Post by Leke Hattori on Jun 8, 2013 20:45:37 GMT -5
Thud! Thud! The punching bag that weighed literally a ton was getting thrashed about by several flying kicks and punches. The humidity of the room rose as sweat dripped and flicked onto the bag and ground. The brutal beat-down given to this bag was by none other than Leke Hattori, the younger brother of Ninjin Hattori and a son of the King of the Saiyans. The barely-teenage Saiyan spat a salty wad onto the ground before thrusting forward twice with his left and slicing through the air and smashing into the bag with his right. Thinking of his father and elder brother only made him work harder and harder. To prove to them, to others, and to himself, that he deserved to be recognized, he trained endlessly.
This bag had not known such torture in many a day. This day particularly, he knew his elder brother and sister, Akassa, had been called for by their father. What was so important that he was not to be included? His left slammed into the bag again with a resounding Whoof! as the bag gave way slightly. Leke gritted his teeth and yelled at the top of his lungs. His family could anger him so much at times. Why wouldn't they recognize him? Why wouldn't they let him take responsibility for anything? Was he just a tool to his father? His brother? In his anger, he let loose another brutal barrage of punches and kicks that left the bag spilling.
Leke stood, staring at the bag, catching his breath. No, he had to get stronger. He had to show them. Only by training more and harder could he get faster and stronger. Sweat, tears, and blood were necessary. To get his father to actually notice his existence, to get his brother to actually give him a "Good job", to show them, the world - nay, the universe - what Hell was going to be unleashed when he was given a task to perform.
And so he would train. Crack! The bag began to rip even more after a swift windmill kick connected with it. The young Saiyan clenched his fist, gathering his strength, his anger, his dreams and thoughts. His power, elevated and concentrated at one point, began to give a physical aura, a red-and-gold tint flowing around his fist. Leke looked at the bag and leaped towards it, screaming as he threw his fist forward, completely obliterating the bag. Dust flew everywhere and his power dissipated.
When the dust settled, Leke was kneeling on the ground, clutching his right hand. Blood caked his knuckles, the force of the strike having sliced open the skin. He didn't know what kind of power he actually had within him. What had he awakened right there? It was then that Leke, the non-heir Royal Bloodline Saiyan, realised that anger was the best tool a Saiyan could have. Now, he just had to learn to control it. To get stronger, faster, better.
To prove a point.
This bag had not known such torture in many a day. This day particularly, he knew his elder brother and sister, Akassa, had been called for by their father. What was so important that he was not to be included? His left slammed into the bag again with a resounding Whoof! as the bag gave way slightly. Leke gritted his teeth and yelled at the top of his lungs. His family could anger him so much at times. Why wouldn't they recognize him? Why wouldn't they let him take responsibility for anything? Was he just a tool to his father? His brother? In his anger, he let loose another brutal barrage of punches and kicks that left the bag spilling.
Leke stood, staring at the bag, catching his breath. No, he had to get stronger. He had to show them. Only by training more and harder could he get faster and stronger. Sweat, tears, and blood were necessary. To get his father to actually notice his existence, to get his brother to actually give him a "Good job", to show them, the world - nay, the universe - what Hell was going to be unleashed when he was given a task to perform.
And so he would train. Crack! The bag began to rip even more after a swift windmill kick connected with it. The young Saiyan clenched his fist, gathering his strength, his anger, his dreams and thoughts. His power, elevated and concentrated at one point, began to give a physical aura, a red-and-gold tint flowing around his fist. Leke looked at the bag and leaped towards it, screaming as he threw his fist forward, completely obliterating the bag. Dust flew everywhere and his power dissipated.
When the dust settled, Leke was kneeling on the ground, clutching his right hand. Blood caked his knuckles, the force of the strike having sliced open the skin. He didn't know what kind of power he actually had within him. What had he awakened right there? It was then that Leke, the non-heir Royal Bloodline Saiyan, realised that anger was the best tool a Saiyan could have. Now, he just had to learn to control it. To get stronger, faster, better.
To prove a point.