Sadism of the Fates

#1Subject: Sadism of the Fates Mon Sep 18, 2017 10:22 pm

But for the briefest of moments, he couldn’t make heads or tails of what had been happening to him. One second he had begun to enter his office; strip away the sanguine soaked attire he’d made a mess of in exchange for his more public, personal, attire. The next? Well, he couldn’t ascertain that at the time being. Instead, his every fiber buckled and disobeyed as he fought back the retching woes of a need to vomit. The battle for naught, though, as his entire stomach’s contents spilled out onto the pavement before him.

Pavement? Yes, the cold, rugged, texture couldn’t be mistaken. His hand scoured the surface, clumsily patting at it and searching for anything to act as a medium to help him to his feet. Instead, he found an empty bottle and mistakenly rest his weight upon that hand. Over he fell, his chin bouncing off of the concrete and bringing him to bite his tongue. A slew of hateful, savage, slurs left his mouth at the most agonizingly vile volume possible. He couldn’t help but roll onto his back at this time, slowly pondering what in the hell could have happened for such a thing to transpire. Moreso, what in the hell had been wrong with him? He’d never found himself so vulnerable. So weak. So incapable of pulling himself together.

As he lay there, he couldn’t help but feel as if his body had just been blown apart, his innards carefully disassembled in the most painfully slow of manners, before his entirety found itself instantaneously flung back together without any concern, or regards, of pain being a variable in the equation. His queasy, flipping, stomach had finally begun to quiet and calm, but he could not gather his utmost power. His abilities seemed...restrained. Slow to react. Perhaps a side-effect of whatever he’d been put through. In time, he suspected they’d return to him.

He couldn’t be more incorrect.

Having crawled his way to the side of a brick and mortar wall, he took his time in regaining his composure. He couldn’t decipher how much time he’d wasted using that wall as a back support, but eventually the time to stand came; the time to discover just what in the great beyond happened to him. Having stumbled to his feet, he made his way toward what he could only perceive to be a street, he within an alley. But as he closed the narrow gap betwixt he and what could only be perceived as civilization; others, a sudden pang struck within his core. A gut feeling that felt so very off. So very...intimidating. Instead, he doubled back and dove deeper into the alleyways. He joined the rats and festering garbage sacks in company.

Footfall after footfall, he trudged through the back-alleys and frantically searched his person for anything that could be of remote help. Perhaps what drove him mad most...had been the lacking presence of a particular pair of artefact. The Anklets of the Planeswalker. Such a device at his beck and call at this very moment would easily liberate him from the predicament altogether. Instead, they, along with a host of other relics and items of grandeur and might, were locked away safe within a storage space in his office. Hardly of any use there.

“D-Damn it.” He growled to himself, fists clenched until knuckles bled white.

Every footfall he made, heavier than the afore, drew him ever deeper into what appeared to be a chasm of poverty, garbage, and decay. He’d seen a city or two such as this. Strangely enough, it didn’t surprise him. In fact, he found backwards humor in it all. As if the lords on high, whoever they be, were mocking him; subjugating him to this punishment for their own amusement. No relics save for the Bangles of Divine Reach, and The Ring of Planar Command. His sword. But nothing else. His might seemingly chained; oh, he could feel the difference in his capacity. His reach. His limits. They weren’t where they should be. As if someone had tied his abilities and knotted them again and again, each knot greater in design than the one prior. As if ceilings had been carefully crafted and placed aesthetically in tune with various grades of might.

It pissed him off. All of it pissed him off. But more so than anything. What pissed him off beyond all else? That he’d been denied his just reward. Denied his justice. Denied his vengeance. This had not been the first time such a thing had happened upon him. Not the first time time and space had fucked him raw to such a degree. No. There’d been a time prior where he’d been flung throughout time and space only to have to settle on a new floating rock in space; a new city; far different inhabitants. And most of all, new rules to play by. All of this once again. It cost him his grand venture. Days before dropping the hammer, even. Livid didn’t even come close to what he felt.

“DAMN IT!” He bellowed out, the very drawn out words reverberating through the chasm of filth he stood within. Strangely enough, though...his wail of fury managed to attract the attention of one sleeping bum. A poverty stricken individual laden in filth and adorned with tattered rags. Rolling out of a makeshift bed; several piles of trash, they began wandering over toward him.

“E-everything okay, sir? I-I couldn’t help but hear you.” He began, eyeing Kazura for a moment. “Y-your clothes are all bloody.” They happened to point out, a twinge of concern welling up in their eyes. Concern for Kazura? Or concern for themselves? A mystery. Regardless, the man couldn't be any more a fool to approach Kazura; perhaps to beg for change.

The man continued to eye Kazura, searching for any possible reasoning behind the vermilion stains that littered the attire; seeking for signs of injury and yet he could not spot any wounds that could have contributed to such. Instead a sudden tension filled the man as he began to backpedal step by step. Unsettled, he realized it likely would have been best had he not left his trash heap.

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“Is everything okay?” Kazura mimicked. “Okay…” He continued to himself. An eerie silence befell the area as the man who’d begun steady flight continued to distance himself. Too late had he been in realization, though, as Kazura whirled to face the man entirely. “No. Not in the least. Nothing is okay, you putrid, vile, little worm.” Kazura snapped. “I am not okay, you petty, weak-minded, beggar!” He continued, bellowing out now. With two heavy steps, he closed the distance in a fraction of a moment and had the individual plucked from the ground by his rancid jacket collar.

“Once again the fates have sought to interfere in my business. They laugh at me and mock me with their pitiful games, spiting me at every turn! It was all to be mine! Vast power and influence, and yet again, they strip my birthright from me and leave me naught but the clothes upon my very back!” The seething rage exuding from Kazura’s very figure inspire fear in the man. Fear to the very core. A trembling mess, the man couldn’t utter a single coherent word and instead stumbled and tripped over his words; hardly even words but sputtered sounds instead.

Continuing in his strides, Kazura pinned the man to the wall of trash roll-off. Eyes alight in hellish crimson, his gaze pierced through the man and saw naught but fear and mortality in all its glorious, pitiful, nature. “And you’ve the audacity to question if I’m alright? Who do you think you are to question a God among mortals on whether they’re alright or not? You’ve no ground to stand on, you petulant, pathetic, little gnat.” He bit, the pressure inflicted on the man enough to still the breath in their chest. “At every turn, I’m yet again thwarted by the Lords on high. Those who dwell above and beyond the Grand Pantheon. They who pull the strings of reality.” He continued, now sounding as if he were naught but a lunatic; one that had finally snapped and lost any semblance of coherent thought.

Whirling in place, he loosed hold upon the man letting body soar through the air. The man, by this point, cried out in fright before silence befell as his frame struck the far wall of a building. A sickening series of crunching, grating, sounds followed signalling the collapse of bones and bodily build before he fell slumped into a heap upon the ground. Kazura’s hands flexed momentarily as he gauged his strength. “In my prime...he’d have been a stain upon the wall; shame.” He murmured before turning his attention toward the sky above.

“Is this what you seek!? Do you enjoy the torment you’ve wrought upon me?! Damn you all, you abhorrent bastards! You have not won! This is not victory, but instead a momentary hiccup. I assure you, you will suffer once I’ve regained my status and my might!” A madman crying out to the heavens, he appeared but a delusional ponce lost within the madness of his thoughts. Perhaps be it the only way for him to quantify the scenario he’d now been faced with, and yet he still appeared as naught more than a lunatic, a creature who’d escaped the confines of a straight jacket and had been let loose upon an unsuspecting city.

Try as he might, he could not summon the capacity to let loose a terrifying aura of Ki. He sought to bring the cityscape to tremble at his might and yet be he denied even that luxury and enjoyment. Crying out yet again, an agonizing wail of hatred, he spun once again in place and made his way toward a semi-barren street. He had to find a way to conceal himself in some way. The blood ridden clothes that clung to his frame would draw far too much attention. The last thing he sought to deal with would be authorities. He had much to learn in regards to this new place. While he could hope that he remain in the Multiverse he’d previously known, his instincts told him otherwise. He’d been torn from the very fabric of that prior existence and flung far into another; there could be no other reasoning for why his body, might, and composure, were as warped, twisted, and unresponsive as they’d been.

Luck had been on his side for a short while as he combed the streets in this unfamiliar locale. Strangely enough, he found himself situated before a storefront and of all the things he could have laid eyes upon, a hooded cloak seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. Black, and rather large, he attributed even that to fate. From whence he’d originally come, he’d had one similar that had been naught but tatters after endless use. With no currency, though, he had little choice as he casually glanced around. Drawing the ire of the authorities would bode unwell, but in either situation...be it likely to happen anyway.

Shattering the storefront window with an unflinching fist, he snagged the hooded cloak and swaddled himself in it. Before any could spot him in entirety, he took off in haste and cornered into yet another series of back alleys. Despite lacking power, his nimble, athletic, figure still held all the capacity of what one could consider a meta-humanoid. With a series of bounds followed by leaps, he scaled a building side and eventually vaulted himself onto the rooftops. He’d distance himself from this area and then...then he’d begin the process of learning all he could about where, and when, he happened to be.

Akin to parkour, his relocation had been swift, and simple. He could not manage flight just yet, only discovering he could hover from off the ground for but a few brief seconds. And so he’d made do with naught but his own physical capabilities at the time. Still, such a thing could not be sneezed at, nor dismissed. His bodily capabilities still outclassed many a typical mortal man, or sentient being.

Progression would be slow, but in time...he could be certain that he’d ascend to new heights. Reclaim the status he’d once had. For now, though, only the future knew of what would be.

What could be said though, as vermilion eyes scanned the horizon; Kazura Kanahashi had arrived in this new realm. And he’d bring hell and discord with him, in due time. He’d change the game and flip the scripts. Standing there draped in blackened cloak, his nefarious, malefic, aura oozed forth and bathed his figure in crimson hatred. Soon, everyone would know of his name.