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originally posted in:The New Dojo
12/26/2016 4:24:23 PM
1
In a blur of motion, the man behind the wheelchair had his hand on the handle of his own revolver. Then, with equally swift movement, the figure in the wheelchair grabbed his wrist and swatted it from the weapon's grip.
"Relax, Lucien. Today isn't the day for fighting, especially for this young man."
The smaller man in the wheelchair looked back at Jackson, sighing for a moment.
"Same goes for you, boy. Today isn't the time to hold down a hammer in the face of a visitor.
I'd like to go on a walk with you, Jackson Wolfe. Yes - I do understand it's three in the morning, but it seems that you've been awake yourself. I understand that you know what day it is, and I don't seek to further your stress in any way.
All I'm asking for is just a simple walk in the forest. Just you and I, because Lucien can stay here."
English
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[i]Wolfe stood silently for a moment, releasing the hammer gently so that the weapon would not fire. He remained there for a moment, before turning into his door, and heading inside, leaving it open. His form disappeared up the stairs and off into the darkness. Upon heading upstairs, he dressed himself quickly, a product of the military lifestyle, and climbed into his armor, the suit locking around him, systems coming online. Checking his gear, he headed back downstairs, meeting the two at the door, having only been gone ten minutes. Compared to the fairly disheveled man that stood before them earlier, Jackson now looked extremely imposing. The exosuit was painted matte black, with scratches and scrapes all across it, along with a few bullet ricochet marks. On his left leg, a large Bowie knife sat in its sheath. At his waist, a leather gunbelt, and at each of his hips, a .44 magnum, Smith and Wesson Model 629 Stealth Hunters. Magnum shells lined the gunbelt as well. Across his chest, a bandolier, with numerous tactical pouches used to store various items for any situation. His cloak was back, exposing both his shoulders and his helmet. On his left pauldron, a kukri was situated in its sheath, and on his right, five .50BMG rounds sat in a sidesaddle. The tip of his blade's hilt could be seen over his right shoulder, the stock of his Barrett M107A1 over his right. However, what stood out the most was the mask he wore. It fully covered his face and head, and the lenses of the eyes glowed an eerie blue. Like the armor, it was painted entirely black, save for three jagged white slashes across the right side, painted bright white. He said nothing, looking to the two them silently, his cloak gently moving in the wind. [/i]
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"You really do look like him," he said, almost sadly. "Let us go then. Lucien shall stay here and watch the house - not that many intruders would come on Christmas Day, much less in the Dojo for someone such as yourself." The boy's wheelchair began to turn on its own without him touching it, facing towards the wilderness Wolfe was gazing at ten minutes ago from his balcony. As his wheelchair rolled forward, he turned to the imposing Jackson that walked beside him. He was not fazed by his appearance, however. No matter the circumstances, the man would never forget the one who wore that armour before. "Do you know the history of that blade you have?"
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"Clarkson's. Was built by Schrader, one of the first weapons to utilize tytritium's heat. It was to be a gift to my father in wake of victory in Dubai. Clarkson ended up getting it somehow, kept it." [i]He said, voice flat. There was most certainly a hint of tiredness to it.[/i]
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"Good, you know the history behind your weaponry. Powerful thing, tytritium is. A power that fuelled man's lust for control. I can only assume you know how to use such a blade. After all, superheated weaponry takes quite the dexterity to wield." The man's own voice still remained the same throughout their conversation. Burnt and raspy, but somehow empathetic as if he knew Jackson well. "Do you know who I am, Jackson? That isn't an inquiry of intimidation. I am simply curious if your father ever mentioned me. Though if he did it surely would not be in this..." he pauses, choosing his words carefully, "...state I am in."
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"No." [i]He said, in response to the last question.[/i] "I was trained by Clarkson to fight with the sword and with knives. I spent seven years trying to perfect the skills, seven years getting my ass beat..." [i]He growled, trudging through the snow. [/i]
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"Such is the way of training, I suppose. Every bruise of yours tells a story; every blemish a lesson of a mistake you've learned from. I know I have a lot of scars from here. What determines each mark is what you've learned since you've gained it." They enter the forest, a path cleared for the two to tread upon. Wolfe' exosuit left heavy impressions in the light snow, different from the light tread marks of the man's wheels. The path slightly smelled of smoke and recently-burned wood. And while snow covered most of the broken branches and trunks, burn marks beneath were visible. "I was an old associate of your father's. Not as old as Clarkson, of course, but old enough during his time. The name's Luis Franco, Jackson. Please to meet you, but you most likely know me by my moniker."
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[i]Jackson stopped in his tracks, turning to look at the man before him in the wheelchair.[/i] "You were killed on Terra, the fight against the Harbinger..." [i]He said, sounding a bit between bewilderment and accusation. Wolfe had heard much of the Phoenix's prowess, he knew the tales of his life from what Wilson and Clarkson had told him, but he had never spoken to the man himself.[/i] "So why come back? Why come to me?" [i]He asked, sighing tiredly.[/i]
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"I have come back for many different reasons. Atonement, a calling, perhaps even curiosity. But for you? It's a very certain day and you deserve some solace in accordance." The two eventually come to a circular clearing with a dirt mound placed in the middle of it all like a grave. At the end of the mound is a katana handle with only a foot of the blade visible, the other part seemingly stuck into the ground.
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Edited by Trashcan Jesus: 12/27/2016 7:22:13 PM"I prefer my solace alone." [i]He said dryly. Christmas was supposed to be a time of celebration and joy, and yet for seven years, his had been a nightmare from hell. No sleep, no happiness, no escape from the memories. He really wanted to go back to bed, to sleep the day away, and whenever he woke up, he planned to drink himself back to sleep. Christmas couldn't end fast enough.[/i]
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"I know you have his body back on your Earth, but it's never too late for a memorial. Let me tell you something, Jackson. I may not know the pain of having my father taken away from me like you, but I have felt something very similar to it." Phoenix wheels over to the memorial grave, using his hands instead of propelling himself automatically like last time. "What I do know perfectly, however, is becoming the monster they never wanted us to be - in fact, the monster they swore they would never let us be. To be twisted by hatred, sorrow, and all of the like. Within us both lays a slumbering demon that only awakens when we kill. You remember your father as a killer. So do I. But even as a killer, I have great respect for him - yes, [i]have.[/i] True respect never dies, for it is the fuel for the last flames of remembrance for the fallen. Your father was a warrior. He fought for himself, for a corrupt nation, a corrupt cause, for vengeance... But in the end, he fought for you. Is it wrong to respect him as a warrior on a day such as this? As a warrior, as a father... He deserves to be remembered."
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"A memorial? For what, pulling the strings and offing people for his boss? He doesn't deserve a memorial." [i]He replied coldly.[/i] "He made his choices and he knew what it was going to cost us." [i]He was silent for a moment.[/i] "And I made mine." [i]Despite the depression, he was stubborn, to say the very least. [/i]
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"A memorial for a father. Yes, he was a killer; a hired assassin for a man who lusted for power. He killed innocent men, women and kids. He killed people for sweet cash. But despite all of that, he returned to you and your mother. To protect you both. He made his decisions, but to only see the evil he's done would be dishonouring him." While Jackson was stubborn, Luis was patient. His voice never wavered in wake of the boy's indifference. "Unless you've forgotten your humanity already, have you ever considered to think of your father as more than a killer? What drove you to kill those men after they took your father's life? Vengeance. Vengeance to take the lives of those who betrayed your father and family. Vengeance to hurt those who took away someone you loved. So I ask you this then: think back to that before you open your mouth and call your father nothing more than an assassin. Because a lowly assassin could not drive someone as yourself to mould themselves into a killing machine for the sake of revenge."
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[i]Wolfe was silent. No matter how much he despised what his father had done, the man had come back. The man had raised him, loved him. He actually cared. He wasn't the man he was beneath the mask, he wasn't cold-hearted. He turned his back on Phoenix, staring off into the trees.[/i]
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"Take a few moments of silence, Jackson Wolfe. Your father deserves a proper memorial, after all." Letting Jackson reflect on his own thoughts, Phoenix turned to the impromptu grave he created for Blackjack. "Plato once said, 'Only the dead have seen the end of war.' Have your rest now, General. I will watch over him. I never was one for proper military addresses, but this is what you deserve." Raising a hand to his head, he gives the grave a proper salute for a few seconds before lowering it.
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"You're a better man than I." [i]Jackson said, looking to the grave, then back out into the woods.[/i] "They gave him a hero's funeral, coffin draped in a flag, twenty-one gun salute, all of it... Ironic considering they were the ones to kill him..."
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Edited by Chinkronomicon: 12/27/2016 10:19:30 PM"That's not a proper memorial. That was your enemy celebrating their relief with the guise of a funeral. In truth, I don't find that to be his true funeral. And if that is the case, consider this memorial a proper send-off for your father. I shall leave you alone with him for now. It is important for a boy such as yourself to reconcile with your father on a day such as this. Find me on the path when you are ready to leave." Phoenix wheels himself back onto the forest path, leaving Jackson alone with the memorial.
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[i]He turned to look at the grave, and stood for a moment, observing it in silence. From his shoulder pauldron, he slid a single .50 caliber round from its slot, setting it on the small grave, a marker. Closing his eyes beneath his mask, he turned and headed away from the marker. He had grieved enough for the day.[/i]
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As he headed towards Phoenix, the man unfolded his arms as he saw Jackson's gait. Even through the cowl of the armour, no boy could forget the emotions of losing their father. [i]I will watch him, Cody Wolfe. I will ensure he does not become like monsters such as us. There is still hope.[/i] "There is one more thing I have in store for you, Jackson."
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[i]He said nothing more, silently awaiting whatever Phoenix had to share with him. His patience was no longer wearing thin, but he craved to go back to sleep. It all had seemed like a crazy dream, a nightmare carrying on and on, and yet he was still alive, still holding together. Strange how tragedy could rip you apart and yet you were still stronger than those around you.[/i]
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"That sword you see laying on your father's memorial is a sword no longer. It was broken long ago, actually. The sword's name was Razorflame, and it was my blade before Alex Wilson killed me and gave it to your father. I forged myself a new blade soon after. The blade is broken because it saved your father from a gargantuan colossus clad in armour, wielding magic and blade. The beast threw a heavy chain at your father, which he deflected with my sword. Which, in turn, broke the blade into two. I have chosen to keep one part of the blade in the safe care of your father. But for you..." Reaching into a large pocket at the side of his wheelchair, he takes out a modernized tanto blade and holds it out for Jackson to see. Part of the blade was etched with tribal designs, the most prominent one being a rearing wolf's head, but the etchings were subtle and not as visible as the designs on Lucien's blade. "Carry part of your father's legacy and mine with you. Razorflame has seen many battles here, starting from clashing with Wilson's Blood Nap Bowie knife and ending with your father protecting himself with it. It was a blade for honour before I was twisted by my own vengeance. Keep it as a reminder of your own humanity; to never turn into a demon amongst men." [i]Lest what little white on your mask turns to black,[/i] he thought with a shudder. "I recycled whatever tytritium I had powering my armour as a power source for the knife. Its ceramic edge can retain the heat and is quite potent at cutting."
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[i]He took the knife, rolling it over in his hand, observing the edge. He'd never fought with tantos before, but it was never a bad thing to carry an extra knife, particularly one that was effective at stabbing armored foes. Taking the blade, he slid it under his bandolier, tucking it carefully away. He remained silent for a moment before speaking.[/i] "Can't let go of the human in me..."
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"Let it be done then." The man forges on ahead with his wheelchair, spotting Lucien still standing by the door in the same position. Before reaching the man, he turns to Jackson once more and speaks. "I hope you find more of a use for what little remains of my honour in that blade. I always found it amusing in regards to how many people had overbearing swords here, yet they fail to realize that such a weapon is useless in close quarters. If you ever need some sword practice, feel free to call me."
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[i]He looked back to the two of them, confused as to who the second man was.[/i] "Who is he?" [i]He asked, looking to Phoenix, voice far calmer.[/i]
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"His name is Lucien. He was my mentor, who ended up here, displaced from my world. Through him, now I live. I live to restore what little virtue I have in myself. For atonement for the monster I became, a creature devoured by hatred." A dark look passes through Phoenix's eyes for a moment before Lucien speaks up. "We both have past sins to atone for. If I can do it alongside Alister - my apologies, [i]Luis[/i], then I am more than obliging. I can now truly protect him from the greatest danger, the one that lurks within both of us."
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[i]Wolfe looked to Lucien silently. Though he didn't seem to show it, there was a sense of respect for him, for having taken care of Phoenix, a father of sorts. Wolfe knew the feeling of trying to protect loved ones, he had felt the desires to shield others in that manner, but he knew it wasn't possible. He couldn't be the protector he longed to be. [/i] "You became what you needed to become. We all did." [i]He said.[/i] "Survival's an ugly thing..."
