How is the story so far? Engaging, I hope. For this chapter, I want you to use your imagination a little different than usual. Imagine you lived in this galaxy. That you were born a Dagon, one of those muscular, gray skinned behemoths with permanent scowls and 'kick your ass' depositions. By age ten a typical Dagon can lift the car you probably have in your driveway over its head. Imagine that when you entered your teens you boldly declare to all who would listen that you would enter the Coalition Carnage Competition one day and win. You train day and night to accomplish said goal, even braving the terror behind the door that is the Dark World. Finally, at age twenty-five, you enter the 97th tournament as Superstar of Unity, beating out thousands of other Dagon eager for the role. Imagine you are so strong you can bend the very air around you. Imagine you are Prisma and you are the strongest Dagon alive.
Now, imagine you lost so bad, you failed to make Finals. How would you feel? Know how Prisma felt? Pretty pissed. So pissed, he trained day and night once again for eight straight years, until he felt strong enough to compete in the 98th Coalition Carnage. As you can imagine, he did much better, even made it to Finals. Yet he was beaten first round. Would you be angry at yourself? Or would you just brush yourself off and be content on the fact that you did your best. What if you had a serious irrational need for victory? Exactly.
But let us fast forward a bit to the date 1049-097-TC, two weeks before the start of this current competition. You see, the planet Unity has exactly three million inhabitants equally made up of Dagon, Kujin, and Risen. Why you ask? Don't ask. Anyway, the Trinity rule over the populace and represent the one million people of their respective races so the remaining population don't go extinct. This is not easy when, in the distant past, Dagon were a race of conquerors, the Kujin, intellectual lovers of order, and the Risen, slaves who rebelled. Even now, they are constantly at odds. And these Trinity guys, Lagan, Millijur, and Ulmesh, are something else. Here, let's see what they have to say:
Ulmesh
And you will see, Itum is stronger then any Dagon you could have chosen.
Lagan
You keep insulting us, Ulmesh. Have you forgotten that you were born Dagon?
Ulmesh
And reborn Risen, a race much superior to you and yours. Or have you forgotten.
These are fighting words to a guy like Lagan. He rose to his feet, but a soft spoken voice is sharp enough to cut the tension.
Millijur
Lagan, please, not today. This meeting is important. Should we interfere in the tournament to ensure victory?
Ulmesh
No, Itum is strong enough to not need aid.
Lagan
So you say. But he and his race were wiped out during the Great Cleansing. By the Dagons of that distant time. By you, in fact.
Ulmesh
That was a long, long, time ago. When I died, my life as a Dagon died as well. What we were before, we no longer are. We have Risen.
The double doors leading to the chamber crash in, knocked right off their hinges by the powerful leg of Prisma. Ulmesh and Lagon stood ready to rumble, Millijur, in comparison, went under the conference table. Prisma marched into their midst, carrying a brown sack over one shoulder, dripping some blue-green liquid- whoa! I forget all about that! Prisma is missing his right arm! He lost it when- wait, he's speaking:
Prisma
I'm the Superstar this year.
Ulmesh
Prisma? Is that you? Ha! I thought you dead.
Lagan
You are a disgrace to all Dagons. You have failed twice. You will not-
Prisma
I'm the Superstar this year.
He tossed the sack on the table and a polka dot green head rolled free to stare dead eyed at Millijur, who released a high pitched scream, long and loud.
Ulmesh
Itum! Will you shut up, Millijur!
Prisma
If any of you disagree, step forward and I will kill you now.
Lagan
You think you're strong?! You couldn't win with TWO arms! Your Soul Style isn't even that powerful or unique when compared to those of now.
Ulmesh
Wait! Itum was stronger than the two of us combined and is now dead at Prisma's hands...or hand.
Ulmesh words gave them food for thought. What do you think? Should they give him another shot?
Millijur
What choice do we have? The competition is in two weeks.
Indeed, the coward spoke true. Now, let's go to present day and...oh look. It's Roxy, MC for Coalition Carnage. She went from commentator to host in one short year. From what I've seen she's doing great.
Roxy
Day one is turning out outstanding as we approach the half way mark. Battle 4 is about to begin! Let's check out the geodome!
Which geodome do you hope for? The choices? Well, there's Nature's Teeth, that's underwater. The Junk Moon. Eden, that's on Earth. By the way, the Earth is a little different then the one you know. But that's for later, I guess. This is a Prisma chapter and he doesn't give a damn about Earth or its Superstar. For the moment.
Roxy
Hell yeah! The Underbay! Its denizens want, NEED, the Blessing! Home to many off-worlders, some may be willing to place a knife in the back of our Superstars so their home world Superstars' chance of winning improves. I'm eager to find out! Let's gooooooo!!!
Once again, I ask that you imagine you are Prisma and the location of your battle will be a place that is familiar; feelings of home, but not home. A hundred thousand feet beneath the surface of the world of Ksush, a place of hovels that barely pass for living space, and condemned buildings painted in faded gray and graffiti. The smell of decay mixed with urine, excrement and illegal substances would assault the senses to the point of hysteria, but the residents would say if asked, "at least it's too dark to see what's causing the stench". Trash littered the streets, luminated by dim street lights lining the cracked and broken boulevard. Get the picture? That's the Underbay and Prisma secretly lives two miles outside the geodome's barrier. He moved here some time ago right after...never mind. Prisma doesn't like to think about it, so why should you.
As Prisma, you walk down the previously mentioned boulevard, feeling the hostile intent of numerous individuals hiding among the dilapidated buildings in the darkness. What would you do about it? Know what Prisma did? Nothing but continue his stroll. He was known in the Underbay. They knew if they attacked him, they would die. The sudden sounds of a sprung ambush reach your ears. Of course you head in that direction. You would probably rush there, eager to fight, but Prisma hurries for no man.
An explosion a hundred yards northeast. Either the ambushers dead or the Superstar. Doesn't matter to Prisma. If the former then his Superstar was strong, if the latter, he would track down and kill those responsible for robbing him of his kill.
Nearly sixty seconds later, a reddish object the size of a manhole cover was launched from a thirty degree angle at roughly half the distance of the explosion. The sender was the lizard man and Prisma had sensed him when he leapt. Prisma probably could tank the attack, the thought, at least, crossed his mind before he decided on a leap of his own. He went straight up, the energy disk striking the street and causing an explosion similar to the first, but smaller in scale.
Prisma lands on a twenty foot building to see the reptilian Superstar descending toward him. He was bouncing off the air, gaining speed. He resembled a green streak, but Prisma could see him clearly. So what would you do in his shoes... wait, Prisma doesn't wear shoes. Anyway, no suspense here, he just throws a punch.
Now Preeslings, the lizard man's race, are known to be incredibly agile and this one, Roxy called him Superstar Fritz, was no exception. Twisting in mid descent, Fritz avoided, the attack, wrapped his tail around Prisma's bicep and with a jerk that nearly removed his remaining arm, flung Prisma through the dark structure behind him.
But that's nowhere near enough to hurt Prisma, who halts his momentum to float in midair. The building, however, couldn't stand up to his visit and crumpled down. He felt the twenty-eight lives inside blink from existence. Before you feel too bad for them, they were an ultra violent pirate gang that would have caused untold chaos if they survived past this chapter. Oh well.
Fritz
What's good, my dude?
The Preesling was looking up at Prisma, elongated snout covered in dark green and silver scales. His smile made him seem even more predatory.
Fritz
Nice to meetcha. Name's Fritz.
White energy consolidated in front of Prisma into a ball, resembling a miniature star. He draws back and punches the ball of light toward Fritz.
Fritz (under breath)
Not the convo type.
As stated earlier, Fritz is pretty nimble, a cut above the rest of his kind. Prisma's blast struck some junked vehicle, electricity engulfed it like flame. Fritz jumped over the ball towards him. Now, how would you deal with this leaping lizard? Another punch? A kick, maybe? How about forming another one of those electric ball things? When you control the ions in a planet's atmosphere, you have a plethora of options. What's an ion? Simply put, it's a molecule with an electric charge that exist in the atmospheres of most worlds. Prisma can control them at will. Condense billions to create that ball or use trillions to stiffen the air, slowing Fritz's rush.
The Preesling's yellow tinted eyes rolled around in their sockets, then he trained them on Prisma, who was about to charge. Fritz now held a metal ball he pulled from somewhere and threw it before him. The ball vanished a millisecond before Prisma made his move. Prisma's Quickening makes him one of the fastest Superstars in the competition, so when he hit that invisible energy, it sent him flying back the way he came with more velocity then the tail toss. As the three armed wrestler did two matches ago, Prisma hit the geodome only to leave it at twice that speed in the opposite direction.
All of this caught Prisma by surprise, as it would anyone, so he slammed into the energy disk Fritz shot at him without slowing an inch. A fire cloud briefly lit the area, causing those spying from alleyways and windows to slink deeper into the shadows. When the smoke cleared, Prisma floated in place, like a badass. Fritz, who was watching while hanging upside down from a rusting stairwell by his tail, stared with wide eyed awe.
Fritz
What a badass. This is awesome.
Prisma made a fist and several of the ion balls come into existence around him. He punches one, kicks another, headbutts a third. They go to meet Fritz, who went among the condemned buildings, looking for cover. Screams can be heard when the ion balls hit the buildings below, electrifying entire structures with hundreds of millions of volts. Half a dozen buildings held scorch marks from wherever the lightning struck. Prisma continued his ion volley, driving Fritz from one group of buildings to another, diving and flipping all the way. During one such acrobatic display, he aimed a gun with a rectangular barrel and shot an exploding disk Prisma's way.
Now you, like Prisma, understand that those disks were coming from some type of firearm related Tek. Ball and disk collide in midair, the flash of light caused Prisma to lose track of Fritz. Soul Style users, of which Prisma is one, can sense the souls of the living, like a lit candle in a dark room. They call it Awareness and its distance varies per user. Prisma himself can sense roughly twenty miles in any direction, so when Fritz disappeared from his sight as well as his Awareness, he was surprised again. There are ways to hide the soul from detection, but those with that ability or Tek are few and far between.
What he could sense was the ions shift from above. A black sphere dropped and he brought his arm up to block. The object spun into his muscled forearm with incredible force, its rotation removing skin and tissue. Prisma redirected it past him and it uncoiled to reveal Fritz, now with all black scales, his tail latching on to Prisma's ankle to heave him groundward. He landed on his feet, creating a small crater and issuing a resounding boom that shook the buildings immediately around him. Fritz also crashed to his feet, now seeming to weigh tons, a few meters away. His hide resumed its normal green hue.
Fritz
Cool, huh? It's Tek I created myself. Increased the weight of my scales a thousand fold. I was coming at you pretty fast, the kinetic energy conveyed at most four tons, but you stopped me with one arm. Dude, that is so fire!
If you were Prisma, you'd probably be as fed up by now as he is and quicken to Fritz, as he does, even if your forearm was stripped to the bone. Leaning back he arcs out a foot, ionic energy trailing in its wake. The line of energy curved toward the Preesling, who got low on all fours as it sailed overhead, reducing a crumbling building to the rubble it was destined to become. Prisma's other foot produced another ion whip in Fritz direction, coming up empty yet again.
Fritz, for his credit, ain't no coward, closing the space between them in less then a second, both clawed feet smashing into Prisma's left knee. If he felt anything, he didn't show as he tried to stomp Fritz's life out with the foot attached to that knee. Having a tail saved Fritz from becoming jelly and gave him leverage to plant both feet in Prisma's chin. Smiling with pleasure, he tried for a grab, yet that annoying lizard leapfrogs over his attempt, tail going for an eye poke along the way. A common attempt by those weaker then himself, easily evaded. Tossing another of those metal balls that disappear, Fritz hit the spot it vanished then came back in reverse, scales black again, legs drawn in to aim a dropkick at Prisma's face. Prisma may not be as nimble as Fritz, but his reflexes are on point, ducking under the living projectile.
Making contact with a nearby wall, Fritz runs up the side and leaps off toward Prisma, talons outstretched, leaving himself wide open. Getting cocky. Prisma's leg lashes out, finally making contact. That contact must have had a lot of stink on it because it reduced Fritz to nothingness. Prisma looked around seeing only a slum neighborhood.
Fritz
Hey, dude?
Prisma looked down finally noticing Fritz clenched to his shin like a child to its mother, just before his view is switched to gazing at the shadowed sky, courtesy of Fritz's two feet. Fritz flipped away laughing, leaving his dupe staring at the heavens as if waiting for an answer from God. But Prisma believes in no power higher than himself. No unseen, unfelt deity would dictate his actions, or force him to be "good" or not give in to the wrath of his anger. And angry he was, though not from pain, but humiliation; the very air grew heavy with his rage.
The ground shook, burning white light splashed the landscape like high noon, so those viewing from the comforts of home saw that landscape begin to crumble. The buildings and streets reduced to rubble, caving in on themselves, collapsing on to the level below. Clouds of dirt and dust soon obstructed view and all the recorders pick up on audio is the sound of twisting metal and sickening crunches. A gaping chasm existed where once a neighborhood sat, the dust cloud mapping out the geodome's parameters. Prisma floated above the destruction of his causing, face still a display of barely held fury.
Roxy
What massive power on display by Superstar Prisma! He demolished everything inside the geodome! Everything!!! The Underbay went more under and those under it are now over. Over to the other side! Sorry, our hearts are with those who lost their lives here today. Is Superstar Fritz among them? Let's count to be sure! 1...2...3...
He didn't leap up out of nowhere.
Roxy
Winner of the battle, Superstar Prisma!
Can you imagine the feeling of being declared the victor of anything? You can? Because you're not a loser? Then the smile on Prisma's face wouldn't seem out of place on that otherwise gruff visage.
He thickened the ions in the air again, this time to prevent the omniband's teleportation system from whisking him back to Dycord. He would return soon. He instead floated to the ten foot doors leading out of the geodome; smooth glossy metal sheets seeming to stand on its own, irrelevant. They slid open as he floats through, then he flys higher and faster for only a few seconds. He descended to the street where he knew no eyes would dare spy him. His home is as you would expect; bed, training equipment, food storage. He has no comforts so he sits cross legged in the center of the one room, eyes closed, one hand on knee.
Meditation is extremely important if you want to be a practitioner of Soul Style. Mind and body must be in tune, not one dominant over the other, but perfect unification. It's something Kane, Avia, Gorjon, Morihilus, and Fiaster all had to achieve before obtaining the power they have. If done correctly, an archway should appear within the mind's eye. The one in Prisma's mind is that of rotting oak. He walks beneath it, mentally, into speckled darkness.
Prisma has been here thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of times during his life, yet never has he questioned what this place was. He has only ever seen one star and that's the one in the Papuru Galaxy. He had no clue this was essentially a map of another galaxy. What would he think if he knew there was a whole galaxy of stars and people he could prove his power to. He walked, yes, he had a body, and empty space seemed solid footing, toward a being much smaller than himself with golden skin decorated in weird symbols. Its hair reached down four feet to its ankles in one long braid.
Soby
Welcome back, Prisma. Are we jumping right in?
Prisma
Yes, Soby. I need to be better.
Soby bowed deeply, left arm extended out to gesture towards a door. It held golden markings and an arched opening. With a steady hand, Prisma grabs the gold knob and pulls it open.
The sound: screeching, roaring, hissing, slashing, crunching, stomping, inhumane cries of death. The smell: decay, blood, death. The sight: nightmarish. Animals, creatures, monsters, who knew what these things really were. Words cannot accurately describe the scene of true, unadulterated carnage the starlight from the doorway lit upon. Entities with teeth the size of Prisma's home, abominable ten headed monstrosities with ten arms ending in gnashing maws. Tentacles, tongues, grotesque genitals writhe and slither over ripped apart carcasses. Walking nightmares of all shapes and sizes, ripping into each other with abandon. A creature the size of the Tower of Laws and only made of black hair and teeth bit the head off a slightly smaller creature covered in black goo. A giant head tried to chomp on a mouth with arms, only to be grabbed and have its jaw ripped off, its midnight blood devoured. Blood filled the air like it was raining oil as the creatures of the Dark World ignored the doorway of light hundreds of feet above, where Prisma stood.
Imagine you are trying to learn Soul Style and this is the first time you've seen the Dark World. Ink black sun casting heat in the distance, a massive black hole further beyond. Would you continue with the process? Unless you have a deep seated need to have these powers, you would close the door, wake from your trance, throw your soul coal away, and live your life in willful ignorance. Unless you wanted to prove your strength to any who would challenge you. Unless you are Prisma, who fears nothing. He leaps from the doorway to the horrors below, followed by Soby.
End chapter