count_zantara
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- Posted: Fri, 01 Feb 2013 19:10:07 +0000
Bloodbath Bar Inc.
As he downed the vials, he felt his body shift somewhat dramatically, as if the flesh and bone of his body had suddenly been gripped on the micro level by some other force, rather than his own power.
It was not a typical healing vial. But rather a liquefied version of the first owner's shift of weakness trait. Use to mend the raw matter of an individual's person to the 'rightened' state of what it was. Though Zantara might have been in for a bit of the shock. The cells and organs from which it reconstructed did so of a younger state of himself, back when his body was in its prime.
If Zantara was still missing a leg, he would instantly feel a tightening sensation against his peg leg. It may be a good idea to take it off.
Stopping for a moment from his mental playing a fight between two sword wielding Trinities, one with a katana the other with a broadsword, Zantara felt exactly what sort of healing the Bar had just given him.
"God Damn It."
He muttered softly as he suddenly dropped his shotgun, causing it to fire a round of the Icy Burst explosive into the ceiling, sending shards of magical ice all over the place.
She....was daring something that he did not even allow the Great God Ao to do.
She was returning him to a previous state.
With a roar of pain and anger, he fell back against the wall, his talons digging deeply into the wood work as they elongated. As he mentally disconnected the prosthetic leg and it fell away, the Cleric stared up at the ceiling, disappointment and rage in those red-tinged violet eyes.
If there was two things about Zantara that were actually Super-Human that wasn't part of any genetic trait, it was his Pride, which knew no bounds.... and his Iron Sense of Self. Zantara's body was his own temple. inviolate and perfect in all it's perfections. It was the reason that on his return in a brand new sparkling body, he had to remove his leg.
Because it'd had been lost and didn't belong. It was another reason why his third lung never felt right from the acid burns. Because they had happened and he had died before being able to heal them himself to any sort of satisfaction.
It was the damn reason he wore contacts, and had to wear reading glasses even in this world where far-sided vision was nonexistent. Why he kept his scars under his scales.
Because they were the little things that reminded any Aspect that he was both similar and entirely unique even among the other Aspects.
And she took this away from him.
As he felt his body regressing against his will, all that he could do was cry tears of impotent rage, the sharp sting of his eyes and lung adjusting to a previous state causing him to reach up and remove his contact, letting them fall even though he cut deep into the corneas of his eyes, the blood pouring down his cheeks, the wounds healing almost as fast as they were created.
Falling down so he was sitting against the wall, the Orochi glanced at the shotgun, wondering if it might be useful in stopping this trasformation.
Would a single shotgun blast to the face do it?
"Damn, my Pride."
He sighed softly as the healing was completed. He couldn't go through such a thing. He may wish for the Primera to reabsorb him into the Greater Soul, but he would be damned if he went out like a punk b***h like that.
She never would understand.
Breathing in deeply from his trinity of lungs, he felt a quarter of his age, his beard and eyebrows going from silver to black, the wrinkles and scars on his body fading away. Reaching out, he flexed his new toes up and down and pulled his prosthetic over, removing the sock and steel toed boot to slide on his new leg.
As he began to retie the boot, he shook his head at her actions. He was completely bewildered.... this had been offered before and he was sure that the Bar had recognized that this sort of healing was not what he wanted.
But...she was young.
And young Gods always went too far.
Sliding his shotgun to him, he stroked it for a time before coming back to his feet slowly and replacing the item on his back.
As a frown fell on his face, the young Count went along his way, stronger in body.
"God Damn It."
He muttered softly as he suddenly dropped his shotgun, causing it to fire a round of the Icy Burst explosive into the ceiling, sending shards of magical ice all over the place.
She....was daring something that he did not even allow the Great God Ao to do.
She was returning him to a previous state.
With a roar of pain and anger, he fell back against the wall, his talons digging deeply into the wood work as they elongated. As he mentally disconnected the prosthetic leg and it fell away, the Cleric stared up at the ceiling, disappointment and rage in those red-tinged violet eyes.
If there was two things about Zantara that were actually Super-Human that wasn't part of any genetic trait, it was his Pride, which knew no bounds.... and his Iron Sense of Self. Zantara's body was his own temple. inviolate and perfect in all it's perfections. It was the reason that on his return in a brand new sparkling body, he had to remove his leg.
Because it'd had been lost and didn't belong. It was another reason why his third lung never felt right from the acid burns. Because they had happened and he had died before being able to heal them himself to any sort of satisfaction.
It was the damn reason he wore contacts, and had to wear reading glasses even in this world where far-sided vision was nonexistent. Why he kept his scars under his scales.
Because they were the little things that reminded any Aspect that he was both similar and entirely unique even among the other Aspects.
And she took this away from him.
As he felt his body regressing against his will, all that he could do was cry tears of impotent rage, the sharp sting of his eyes and lung adjusting to a previous state causing him to reach up and remove his contact, letting them fall even though he cut deep into the corneas of his eyes, the blood pouring down his cheeks, the wounds healing almost as fast as they were created.
Falling down so he was sitting against the wall, the Orochi glanced at the shotgun, wondering if it might be useful in stopping this trasformation.
Would a single shotgun blast to the face do it?
"Damn, my Pride."
He sighed softly as the healing was completed. He couldn't go through such a thing. He may wish for the Primera to reabsorb him into the Greater Soul, but he would be damned if he went out like a punk b***h like that.
She never would understand.
Breathing in deeply from his trinity of lungs, he felt a quarter of his age, his beard and eyebrows going from silver to black, the wrinkles and scars on his body fading away. Reaching out, he flexed his new toes up and down and pulled his prosthetic over, removing the sock and steel toed boot to slide on his new leg.
As he began to retie the boot, he shook his head at her actions. He was completely bewildered.... this had been offered before and he was sure that the Bar had recognized that this sort of healing was not what he wanted.
But...she was young.
And young Gods always went too far.
Sliding his shotgun to him, he stroked it for a time before coming back to his feet slowly and replacing the item on his back.
As a frown fell on his face, the young Count went along his way, stronger in body.