Chapter CCIV: Ancient Chinese Se– To Heck With It! ~Jaded

Jaded glared across the field of battle at Professor Nsvem. He tightened his grip on his sword handle. No one could take all these guys on and live long on their bad-side, he thought as he held his sword up defensively. If we're going to have any chance to put up a defence, we need to find some way to put up an equal counter. We have the defence, but they'll just chip away at that until it's gone. We need to increase the offence!"

The Professor held out his hands at arm's length. The lightning energy flew wildly from finger to finger, then blazed forth and snaked through the air like a wild serpent. It arched as it sped through the air at blinding speed. It crashed down upon Jaded, filling the air with a blinding yellow light. It was followed by an explosion, and a cloud of billowing dust.

As the debris settled and the dust cleared, Nsvem frowned. The ground where the bolts had struck was charred black, and craters riddled the ground. But standing in an untouched spot in the center was Jaded. He lowered his sword and opened his eyes. He raised a gloved hand and brushed a burned area of his scarf. He then looked back across the field and glared at Nsvem.

The Professor folded his arms and raised an eyebrow slightly. "That predictable, hmm?"

Jaded exhaled softly. "A little." He reassumed his grip on his weapon. "You read like a book to the experienced observer."

Nsvem narrowed his eyes slightly, pushing his right sleeve up slightly with his left hand. "I'll make sure the next few are more worthy to call attacks."

The mercenary tensed his muscles internally. I know I won't be disappointed.

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Mentally, Jaded's mind had not been visited by him extensively in any soul-searching for near a decade now. True, he used it extensively, but he never delved into the depths it created; chasms of unknown depth with memories long locked away.

But now, for one instant, he forced the locks away and opened the door for his memories to flow free. If there was any answer to the problem taking forefront of his mind, it would most likely be buried within them.

He began to recall it all. His beginnings as a kind, shy and rather scrawny child. He was always the "tag-along" to others; never the leader himself as he didn't feel confidence enough to make decisions on his own without the approval of others. Time leapt forward, and he was a young man. He buried himself in his studies, and became a very academic person. However, being cruel as his age group could be, his peers often laid him flat with fists or confined him within his own locker.

In desperation, he turned to the books of the oldest sections of the library he frequented. After days of endless searching, he found manuals on the dark arts. He learned their ways, and learned to harness the power of "magik". When he felt ready, he confronted the boys who had made his life miserable. Wasting no time, he unleashed the powers he had unlocked upon them.

Having been confined within words for millenia, the dark magiks were now starved for victims and insane with thirst that was dying to be quenched. The young man lost control of the forces, and by the time they had finished, there was nothing left of his tormenters. Even their very names, faces, their identities had been wiped from history's pages.

Feeling so inwardly ashamed, the boy finished out the year as planned, then instead of moving on to his future plans, he dove into a strict practice of training his body to be a living weapon. It continued, day and night, week after week. He spoke to masters of fighting techniques; of kung-fu, tae-kwon-do, boxing, fist fighting, the ways of the sword and more.

He grew to be strong indeed. Donning a coat of armor he had purchased and wielding a tremendous black broadsword, he set off to make a name for himself. Fighter after fighter fell to this newcomer to the scene. He advanced in rank and reputation, until things took him to the Inter-Continental fighting tournament. There, he advanced to the third round before being defeated in a shocking upset.

His opponent seemed like an averagely dressed man (average in the fighting scene at least). The young man had been winning for a good part of the battle, but the opponent seemed to bounce back with a second wind. Using a special metal glove, he delivered devastatingly powerful blows that knocked the young man for a loop. Finally, the opponent had him on his back, panting for breath. In the moments before the horn sounded, declaring him the winner, he drew a clawed glove. Slipping it on, he knelt by the young man's face. He sneered down at the boy for a moment, before brutally clawing his victim's face to a mess of bloody wounds.

The young boy awoke in the hospital. Alive, but his face bandaged. He remained there for weeks. Finally, the bandages were removed, and he was sickened deeply by how grotesquely scars now covered his face near entirely, except for his forehead slightly. On his release from the hospital, he wrapped a red scarf he had always liked around his face beneath the eyes before leaving.

In many aspects, he was a different man. His personality had not been altered by any damage to his brain, but his eyes seemed to be alight with a constantly burning fire now: A fire of bitter anger. What it burned for, only one was truly certain.

The young man moved into being a professional mercenary, and helped another set up the first training center for others who wished to become one. He became a wanderer, moving from place to place. Returning to the colosseum where he had fallen that day, he recovered his old equipment, save the armor which he had long since discarded since leaving the hospital. His belt, boots, and gloves all seemed to be in tact. But to his dismay, his broadsword had been broken off at about three-quarter length. The end was a jagged set of points. He thought about discarding it, but for some reason, he kept the weapon, and even trained with it.

He sought out more teachers of the fighting arts, and amazed many with his astounding talents. He received his moniker from one of them. He recalled it vividly.

The aged teacher asked him, "Student, what would you be described as in the world?"

"They shall call me...Jaded. Jaded Mercenary, as I hate all evil in the world, and shall make it fear my name like nothing has ever feared before! I hate those that hurt others...and I especially hate he who did this to me," he said, touching his scarf on his face. "I will be the end of them all, mark my words. I swear it."

Then, "Jaded", as he now called himself, wandered, fighting and growing stronger, as well as wise to the ways of the world. He entered a few more tournaments, and astounded crowds with how he would win over whomever he fought, not taking even a scratch or a drop of sweat beading on his brow. His strength left something to be desired, but with that broken sword of his, he had enough focus to cleave through a five foot thick block of steel.

Some told him he should minor in the psychic arts, but he refused any association with using any forces outside his body's natural abilities. He rose in the ranks for ages it would seem. Then, finally, he was vying for the title of the Universal Tournament champion when he faced off in a match against the fellow who changed his life.

To be quite frank, the opponent didn't look too scary. He might have intimidated some of the children watching. But he sure grinned cockily a lot and seemed to have a fervor for fighting that the mercenary hadn't seen in years. The fight Jaded recalled perfectly. Jaded was on one side of the dusty ground, and his opponent stood snickering on the other.

"Ready to get pounded, sword-boy?" his round opponent taunted.

Gripping the hilt, Jaded only smirked.

Neither of the two moved for a moment, but when they did, both shot towards each other as if they had been shot out of a cannon. Jaded tried for his trademark one swipe win attack, but shocking to him, the fellow narrowly dodged it. This continued each time Jaded attacked. The sword would cut clean through the air, but by the time it reached the rounded one, it was an inch or two off. Finally, in a burst of anger, the mercenary let loose with a wild punch.

His opponent wasn't expecting this and was decked between the eyes. Grabbing his face and trying to recover his senses, he had no way of dodging the blunt side of the weapon smashing into the side of his head/body. The fellow crashed to the ground, unconscious. Jaded was declared the winner and his free hand was held up, but he couldn't take his eyes off the unconscious body of his opponent. True, the fellow was strange and a bit to cocky for his own good, but something about him...well, for once in his life since before his training first began, he felt a sort of awe; a reverence and respect for the fellow. He had been the first being to ever evade his normal one hit wonder slashes. He didn't know it now, but this fellow and he would have their paths cross again and again in the future.

------

Jaded zoned back to the present. He stared, frowning at Nsvem, waiting for him to make his next move.

Based on what I know and see, this guy's all magik, no real might. Seems logical enough ...how a blend of powerful magik and might like the agent can exist without doing something to the balance a things is beyond me. He noticed the Professor tensing his muscles and readied his body to act. Whatever it is, maybe it'll be something worth looking into when we get offa this rock.