One More Soul to the Call

by Broly 3/31/2012, 10:51 pm

The lights hanging from the ceiling were casting an ominous shadow, a shadow that hung over the head of the only true warrior in the room. It was clear that they had discovered something they would call a dirty secret, something that most people would never dream of admitting to in their entire life times. They would feel the blood rushing from their face as it went pale, they would deny everything with the fervor of a fanatic. It was clear that Broly was different. He didn't feel the fear, he didn't hear his heart pounding. If he was anything but disappointed in their show of force, it was impossible to tell from his exterior. Both eyes were closed, and his jaw was loose. He was feeling a surprising lack of rage at the surrounding mob's incompetence.

Did they really think they could defeat him? Just because they had him cornered in some warehouse on the outskirts of West City? It was near laughable. If they were any more pathetic he literally would have broken out in a fierce bout of laughter. They were armed with torches and the like, completely unaware of the man's true power. They were clearly of the opinion that Safety in Numbers was a true phenomenon, one that would come in handy when facing down the monster who had slain three innocent young men the other day, all in cold blood. If only they knew the truth, the ever so discouraging truth that they stood little chance regardless of man power. They were all screaming at him, their voices echoing like mad off of the walls in the warehouse as they wished him away.

They wanted nothing to do with him, as it seemed. As the warrior opened his eyes with clenched fists, he had already realized long ago that he felt the same way. He didn't need the humans to like him, to want him. He merely needed to ground them into dust, and scatter their ashes over cosmic winds in the black abyss of space. Then they would get the message, as they watched from their special place in hell, as he laid waste to their population, their friends and families, everything they'd ever held dear. The thought conjured a fang filled smile, sending it stretching across his features as they continued to shout at him. They were unaware that all of their efforts were for naught. He wished he still held that naive belief that they could effect anything. He had learned too many years ago that they were acting pointlessly.

He had been on the end of countless mob activities, and never had he budged. The only reason he had fled initially the first time, was so that he could create the illusion that he was to be feared. In reality, he couldn't tell someone to fear him. It was their decision to make, after all. To fight or choose flight? If they were choosing to stand up to them, he would shred them to pieces with his might. They were the ones at fault, not he. It wasn't Broly, who lacked the ability to defend himself when pressed into a dangerous situation. It wasn't his fault for their own inadequacies and inability. He would be forced to illustrate this point to them, and he would be swift and brutal. He would meld ferocity with his growing speed and strength.

His senses were suddenly on end, as his body entered that adrenaline filled state meant for destruction and rampant brutality. His skin seemed to be tingling with every change in wind outside, every change to the growing storm of might he was bringing to sweep up around him. The sickening howl of it had yet to reach the mob, they were still in the dark about their fates. They were throwing things now, bottles filled with rags that exploded violently upon the ground before him in a shower of fire and heat. He would not tear his eyes away from the leader of the mob, a man shouting with a loud speaker. He looked young, as though he had an entire life ahead of him. It would be satisfying to deprive him of that chance at a life, as punishment.

Straightening his back as he felt the pressure arise from within him, Broly lifted a single hand into the air, before his face. They didn't seem to care or notice. Why would they give thought to a Monster's motivations? Though he had expected something like this, their insensitivity was contradictory to the majority of man kind that he had observed so far. He would sweep their crowd with death for such defiance. Why would he let a group so uppity survive? What motivation would he have for letting them continue to draw breath in the first place? It wasn't as though he needed them. He needed to spare no one. If they were of differing opinion, they were sorely mistaken. Yet, he could admit that he nearly pitied their poorly executed existences. All of them had made mistakes near in quality to that of mentally deficient school children.

You didn't kill the monster. He killed you. That was the way the world worked, the entire galaxy. While the rest of the universe prayed for the souls to be lost, he would remember this day with fondness. It was to be the day that he began to experience true rushes of his power returning, the day where his time on Earth was coming to fruition. It would only continue from there as he continued onward down his path, his road paved with the blood of the innocence. Voice drenched in disgust, the murderer spoke out to the crowd in a truly heart pounding good bye. He could hear their ranks quieting as the wind began battering the walls outside, a noise beaten out in volume only by his voice.

"Insects!, all of you. Have you ever experienced the abyss? Have you ever felt true strength, real, visceral power? Watch carefully, as I show you what it's like!"

Broly cautiously pushed his hand forward, extending his arm fully as the citizens now calmed down completely, driven to silence by their confusion. The doors had just slammed shut behind them, forcing the howling wind's noise to dull down and become even more terrifying and solid. The fear in their faces was all to real; he could see their minds boggling at the content they were being forced to observe. They had clearly not been fans of martial arts, nor had they been practitioners. They weren't used to the idea of personal energy manifested into a physical form at all, they had never even imagined the concept. It was also an unfortunate truth that Broly was the first to reveal it to them. Broly, with his inability to control his own rising power.

The energy that he was cobbling together in his hand began to crackle and stir, forming a large ball of uncontrollable power that was almost screaming to be released. Civilians were banging upon the doors at the exit of the warehouse, trying to use their fear to help them escape from such a death. Death at the hands of something truly unknown to them, death at the hands of something they had never believed in and would never find the time to believe in. The storm outside was raging as Broly's energy amassed, forming a sphere of contracting energy around him that seemed to have difficulties restraining itself to one size. It kept growing and receding, scorching the ground as he grew in strength.

His smile broke out into a bout of laughter now, echoing across the halls in a way that illustrated the man's almost feral, wild nature. He could hear their individual screams now, each one louder than the last as his heart began to pound in his head, firmly battering his mental walls. What they saw was a true display, the meat of the sandwich. This was what the universe was truly like on the inside, the nitty gritty. What was it within them that wouldn't allow them to accept the primal nature they all carried within? Why couldn't they understand his motivations? In honesty, it mattered little to him. They were now stepping stones upon his path to achieving the goal he had been working toward for the last several days.

But he also knew that this path wasn't going to end for a while. He would need to continue down this road for as long as he could imagine himself walking. The road to Control; the road to his ultimate strength. It didn't discourage him, nor did it make him any less excited to master his power. He wasn't one to give up simply for the sake of forfeiting, nor was he one to give up in general. He couldn't even begin to understand the thought process of such an action. Why would they begin if they weren't willing to finish? The process of giving up was bothersome, humiliating and downright insulting to any warrior that a forfeit was offered to. Broly himself did not accept surrenders. He didn't accept anything but victory or death... and as proof of his creed, he was still alive. As he reminded himself of that fact, his laughter became even darker. Louder, almost like a series of barks were erupting from his vocal cords. It was like he was a true monster, incapable of true social grace.

Broly wasn't well versed on sociability, but he didn't want to be either. Being social was for those who were too weak to adequately battle, or too fragile to fight. The fragile did not deserve to live in his opinion. They were, as name suggested, easily broken and tossed aside into the fires of fate, and left to rot in shallow graves dug by soft hands attached to limp wrists. It didn't take much effort to destroy them, but it was still almost obscenely wasteful. It took away the time he could have spent truly fighting, living through the thrill of a pitched battle with the hordes of opponents who always ended up coming after him. These fools were no different than the others had been, omitting their weakness and contradictory actions, which once again, he was unable to blame them for. It was their best chance at survival...Go directly at the beast.

On second thought, it was a poor idea even by his standards.

He felt his muscles tense in his arm, and knew that his attack was ready. Still howling with wild and unstoppable laughter, Broly swept his arm across the air before him. He would not pray for them, he would not feel remorse once their organs were splattered all over the concrete floor they themselves had constructed, to keep them separate from the Earth. They would be unable to return to their homes, and they would have paid his debt to him. Energy released from his hand as it traveled, striking down more and more men with each blast that seemed to detonate amongst their ranks. They were being bowled over with each explosion, their confusion and fear now adding an element of electric excitement.

The heat and the blood was blowing backwards through the air with each blossoming cloud of fire, forcing it's way through the room to find a home upon his tingling skin. No matter how much heat he had generated, he would always feel the cold ache of casual murder in his bones. That dragging feeling of pressure building upon his back, that emotion he always forced himself to suppress. He hadn't even felt it's effects until his arrival upon the Planet Earth, and he would kill every last human being to be rid of it. Guilt was not Broly, and Broly was supposed to feel no guilt. The Legendary Super Saiyan did not regret anything. That was his calling card, the difference that set him apart from the humans he was slaughtering with such an easy mind, and yet such a physical strain.

He would allow each of these poor, unfortunate souls to heed the call of death that they so desperately craved since the beginning of this entire bloody incident.

And that he did. The crowd had grown thin within mere moments of his first blast, and all the screams had long since quieted when the warrior lowered his arm to his waist, and stepped forward to wade through a body of ashes that now coated the floor and walls. He had made sure to leave nothing left alive. Broly was usually anything if not thorough in his actions, his murders, kills. If any soul survived, it was not for his lack of trying nor his inability to kill them all. It would have been for their intense desire for survival, their drive to outlast all others.

It was from that sudden flash of complacency he felt upon exiting the warehouse that he failed to turn around, and notice what was rising from the ashes. It appeared that one soul had failed to heed the call.

WC:2,201