| Argyyle entered the ship, and found his sister�s note to him. She had gone for a drink�how unlike her. Argyyle shrugged and continued about his business. He stored his new outfit for later use. He had purchased it with a specific purpose in mind. His bet placed, the foul memory soothed, Argyyle decided to meditate before his final match. To further clear his head could do him nothing but good. He went to the exercise chamber, removed his shirt and shoes, and drew his sword. As Argyyle�s focus sharpened and his awareness collapsed to himself and his sword, he felt the aggravations of the day melt from his tension knotted muscles. He felt his circulation improve, his reactions speed up. He hadn�t realized how much he needed this. With the distractions of the tourney among other things, he hadn�t been practicing as much as he should have been. Without warning, there was an opponent facing him, blaster aimed at Argyyles head. The blaster flashed and without his being aware of it, Argyyle had maneuvered his blade to deflect the blast. He was in tune with his body and his surroundings in a way he had not been for some time. He needed to return to nature to hone himself once more when this was finished. Civilization was making him soft. The automaton fired again, several times and each time Argyyle placed his sword in the path of the blaster bolts almost before they were fired, the force guiding him. Tin Can, monitoring from the main console, decided to up the difficulty again. Argyyle felt the alteration of his situation and shifted so he was no longer trapped between his two assailants. The second fired a volley, but Argyyle was no longer there He brought the sword up, caught the bolt, and deflected it with a twist of his blade. His aim was true, and it hit the first droid as it fired one final time. Argyyle leaped, propelling himself up, twisting and flipping as he did so. He came down behind the droid, back to back with it, using the twist of his body to begin his spin before his feet even touched down. Time seemed to slow for Argyyle. His blade connected, and continued as if it had met no resistance at all. The Momentum brought his body to his original landing position, his arm following the motion, converting it into a flawless sheathing of his blade (at least, it would have been flawless, had he had a sheathe). The blade was up, point aimed at the floor, his left hand at his left hip holding an imaginary sheathe, grasping the blade. Blood flowed from the gash in his hand, running down the edge to drip off the point. Argyyle�s head bowed, hair shrouding his face. His body fairly crackled with power. The severed head of the droid and the first drop of blood hit the ground together, the sounds mingling with the dull hum of his power to create a perfect symphony of destruction in Argyyle�s mind. |
| Symphony of Destruction |