Red
The moments were ticking away, like grains of sand in an hour glass. Ni'Charak's wait was almost over, and he could feel it. A subtle rush of adrenaline. It had been far too many cycles since last he hunted. He had no need to gear up, for he had kept everything necessary on his person. Being on a foreign ship, with foreign hunters, of foreign clans, he thought it best to keep his equipment close. Placing his mask upon his face, Red began his personal networks systems analysis to make sure all of his gear was properly synced up.
///Scanning.....
///Performing Network Synchronization.....
///Processing.........
///Power Routing Connection Analysis.....
///Analyzing.....
///Power Surging At 0.23 Above Normal.....
///Adjusting.....
///Complete.
///Console Networking Analysis.....
///Analyzing.....
///Network Working At Peak Optimal Efficiency.
///Connecting Bio Helmet To Network.....
///Processing.....
///Complete.
///Scanning Shift Suit Field Stability.....
///Analyzing.....
///Shift Field Stability At 100%.
///Uploading Smart-Disc Targeting System Up-link.....
///Configuring.....
///Complete.
///Analyzing Plasma Caster Servo System.....
///Analyzing.....
///Servos Require Re-calibration.
///Calibrating.....
///Complete.
///Total Network Synchronization Completed.
Now there was but one vital component Ni'Charak needed to test. Himself. Red unsheathed his wrist blades and slowly brought them to his face. He marveled at their craftsmanship, their perfection. The beautiful secret they housed which made them so deadly. He twisted them ever so gently as he stood in admiration before bringing the right one down to his side. The sound of the blade slicing it's way through air brought a slight chuckle to his lips. He quickly brought it back up to it's former place whilst backhanding downwards with the left, his feet spreading apart into a more combat appropreate stance.
Ah, so familiar. The stance, the form, the fire. It was like a sleeping muscle, or perhaps a dormant memory. Always there, but the body almost forgot about it. Red could feel it again. The rythem, the muse of flurries and strikes that lay as possibilities before his fingertips. The Krimson Blades arced, slashed, and spun wildly striking at imaginary foes with furious volleys of attacks. Mid way through a windmill kick, Ni'Ckarak thought to himself "Enough of this child's play", he began with what started as a simple frontflip. However, as his shoulder's aligned with the ground, Red altered his movements and evolved it into a spiraling display of skill. His cloth slithered about him in the air, drawing dizzieing contrails that carefully traced his movements.
The time came to finally land his aerial exhibition and as his feet were less than a foot away from the ship's cold, metal floor, the storm did what it does best. It changed yet again, landing Red in a roll along the arc of his neck and spine. At last, Ni'Charak chose his last action in his chain of attacks, sweeping with a low kick followed closely by the back of his right wrist blade while the left uppercutted his invisible dying foe.
A devilish grin swept over him, as he sheathed his blades and bent backwards until his hands touched the same ground as his feet. He arced his back upwards, and in a series of surprisingly loud pops, his spine re-aligned into a much more flexible position. Lifting his feet off the floor, he committed to a handstand that made him as still as a stone pillar. At last, he twisted his arms, so that his shoulder's may pop the same as his spine into a much more useful state.
Red was satisfied with his body's preparation, as he used his arms to launch himself back to his starting location like a javelin. His feet touched the ground only for a nanosecond, before popping his body back up into the air in an extremely quick back flip, finally landing in a meditation-like stance with his legs crossed. Not a dreadlock out of place, nor a cloth ruffled. It was as if he had been in that position the entire time.
A voice came over the ship's intercom. An Elder? Why would the Elders keep track of a simple hunt? The answer came to him in the same mental rock to the back of his head that the realization arrived in. "The armor..... how could I have missed that? I scanned and scrutinized every aspect about the others except the fact that they were from different clans! How could I have missed that?" Ni'Charak thought, chastising himself for his lack of observation. He may have face-palmed if it wouldn't have been a dead give away of his mistake. No, he would keep this secret to himself. All the way to the grave if need be.
It later struck him that the larger one mentioned this, but Ni'Charak was too deep in thought to hear him at the time. "So.... this isn't a simple Elite taking a few youngbloods on a hunt, this was a mission for him. Why didn't he take his own ship? Every Elite has one. Did he not want his movements to be traced? That Elder clearly would know of his presence. And yet, he is still armed like he's expecting kiande amedha..... By the Paya, what is going on in MY Hunting Ground?' Red continued his train of thought in total silence.
There was a change in the wind, or rather a lack of wind, around the ship as it neared it's landing. It was time. Red tilted forward and rolled to his feet in one seamless motion. The ships doors slowly revealing their new surrounding. Ni'Charak looked back at Nracha-dte, expecting him to make the first move forward. He instead was surprised that the Elite motioned for the others to go forward ahead of him. Three different clans, all hunting in the same territory. "Every clan for himself, eh? Works for me" Red trilled as he moved towards the exit.
It finally had graced him. The cold, damp alien wind of this foreign world. It lightly kissed his chest and wrapped around his mask. His next actions were a blur even to himself. The urge overcame him, and it seemed as if that alien air had carried him with it. Far away from the others. Ni'Charak's next waking moment was on a rooftop of a eight story building. This lapse of consciousness didn't bother him, as he was surprised he lasted as long as he did. Red partly imagined himself practically boring a hole through the ships haul before it had even touched down.
He opened his wrist console and traced the ships signal, as to judge the distance between him and his new camp. Finding that he was less than a mile away, it would be foolish to hunt so close to the shuttle. The Krimson Blades chittered and chuckled, gazing upon the beauty of the sunset between the massive columns of glass and steel. And so, eager to find the turf that was to be "his", Ni'Charak leaped forward to a neighboring roof. Delving ever deeper into this Concrete Jungle.........
RPG
