Post by Deleted on Jan 3, 2017 21:45:27 GMT -5
Blue skies, tall trees. It wasn't something the son of Carva saw back on his birth planet. The skies of Natto had been blood red and the trees were just gnarled representations of what they once were. Here, there was not the smell of blood in the air, there was only the pleasant smell wafting on the winter winds.
It was cool and crisp, the air was clean and as Jicama walked next to the babbling brook he felt a sense of peace fall over his raging heart. It wasn't everyday that his kind went without getting into some sort of altercation. Peaceful or not, Jicama found himself growing bored.
His power had grown so much since the last time he'd fought. He could feel the increase and as he stood there, staring at his reflection in the water, he grumbled. Damn it. This is maddening! I've trained so hard, yet there are still warriors here who dwarf me in power!
There is was. There was that same frustration which welled up whenever he'd think about his past failures. The air around the Elite wavered slightly as his power subconsciously climbed, a few pebbles rising around his feet. Of course this was frustrating for Jicama who'd been groomed as an Elite from birth. Yet, he was his biggest critic. He was stuck.
He felt as if he'd hit a plateau in power, especially since those who destroyed the outpost could have easily killed him. That day, the Elite fought the henchmen bravely but would come up short in the end.
Was it fear?
Was it doubt?
Could it have been that he'd watched his own mother and father slaughtered before his eyes before he could grow up? He'd seen them killed...wiped from existence. Could he have developed a fear of death? No...no warrior ever feared death.
His power began to skyrocket further, the trees swaying in the light breeze created by his rage. He didn't know it, but he was becoming more powerful by feeding into his emotion, something more often seen in his kind. His power was rage...his rage was power...it went hand in hand. As he stood amongst nature, he steeled himself, trying to push his body beyond it's limits. He had to do it...he had to surpass his father. His reason for desiring such power was quite simple.
He was an elite. He was a prodigy. He was the son of Carva, one of the greatest Saiyan warriors to ever lace up a pair of boots. Carva was a man who sought power, and what he sought? He found and he claimed. He grasped that bull by the horns and wrestled it to the ground!
Jicama decided long ago that he would be no different. Only he, the warrior who was once considered an Elite, he would surpass his father's legacy. He'd push himself further beyond Carva, and show his dominance as a warrior. But with such lofty goals, could that even be possible?
He couldn't afford to doubt himself.
It was cool and crisp, the air was clean and as Jicama walked next to the babbling brook he felt a sense of peace fall over his raging heart. It wasn't everyday that his kind went without getting into some sort of altercation. Peaceful or not, Jicama found himself growing bored.
His power had grown so much since the last time he'd fought. He could feel the increase and as he stood there, staring at his reflection in the water, he grumbled. Damn it. This is maddening! I've trained so hard, yet there are still warriors here who dwarf me in power!
There is was. There was that same frustration which welled up whenever he'd think about his past failures. The air around the Elite wavered slightly as his power subconsciously climbed, a few pebbles rising around his feet. Of course this was frustrating for Jicama who'd been groomed as an Elite from birth. Yet, he was his biggest critic. He was stuck.
He felt as if he'd hit a plateau in power, especially since those who destroyed the outpost could have easily killed him. That day, the Elite fought the henchmen bravely but would come up short in the end.
Was it fear?
Was it doubt?
Could it have been that he'd watched his own mother and father slaughtered before his eyes before he could grow up? He'd seen them killed...wiped from existence. Could he have developed a fear of death? No...no warrior ever feared death.
His power began to skyrocket further, the trees swaying in the light breeze created by his rage. He didn't know it, but he was becoming more powerful by feeding into his emotion, something more often seen in his kind. His power was rage...his rage was power...it went hand in hand. As he stood amongst nature, he steeled himself, trying to push his body beyond it's limits. He had to do it...he had to surpass his father. His reason for desiring such power was quite simple.
He was an elite. He was a prodigy. He was the son of Carva, one of the greatest Saiyan warriors to ever lace up a pair of boots. Carva was a man who sought power, and what he sought? He found and he claimed. He grasped that bull by the horns and wrestled it to the ground!
Jicama decided long ago that he would be no different. Only he, the warrior who was once considered an Elite, he would surpass his father's legacy. He'd push himself further beyond Carva, and show his dominance as a warrior. But with such lofty goals, could that even be possible?
He couldn't afford to doubt himself.
