack.
"I thought you said you were going to do something," Eruption smirked effortlessly, somewhat mocking Derek's tries. "Every time you hit me, I don't feel anything, weakling; is it even supposed to hurt?" he scoffed. No answer; just a narrowing of dark, striking eyes. "Your blade doesn't even hurt," he continued to provoke.
"Don't be so sure!" came his first answer. Derek growled as he drove the blade's body more into the opponent's coaled cover. The crack of rock against dull blade chimed in the air. Their ascension continued. The driving continued, until finally, Eruption's mutated hand began to crisp, crackle as it let go tiny, small sediment of obsidian, forming a fault on his arm. He gasped sharply, as if such a thing was completely abnormal, unseen, like he had just discovered he had a disease. His eyes were filled with petrifaction; they no longer moved. They just stared, stared into his own arm, stared into the slow lava flow and the breaking fingers and hand.
"What!?" he cried out before putting himself into awestruck silence. Derek smirked in his first step to victory.
"My blade, Kumokatai –Spider Leg-, doesn't cut or slice," Derek began to explain as they elevated more and more bit by bit. He gave a tough smirk, a lightening of dark, fine-looking eyes and a smile that was possible, in a way, that could make one feel warmer inside. "Or do any physical damage of any sort, for that matter, at its current stage," he continued to explain. "Its best use is one thing and one thing only," Derek waited, pausing for a slight effect. "It injects!" he shouted in a grunt as he crashed the blade into Eruption's body once again. Eruption felt a bit more pain this time. A horrid crack chimed the air and faulted the silence.
"It injects?" Eruption growled the question as if such a thing was never heard of in the world. "What do you mean!?" he demanded angrily. "Your blade isn't built or shaped for injecting! You're not making any sense!" he accused.
"You're pathetic," Derek scoffed. Eruption widened his eyes, as if he hadn't heard the word pathetic, either, no matter how many times he had used it against Derek. The Minor sneered a bit at Eruption. "It's not the way Kumokatai looks; it's the way it's used!" he crashed the blade into his body once again. The slight pain had become a bit worse; the cragged igneous armor began to fault more and crackle to a crisp. "It has tiny, microscopic 'syringes' made from my own Half Spirit energy that inject themselves into you and allow me to access the links of your body." Eruption seemed to stall, wait. "In other words, I can render your powers useless; I locked away your powers, just like Hibiyomi did to Eric back then."
He remembered that scene he had watched so clearly, those needles pouring from Hibiyomi's arms and to Eric, without the red clothed boy even noticing that the cut wound had sent Free Spirit energy inside him. However, that amazing boy just wouldn't give up; he managed to break free of the lock anyway. Such a thing seemed impossible under a Council's control. He remembered watching Eric get up despite the odds against him, despite the thoughts of people that agreed Hibiyomi had the fight down. But in the end, it was he who had survived one of Hibiyomi's strongest attacks; it was he who had won, and done more damage to Hibiyomi than he had done to him. It was he who prevailed. But in this case, it wouldn't happen with Eruption. The victim will stay down. Derek would make sure of it.
"Now," Derek said, sending one more blow to him with the blade. He seemed to lean in closer to his face, their noses so close they could almost breathe on each other. Derek growled at him with piercing eyes and clenched, vigorous teeth. His eyes became cross with narrowed brows; perspiration strolled down the side of his face, as if he had a hard time doing this. "Your turn to win is over. I win!" Derek sent a powerful blow to Eruption's face with a resentful fist. It sent him flying high into the air as Derek brought the wrapping of chains around his blade free, sending them out to his body like a whip. The chains rattled as they snaked up the sky, shaking each other with linked arms as if they were afraid that they were to let go, to liberate themselves and fall to their doom. The black metal wrapped around Eruption's body, clicking tightly around him. Sediment of igneous rock fell to the ground as he went more and more up; his mutation was beginning to deform.
It was over. Derek gave a strong tug. The body… came soaring down.
PoVS
Eric tried to get up, desperately, difficultly. The night was cool against him, compassionate for him with sympathy, wishing it could give him energy. They couldn't, and they sobbed, invisibly for him. Teresa was at his side, looking rather awkward, not knowing what to do. But she knew what to say; that was important. Eric had been laying face-down on the ground, unable to move. But now he tried with the greatest effort, he tried to get his body up with a push-up lifting. He couldn't; it just didn't seem to work. His elbows shook violently, straining upon gravity. His white, healthy teeth clenched in their confidence and restraint of pain; he wouldn't give up that easy. One of the twin eyes winced, reluctant to accept the pain, defying it, pretending it wasn't there when he knew he couldn't simply wipe it away. But what else could he do? His knees trembled; his body could barely move. And Teresa just watched, compassionately, seriously.
"Eric!" she called to him as she kneeled on the floor. "Eric, stop! You'll hurt yourself!" she scolded. He continued anyway. He strained, groaned from effort. His hot breath released into the air, confident and clean, warm and comforting, a somewhat boyish breath, if possible, in a good way. "You're not recovered yet from your fight with Hibiyomi!" Teresa informed. "You should rest as much as you can; you shouldn't be trying to get up!" No use. Eric continued to get up. "Eric, do you hear me?" she growled a bit angrily now. Her eyes flickered purple. Her stability had been faltering a lot lately; she strained a bit herself. I can't, she told herself. I can't outburst here; she tried to calm back into tranquility, or whatever you could call it.
"No," Eric growled through clenched teeth from strain, and not detestation. His eye continued to wince, his body continued to hurt in discomfort. But he resisted it, he denied it. "Just because I'm weak…" Eric began. Teresa's attention was caught. "Doesn't mean… that I have an excuse for- for letting go of the people I care about!" he declared the loudest he could; the steadiest he could in his condition.
Teresa seemed awestruck once again. Simply amazing, this boy. How many times had he changed her mind about things so far? There were two big times, two noticeable ones, and then many other tiny little ones that she recognized on the way. There was no other word for it except… amazing. No other synonym would do. "You…" Eric called to Teresa. "You of all people should know that," he rasped in a difficult whisper. He faltered. Her eyes were brought to a widen – she could hardly believe it. Her eyes filled with recognition now as she stared into space, into her trance for thought.
Eric slowly began to build back up, and then suddenly climb to his feet, bringing his knees forward. He stammered a bit as he straightened himself up, slowly, difficultly. His heavy breathing began. He really hadn't recovered yet. He had become exhausted so easily. Eric slowly brought himself forward, to a stand, but he couldn't seem to move; it was as if his feet had forgotten how to walk, had forgotten their purpose. But he would make them remember. No matter what. Eric's back was slouched, too weak to bring it back to its straight, confident norm, even if he had the same determination as before. His stamina levels were just never worn away, no matter what you did to him.
"No," Teresa spoke after seconds of thinking. "Sit back down," she said, still kneeling on the ground. Her eyes faced the surface below, the purple gaze hidden in shadow, in shade of her own head. Eric stood before her, his face also covered in shadow. He breathed heavily, his chest heaving, his shoulders shrugging without voluntary use. Teresa unfolded her arms; her violet hair fell to the front of her face. She made no effort to replace it. She swallowed, a bit nervously. "Sit back down," she repeated, a bit louder this time, a bit more demanding.
"Teresa," Eric managed to gasp out. His eyes were concealed in shadow, unable to be seen, unable to be used to depict and decipher emotion. All you could use was the way he put his mouth to use. "I thought I told you all ready -"
He was cut off. "I'll get rid of the field," she interrupted. Eric seemed surprised, the most he could show from being worn out. "You rest. Let me do it," she insisted calmly, voluntarily. Eric seemed to contemplate. Teresa brought herself to stand, more easily than Eric had done, more quickly, more efficiently. She lifted her head and stared right into Eric's eyes. They showed nothing but confidence, and Eric, seeing her features began to consider. He didn't know; he wanted to be part of it, too. He couldn't just sit and do nothing. "What's wrong?" Teresa asked seriously. She turned away from him and walked towards the invisible domed wall that separated the two from Walter and White Cloak. "Don't you trust me; after all you've taught me?"
Eric said nothing; he gave a sharp exhale. Then, he fell to the ground, falling with will for rest. Teresa smiled as she looked back, confidently. Eric, exasperated, gave a tiny smirk, the most of a smile he could make. Then, she turned, and brought out her hands. Her hands began glower ominously with purple. Her hands did as well, shining like embedded stars of the missed night sky, for it had long been ceased, and they waited, in somewhat brightness, somewhat darkness, for dawn, for the new beginning. But they had to finish the ending first. That's the only way. And they drew it out of them to be as loathing of that task as possible.
Teresa gave her hands towards the field before her. No one could make a force field better than her. No one. And she would make sure of it. Her eyes began to glow with her confidence, her readiness as the energy piled into her hands and glowered in bright streaks from her fingers, the palms of both her hands. Strife of her thick, purple force field energy began to form at the wall of invisibility; it began to grow and exhaust flames, crisps of the purple fuming out in wisps as the eager, thicker part of it began to cut deep into the dome. The strands of her hair began to defy gravity, tickling the air ever so slightly around her, beginning to silhouette in the intense purple energy. She knew now that behind her, Eric would be watching, with the best pride of her he could make out, resting, breathing heavily.
In the actual force field being currently drilled into, White Cloak approached Walter coldly, calmly, as if he was sure of everything, yet sure of nothing. He seemed to appear of complete neutrality, extreme with thick, undivided norm that seemed full to its promised entirety. Walter kept a close eye on his every step, backing up as he made another step forward. "How many times must I tell you," White Cloak began to rasp out darkly, secretly. His hooded presence gave him a more ominous look, bringing him into the subject of enigma and mysteriousness, suspicion. "That you… have no use here?" it rasped its rhetorical question. "I've talked to you long enough. This time, I won't play around with you anymore," White Cloak declared. "Walter," he rasped his name loudly, darkly.
The sound of his name with White Cloak's voice gave Walter the chills. His eyes seemed to freeze upon eternity and time; the reality of the world seemed to bend after White Cloak had completed his sentence. The ground began to distort into whisking waves and lumps of uplift. It was no longer solid; the brownish, once normal ground of dust and dirt became disturbed and abnormal, mixing in the surreal air that seemed to waver as well, sew into each other with grandmother time's old, ancient hands that were crispy of work, unsmooth and wrinkled from constant effort. The trees began to fade; dark began to become light yet not quite light, and light became dark, but not quite dark either. The sky began to falter; the clouds began to break apart into insensibility. Surreality began to form everywhere around Walter, and he, being the victim, could only stand there and watch everything around him – the trees, the birds, the dirt, the grass, the leaves, the air, the sky and even the ceasing night itself falter into surreality.
The fantasy of paradise being hell and hell being paradise continued to drone on, continued to mix with the dispersing stars of night and periwinkle of faraway clouds that had been long gone; they had bid their farewells hours ago, and now, now they came back because this was a dream – a dream come true of indifference. Walter was forced to be compliant of the whole situation as he was slowly sucked into the dark fantasy plan of White Cloak. He was blind but not blind. He was human but not human. He was emotional but not emotional. Walls of diamond began to form and turn into their reflection with the despited indifference of light and dark, reflecting another world, each a different picture of glass mirror, each fading away slowly into the distance, trailing away in rows. The walls – they were solid, yet not solid. Into one mirror showed nothing but the fresh grassland of sun, the other showed the snowy wonderland of the moon. The other showed the windy eruption of tarnishing Mars and Jupiter. Many mirrors reflected each other… but in a way… didn't reflect each other at all.
Nonsense became sense here; immaturity became a lost vocabulary word and maturity was a flavor of air. Confusion filled everywhere; everything became black and white, a fixated noir that was full of echoing sound. Distant trees would become more distant if you came closer. Air was unhealthy to breathe, yet you were healthy for breathing it. Walter found himself standing there, immobilized, not in emotion, not in petrifaction, but just… immobilized. He couldn't move; he didn't have the sense to – it was no longer an idea of mind to walk, to move. Move didn't make sense to him anymore. In fact, the word move became a memory, a recollection not worth keeping. He just stood there normally, feet against the flat stone ground that gave ripples like water did when you moved. But he didn't move. He wasn't in water. He wasn't in stone. Which one was it? His eyes were frozen open; he could no longer talk, either – his senses were unavailable to him. He felt as if his arms were spread out, and a cool wood was touching against his arms, as if he were being crucified. The tight, uncomfortable feeling of suspended in the air and hovering with something bare to hold you that wasn't a form of suicide came into him, though he was not placed in a crucifying motion. He was not hovering at all – he was standing… on ripples of water, and flat, unbothered stone at the same time. Where…where am I? Walter could only think, slowly, distortedly.
"In h-" a somewhat robotic voice faded and blurred before him. "In h-he-hell," it blurred. "In hell-l-ell…!" it droned on. Just what really was going on? What would happen to Walter? Would he die here, in this parallel universe that he seemed to be trapped in? Or would he live on, but continue his life with a much heavier burden on his back, after he left the world? Good-bye, Kasumi Walter.