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Akuma sat, as he had day after day in his wreckage. Meditation consumed his days, save for times when he was sought out by those who called themselves 'warriors'.. None remotely worthy arrived, and after a few armies had their expensive toys ripped apart before being sent home, the amateurs quit visiting.
Incidentally, the lasagne MRE wasn't too bad.
It was his own lust for carnage that he fought, day in and day out.. Trying to shackle the beast inside once more. After having been let loose, it was all the more difficult to restrain; the few mountains remaining before this effort certainly would attest to that, if there was anything left.
And yet, the weak survived. His contempt of the defenseless? Undiminished. His desire to squash them like the bugs they were? Stronger than EVER!
And yet, the weak survived.
His struggle for the only control that ever mattered, control of the self, was having that much effect, at least. Gradually he managed to improve upon it, struggling every step towards the restraint he had once known, even restoring the sign on his back to what it once had been.. But all the while, he knew what he'd have to do.
Discipline that only existed under ideal circumstances was worthless. A recovering alcoholic may be fine in his own home, but how does he do when it's raining beer? THAT is where the true test lies, and in the same vein..
He would have to face her again.
Only then could he know, one way or the other.
Incidentally, the lasagne MRE wasn't too bad.
It was his own lust for carnage that he fought, day in and day out.. Trying to shackle the beast inside once more. After having been let loose, it was all the more difficult to restrain; the few mountains remaining before this effort certainly would attest to that, if there was anything left.
And yet, the weak survived. His contempt of the defenseless? Undiminished. His desire to squash them like the bugs they were? Stronger than EVER!
And yet, the weak survived.
His struggle for the only control that ever mattered, control of the self, was having that much effect, at least. Gradually he managed to improve upon it, struggling every step towards the restraint he had once known, even restoring the sign on his back to what it once had been.. But all the while, he knew what he'd have to do.
Discipline that only existed under ideal circumstances was worthless. A recovering alcoholic may be fine in his own home, but how does he do when it's raining beer? THAT is where the true test lies, and in the same vein..
He would have to face her again.
Only then could he know, one way or the other.
