Post by BEX on Jul 25, 2013 19:15:16 GMT -5
Levering himself to his feet, Jack swooned under the onus of his tiredness. Lead filled his every vein and despite his best efforts his eyes refused to focus on anything. He heard just fine though.
Walking corpses had come back from the dead and now they wanted his head; nothing new there. The room fell silent as the defeated Captain brazenly challenged Jack, twin sabers twirling in each hand while the man’s serious face hardened enough to best stone in a contest fortitude. Not far from where Jack stood another man, the flame-piper spearman pinned the boy from earlier down opting to not join his compatriot in the fray. Guess they don’t think I’ve got much left in me, Jack thought to himself.
It was only when he began to call on the torrent of rage that constantly flowed at his center and found that the reserve had dried up—only then did he realize that he’d come to the dregs of his strength. Blood coated his skin like a dark-red armor, cracking in places were movement had disrupted the even smattering. Every orifice of his being ached incomprehensibly and the only thing Jack could fasten his mind to in order to keep going was the thought of freedom. Each time his body refused to obey him he imagined the dank cell he’d rot in after all this was done—for this the last time; of that he was certain.
After this, there would be no more escape attempts. They would surely kill him.
“For attacking the base and yet again attempting to escape, Jack Dancer you must judgment. Men, ready your weapons; we will execute this man now,” the white Captain announced with grave authority.
Huffing as acceptance began to rout the natural defiance of his disposition Jack closed his eyes unwilling to see how things would end. He would have rather had died with a sword in his hand, but he’d always believed that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Unbearable ages passed between the seconds that the order was given, the only sound ringing within Jack’s mind was the drumming of his heart. A small corner of him wondered if he’d be sad leaving this life like this, but the rest of him was cold to the fact that this was the end. Perhaps it was for the best that the met his demise now. Alone, abandoned, and considered by many one of the cruelest men to ever live; it was his legacy. “I said: Ready your weapons!”
A faint hope flickered to life within Jack. There was shift in the room that wasn’t made by any sound. It was in the spirits of the men surrounding him. Jack could hear it in the way their fingers moved hesitantly towards the triggers and the way that their feet remained complacently rooted in position despite their orders; there was mutiny in the air.
“But sir…”
“—We are justice! We do not reconcile with criminals!”
“With all due respect, Captain Asama; this man risked his life to save that boy—to save all of us. We…we don’t…we can’t kill him like that.”
Just like that, the die had been cast. Willing himself to move Jack walked to the center of the room and felt as all eyes fell upon him. “Looks like it’s just you and me now. You gotta problem; just handle it yourself then. I’m waiting right here for ya,” he said.
The sound of metal hissing through the air drew his attention, but he didn’t move as the straight-edged katana lodged itself into the ground at his feet. Looking in the direction the weapon had come from Jack surveyed the motley group of lawmen who stared back at him with abashed respect; the idiots were actually cheering for him to win. Chuckling at the stupidity of it all Jack took the blade by the hilt and once again felt the fires of his passion ignite at the touch of something familiar. Like a phantom, the katana’s simple deadliness possessed him with the will to fight, no, the will to kill.
In a jiffy its point was leveled towards the battered Captain whose face had become blank. Wordless acknowledgment passed between the two warriors and the moment was followed by them running towards one another.
Sword held low in his right, Jack felt—heard life pulsing so strongly within him he lost himself in the intensity of the moment. The uneven slap of his bare left foot collaborated with the clomping of the boot that still rested on his right. In a way the juxtaposition of footwear summarized his current state. Hair dancing wildly about his head, eyes wide in anticipation his heart raced as the awaited moment approached. Only a few steps away now, Jack could see his enemy clearly.
Squared shoulders that had never run away from the truth were lowered into a stance. Stout arms forged from years of training under the regime of the World Government wielded shards of metal that aimed to take his life. In that face of hard lines and planes, Jack met those red eyes with his own. Those were the only things that appeared not to have belonged to the marines; those were eyes of someone who had known true suffering from the very beginning. Jack knew this because those were his eyes in another person’s face.
Silver ribbons glittered in the space between the two swordsmen for a briefest of time as they passed each other. The only indication that either had swung their blades was the position the swords were held in afterward and the single white shred of cloth from the Captain’s coat that wafted lazily through the air towards the room’s exit.
As Jack’s feet stopped he grunted as his hand went to his left side. Warm blood leaked from an opening there. Another bead of time passed and the loud thud of a body falling echoed tellingly throughout room, not long after succeeded by shouts of concern for the Captain. Dismaying cries rang loudly, magnified by the power of the Doka Doka no Mi, as the men presumably from the Captain’s squad rushed to help their fallen hero.
Tired and wounded, Jack gazed blankly at the wooden door inches away and collapsed as the world began to fade into a hole of endless darkness.
Walking corpses had come back from the dead and now they wanted his head; nothing new there. The room fell silent as the defeated Captain brazenly challenged Jack, twin sabers twirling in each hand while the man’s serious face hardened enough to best stone in a contest fortitude. Not far from where Jack stood another man, the flame-piper spearman pinned the boy from earlier down opting to not join his compatriot in the fray. Guess they don’t think I’ve got much left in me, Jack thought to himself.
It was only when he began to call on the torrent of rage that constantly flowed at his center and found that the reserve had dried up—only then did he realize that he’d come to the dregs of his strength. Blood coated his skin like a dark-red armor, cracking in places were movement had disrupted the even smattering. Every orifice of his being ached incomprehensibly and the only thing Jack could fasten his mind to in order to keep going was the thought of freedom. Each time his body refused to obey him he imagined the dank cell he’d rot in after all this was done—for this the last time; of that he was certain.
After this, there would be no more escape attempts. They would surely kill him.
“For attacking the base and yet again attempting to escape, Jack Dancer you must judgment. Men, ready your weapons; we will execute this man now,” the white Captain announced with grave authority.
Huffing as acceptance began to rout the natural defiance of his disposition Jack closed his eyes unwilling to see how things would end. He would have rather had died with a sword in his hand, but he’d always believed that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Unbearable ages passed between the seconds that the order was given, the only sound ringing within Jack’s mind was the drumming of his heart. A small corner of him wondered if he’d be sad leaving this life like this, but the rest of him was cold to the fact that this was the end. Perhaps it was for the best that the met his demise now. Alone, abandoned, and considered by many one of the cruelest men to ever live; it was his legacy. “I said: Ready your weapons!”
A faint hope flickered to life within Jack. There was shift in the room that wasn’t made by any sound. It was in the spirits of the men surrounding him. Jack could hear it in the way their fingers moved hesitantly towards the triggers and the way that their feet remained complacently rooted in position despite their orders; there was mutiny in the air.
“But sir…”
“—We are justice! We do not reconcile with criminals!”
“With all due respect, Captain Asama; this man risked his life to save that boy—to save all of us. We…we don’t…we can’t kill him like that.”
Just like that, the die had been cast. Willing himself to move Jack walked to the center of the room and felt as all eyes fell upon him. “Looks like it’s just you and me now. You gotta problem; just handle it yourself then. I’m waiting right here for ya,” he said.
The sound of metal hissing through the air drew his attention, but he didn’t move as the straight-edged katana lodged itself into the ground at his feet. Looking in the direction the weapon had come from Jack surveyed the motley group of lawmen who stared back at him with abashed respect; the idiots were actually cheering for him to win. Chuckling at the stupidity of it all Jack took the blade by the hilt and once again felt the fires of his passion ignite at the touch of something familiar. Like a phantom, the katana’s simple deadliness possessed him with the will to fight, no, the will to kill.
In a jiffy its point was leveled towards the battered Captain whose face had become blank. Wordless acknowledgment passed between the two warriors and the moment was followed by them running towards one another.
Sword held low in his right, Jack felt—heard life pulsing so strongly within him he lost himself in the intensity of the moment. The uneven slap of his bare left foot collaborated with the clomping of the boot that still rested on his right. In a way the juxtaposition of footwear summarized his current state. Hair dancing wildly about his head, eyes wide in anticipation his heart raced as the awaited moment approached. Only a few steps away now, Jack could see his enemy clearly.
Squared shoulders that had never run away from the truth were lowered into a stance. Stout arms forged from years of training under the regime of the World Government wielded shards of metal that aimed to take his life. In that face of hard lines and planes, Jack met those red eyes with his own. Those were the only things that appeared not to have belonged to the marines; those were eyes of someone who had known true suffering from the very beginning. Jack knew this because those were his eyes in another person’s face.
SWHING!!!
Silver ribbons glittered in the space between the two swordsmen for a briefest of time as they passed each other. The only indication that either had swung their blades was the position the swords were held in afterward and the single white shred of cloth from the Captain’s coat that wafted lazily through the air towards the room’s exit.
As Jack’s feet stopped he grunted as his hand went to his left side. Warm blood leaked from an opening there. Another bead of time passed and the loud thud of a body falling echoed tellingly throughout room, not long after succeeded by shouts of concern for the Captain. Dismaying cries rang loudly, magnified by the power of the Doka Doka no Mi, as the men presumably from the Captain’s squad rushed to help their fallen hero.
Tired and wounded, Jack gazed blankly at the wooden door inches away and collapsed as the world began to fade into a hole of endless darkness.