|
Chapter Three: э x τ r α - c u r r ı c u l α r s |
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Agh!"
This was the grunt that suddenly emanated from an alleyway. A figure clad in extremely formal attire - a tuxedo, it appeared to be - had slammed into a brick wall. One would have suspected that he - as it had been a male's voice indeed - would have been struck from the street by a behemoth of a vehicle, but this was not so: there was no roaring from the pulsating automobiles, none in sight. Down the long stretch of black asphalt stood another figure: apparent opposition.
As the suited victim tumbled with the forces of gravity, his figure skittered along the messy pathway, bumping into a small barrel and slamming into the side of a dumpster. As if his momentum were that of a train, the dumpster in turn went flying down the remainder of the pathway, and crinkled upon impact with the brick-fortified wall. With a groan, the individual - a man attending a formal event, one would assume - took a moment to gather his recently scattered wits. He hadn't been hit like that in a while; perhaps even ever. A palm found itself upon one of the lobes of his forehead, and his eyelids - masked by the black face mask which clung to his cheekbones and forehead - fluttered for a moment. Shaking his head, the dark-haired male, stocky and built, brushed off the debris and dirt he had accumulated in his little tumble. Feeling at the back of his head - which had collided with the brick wall by the entrance to this wingspan-length alleyway - he suspected that the minor injury wouldn't bother him for whatever time he had left.
Cursing under his breath, he knocked away the barrel that he had recently and inadvertently placed before him, and he stormed out of the space of darkness and slothfulness. He seethed, squinting instinctively as he stepped back out into the light of the sun, his suit taking a liking to the sudden warmth and becoming more comfortable all of a sudden. Turning to square off the figure who was still in the same spot, a good way's off, the male held his hands by his sides, fists tight and jaw clenched. This was a fight that he wasn't going to lose.
There the stranger was, standing there with an intense glare - similar to that a particular predator would watch its prey with: a hawk's accuracy and agility, an owl's calculations and observation, and a falcon's aggression and precision. The feathers upon its chest ruffled from the deep breaths it was taking - white like the clouds which rolled lazily by overhead and like the shirt beneath the once-pristine suit jacket its opponent was wearing. The rest of its body was trembling in anxiety, the ecstasy of the adrenaline and physical combat driving him for more. The tensions slowly rose, and about this oddly-suited human with a bird's tuft and a beak on its countenance, winds kicked up. Feathers suddenly exploded from its black shoes, swirling in the violent winds circling its figure. It let out a battle cry to ensue it's charge, the masked tuxedo-stranger bracing himself by widening his stance and bringing his arms up closer to his body, preparing to knock the nuisance into the pavement below.
As the seemingly-dominant combatant neared closer, however, his single-track mind didn't allow him to observe that there was an incoming projectile that would soon strike him in the side. The birdman let out a croak of pain, and while it had struck the side without notion to any other aspects than a simple solid, it then exploded in a bark of flames. The flames licked at the wind vortex which this pheasant had surrounded itself with. "Ditta!" The masked individual's brown eyes quickly darted to his right, where he spotted two darker toned figures. "Finally!" Strafing away from the bird that was now fighting with the fire about its person - fanning away the flames with the mechanical wings that were strapped to its back - the Tuxedo-clad individual was the one whom had apparently been called "Ditta."
One who read the news oft would know of this "Ditta". He was a teenage vigilante - seen as both a hero and an idol. Only for one who was seventeen years of age, went to a school just like the rest of the young individuals in Redacle City all the while saving the entire city the best he could from the supernatural threats which made themselves known just about every day - it was Ditta who one should be wary of. He was more than an idolized hero: he was a super hero.
"Sorry!" Called out one of the figures as he ran alongside the shorter figure. Perspiration crawled down each of their bodies, and it was apparent: the exposed skin upon Ditta's face along with the two individuals whom had appeared to be allies of his - reinforcements - were already sweating. They slowed as they neared their friend, standing guard at either side of his broad shoulders. To his left stood the tallest of the three, and his voice was a voice both Ditta nor the other friend heard all too often, but were all too familiar with. "I thought he would not have gotten here so early, but--" "Yeah, I know." The explanation was cut off as the battle with fire had been ceased and won. The birdman let out a deafening screech, and the three males faltered in their stance. The shortest figure of the three stepped forward, waving his arms from his right as if he were slinging an object with both hands towards the target before them. A flurry of flames licked at his black, leather gloves, and the heat barreled towards the bird. However, the foe was more than prepared for this and knocked it away with a flap of the creaking wings on its back.
To believe that today's technology was being put forth to something like this.
"Damnit!" The fire-wielding figure repeated the action, this time with a step forward and a rolling of his wrists prior to produce a more concentrated version of the projectile - more of an orb-shaped blaze. The construction was aimed to the ground, and it exploded upon impact with the concrete sidewalk. Pieces of the ground scattered all over the place, hitting a few of the windows of the shops to their left. "Don't just stand there!" He called as he busied himself with another wind-up, growing obviously fatigued from the constant onslaught, "Go!" "Alright!" "Gah! Sorry!" The two figures rushed in at different angles to dart inwards and double-team the figure that would have been flustering around in the black smoke that curled from the burning ground. But, as they sprinted towards the plume of smoke, there was a gale force wind, pressing the taller figure to his knees and the other to stop running to maintain his footing. "Wh-What!?" "He's getting away! Pyro!"
"No he's not!" The fire curled about his long, dark red sleeves, over his brown skin, and licked at his gloves. The orange and yellow of the blaze lapped over itself as he took two steps forward, following through with both arms to let out a large discharge of energy. The curling orb of fire hurdled towards the ascending figure and seemed to be on course to catch it before it got too high. What they failed to realize, however, was that it was airborne, and while they had the advantage as a team, they most certainly were not going to be able to get airborne.
"Fore!" Called out the one who recently expelled his allotment for the time being. "I'm on it!" Called back the light-tanned figure. With his bare hands, he repeated the gesture that the pyrokinetic had last done, save for the lack of any effect. A flicker of light proved a perimeter of the boundaries of the street to the intersections and a few feet higher than the buildings about them. With tightly shut eyes, he held out his arms, the force something he would be able to hold for a while, but would need concentration to do: and, within the barrier being a mandated condition, it was possible his concentration would falter from being interfered with.
"Hurry up!"
Looking out from the cliche-mystic mask strapped about his head, Ditta was quick to run and leap with great effort to reach the height of the still-ascending opponent. It seemed as though - just a moment ago - that the favor of this fight was dangerously in the aerial-combatant's territory. But, now with these two here - Fore and Pyro, formally identified as Foresight and Pyrophillic, two of Ditta's fellow vigilantes - things were looking up for them. The gilded beak scuffed the invisible surface, bending violently and allowing a more humiliating smash for the grim countenance of the airborne individual. From the force of the disturbance against the shield and maintaining the resistance, Foresight had to shift his footing, silver sneakers running over a few pebbles. "Nngh." He grunted, clenching his fists briefly before resuming his stance.
The wings buckled, an odd cranking noise jamming for a brief moment. Ditta had reached the altitude by the time gravity was taking its course to drag the man back down towards the street. With a great rear of his arm behind him, he slammed his fist into its face, sending it spiraling towards the edge of the barrier once more. On its way down, it collided into the presently translucent plane, pixels of silver and white sprouting in all directions. "Damnit, guys!" Called Foresight from about thirty yards behind. "He's down!" Ditta called as his dress shoes touched the double-lane, two-way main street. It was a surprise that no one had drove through, completely shattering Foresight's barrier or knocking Pyrophillic from his feet. "Sheesh!" The distressed Foresight fell to his knees, light from the barrier flashing obnoxiously.
"Pin him!" Ditta looked over his shoulder, his knee already pressed against the crossed wrists he had wound behind the man's back, awkwardly pressed against the wings which irritated the obscenely strong male. "[********]" He grunted, tearing away one of the wings in frustration, causing the man beneath him to cry out from whatever nervous connection he had to the part. "Whoops." Nonchalantly dismissing it, he returned to glancing over his shoulder. "Just hurry up and get over here!" The fairly conditioned pair made their way over to the downed birdman, his bulky sweats appearing dampened with oil and other liquids from the apparatus on his back. "W-Wait!" Foresight stopped Ditta from ripping another wing from the remaining three clear from the back of the attire. Pyro crouched down at the male's side, checking a pulse and examining his breathing patterns. "He's still alive."
"b*****d'd better be. I'm done chasing after him, and I want some answers." "We can't take him anywhere, Ditta." "I don't care what the police think," The headstrong alpha growled. Foresight took a step back, looking over his shoulder behind him. "Speak of the devil." Of course, there was no sound other than the distant whispers of the wind which beckoned them - it taunted them. "We have to leave him here." "We can't." "We have to!" A bit of internal struggle and consideration occurred before, "Alright..." Disappointed, he released the male's wrists - but not before wrenching his arm until he heard a sickly snap, causing the now-unconscious man to quiver from the pain. Standing to their feet, both Ditta and Pyro stared down at the body of their most-recent endeavor while Fore continued to inspect the area for any spectators. Luckily, this was immediately after Dismissal Hour and no one had made their way down to Downtown just yet. Not even store owners, fortunately.
"Let's go."
___________________________________________________________________________
 Montferer - Maestro · Fri Apr 15, 2011 @ 04:13pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
