cmgaugler
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As there was a second of quiet, in which the fog did lift slightly and James found himself unassailed, he found himself, not thinking the obvious thoughts of how he had gotten here, or what he was going to do next, but rather, of his home. And of the few memories yet surviving of his mother. A touch- a smell...such intangible, elusive feelings and senses that managed yet to survive in the deep part of his mind. He found himself thinking of his earliest memory of his life, and wondering how such a thing yet survived, having not yet passed into the mist and the dark.
The memory was of a large room, palely lit with a dim and dirty autumn light. James, a young boy then, sat alone in the corner, with his classmates on the otherside, doing childish things. A book lay in his lap, and the young boy was reading it intentaly, not caring about any of the other kids. The teacher stood in the front of the class, also reading, and did not look up to moniter her class. He remembered then....the....the pain he had felt in his childhood. The loss....the hurt....all the other children would never leave him alone, not even for a moment, from their incessant tauntings. A few would do no harm, but such a constant barrage.....it wore down his defenses after a while, and had hurt him very deeply.
And emotional wounds never truly heal. They only scar over from forgetfulness, before being torn open to bleed afresh. James, amidst the fog, sighed and felt his own wound begin to bleed from deep within. The tears he had shed back then....the pain he had felt....he liked to think he had forgiven them, for their foolish ignorant ways, but sometimes, it pricked him that he alone remembered their insults- their own memories long since passed into dust. Others would say, 'Live and let live', 'Move on with your life', but can such a painful thing every truly be forgiven? Can such a trangression, wounding you for your entire life, ever truly be brushed off? Or would it stay with you forever?
The time for memories and inaction did not last long. It seemed, only a moment in this fight was set aside for the soul; a second in the myriad seconds of the world. It was mere luck that James passed slowly toward his right, cutting around in the fog, readying for combat, as the icy structure crashed with a shattering and a thud into the dirt. It startled him at first, but, with a gulp, he swallowed his fear and instead, began to condense and concentrate the mana in his hands into small red balls.
The silence lasted for a moment longer, and then, from the lifting fog, there came tinkering of crystal, and a voice. A song, to be truthful, full of power and anger. It poured forth from the nothingness, blasting James’s ears with its might, and he knew, somewhere deep, that the battle was finally upon him. Gulping, he waited attentively, watching the mist for the slightest movement while his ears were keen for the slightest sound.
Suddnely, the mist exploded as two large somethings raged out of the dark, the wind and ice about them both stirring up into a screaming torment. James had only a second to reacte, but those two beings had gotten the element of surprise. Before he even started moving, he knew it was far, far too late. The first of the creatures dove for his right arm, his sword arm, and succeeded in wrapping itself around it, while the other cohered around his legs, sealing them to the dirt. James struggled in vain, but his eyes widened when another character, his enemy at last, tore out of the shroud of mist like a scissor through cloth, his arm raised with an enormous icy hammer.
There was a rattling between his legs, and only half of James's mind registered that something black was snaking through his legs, while the other half was concentrating, full of paralyzing fear, at the behemoth before him. James turned as best he could, trying to use his enemies magic against him, and only partly succeeded. The enormous weapon smashed into his right thigh, where some of the previous creature had melded to, and that was able to buffer and absorb the bone-crushing part of the blow. But it was enough for the ice holding him to crack and break entirely, and to send James, his bottom half numb from shock, crashing down to the dirt and ice, and onto a rather painful, bumpy trip for about one and a half meters, before he stucked out an enchanted left hand, dug into the dirt, and stopped himself.
The pain was incredible. He bit his lip and bled, to stop himself from crying out. While it did not feel like his leg was broken, it did seem that some damage had been done. Internal bleeding, severe lacerations, scarring. His leg would have been broken or torn to pieces, had it not been that not only the ice had sheltered his leg, but also his armor, padding, chainmail, and clothing beneath had cushioned the blow. Still, the pain was almost paralysing; it washed over him like waves upon the beach, crashing and tearing and ripping his mind, but, with tears in his eyes, James bit his lip again to distract himself while he put the pain in the back of his head.
The game is over. It is time to get serious, James growled as he began to pour forth the mana from deep within, much more than before. I am scared though. Terrified; not only of myself, but for all those who fight here, and for the spectators as well. I’ve only done this one time before, and…., he shook his head. It was not a pleasant memory.
Instead, he merely roared his challenge out at the mist. “You are strong, mighty one, but that is not enough strength to defeat me, just yet. Your magic is mighty, but even then, you cannot push past the limit your physical body can manage. None of us can. Therefore,” he grinned, “that is the crutch with which, I shall defeat you!” He cried this cryptic message, and then released the floodgates, allowing the mana to pour forth and flow throughout his body.
Summoning mana to his arm and legs, and concentrating it highly, James was able to melt the remaining ice and free his right arm. It was then that he saw the metal spike sticking out of a hole in his arm, and the dents surrounding it. With a grunt of pain, he pulled the spike out and threw it to one side. Wonder where that came from? He shrugged.
“Ca’Iva, give me strength. If need be, I will give them victory and jump over the edge, rather than unveil my full power. I will not let that happen. I fear for myself, true, but for them as well. I must contain it. I must siphon it. I must not let the thought pass,” he whispered to himself.
At that same moment, a golden mist, ever so slight, began to flow over his armor. It started at his feet, and creeped slowly until it reached his face, and then flowed over even that. The mist brightened and brightened, until- THERE! With a flash, the mist erupted into a fire of golden light, blasting away the mist for two meters as the air was violently displaced, and James raised his hands to about waist height, as if praising the dreary sky. He seemed, at this moment, to be a golden preacher, praying within a temple of cold mist to a god, far above.
But this was no preacher, and there was no god watching down upon him.
“Witness my strength,” he whispered as, within his open hands (palms facing upwards), he condensed his mana again into balls of red light. But these were not small, like before, they were extremely large, and soon, his hand began the center of an enormous ball of mana (about the size of a basketball) which was quickly beginning to swirl and concentrate itself. The golden fire did not dim during this time, but, within his eyes, it soon began to leak until his eyes seemed to be leaking off a golden mist (which thereafter floated harmless a few centimeters into the sky before being reabsorbed), and his entire face was aglow with the fire.
“Witness my commitment,” he whispered as the balls finally condensed themselves to their prime power, lowering to about size they were at originally, and he began to walk forward. He could see, through the very edge of the fog, the darknened shadow that was his enemy, and, with a smirk, he began to walk forward, and then broke into a reckless sprint, the pain forgotten.
“WITNESS MY POWER!”, he screamed as the shot the ball in his left hand into the darkened area, and then brought his right hand up, palm outward with the ball radiating itself in the center, and prepared to attack, his body still aflame with golden magic.
At the last minute, just when he reached his enemy, he planned to duck to one side and smash his palm into his enemies stomach, letting the ball go then to explode point-blank, his caring for himself forgotten.
< Message edited by cmgaugler -- 8/21/2007 12:52:58 >
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