Post by Deleted on Mar 14, 2017 21:06:26 GMT -5
Qui Jon Ki
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(Kratos for Faceclaim)
Name: Qui Jon Ki
Age: 21
Race: Ocyrian
Gender: Male
Universe: Universe 6
Height: 6'11"
Weight: 328lbs
Hair Color: Bald
Blood Color: Neon Green
Eye Color: Dark Red with black flecks.
Identifying Markers: Skin is an ashen color, a defect from birth which made him all the more inposing. Scar where his heart is, survived being stabbed in the heart. Tattoo from left leg, across abdomen, all the way up his chest and back, ending over his left eye. Scar over right eye. Demonic black goatee.
Personality:
Mostly quiet and aloof outside of battle, Qui Jon Ki isn't one to say anything unless it is of great importance. He is honest, brutally. He isn't known to be nice, but most would say that he would be considered an honorable man. He doesn't allow people to get close to him unless they are strong and can handle themselves, because he believes that his life is dangerous and knows well there are those that would seek to kill him. He himself is trustworthy, however it is incredibly difficult to earn his trust and next to impossible to earn his affection.
Likes: Strong women, strong liquor. Loves a good fight, and a good cigar. Likes Honor, values it above all in battle. Loves the sound of broken bones, and the taste of blood, his opponent's to be exact. Qui also likes to push himself beyond his limits, and to find great challenges. Aurora's attitude.
Dislikes: Weakness, thieves, and liars. Tuffles, whom he believes had so much potential to be warriors yet squandered it. Hates it when people ramble. For example, if you are his superior, he doesn't need every single detail of the mission. He'd feel that would be like giving the smartest kid in class the answers to the test.
Aspirations: Being born into the clan of Ocyrians known to be few and far between, Qui aspires to one day achieve the highest honor of the elites. He has trained incessantly to the point of obsession, and hopes to one day have his name be so legendary that it not be spoken for fear of his precense. He aspires to be the baddest of all bad asses.
Homeworld: Nemu
Allegiance: Par'Lun
Starting Planet: Nemu
Appearance:
Qui Jon Ki is a quite frightening sight to behold, standing at nearly seven feet tall with a face that very rarely is seen smiling. His skin is taut against his rock hard muscles, and due to a defect at birth it is a white, ashen color. He has the body of a man who trains constantly, 3% body fat. His body's tattoo is quite interesting indeed, starting down at the calf of his left leg, and moving all the way up across his chest and over his right eye. Tattoo is blood red in color. Rumor has it that this tattoo's ink was created from the blood of his slain enemies and as such will glow when his ki flares as he's mostly killed other Ocyrians who dared tread in his way.
He also has a scar over his left eye, and one over his heart. Survived being stabbed in the heart, still won the battle. He is normally seen dressed very simply, fur boots made from the skins of animals he'd killed and loin cloth made from the same. Wears a leather arm sleeve on his left arm, and has an Ocyrian war bow slung across his back.
Backstory:
Qui was born into a family of trained warriors who were taught is better to die in battle than be stabbed in the back while running away. As a toddler, the makes of his kind were tossed into the wilderness of the barren planet of Nemu and forced to come back as men, blood thirsty elite warriors. And so he did, and would go on to become a very valued warrior. He would grow up in the way the Spartans of Earth would, forged in the fires of battle with risk of death at every corner.
Not long ago, he would meet Aurora and the two would engage in a battle to the death up until they were interrupted by a beast. The two would find that if they combined their efforts then they could survive. From that day forward, the two would develop a respect for one another and go into a business partnership of sorts. The two of them would realize that they were stronger together than apart.
Qui has become nortorious for his brutal and innovative battle tactics, and knowing him, he will likely seek to further his knowledge of war by conquering other worlds.
Techniques
Offense Tiers
- [Ot-1]Soul Slicer
- [Ot-1]Spirit Breaker
- [Ot-1]Soul Piercer
- [Vt-1]Soul Piercer - Flame - A variation of the Soul Piercer technique, only the attack is emblazoned with a neon orange flame. Once it strikes his opponent, the flames spread over the body of the victim and catch them aflame. [25% Dmg - Causes Burning]
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Support Tiers
- [St-1]Wings of Gertanicus(Flight)
- [St-1]Ocyrian Endurance
Unique Tiers
N/A
Inventory:
500 Zeni
Old Spacepod
Ocyrian Warbow (0z)
Roleplay Example:
A busy tavern on an unknown planet of swamps and forests. Indistinct chatter and laughter can be heard amongst it's patrons, drinks and smoke abound along with loud cantina music. The tavern is very modernized for the most part, the floors made of metal, tables connected to the floors. There are monitors on the walls, and a bar on the far side of the room. Behind the bar stands a humanoid creature dressed in a stained white dress shirt and dark brown trousers, his skin a dark blue color. His eyes are quite different than you'd expect. No pupils, just pools of blackness on either side of a hawk like nose.
Whoosh.
The door opens and all eyes lock onto it to see a large Ocyrian, dressed in tribal garb. He is unarmed save for a warbow swung over his shoulder. The mountain of a man has a large gash on his left bicep, neon green blood sliding down his arm and dripping from his fingertips. However, he doesn't seem to be very concerned about these injuries of his. In his right hand, he carries the head of a fallen victim, fingers curled in it's stark black hair. Appears to be a Saiya-jin. The stares only serve to irritate the giant as he grunts, and snorts like a bull. But soon, everyone goes back to their drinking and conversing as this giant has a seat at a table by himself.
He sets the pale skinned saiya-jin trophy on the table he chooses, and leans back. Reaching into a pouch at his side, the warrior retrieves a silver flask, a surgical needle, and some very thin, very strong thread. This thread appears to glow in the fluorescent light over head as he slides it through the eye of the needle, tying it and biting off the excess thread with a set of sharpened teeth. Opening the flask now, the lid popping open and hanging there, the smell of hard liquor fills the air. The proof on it has to be over two hundred, as it burns the eyes of the other patrons. With a slight gasp, he takes a quick swig from the flask then proceeds to pour it on his wound. What would happen next would make even the stoutest warrior cringe.
Meticulously, unflinching, he began to pierce the edges of his wound on both sides, pulling it together. Slowly he'd sew the gash up with great precision. But...he'd be stopped suddenly as his arm was bumped. His red eyes would shoot toward the culprit, another humanoid type...with spiked white hair. Qui would growl, a feral sound...almost primal. His eyes would be as daggers going through the heart of the Tuffle...yes, a tuffle. "...watch it, idiot."
"Or what?" The Tuffle would challenge the Ocyrian's words. This Tuffle's breath reeked of alcohol, and his clothes were covered in vomit, so Qui knew the man had to be drunk. Still, he was a trained killer with a short temper. He'd snap the man's neck if need be. The Tuffle simply hrmf'ed and walked away from the Ocyrian who continued to tend his wound.
"Ey barkeep!" The rude Tuffle would yell at the kind barkeep. He was already stumbling and drunk, yes. So his judgement wasn't the best in the world. "... (hic) gimme another Blue Thunder Bomb!"
"I think you've had enough, sir!" The barkeep would protest, pulling all his alcohol from the bar.
"I'm a customer, I'll say when I've had en-" he'd be stopped in mid sentence as a large paw would fall upon the back of his neck. The hand of Qui was heavy, like stone.
"He said no." The Ocyrian's thunderous voice would sound, the entire bar going silent. It was surreal. As the Tuffle would slowly turn, he'd crane his neck to look up at the seven foot, ashen skinned monster dressed like a Viking. Qui would snort. "Leave now. You're annoying me."
He was a man of few words, but when he spoke...people listened. The Tuffle slowly backed away from the giant of a man, issuing a threat. "You'd better hope I don't catch you outside, Ocyrian. Bad things might happen!" The Tuffle would laugh and leave the bar without another word. After what felt like an eternity, and tension that could be cut with a knife...the music began playing once more.
The barkeep sighed. "That damn drunk. He's always causing problems! An' on toppa that, e's racked up a huge tab, yet hasn't paid me a zeni!"
Qui simply looked at the barkeep for a long moment, tilting his head with his steely gaze locked on the old barkeep. "...." wolves never concern themselves over the problems of sheep. It'd been said before, and Qui believed it. However, the Tuffle had made the mistake of disrespecting Qui. That was a fatal error in any event. He spoke in a cool tone. "...and you let him get away with it?"
The barkeep was taken aback by the bold Ocyrian, though he probably should have expected it. Ocyrian's weren't known for their kindness after all. He sighed. "Well...you see, he and his gang..."
"His gang?" He arched a fine black brow, facial expression remaining stoic.
"Yes, he hangs out with a gang. They're a varied few, but all are above average in power. They come in here every night and act as if they own the place, pushing my other customers around and just being downright disrespectful." Said the barkeep, shining a clear glass.
"...." Qui grunted once more, speaking minimally. "...want me to teach him a lesson?"
The barkeep's purple lips curled upward into an excited smile. "Oh yes please, would you?! I'd be forever in your de-hey, where'd he go?!" The old man looked from side to side, noticing the Ocyrian had already walked away. He would shiver suddenly as he looked over to the table with the Saiya-jin on it, mouth open...eyes wide and glazed over, blood leaking over the edge of the table. The barkeep gulped. "Uh oh...what have I done?"
Later on that night, the Ocyrian would track his target down...
This was a far cry from the barren lands of Nemu, that much was for sure. Definitely not what Ihe is used to as he stands there, overlooking the swamp below him. His name is Qui Jon Ki. Perhaps you know of him, but if you do, chances are it's too late. Chances are you've felt the brunt of his fistbreaking you. After all, that is what he does. He''s damned good at what he does. "Hrmf..." he grunts as he pulls a cigar wrapped tightly in tobacco leaves. Always had a smoking problem, yet his cardiovascular training had counter acted it.
This was annoying. His target had yet to show his ugly face, so as you can imagine, he felt irritation rising in his chest. Being the warrior that he was, an elite as it were, he'd conditioned himself to fight with both vicious brutality but also stalk his prey like a tiger in the jungle. It didn't matter whether the sweet, peach flavored smoke gave away his position. Either way, his unfortunate target would die whether it be by stealth or head on crushing. He puffed his cigar a few times, inhaling the smoke and sending it billowing through his hawk like nose. A low chuckle arose in his chest as he imagined with Aurora would say.
"You fuckin' moron! You're not supposed to inhale the damned things!" He squatted on the cliff, red eyes fixated on the lush green swamp below. His breathing had slow and he'd become focused, his senses razor sharped. There were many ways to hunt. Smell. Sound. Vision. He could even TASTE the air if he so wished. But this target was a coward, apparently.
The last time he'd seen his target during recon, the Tuffle had been drinking in a bar in a nearby village. One reason he'd been tracking the target was that this Tuffle had racked up a two thousand zeni tab and flat out REFUSED to pay it. The barkeep would offer up a reward to the Ocyrian, specifying a "wanted dead or alive" stipulation. But for those who knew this bad ass warrior , they simply knew that he was a trained killer. He wasn't a lawman. But we knew this. The barkeep however would think that he was just a normal bounty hunter, his name not so big yet.
He'd hoped it would be. But he wanted them to FEAR his name. He'd come up with a very specific calling card as far as that went, but the problem was his target seemed to still be in hiding. He'd learned patience, but that didn't help. It never did. His irritation would grow as he perched there, now holding the war bow he'd killed the shaman for.
The bow was large, and long. It was made out of the wood from an old tree, with ornate tribal carvings all along it. This bow had no string, but it needed none. For you see, the bow was simply an extension of his own power. It was an outlet, a means to aim at his targets with one of his many deadly attacks.
Unlike the unadulterated power one would see in a Saiya-Jin and true to his birthright, his ki was mastered in a different way. Though he was large and quiet, the warrior known as Qui Jon Ki was in possession of a deadly set of skills and intellect which only supplemented his incredible strength. He could materialize his weaponry rather than just throw ki blasts like a madman. His one projectile, it was very precise and depended solely on skill.
Crack!
His eyes narrowed as he heard the sound of a twig snapping in the woods below. He wondered...could it be an animal? It could be his target, however he'd learned to make visual contact with his bullseye before following through with his shot. True, there were instances where he'd beat his opponents to death, but sometimes...he just wanted to practice stealth. He was a lean, mean killing machine. His ears perked once more as he heard the heartbeat...
Fast...faster than usual. The smell of...was that alcohol? Hrm. That damned drunk Tuffle was close. He could smell him. Feel him. He took his position, following the sound with his eyes. Finally...there he was. White hair, pale skin...wearing the robes of a merchant. He scowled as he thought about his target's weakness. He deserved to die, and Qui would make sure he did.
As the Tuffle, the very same one who annoyed him stumbled into the clearing, Qui would take note of the seven, maybe eight aliens following him. His grip on his bow would tighten a bit and he'd train the his sights on the main target. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, his fingers would begin to glow a neon green...and this energy would begin to manifest itself in the form of a blunt tipped arrow.
Qui would aim at the heart of his prey at first...but then, his lips would curl upwards into a smirk. A devilish grin would show as he took aim at the Tuffle's right knee. He wanted to make him hurt.
As if a trained hunter stalking a deer, he would focus his energy into the piercing arrow and pull it back, as if pulling back a string. Finding his mark...he let go. He let the arrow fly forward and like a professional, he struck his target! Dead on!
"Agh!" The trouble making Tuffle could feel the bones in his knee crackling as the concussive bolt struck, his leg buckling out from under him! The pain was excruciating! He'd bark orders to his men. "Get him! Shoot that mother fucker!" And his gang would spin, taking aim with their laser rifles and firing off a barrage of blasts!
His powerful leg muscles would flex as he threw his bow into the air, his energy forming wings on his back and the Elite Ocyrian warrior flipping in midair, landing on his feet right in the middle of the group of firing soldiers. His bow still flipping against the shadow of the moon, he would swiftly and fluidly slam his foot in the midsection of one soldier, his momentum not stopping as he brought a knee up to crush the nose of the soldier.
He'd thrust his right arm into the air to catch the bow, then fire off two concussive, fast blasts into the collar bones of two more soldiers. His body surrounded by the green glow of his ki barrier would absorb a few blasts as he clotheslined another soldier, the soldier's neck snapping as he hit the ground.
He remained silent as he faced down the final four, ready to move at a moment's notice. "...."
This destruction was wrought within seconds. He'd trained for this since he was a child, and was a very proficient killer. No. He hadn't watched any tapes, all of his experience was first hand. Flexing his hands, he looked at the terrified fishmen soldiers, standing there and trembling in their white boots. Gritting his sharpened teeth, he growl..."...are you going to put up a fight? I'm going to kill you, but the very least you could do was make it even MORE enjoyable!"
"...." the lead soldier's eyes would dart back and forth when faced down with the giant monster of an Ocyrian. "...Get him! Fire at will!" And they would follow orders, all rifles firing off at once.
Qui grunted as one of the blasts would reopen his freshly sewn would. Was that...did they seriously just fuck up his work of art?! He growled, his ki beginning to cause the air to waver...hands beginning to glow with pure energy, blades forming from his fists...
"Oh shit! Move move move! Run!" The commander barked, the men turning tail. But it was too late, as the warrior flew through the air. Blood would spray as his Soul Slicers would cut through the skin of the first. He'd kick off that one with a spin, blades cutting the next two clear in two. The last would find himself cornered...and gutted promptly...Qui's eyes would the fall on the Tuffle.
From the Tuffle's perspective, he saw a monster of a man covered in the blood of his fallen men. He'd watch them slaughtered and found himself powerless to do anything, as his knee had been utterly destroyed by the Ocyrian's concussive arrow blast. He held his hands up and crawled backwards, pleading..."Wait! Please! What's he paying you?! I'll double i-"
"Shut up." Qui would snap, yet his tone was cool. He would slowly move over to the Tuffle, his face plastered with an evil grin. "This isn't about that stupid barkeep, you dumbass. No. You made a huge mistake back there at the bar. You disrespected ME."
"I'm so-AGH!" The Tuffle's eyes went wide, his leg crushed under the pressure of the big boot of Qui.
"....you are sorry. A piece of sorry Tuffle trash!" He would revel in the screams of his prey and grind the heel of his boot into the already destroyed knee of the Tuffle. "And here I thought your kind were intelligent. I suppose I was wrong, right? Stupid." He growled and stomped his foot down once more, torturing the poor Tuffle.
"AGGGGGHHH...OHGOD! PL-please stop...please! I'm begging you!"
He spat on the face of the Tuffle..."Pathetic worm." He would pull back and look down at the Tuffle, what with his crushed leg and all. "You will learn...that you don't fuck...with Qui Jon Ki. And you'll never..." he lifted his boot and slammed it down on the chest of the Tuffle, laying him down on the ground. "...disrespect a member of the Par'Lun again!"
It would become quite messy from here as his giant foot would rise and fall onto the chest of the Tuffle...crack...snap...boom...screams of pain and sobbing would fill the air as blood would spray from the mouth of his Tuffle prey! The Tuffle's eyes had rolled back into his head...chest flattened, leg shattered...he'd died a slow, painful, and agonizing death. Of course....Qui would remove the head. That was the way of his clan, claim a trophy. Or at least it was what he had been taught.
Later that night.
Things have become quiet around the bar now, the bar tender cleaning up various messes left over by the other patrons. He whistled a happy tune as he cleaned, looking down at his reflection in the bar. Suddenly...
BOOM!
He nearly pissed himself as he found himself face to face with the dead face of the Tuffle. The dead Tuffle's eyes were fixed in in that horrible look of fear right before he'd been viciously murdered by Qui. The bartender looked up slowly...he saw Qui standing there, just quietly staring at him. The ashen skin of the warrior was covered in dried blood.
"I...uh...um...didn't mean...for..." he stumbled on his words, trying to thank Qui. Should he? After all, the Ocyrian was quite the killer. Finally, as he was about to say those words...
Ring ring. Ring ring.
The warrior would reach into the pack at his side and pull forth a strange device unseen by the barkeep. It looked like a little silver and black box, and the sound? Definitely coming from this device. He'd watch as Qui flipped it open and listened, hearing a very angry voice...like that of a woman.
"Qui! Get yer fuckin' ass back to Nemu, NOW! We've got work to do!"
The Ocyrian would crack a smile and comment. "Always such a sweetheart." He turned and walked toward the door, stopping before he walked through. "No charge."
The barkeep watched as the Elite dissappeared.
The End.
Reward Requested: PL
Whoosh.
The door opens and all eyes lock onto it to see a large Ocyrian, dressed in tribal garb. He is unarmed save for a warbow swung over his shoulder. The mountain of a man has a large gash on his left bicep, neon green blood sliding down his arm and dripping from his fingertips. However, he doesn't seem to be very concerned about these injuries of his. In his right hand, he carries the head of a fallen victim, fingers curled in it's stark black hair. Appears to be a Saiya-jin. The stares only serve to irritate the giant as he grunts, and snorts like a bull. But soon, everyone goes back to their drinking and conversing as this giant has a seat at a table by himself.
He sets the pale skinned saiya-jin trophy on the table he chooses, and leans back. Reaching into a pouch at his side, the warrior retrieves a silver flask, a surgical needle, and some very thin, very strong thread. This thread appears to glow in the fluorescent light over head as he slides it through the eye of the needle, tying it and biting off the excess thread with a set of sharpened teeth. Opening the flask now, the lid popping open and hanging there, the smell of hard liquor fills the air. The proof on it has to be over two hundred, as it burns the eyes of the other patrons. With a slight gasp, he takes a quick swig from the flask then proceeds to pour it on his wound. What would happen next would make even the stoutest warrior cringe.
Meticulously, unflinching, he began to pierce the edges of his wound on both sides, pulling it together. Slowly he'd sew the gash up with great precision. But...he'd be stopped suddenly as his arm was bumped. His red eyes would shoot toward the culprit, another humanoid type...with spiked white hair. Qui would growl, a feral sound...almost primal. His eyes would be as daggers going through the heart of the Tuffle...yes, a tuffle. "...watch it, idiot."
"Or what?" The Tuffle would challenge the Ocyrian's words. This Tuffle's breath reeked of alcohol, and his clothes were covered in vomit, so Qui knew the man had to be drunk. Still, he was a trained killer with a short temper. He'd snap the man's neck if need be. The Tuffle simply hrmf'ed and walked away from the Ocyrian who continued to tend his wound.
"Ey barkeep!" The rude Tuffle would yell at the kind barkeep. He was already stumbling and drunk, yes. So his judgement wasn't the best in the world. "... (hic) gimme another Blue Thunder Bomb!"
"I think you've had enough, sir!" The barkeep would protest, pulling all his alcohol from the bar.
"I'm a customer, I'll say when I've had en-" he'd be stopped in mid sentence as a large paw would fall upon the back of his neck. The hand of Qui was heavy, like stone.
"He said no." The Ocyrian's thunderous voice would sound, the entire bar going silent. It was surreal. As the Tuffle would slowly turn, he'd crane his neck to look up at the seven foot, ashen skinned monster dressed like a Viking. Qui would snort. "Leave now. You're annoying me."
He was a man of few words, but when he spoke...people listened. The Tuffle slowly backed away from the giant of a man, issuing a threat. "You'd better hope I don't catch you outside, Ocyrian. Bad things might happen!" The Tuffle would laugh and leave the bar without another word. After what felt like an eternity, and tension that could be cut with a knife...the music began playing once more.
The barkeep sighed. "That damn drunk. He's always causing problems! An' on toppa that, e's racked up a huge tab, yet hasn't paid me a zeni!"
Qui simply looked at the barkeep for a long moment, tilting his head with his steely gaze locked on the old barkeep. "...." wolves never concern themselves over the problems of sheep. It'd been said before, and Qui believed it. However, the Tuffle had made the mistake of disrespecting Qui. That was a fatal error in any event. He spoke in a cool tone. "...and you let him get away with it?"
The barkeep was taken aback by the bold Ocyrian, though he probably should have expected it. Ocyrian's weren't known for their kindness after all. He sighed. "Well...you see, he and his gang..."
"His gang?" He arched a fine black brow, facial expression remaining stoic.
"Yes, he hangs out with a gang. They're a varied few, but all are above average in power. They come in here every night and act as if they own the place, pushing my other customers around and just being downright disrespectful." Said the barkeep, shining a clear glass.
"...." Qui grunted once more, speaking minimally. "...want me to teach him a lesson?"
The barkeep's purple lips curled upward into an excited smile. "Oh yes please, would you?! I'd be forever in your de-hey, where'd he go?!" The old man looked from side to side, noticing the Ocyrian had already walked away. He would shiver suddenly as he looked over to the table with the Saiya-jin on it, mouth open...eyes wide and glazed over, blood leaking over the edge of the table. The barkeep gulped. "Uh oh...what have I done?"
Later on that night, the Ocyrian would track his target down...
This was a far cry from the barren lands of Nemu, that much was for sure. Definitely not what Ihe is used to as he stands there, overlooking the swamp below him. His name is Qui Jon Ki. Perhaps you know of him, but if you do, chances are it's too late. Chances are you've felt the brunt of his fistbreaking you. After all, that is what he does. He''s damned good at what he does. "Hrmf..." he grunts as he pulls a cigar wrapped tightly in tobacco leaves. Always had a smoking problem, yet his cardiovascular training had counter acted it.
This was annoying. His target had yet to show his ugly face, so as you can imagine, he felt irritation rising in his chest. Being the warrior that he was, an elite as it were, he'd conditioned himself to fight with both vicious brutality but also stalk his prey like a tiger in the jungle. It didn't matter whether the sweet, peach flavored smoke gave away his position. Either way, his unfortunate target would die whether it be by stealth or head on crushing. He puffed his cigar a few times, inhaling the smoke and sending it billowing through his hawk like nose. A low chuckle arose in his chest as he imagined with Aurora would say.
"You fuckin' moron! You're not supposed to inhale the damned things!" He squatted on the cliff, red eyes fixated on the lush green swamp below. His breathing had slow and he'd become focused, his senses razor sharped. There were many ways to hunt. Smell. Sound. Vision. He could even TASTE the air if he so wished. But this target was a coward, apparently.
The last time he'd seen his target during recon, the Tuffle had been drinking in a bar in a nearby village. One reason he'd been tracking the target was that this Tuffle had racked up a two thousand zeni tab and flat out REFUSED to pay it. The barkeep would offer up a reward to the Ocyrian, specifying a "wanted dead or alive" stipulation. But for those who knew this bad ass warrior , they simply knew that he was a trained killer. He wasn't a lawman. But we knew this. The barkeep however would think that he was just a normal bounty hunter, his name not so big yet.
He'd hoped it would be. But he wanted them to FEAR his name. He'd come up with a very specific calling card as far as that went, but the problem was his target seemed to still be in hiding. He'd learned patience, but that didn't help. It never did. His irritation would grow as he perched there, now holding the war bow he'd killed the shaman for.
The bow was large, and long. It was made out of the wood from an old tree, with ornate tribal carvings all along it. This bow had no string, but it needed none. For you see, the bow was simply an extension of his own power. It was an outlet, a means to aim at his targets with one of his many deadly attacks.
Unlike the unadulterated power one would see in a Saiya-Jin and true to his birthright, his ki was mastered in a different way. Though he was large and quiet, the warrior known as Qui Jon Ki was in possession of a deadly set of skills and intellect which only supplemented his incredible strength. He could materialize his weaponry rather than just throw ki blasts like a madman. His one projectile, it was very precise and depended solely on skill.
Crack!
His eyes narrowed as he heard the sound of a twig snapping in the woods below. He wondered...could it be an animal? It could be his target, however he'd learned to make visual contact with his bullseye before following through with his shot. True, there were instances where he'd beat his opponents to death, but sometimes...he just wanted to practice stealth. He was a lean, mean killing machine. His ears perked once more as he heard the heartbeat...
Fast...faster than usual. The smell of...was that alcohol? Hrm. That damned drunk Tuffle was close. He could smell him. Feel him. He took his position, following the sound with his eyes. Finally...there he was. White hair, pale skin...wearing the robes of a merchant. He scowled as he thought about his target's weakness. He deserved to die, and Qui would make sure he did.
As the Tuffle, the very same one who annoyed him stumbled into the clearing, Qui would take note of the seven, maybe eight aliens following him. His grip on his bow would tighten a bit and he'd train the his sights on the main target. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, his fingers would begin to glow a neon green...and this energy would begin to manifest itself in the form of a blunt tipped arrow.
Qui would aim at the heart of his prey at first...but then, his lips would curl upwards into a smirk. A devilish grin would show as he took aim at the Tuffle's right knee. He wanted to make him hurt.
As if a trained hunter stalking a deer, he would focus his energy into the piercing arrow and pull it back, as if pulling back a string. Finding his mark...he let go. He let the arrow fly forward and like a professional, he struck his target! Dead on!
"Agh!" The trouble making Tuffle could feel the bones in his knee crackling as the concussive bolt struck, his leg buckling out from under him! The pain was excruciating! He'd bark orders to his men. "Get him! Shoot that mother fucker!" And his gang would spin, taking aim with their laser rifles and firing off a barrage of blasts!
His powerful leg muscles would flex as he threw his bow into the air, his energy forming wings on his back and the Elite Ocyrian warrior flipping in midair, landing on his feet right in the middle of the group of firing soldiers. His bow still flipping against the shadow of the moon, he would swiftly and fluidly slam his foot in the midsection of one soldier, his momentum not stopping as he brought a knee up to crush the nose of the soldier.
He'd thrust his right arm into the air to catch the bow, then fire off two concussive, fast blasts into the collar bones of two more soldiers. His body surrounded by the green glow of his ki barrier would absorb a few blasts as he clotheslined another soldier, the soldier's neck snapping as he hit the ground.
He remained silent as he faced down the final four, ready to move at a moment's notice. "...."
This destruction was wrought within seconds. He'd trained for this since he was a child, and was a very proficient killer. No. He hadn't watched any tapes, all of his experience was first hand. Flexing his hands, he looked at the terrified fishmen soldiers, standing there and trembling in their white boots. Gritting his sharpened teeth, he growl..."...are you going to put up a fight? I'm going to kill you, but the very least you could do was make it even MORE enjoyable!"
"...." the lead soldier's eyes would dart back and forth when faced down with the giant monster of an Ocyrian. "...Get him! Fire at will!" And they would follow orders, all rifles firing off at once.
Qui grunted as one of the blasts would reopen his freshly sewn would. Was that...did they seriously just fuck up his work of art?! He growled, his ki beginning to cause the air to waver...hands beginning to glow with pure energy, blades forming from his fists...
"Oh shit! Move move move! Run!" The commander barked, the men turning tail. But it was too late, as the warrior flew through the air. Blood would spray as his Soul Slicers would cut through the skin of the first. He'd kick off that one with a spin, blades cutting the next two clear in two. The last would find himself cornered...and gutted promptly...Qui's eyes would the fall on the Tuffle.
From the Tuffle's perspective, he saw a monster of a man covered in the blood of his fallen men. He'd watch them slaughtered and found himself powerless to do anything, as his knee had been utterly destroyed by the Ocyrian's concussive arrow blast. He held his hands up and crawled backwards, pleading..."Wait! Please! What's he paying you?! I'll double i-"
"Shut up." Qui would snap, yet his tone was cool. He would slowly move over to the Tuffle, his face plastered with an evil grin. "This isn't about that stupid barkeep, you dumbass. No. You made a huge mistake back there at the bar. You disrespected ME."
"I'm so-AGH!" The Tuffle's eyes went wide, his leg crushed under the pressure of the big boot of Qui.
"....you are sorry. A piece of sorry Tuffle trash!" He would revel in the screams of his prey and grind the heel of his boot into the already destroyed knee of the Tuffle. "And here I thought your kind were intelligent. I suppose I was wrong, right? Stupid." He growled and stomped his foot down once more, torturing the poor Tuffle.
"AGGGGGHHH...OHGOD! PL-please stop...please! I'm begging you!"
He spat on the face of the Tuffle..."Pathetic worm." He would pull back and look down at the Tuffle, what with his crushed leg and all. "You will learn...that you don't fuck...with Qui Jon Ki. And you'll never..." he lifted his boot and slammed it down on the chest of the Tuffle, laying him down on the ground. "...disrespect a member of the Par'Lun again!"
It would become quite messy from here as his giant foot would rise and fall onto the chest of the Tuffle...crack...snap...boom...screams of pain and sobbing would fill the air as blood would spray from the mouth of his Tuffle prey! The Tuffle's eyes had rolled back into his head...chest flattened, leg shattered...he'd died a slow, painful, and agonizing death. Of course....Qui would remove the head. That was the way of his clan, claim a trophy. Or at least it was what he had been taught.
Later that night.
Things have become quiet around the bar now, the bar tender cleaning up various messes left over by the other patrons. He whistled a happy tune as he cleaned, looking down at his reflection in the bar. Suddenly...
BOOM!
He nearly pissed himself as he found himself face to face with the dead face of the Tuffle. The dead Tuffle's eyes were fixed in in that horrible look of fear right before he'd been viciously murdered by Qui. The bartender looked up slowly...he saw Qui standing there, just quietly staring at him. The ashen skin of the warrior was covered in dried blood.
"I...uh...um...didn't mean...for..." he stumbled on his words, trying to thank Qui. Should he? After all, the Ocyrian was quite the killer. Finally, as he was about to say those words...
Ring ring. Ring ring.
The warrior would reach into the pack at his side and pull forth a strange device unseen by the barkeep. It looked like a little silver and black box, and the sound? Definitely coming from this device. He'd watch as Qui flipped it open and listened, hearing a very angry voice...like that of a woman.
"Qui! Get yer fuckin' ass back to Nemu, NOW! We've got work to do!"
The Ocyrian would crack a smile and comment. "Always such a sweetheart." He turned and walked toward the door, stopping before he walked through. "No charge."
The barkeep watched as the Elite dissappeared.
The End.
Reward Requested: PL