Akuma watched as the new fellow walked through the battered dojo doors. Nabiki and Kasumi were desperately attempting to tend to their wounded sister.
Inspecting his assailant nonchalantly, the pseudo-demonic entity noticed an aura of strange energy floating around him. It was... Interesting. He possesed the energy of a dying dragon, or a withering rose; and yet, he seemed to explode with that same energy. It was the power of a being that, exposed to his final hour, had attained the state of the 'Mad Blade'.
Unknown to most, Ryoga had recently forced himself into a sort of exodus. The inhabitants of the dojo, being so wrapped up in their own dealings for the past few months, had not even noticed the dissapearance of the boy.
Ryoga had grown weary of the absurdity of the situation; something so frugal as competing for the heart of a girl who could be depraved or withdrawn as easily as the wind shifted.
It was not that he had grown to dislike Akane, but he had simply become repulsed by the ludicrous position he had somehow been put in. He had one day, on no notice, simply picked up most of his belongings and left. The fighter was out to achieve enlightenment. No... He had left to escape. To forget. Ryoga had left so that he himself could validate his own existance, instead of trying to achieve a strange state-of-grace in anyone else's eyes.
While being gone, one would have believed that Ryoga had carressed the golden clouds of the heavens and traced the grey ashes of Hell. He had grown taller; about six feet and one inch. His muscles had also grown. He had not become large and lumbersome such as Akuma, but he had become heavyset with new muscles and an increased weight to accomodate his size. No longer was he a frugal young boy, but a strapping and mysterious young man.
His attire had also changed significantly. He wore a black leather trenchcoat and combat boots. Gloves also found their way unto his form, along with a thinly-brimmed black cowboy hat. Ryoga's entire wardrobe had shifted to simply different degrees of the color black, except for the red circular markings on his gloves. He was truly a sight to be seen, and could have been easily confused with a western man thanks to his darker complexion and stiffly set jaw.
Tilting his head slightly, he calmly gazed at the beaten Akane. Whereas the previous him would have callen the being a foul fiend for hurting a woman, this new version simply sighed, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a cigarette.
Apparently, during his time away, he had also aquired some bad habits.
Akuma was puzzled as to why the fellow was so calm; surely, if he was the possesor of the peculiar chi he had sensed, then he would have known that the demon was a master of the highest degree of dark arts. However, this man simply took one last drag of his cigarette before grinding it into the wooden floor. Not bothering with long-winded introductions or some ridiculous overture on the grand battle between good and evil, Ryoga simply entered a fighting stance. It was different than his previous one, and could best be compared to the American form of Muay Thai. Akuma snorted; the ridiculous fool actually thought he was to make a difference. No matter. He'd vanquish such assumptions soon enough.
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(Posted Sat, 28 Aug 2004 17:31)
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