Sudden Death (Solo)

Dread wrote:Having made it his goal to hunt down and eradicate the other contestants in the tournament, John spent days scouring the world for any threat against the planet. He crossed forests, jungles, an icy wasteland, deserts, mountains, and even oceans throughout his frantic search for his targets. He knew little about the men, and possibly even women, he sought, which was why he looked for them everywhere, certain he would inevitably sense them.

He knew they all possessed significant power and were capable of terrible things and each wanted all the other contestants, John included, dead. They would do anything to claim the final prize of immeasurable fortune; John had no desire to make such a claim. He sought only to end anyone willing to set aside the safety of their own planet and its inhabitants for something as common as money!

He rarely slept throughout his journey and he quickly discovered that it was best to do so outside in the wilderness wherever he found shelter. His first attempt at staying at a motel ended without success; he needed to be at least eighteen years old to stay or be accompanied by an adult. He could have passed for eighteen years of age easily enough given his goatee, but the desk clerk demanded to see some form of identification and John just shrugged and walked away. It’s better for me to avoid people anyway in case I’m attacked. I won’t have innocent blood on my hands. He consoled himself.

He always experienced nightmares whenever he slept and he always found himself waking in a cold sweat. He could rarely continue resting after having waken in such a state; his panicked brain only allowed it if his body was utterly exhausted. He considered training to the breaking point so that he could simply collapse and go comatose for a few hours, but he rejected the idea almost as quickly as it arose.

He needed to conserve his energy for the actual battles ahead; besides, he believed that he had his maddening training experiences to thank for his dreams. He had been forcefully driven to the brink of death on more occasions than he wanted to remember. The memories remained whether he wanted them or not and they inspired the terrors that polluted his sleep.

His body, mind, and spirit had been subjected to torture in the name of training. He lived in constant paranoia because of it, but he, at least, survived. That was all “Coach” ever wanted of him made apparent by two of his parting words, “You survived.”

Apart from rest and travel, John mostly hunted and fished; his prey never stood a chance against his superior strength and speed. He knew how to build a fire and how to roast meat over a spit, but skinning animals proved challenging enough. His initial attempts at peeling off the outer layers of rabbits, deer, and even ducks and geese left him covered in blood. He also wasted meat he could have saved had he known the proper procedure. He improved over time, but his self-education was slow going, especially given the fact he only ever killed what he intended to eat. He recalled how he once killed a rabbit accidentally out of anger; since then, he resolved only to kill an animal for consumption.

He took occasional breaks between hunts and stopped into a nearby town to eat at a restaurant. He politely asked locals where he could find the best eateries; if he experienced certain cravings, he would make his requests more specific. He sometimes asked questions like, “I haven’t had pasta in a while; what would you recommend?” “Where can a guy get a decent sandwich?” “I’ve got a hankering for some shellfish; do you know of a place where I can get quality seafood?”

People often hissed behind his back after John parted ways with them. It was as though he was doing a great injustice to people by using few seconds of their time, but John ignored them. He may have, at one time, laid a man flat on the ground for insulting him, but he had changed since then and not only physically. He wished harm only on those who truly deserved it and he knew better than to take words personally. He would not allow anyone, especially his enemies, to get inside his head anymore; he would certainly make sloppy judgments otherwise.

Dread wrote:John awoke to a cloudless sky one morning; the sun appeared high in the sky, informing him that he had slept in. It had been his first peaceful rest in a while. He stood up and walked away from a sandstone rock formation he had rested against throughout the previous night. He smiled and decided to begin his day on a positive note. “Good morning,” He said happily to no one in particular; his stomach replied with a growl. “Best to find something to eat I suppose.”

He took to the sky and followed a stretch of highway that divided the desert in half. He picked his direction easily enough; a nearby billboard advertised a “Famous Waffle House”. It sounded perfect for breakfast; he could hardly wait to sample their variety of 59 different kinds of syrup! It felt odd to be experiencing such a perfect morning, but he spared no negative thought on the subject.

He found the restaurant just on the outskirts of a small town; it was a rectangular-shaped structure with a red roof and white walls. Its color certainly attracted attention under the bright desert sun. He landed in the dirt lot where few cars and a truck were already parked. The truck, a blue-painted and rusted affair, rumbled; the engine obviously continued to run and someone sat behind the wheel. John stared at the driver for a moment; he glared back at him. John shrugged his shoulders and proceeded inside.

No one inside paid John any attention and that would have suited him just fine under different circumstances. The people inside, customers and employees alike, all cowered together in the booths along the wall. No one sat in any of the stools near the counter, no one touched their food or drink, and no worker appeared working all because a single man menaced them with a hand gun.

A young black-haired woman, who appeared roughly around John’s age and height, went from one booth to another with a large black garbage bag. The bag had already begun to fill nicely with the wallets and purses of the customers. Her wide blue eyes revealed that she was as terrified as everyone else; her white blouse with a name tag indicated that she worked there. She had obviously been hired for her beauteous thin figure and “in your face” bust. She seemed more than capable of working under pressure, but taking orders at gun point seemed almost too much for her.

The man appeared six foot something in height, making him a giant compared to John. He wore a black leather jacket, a pair of blue jeans, and brown work boots that looked encrusted with the dirt and dust of the surrounding desert. A wide-brimmed black hat, a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and a red bandana concealed all his facial features. “You in the retard costume!” The armed man yelled at John. “Have a seat and wait for your turn, boy!”

John glared at the man and stood still; his good day had been ruined already. He clenched his fists and the armed man took immediate notice. “Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll drop you where you stand, I swear.” He spoke confidently.

“I can probably guess why you’re doing this,” John said calmly in an attempt to restrain his fury; it could potentially waste everyone around him. “You are desperate for money because you need food, a home, gas for your piece of shit truck, and maybe something nice for the family. I’ll even guess that’s your idiot brother outside because who else would you get to do something so incredibly stupid?”

“I won’t tell you again; shut the hell up, sit your ass down, and wait for the charity sack to come your way. I’m sure you can handle the rest.” The stranger said; all eyes turned to John and he could guess what was going through their minds.

They’re probably thinking I am either an idiot or that I can actually get them out of this mess. He thought then addressed the armed man again. “It’s easy for you to wave power at people and threaten them with it, isn’t it? You can make them do whatever you want. It’s addictive and if you can do it once, you’ll keep on doing it because you’ll get it into your head that you’re invincible and there is no limit to what you can do or what you can take. Why care about anyone but yourself when all people have ever done was hurt you? Maybe when they start learning how true hurt feels they might start treating you better. And even if they don’t, who cares? You’re the one who gets to decide who lives and dies, right?”

“What the hell is this crap? Hurry up and do as I say or I’ll kill you!” The man was in an obvious hurry as though afraid the police would arrive at any moment.

“Kill me?” John asked. “Have you ever killed anyone before? Do you know what it’s like to turn something that was once full of life, hope, dreams, and ambitions into a heap of failed organs, unmoving muscles, and still blood?” John demanded. “Have you ever peered into the open eyes of a corpse? They all have the same look in their drying eyes and the same unspoken words on their rotting lips, ‘This can’t be happening, not now! I’m not ready to die!’ It’s too late for them because it’s been done and they lie dead at your feet and you feel a piercing guilt in your soul because you killed someone whose name you don’t even know and all you can do to make it better is convince yourself you had no other choice!”

“I told you to shut up, crazy man!” The man yelled; the barrel of his gun pointed directly at John, his trigger finger shook.

“That’s right, I’m bat shit crazy!" John exclaimed. "Take a good long look, man! I’m about to show you what happens to your soul, your heart, and your mind when you commit murder!”

Everyone screamed as soon as the blackness of John’s aura shrouded his form completely. It instantly chilled the desert-heated air within the badly air-conditioned place. Windows quickly frosted. Only two green lights penetrated the darkness that conformed to John's body and they appeared right where his eyes resided in his head.

“Monster!” The armed man frightfully screamed as he fired off a single shot; John fell onto his back and the darkness around him vanished as soon as he hit the checkered floor.

Dread wrote:Everyone stared, shocked into an unnerving silence, at the fallen and oddly dressed teenager. His eyes stared wide and unblinking at the ceiling. His mouth formed an empty and wide “O” from which no sound was issued. The armed man proceeded with extreme caution toward his victim; he kept the smoking barrel of his weapon trained on him in case the freak was faking. He lightly kicked the teenager’s right moccasin once then again with a measure of additional force. The body moved limply at his prompting, but went still immediately after.

“He’s dead,” The robber declared to himself. “He’s dead!” He repeated, shouting for everyone else’s benefit. “And you’ll all get the same if you don’t comply. Now that you know I’m not fucking around with you, I suggest you hurry up and give the pretty lady here all your valuables.” He instructed, gesturing toward the worker.

Anyone who had not already dumped their offering in the sack eagerly awaited their turn. They would do anything to end the horror that molested their otherwise peaceful existences as quickly as possible. “Nothing personal, kid,” The robber said to his victim; his tone carried some amount of regret.

He tore the bag away from the working girl as soon as the last waffle house patron dumped a wallet inside it. He bolted outside for the truck; a shouting match followed between the driver and the robber. Their words clearly carried through the walls and windows of the restaurant. The argument proved brief and the truck son roared out of the parking lot and tore down the highway away from the town. “Police! Yes, I need to report a robbery and a murder!” The working girl shouted into her cell phone; many other people reached for their phones and started dialing for law enforcement as well to report their valuables missing as well as the death of a stranger as though the latter was an afterthought.

Both of John’s clenched fists opened as soon as he heard the worker shout the word, “murder”. A bullet rolled down his right fingers and continued down a path in between two tiles. He then sucked in a deep breath from having held his for so long. He rose to his feet without visibly moving a muscle; it was an easy enough trick for someone who had the slightest inclination for ki usage. People stared in absolute astonishment and all had stopped speaking into their phones for a little while.

He turned his gaze toward the girl who had unwillingly assisted the robber. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sum of money. “I wish I could give you more,” He told her. “I planned on using this for my breakfast, but I figure you earned something for your bravery.” She slowly accepted the money, but said nothing.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” Someone suddenly yelled at John; he looked toward the source, a well-shaven man in a fine gray suit who smelled pungently of cologne. “If you weren’t hurt, why’d you just lie there and play possum?” Words of agreement from other witnesses encouraged the professional-looking man to continue. “He took everything from me! What am I going to do for the rest of the month?”

“Guns cannot hurt me,” John replied. “Can you say the same?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The man asked him.

“They no longer have hostages to cower behind and I can use my power without fear of harming any of you because they have gone far from this place.” John explained. “I will try to return your valuables without damaging them.”

“Um, excuse me,” The lady employee said to John; he looked at her. “Are you sure you can stop them?”

“They are weak and scared; they are no threat to me.” John answered. “It will not take me long to stop them and return with what I can.” He assured; he walked out the door; the people he left behind followed him only with their eyes.

He took to the sky and followed the straight road away from the town; it was the same path he had followed in the other direction only minutes earlier. He spotted the truck quickly enough; he landed some yards ahead of it and gazed directly into the windshield toward the driver and his partner in crime. He expected them to stop; instead, the truck swerved and continued off road to avoid him. John clearly heard the screams of terror from inside the vehicle. He even made out the words, laid thick with surprise, “I killed him!”

John flew after the truck and caught up with it in a matter of seconds. He punched the driver-side window; it shattered at the contact. The driver stared and screamed while the passenger shouted, “Watch the road!” Funny words to say considering they were no longer on the road.

John grabbed the door from the inside and ripped it off its hinges; he cast it aside just as the two men screamed again. “Stop the truck,” He calmly ordered the driver.

The driver’s panicked state made him deaf to John’s demands. John seized him by the collar of his shirt and nearly dragged him out of his seat. “I said stop the truck,” He repeated himself when their eyes met directly; he returned the driver to his former position who finally stepped on the brakes as ordered.

The customers and workers of the Waffle House had all gathered outside and scanned the skies for the return of their supposed hero. A pair of police crafts had arrived within minutes; their sirens could be heard for over a mile and their flashing lights could have been seen for nearly as great a distance. Officers quickly stepped out from their vehicles to question witnesses and investigate the scene. They were just in time to witness John’s triumphant return. “I think I see something!” Someone shouted and pointed to what looked to them like a speck in the sky; it quickly grew in definition until every witness realized what they were looking at.

John held the get away truck, minus one door, above him with both arms as he flew toward the gathered crowd. He stopped above the lot and looked for a clear place to land. People below cheered his return with the exception of the police officers. They had not been victimized by either of the men John “escorted” their way. When he was satisfied with a location, he descended and took care to set the truck down without harming it or its occupants. John’s airsick and trembling passengers appeared completely unharmed with the exception of an abrasion on the driver’s neck for his short lived non-compliance against John’s wishes.

Dread wrote:The two men in the truck ran straight toward the police officers, stricken with fear by their encounter with John. “He’s a freak! He’s a goddamn freak, I swear!” The driver yelled.

“Shoot him! Shoot him now!” The robber, who continued wearing his face-concealing accessories, yelled.

"That's them, officers. Those two are the men who stole our stuff!" A member of the crowd announced. "The guy in the weird outfit saved us." If, by "us", he meant his valuables then John agreed.

He did not feel like much of a hero. All he had done was ensure no one else ended up injured and that the criminals faced justice for their actions. Who was he to do what he had done? What had taken hold of him when he decided to pursue the two bandits? John was no saint; he had stolen goods many times throughout his life. Who was he to levy punishment out onto others? I am a man who does what he can for those who can do no more. John consoled himself with that thought.

“Hold it right there! Don’t move! Don’t move!” One of the officers shouted at the men running towards them; all three men in blue and their female partner trained their side arms on the criminals.

The men, however, were more terrified of John than they were of the guns because they knew, from experience, bullets could do no harm against the freak behind them. One of the officers let off a warning shot into the air; the thunderous bang was enough to still everyone including his pair of suspects. “Put your hands in the air and turn around!” The same officer who had shouted only seconds ago continued issuing his demands. “Do it now and do it slowly!”

John watched the two criminals finally comply and felt the eyes of the robber upon him even though his vision could not penetrate through the mirrored lenses of his shades. “You lecture me about flaunting power, boy?” He angrily hissed. “About using it to get your way; that’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

John regarded him with a stony silence, but that did not deter his captive from continuing. The man may have been terrified out of his wits of John, but that fear only lent strength to his anger. John knew the feeling only too well. “What makes it right for you, huh? What makes you special? You think just because you’re some kind of superman you can go around and do what you want and because it’s you who’s doing that makes it okay, but it’s not okay for the rest of us? Is that it? Answer me, you son of a bitch!” John almost smiled because he had just finished thinking about the same exact issue.

"I'm not special," John answered calmly. "I’m just a kid who just learned how to stand on his own two feet and walk away.” With that, he turned his back on the men who were presently being handcuffed by a pair of officers.

“Hold it, you can’t just walk away,” The female officer addressed John. “There are some questions my friends and I would like to ask you.”

John paused then said, without turning around, “I am exercising my right to remain silent.” He then continued down the road into town for a less disturbed diner.

John walked no more than a dozen paces from the lot when he felt an impossibly sudden tremendous surge of life energy. He stopped in his tracks and twisted toward the source; whatever it was, it was moving fast! He managed to track its movements and guess, based on its course, its destination. His eyes locked on the waffle house he had only left moments ago. He also observed the crowd still gathered around it. Realization and fear overcame him as he screamed, “GET OUT OF THERE NOW!” People turned toward him and stared, but no one seemed to consider him seriously enough to vacate the area.

Something sparkled overheard, but John had already sensed it for the energy mass that threatened the people below, innocent and otherwise. Heads turned toward the energy as its brilliance became far more noticeable over the lessening distance between it and the restaurant lot. People gawked at it stupidly until they felt the tremendous heat beating down onto them from it, indicating the threat it posed onto their existences. They all screamed and scattered almost aimlessly toward their vehicles, but they had moved too late. Their vehicles could not accelerate in time to whisk them off to safety and John could not hope to save them all one carload at a time.

John made a snap decision in that instant and heaved his body into the air; dust parted beneath him in a circle. He rocketed toward the energy mass with his fists extended ahead of him. He clenched his fingers tightly not because he hoped to deflect the attack away, but because he dreaded the harm he was about to suffer for the sake of strangers. He passed directly beneath the source of his dismay and the terror of the panicked people below. “Look!” Someone yelled above the raging crackling of the burning energy John faced. “He came back! He came back for us!” People roared their cheers below; confident that their superman could save their lives from impending doom.

John smiled; their belief in him bolstered his confidence until he no longer concerned himself with the very real possibility of injury or death that he faced. People believed in him and actually cared whether he lived or died. It was almost too good for him to believe; tears of joy streamed from his eyes as he put on an additional burst of speed. Let’s not disappoint the fans. He thought. He felt the great white blast grind against his knuckles with its spinning; its heat almost seared his hardened skin. He roared, “Bring it on!”

Dread wrote:John’s arms sunk up to his elbows into the enormous ball; he resumed roaring to serve as a battle cry. He needed something, anything really, to make him blank out the agonizing experience of having his limbs cooked alive. The ball, meanwhile, forced its way down toward the waffle house and the people below despite John’s efforts to stop it. It pushed him down with it as though backed by a tremendous will. I thought it was supposed to explode by now. He could hardly believe he had actually hoped for it to detonate with him at point blank range, but he thought it was far better for him to risk the damage by himself than have people’s deaths forever on his conscious. “You’re not playing fair!” John yelled.

He opened both of his hands while embedded deeply within the energy attack. “If you won’t blow,” He hissed. “I’ll make you blow!” He unleashed two explosive blasts deep within the attack against which he contended; the result was almost immediate.

The vast ball of energy, at long last, detonated and blanketed the world for miles in stark white. People below ducked, shut their eyes, and trembled in fear, hoping their hero had done enough to keep them safe. The resulting explosion tore through the sky in all directions including downward. A powerful gust of hot wind rocked vehicles and knocked people, caught outside, down onto either their faces or backs. No one could rise while suppressed by the ongoing maelstrom that had resulted from the airborne nightmare. No sound could be heard above the continuing rumble of the horrendous blast.

The pressure lessened over time and the white turned to gray and the gray slowly to the familiar browns, yellows, and oranges of the surrounding desert. A thick cloud of dust reduced visibility to nothing. People rose from their fallen or crouched positions and gazed about in all directions either for the man who had saved them from certain destruction or for loved ones who had been separated from them. Many wondered, for the second time that day, if John had died.

Something solid fell through the dust cloud and crashed down onto the road just outside the parking lot. Its passing helped clear the dust somewhat; people held their breath and dared to hope. A man stood, crouched, in the road; the air wavered visibly around him from the sheer heat that wafted off almost every part of his body. He inhaled deeply through his nose with closed eyes then exhaled. He repeated the process a few more times as dust, dirt, and sand around him continued falling.

He finally opened his green eyes and looked to the lot; people within and outside their vehicles immediately erupted into applause. John glared at them, “Go home, now!” He yelled. “It’s not safe here!”

“Do you honestly think I’d let them leave?” Someone questioned from above. “I’ll do anything it takes to win this last fight even if it means destroying the town and watching you waste your energy trying to save it.”

“What do you mean by ‘last fight’?” John asked. “Are we the only two left?”

“What do you think?” The stranger asked.

“I think you just made my job easier,” John retorted.

The figure set down in front of John and smiled broadly; he appeared absolutely confident in his superiority over his target. John doubted a bluff on his part because he had personally experienced, literally firsthand, an example of his power. He either knew something John did not or he overestimated himself; Kami had previously warned John against making the folly of falling into a sense of overconfidence. An entire lesson inside the Pendulum Room, in fact, had been dedicated to teaching John the importance of recognizing and privately admitting to his limitations.

John wondered if his present adversary had learned as he had. What if the corruption of his character, the stranger exhibited through his actions and words, had warped his perspective on reality? Did he consider himself something akin to a god as the ancient and self-proclaimed “God King” Eremis had?

The man wore a black sombrero, a matching sleeveless vest, white baggy pants, and black combat boots. His body appeared incredibly muscled and tanned, which gave him a resemblance to Eremis if only in those two aspects. He sported a bushy black mustache, but his chin appeared smoothly shaven. He was only a few inches taller than John, but he suspected the difference was owed to the stranger’s boots and hat. He wielded a curved sword with his right and fingerless-gloved hand; his left hand featured an identical glove. John felt tempted to ask what he hoped to accomplish with a stubby piece of metal.

“I am going to present you a choice and I hope you will choose wisely.” The stranger said as he walked closely enough toward John so that he could easily make out the glaring shade of blue n his eyes.

John looked into his eyes long enough to try and identify any emotion expressed by them. Staring down an opponent was a quick and easy way to end up flat on the ground. He needed to observe more than his opponent’s expressions, especially if they were falsifications constructed by his enemy to hide his true feelings.

A long silence passed between them; John would not reply, refusing to be baited by the stranger. His opponent sighed as though disappointed by John’s non-compliance. “Surrender now and allow me to kill you.” John immediately chortled at the offer, but the man continued. “I will spare this crap town and its people in exchange for your life.”

“How many people have you killed for money?” John asked in all seriousness.

The stranger viciously smiled when he answered. “Throughout my career of combat and assassination, I have killed an exact number of nine hundred and ninety eight targets. You will not have the honor of being my thousandth victim; I have reserved that for another man.” The pride over all the blood he had shed was unmistakable in his voice.

John considered his own reply for a few seconds; the stranger folded his arms over his chest, taking care not to cut himself with his own sword. “I am a man who does what he can for those who can do more.” John said at long last.

“What are you talking about? What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” The stranger asked; his smile diminished a little.

“I take no joy in what I must do to you, but you need to die,” John solemnly decreed. “I am one of few who has the power to ensure you never hurt another man, woman, or child again!”

“I’ll take that as a 'no' to my generous offer,” The stranger said with a sadistic chuckle and a shake of his head. “You will regret your foolish words. I will break you and then I will make you watch the destruction of this town before I end you.” He promised.

Dread wrote:The stranger uncrossed his arms and assumed a fencing stance; John knew nothing about sword fighting, but he already guessed that his opponent’s weapon was no ordinary blade. How else could he hope to penetrate John’s flesh, which had been extremely hardened, as if by some miracle, from his training? John leaped back and assumed a defensive pose. He waited for his opponent to make a move and noticed that the empty hand of his armed enemy was open, extended back some, and directed at him.

Shouldn’t that arm be placed behind his back if he’s fencing? John thought from what little he had seen of sword fighting. He wondered, only for a moment, what possible benefit his adversary gained from his variation on a centuries-old fighting style. He means to keep that hand available as a launching point for his energy attacks! John realized; he may not have known the fundamentals of swordplay, but ki usage was his definite area of expertise.

John smirked, something that his opponent noticed and commented on, “Do you find something funny?” He asked, but John kept silent.

Amateurs unnecessarily rely on stances and specific movements to unleash their energy, leaving them highly vulnerable to attack. John strategically thought from what he knew about ki energy and his experiences with it.

John powered up; his aura wrapped him in darkness that his present spectators in the nearby lot found unnervingly familiar. People screamed until they remembered whose side John was on. “Interesting,” His opponent commented. “I’ve never encountered an aura like yours before, but it will not help you.”

John watched the stranger power up as well; the man continued to exhibit the amateurish element in implementing his ki by bending his knees slightly. It was, John knew, a cautionary exercise against the recoil and strain that powering up placed on the body. He also knew that his spirit was his core; his body was designed specifically for containing it and withstanding it. There was no need to brace his body against the natural force that lent him life and power unless he, like so many others, had not yet become attuned with their spiritual power. He suppressed a chuckle.

The stranger’s aura supplied a translucent and bright yellowish orange glow to his flesh and clothes. “Impressive, isn’t it?” He remarked on the power he presently generated; John maintained his silence. “My aura represents the one thing that matters in this or any other world.” He paused, but he wasted time in expecting John to ask him for any explanations. “Gold,” he eventually and reverently spoke.

He scowled when John maintained his silence and motionless stance. Only his eyes moved to absorb information his opponent’s motions offered him. The stranger yelled and lunged toward John with his weapon. He aimed a quick stab at John’s midsection, but John crossed his wrists over the targeted area and impeded the tapered point from making further progress. The point drew some blood, but posed no immediate threat to John in that position. The stranger grinned as though he had John backed into a corner; a blazing orange ball popped into existence within the stranger’s empty hand, explaining away his confidence in position.

A black beam shot out from in between John’s eyes and struck the wrist attached to the offending hand. The attack dispersed, incomplete, as the stranger howled in pain and backed away. John glanced over his opponent’s shoulder for a moment; the man noticed and cast a cautionary glance backward. There was nothing behind him, but the simple distraction was enough for John to commence the creation of one of his attacks unnoticed.

A black ball had materialized in between John and his opponent. The close proximity between creator and creation, which supplied identical signatures, prevented his enemy from sensing it. The stranger grimaced at it then swiped his blade through it; John leaped back to avoid the sword’s cutting edge and felt fortunate the swing had not been aimed for him.

The stranger, however, had moved too late; John also noticed he had overextended his body a little as though preparing for a hasty retreat. He might have expected the blast to detonate and cause its master some ironic measure of injury. The black ball did not detonate; it merely fractured then shattered like glass. “What?” Time allotted the stranger a single syllable before the contents of Piercing Dread issued forth.

The stranger took to the air and flew backwards as quickly as he could away from the pursuing wave of darkness. He turned sharply several times as though his serpentine motion would spare him from the fate John had bestowed upon him. The black torrent chased after him wherever he went and played a song whose lyrics, if it had any, contained only promises of death and destruction. The stranger screamed and attempted using his sword to disperse the oncoming threat. He batted away some of the pieces, but they corrected their course and rejoined their brethren; they inevitably overwhelmed him.

He issued a scream, but the haunting tune of Piercing Dread silenced his despair to all outside ears as darkness swallowed him up and proceeded to tear away at his flesh. People cheered John’s apparent victory, but his solemn eyes remained fixed on the shifting blackness in the sky. That is not enough to kill the likes of you. He thought; his senses alerted him to as much.

The enemy’s energy dwindled a little, but a sharp drop would have confirmed a critical hit. “GET DOWN NOW!” He screamed at the foolishly gathered audience; at least, for once, the people, police included, listened to his direction.

A yellowish orange wave of energy scattered all the lethal components that comprised John’s attack. The explosion was felt from the ground, but brought harm to no one. John focused on each black sliver he had brought to some semblance of life. He commanded them all to disperse harmlessly so as not to hurt anyone else. The remnants of Piercing Dread fell as black ash and vanished to nothing during the descent. The stranger glared down at him; his expression suggested that he had finally decided to take John seriously.

“You’re not the only one with tricks!” He yelled at John.

He held his sword out ahead of him, the blade suddenly exploded into a countless number of nearly imperceptible and razor sharp pieces. The stranger grinned as the sword fragments, while less numerous than the components of of John’s previous attack, rained down toward their human target. John’s enemy waved the hilt within his hand in a circle; the fragments formed a formidable spinning ring that appeared deadly enough to slice through anything including John. “Too late,” John muttered as the ring approached him; he did not so much as flinch when it flew close enough for him to touch with an outstretched hand; not that he bothered doing so.

A man with the power to destroy who threatened people with that power, in John’s mind, did not deserve to live and he certainly deserved no mercy. There was no honor, no chivalry about John’s method; he meant to kill his enemy as quickly as possible. Any hesitation or reservation on his behalf would only extend the duration of his battle and that meant risking the safety of those around him.

His enemy used his hilt to continue directing his own attack toward John, but the ring slowed and it took the stranger no time at all to discover why his own guided attack refused his most basic of instructions. “How are you doing this?” He demanded of John as the Iron Altar reached completion some safe distance above the ground.

Dread wrote:The stranger turned away from John and toward the invisible force dragging him toward his doom. He held his empty and trembling hand out toward the immense force. He attempted to blast his way to safety, but he could not generate nearly enough power to contend with John’s level of ki mastery. He slowed his progress some from the wide yellowish orange beam, but he tired quickly and visibly. “Damn it; no!” He screamed as his beam faded to nothing.

He held out the hilt of his weapon; the attack ring spun toward it, but it had also been caught up in the Iron Altar’s gravity field. It was dragged away from its home and sucked into the center of the field. Had he planned to use it for an escape somehow? The man twisted around, with a desperate amount of strain until he faced John again. He reached out toward him in obvious futility.

“I will kill you!” He screamed. “I will get my gold and you’ll be dead!” He fired a few ki blasts that exploded harmlessly in the desert; his despair and the gravity of the Iron Altar made his aim suffer.

He then noticed the two black dots hovering some feet ahead of John, but he could not make out their exact shapes from such a distance. John wondered if his enemy sensed the energy contained within the two formidable bullets. He had ample time to construct both during his enemy’s fruitless struggle against the Iron Altar’s gravity field. He could have fired both of them seconds prior to his enemy taking notice of them, but the gravity field could have altered their course. John had waited for his target to near the field’s center; the target he had chosen for his pair of attacks.

With an explosive twin chorus of bangs that caused the air to ripple visibly, the two bullets blasted off toward the proverbial bull’s eye. The stranger’s eyes widened with terror at their approach. He shielded his face by crossing both his hands over it. He moved either by instinct or by tracking the attacks’ trajectory somehow so that knew they both flew straight toward his head.

One bullet followed the other; the first bored a clear path through his hands then tore straight through his skull. The second proved to be an unnecessary expenditure in energy on John’s part. It simply traced the same path its predecessor had taken through a freshly made corpse. The man’s arms fell to his sides of their own accord; the bright desert sun shone clearly through the large and identical holes in his hands. He hung, lifelessly, high above John and those who had remained to watch the outcome of his vicious encounter.

John could not will away the gravity field generated by Iron Altar anymore than he could reverse an explosion that leveled a building. He had no idea how long it would last or if it would ever disappear. He worried, somewhat, about Iron Altar. He wondered if it caused imperceptible damage to the surrounding environment or even the planet. He knew next to nothing about gravity, but he had implemented his imagination in the attack’s creation so that his ki carried out his will. It generated such an unimaginable amount of force he doubted anyone could physically resist.

He stopped staring at the dead man and allowed his aura to vanish; he no longer required the power it bestowed upon him. He then walked toward one of the police officers who, along with everyone else gathered within the lot, had long since stood up. “Make sure no one tries to bring him down.” John told him.

“Excuse me, sir, but you just killed a man; I don’t know how you did it, but that’s breaking the law.” The officer told him. “We’ve got witnesses and evidence. Why don’t you get in the car so we can take you down for questioning?”

John heaved a sigh of aggravation. He considered his options for a moment; if he refused, he would prove he had no regard for the law whatsoever. If he complied, however, he faced the possibility of real prison time.

“I saved lives today,” John said as he held out his wrists for cuffs that he could easily rip apart like paper. “I can’t do much of that behind bars. Make your choice, but remember I saved your life as well.” He would comply with the officer’s decision and found it ironic that he would have immediately fled the scene with the powers he presently possessed had he been a year younger.

“You sure no one can go up there?” The officer asked, pointing to the corpse that appeared only as a dot to an untrained and grounded observed.

“Anything or anyone up there will be crushed. If and when he falls, it will be safe again.” John informed him.

“Thanks for the tip.” He turned away from John as though ignoring his very existence; he stared toward the other officers and saw they all had their backs turned to him. They had gone about taking control of the initial crime scene in which a normal gunpoint robbery had taken place. They would deal with the dead terrorist later.

I guess I’ll find breakfast in another town. He thought as he proceeded back into the desert to avoid any further confrontation with local law enforcement. Or maybe I’ll find me a plump rabbit. Or rattle snake; I don’t think I’ve ever had snake. I wonder what it tastes like. These were the thoughts John devised n that moment to help maintain his sanity after he had killed a man.

Later that day...

John tore into a skinned and roasted rabbit with his teeth; he held the mostly eaten remains in his hand by a bone. The fire in which he had cooked it had long since become a smoldering pile of gray and white ashes. He had nearly finished his late-morning breakfast, but he was holding off the conclusion for as long as possible. "I wonder if it really is over," He said to himself, referring to the bloody tournament arranged by men whose names John did not know.

Even if the competition was over, he knew many more unpleasant encounters awaited him in his future. Such was the nature of the existence he had adopted. He did not think of himself as a hero. If asked what he was, he would give the same answer he had delivered to the man he had killed that day, the day he had finalized his decision. "I am a man who does what he can for those who can do no more."