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originally posted in:The New Dojo
12/24/2016 6:42:29 PM
1
[i]"You speak as if you know me, warrior of flame. You speak as if you have endured the same pain I have, not greater or less, but the same. You speak as if you were my keeper, my brother and myself all in one.
But you are not.
Are you angry at me in this form, Wolf of God? Good. Let that hatred course through you as it coursed through my own veins...
Let your flames be fuelled by apathy, lest it burn further."[/i]
His voice is gravelly and distorted through the metal, as if his entire throat had been scorched by fire. His words radiated from the armour itself, everything he said emanating from the engraved plates of burnt ceramic.
[i]"My name was Cobalt Phoenix. I lived, loved, and died for this place. And when I returned from death's cold grasp, I was greeted with the same cold indifference.
I was then exiled by my own people for trying to reignite the true spirit of the Dojo.
Hell, you say? There is no Hell, no true Hell we live in other than the life we live. And if there is no Hell, there is no God. No God, no angels, no demons. Only man, no matter how powerful or how weak, man and his delusions. Man and his ideas of higher power, for when man is faced with higher power, they either seek to worship it..."[/i]
The flames around him brighten as they feed of of Fenrir's scorn for Phoenix's form, their whispering intensifying - yet the Wolf of God could not understand their words.
[i]"... Or fear it."[/i]
The Hateful Phoenix holstered his grenade launcher and sheathed his sword as something much more thick begins to form in his hand. A classic acoustic guitar, inscribed like the Phoenix's armour with words that could not be understood, words written in magma.
[i]"Would you like to see the true power of the Dojo, Wolf of God? Not the stagnant corpse it has become, but its true spirit vested in my dead bosom.
A fire long reduced to cinders but willing to be set aflame once more.
This is the power of the Dojo's dead past, Wolf of God."[/i]
Strumming a single cord, cobalt flames began to swirl rapidly around Phoenix, tightening into much more concentrated swathes of heat...
English
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"[b]I cannot deny my experiences, Phoenix. I cannot deny what I have seen, what I have felt, and what I have become. If there is delusion here, it is your own, a hatred and apathy, you say? These are yours, as well. Do not inflict them on others. As for the true power of Dojo, I have no clue, to be honest. I only look at you now, and see someone who's own love for life twist them into believing that that was all there is, until they were so warped that they denied the existence of an afterlife, of a God, even when they can do as you've done.[/b]" [i]Fenrir's own flames burn quietly, and he seems to feel not hatred, anger, or apathy, but only...sorrow? Yes, sorrow. The sorrow at seeing a warrior of such a caliber turned into such a thing as the Phoenix was now. He regretted not having come sooner, as he could have met this man in his life, and perhaps known him when he was something better than this burning hatred that stood in front of him.[/i] "[b]So be it.[/b]" [i]He raises Ragnärok, gripping it with both hands as the cobalt fires are drawn to it, absorbed when they touch it.[/i]
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Two cords are strummed this time, Ragnorok growing a superheated blue-white and being wreathed in Phoenix's cobalt flames. Fenrir felt it - flames of pure hatred, twisted deformities of what was once love. But there was no empathy or mercy left, only the cruel flame of abhorrence. Fenrir's two-handed sword exploded in a blaze of blue, flames forming into a figure in front of Fenrir. The fiery silhouette looked awfully similar to Fenrir, and it gripped the sword handle he was holding on to. The doppelgänger kicked the Wolf in the stomach as he pounced away, holding a mimic of Ragnorok made out of pure blue fire in its hand. A few more strums of the guitar and ash began to form around the silhouette, settling upon it and forming skin and armour much like Fenrir's. However, the wolves inlaid into his own armour became twisted and marred. Each design was made in the likeness of a ravenous wolf, one that was subjected to great cruelty and never forgot the pain. The doppelgänger did not have a head, it bore only a skull. A skull inscribed with those same misunderstood words that were etched into Phoenix's armour. A helmet formed around the doppelgänger's head just before Fenrir saw its eyes - eyes that burned a twisted blue, a distorted reflection of the Wolf's own fire. [i]"You have great love for your God, Wolf. Allow me to show you what such passion burns into."[/i] The ashen helmet that formed over it was once more in the shape of a wolf, with its maws open over the doppelgänger's skull. It raises its own Ragnorok against Fenrir as Phoenix lets out a twisted guitar riff, sending the doppelgänger charging towards Fenrir with a downwards slash aimed to strike his right shoulder.
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[i]Fenrir deftly stepped to the side of the heavy slice, the true Ragnärok reforming in his hand so that his doppelgänger's own momentum carried him onto the ancient blade. The force of his reckless charge gave enough inertia that the blade pierced through his armor and ribcage, smashing through his heart and lungs. The doppelgänger's varying openings shone brilliant white light, the very veins within him glowing until they ruptured, breaking the skin and burning away the entirety of the doppelgänger. Fenrir grabs the fake Ragnärok with his right hand, the blade crumbling into ash, but leaving a form of white fire where it had stood.[/i] "[b]Did you think this to be the first time I have fought myself? I fight myself every day. I know my own weaknesses better than any of my foes, I can kill myself faster and more efficiently than any other can. I fight myself on a daily basis, Phoenix. I fight the beast within me, and I shall do so until I die my final death and join my God. A doppelgänger is merely a lesser version of me.[/b]" [i]His encounter with the warrior had changed him, at least visibly. His flames, which had died down as the doppelgänger was formed, has resurgence now, but white? Whether it was a parlor trick, an intimidation tactic, or a genuine change in how he viewed battle and life was unknowable, left for the Phoenix to guess at.[/i]
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[i]"I beg of you not to kill yourself then. That defeats the thrill of the hunt, Wolf of God."[/i] Phoenix extends a hand forward as fire gathered around it, engulfing his armoured hand in cobalt flames. Ash from the doppelgänger rushed to his fist, mixing with the fire and creating a small, self-contained firestorm around his fingers. [i]"You think you've tasted the power of the Dojo? This place is just a former shell of its glory, a shameful corpse of the once wondrous vessel it was."[/i] With the other hand he throws the acoustic guitar in the air, fire snaking from his hand under it. In a flash of flame, another body made of ash is different - much more featureless, but definitely that of a male. Its arm reaches up to catch the guitar, shedding loose embers from its biceps as its fingers find their way around the instrument. [i]"Reincarnate what once was lost to time; raise what entropy's eternal grasp has taken. Sonata of Flame: Duellist's Grave."[/i] The ashen mannequin began playing a song on his guitar, a much more melodious tune compared to the Eldritch strumming of Phoenix. No, this was a ballad - a story told through song, with words still yet to be understood by Fenrir. Like a veil being lifted, the entire area around Fenrir begins to burn away... Quite literally. It was as if the already-burnt scenery around him was tinder to a spark, quickly consumed by the rift of blue flames that created seams in reality. All around the Wolf was the Dojo... But much older, more worn out. It was pockmarked by bullet holes in the walls, burn marks on the ground and sword slashes all over the place. Cinders littered the earth like some eerie holocaust byproduct, flickering embers within glowing blue. The sky above the two warriors burnt blue and violet, as if the very heavens were being incinerated by the flames of Phoenix. Even the sun had been eclipsed by a burning swathe of cobalt fire. Holding out his hand, Phoenix formed a bow made of pure darkness. Light from the flames above was absorbed into the inverse shadow of the bow's ornate arms, runes seemingly fashioned from night itself adorning its limbs. [i]"Do you hear that song? That is the guitar of Woodchuk, one of the oldest Dojo lieutenants. His name has been lost to time, his features marred and dulled because of it. And this? This is the bow of the shadow archer, Jams. A comical name, no doubt, but a true warrior at heart. He was one of my first comrades here... One of my greatest friends. He bequeathed himself to me and allowed for me to carry on his legacy. Two forgotten names; two true warriors of honour. Both long-gone, for they realized the truth of the dying Dojo before I did. I now hold their skill in their stead as a final memorial of defiance. Let me tell you a story, Wolf. This is the story of my love. This is the story of my martyrdom. This is the story of my exile. This is the story of my hatred."[/i]
