Post by Hazel on Mar 1, 2020 15:44:58 GMT -6
Hazel had turned twenty recently. It was the fifth day of the new month, the temperature in a perfect middling spot where it wouldn't stay for long in the volatile desert-scape they called home. The winds had stilled and the sun was still low when she awoke, blinking away the grogginess and preparing herself for the day ahead as she always did. Get dressed, fill the canteen, eat a meal of cooked oat mash. A smile still lingered on her face as she ate, the small amount of spice in the meal livening it up. It was one of a few gifts she had been given. Every little thing was hard to come by in an outlier village like this, so Hazel was unendingly grateful for the chunk of change the village pooled together for her. Her mother was likely at the forge already, shaping and pounding the impure metals to the best ability their crude tools allowed them. Meanwhile, Hazel's dad was probably on his usual patrol along the outskirts, chasing away all means of wildlife away from stocks of grain and coops of animals.
Hazel had no 'official' job as of yet, and simply lent a helping hand wherever she could in exchange for small gifts of food or money. The village operated more like a communal than a group of independent people anyway, so her drifting nature in which the hybrid swapped between working and training fell right into rhythm with the quaint little place. The training sword was along the lines of her more luxurious gifts. Freshly made, The weapon was forged with the finest metal the Konatsians had, hand-crafted by Hazel's mother to celebrate her progress. The divide between swordsmanship and Ki control made it hard to truly master either of the two, especially for someone as inexperienced as her, but it was coming along enough to warrant praise. Washing the bowl free of her sticky meal, the girl was especially diligent in sheathing and strapping her sword on, fixed neatly unto her back. Today so far seemed the same as any old weekday, albeit with the addition of a still foreign weight to her back.
It began in an innocuous manner. The rising of dust clouds on the Eastern horizon, usually signaling the arrival of merchants or travelers passing through on their way to and from the Capital. While the size was abnormally large, there was no reason to panic as of yet. Then it came closer, and closer. Soon enough the figures within became visible. Konatsians on skiffs and speeders were not the sight they were met with, but instead came a legion of steel. Her father was the first to notice, immediately fleeing back to the Village to gather the town for the impending threat. Hazel had been taking a break, sweat glistening on her head from the long day's work when she was finally called, a panicked farmer coming to fetch her on behalf of her Saiyan parent. The people here were better equipped than most other villages, though hunting rifles and crudely made swords would only do so much against a veritable army.
The first wave struck, the goliaths tearing through the first set of huts and silos as if it were paper. Blood was spilled before the first machine fell. Too much. Hazel fought in back, striking at the joints and optics of the relentless force that tried to rampage through the town square. Her father and mother both fought in the front, delivering deft blows and decisive strikes, felling a robot in mere moments while the rest of the militia took minutes. It was unending, torturous work. For every severed head, every split of wires, two more filled its spot. She grew tired. More tired than she was before. Her arcs slowed, Ki dimmed, breaths came ragged. Hazel made a mistake, overextending with her weapon and simply not having the proper stamina to pull it back in time. A machine stepped forward, set to blast her with fierce prejudice. Hazel stared at her impending death, not even enough energy to properly scream as the muzzle flashed.
Blood splattered, Hazel's torso and hands becoming coated in the thick red liquid. Her eyes opened, shocked. It didn't belong to her, no, it belonged to the unnervingly familiar sight of a black-haired man in front of her, a clean set of holes punctured straight through his armor. He didn't die quite yet, instead raising a defiant hand to manifest a bolt of electricity. Don't Hazel screamed. It'll kill you! He fired anyway, the shot piercing clean through the robot's head. The recoil bounced back, a shudder wracking the Saiyan's body as he began to tip over. She trembled, catching him as he fell to the sandstone below. Red was everywhere, on everything, only staining her more as she clutched his body. Say something. Hazel begged, staring into his rapidly distancing eyes. His mouth opened, as if to whisper words of wisdom, but nothing came out but a bloody gurgle as he fell limp. She shook him. She pleaded. She cursed the heavens itself. Nothing helped.
It took some time to clean up the worst of the damage. To scrub the crimson off the stone and sand. To carefully wrap the bodies of the fallen. It was time spent away from her own thoughts, and for that she was grateful. The work came to a crawl, the villagers pushing Hazel and her mother to the side to have 'time to mourn'. It was one of the few times she'd ever cried, her face buried deep into the comforting shoulder of her last living family. Proper funerals weren't really a thing, due to the nature of the sandy terrain. Hazel said her goodbyes to a wrapping, the light in her eyes having dimmed as she gazed upon what remained of her... dad. The next few months were somber. Hazel functioned well-enough, continuing her training and work albeit with a much more sorrowful tone to it. One day she had taken time to speak to her mother. I wish to go to Earth. She said. I want to find a teacher to become strong. And to just temporarily forget this place. Of course, she was grown. Hazel could make her own decisions. Hazel and her mother hugged as she boarded a spacecraft on the capitals' port. I'll visit sometime, or try and at least send letters She promised.
A new future awaited the hybrid.
Hazel had no 'official' job as of yet, and simply lent a helping hand wherever she could in exchange for small gifts of food or money. The village operated more like a communal than a group of independent people anyway, so her drifting nature in which the hybrid swapped between working and training fell right into rhythm with the quaint little place. The training sword was along the lines of her more luxurious gifts. Freshly made, The weapon was forged with the finest metal the Konatsians had, hand-crafted by Hazel's mother to celebrate her progress. The divide between swordsmanship and Ki control made it hard to truly master either of the two, especially for someone as inexperienced as her, but it was coming along enough to warrant praise. Washing the bowl free of her sticky meal, the girl was especially diligent in sheathing and strapping her sword on, fixed neatly unto her back. Today so far seemed the same as any old weekday, albeit with the addition of a still foreign weight to her back.
It began in an innocuous manner. The rising of dust clouds on the Eastern horizon, usually signaling the arrival of merchants or travelers passing through on their way to and from the Capital. While the size was abnormally large, there was no reason to panic as of yet. Then it came closer, and closer. Soon enough the figures within became visible. Konatsians on skiffs and speeders were not the sight they were met with, but instead came a legion of steel. Her father was the first to notice, immediately fleeing back to the Village to gather the town for the impending threat. Hazel had been taking a break, sweat glistening on her head from the long day's work when she was finally called, a panicked farmer coming to fetch her on behalf of her Saiyan parent. The people here were better equipped than most other villages, though hunting rifles and crudely made swords would only do so much against a veritable army.
The first wave struck, the goliaths tearing through the first set of huts and silos as if it were paper. Blood was spilled before the first machine fell. Too much. Hazel fought in back, striking at the joints and optics of the relentless force that tried to rampage through the town square. Her father and mother both fought in the front, delivering deft blows and decisive strikes, felling a robot in mere moments while the rest of the militia took minutes. It was unending, torturous work. For every severed head, every split of wires, two more filled its spot. She grew tired. More tired than she was before. Her arcs slowed, Ki dimmed, breaths came ragged. Hazel made a mistake, overextending with her weapon and simply not having the proper stamina to pull it back in time. A machine stepped forward, set to blast her with fierce prejudice. Hazel stared at her impending death, not even enough energy to properly scream as the muzzle flashed.
Blood splattered, Hazel's torso and hands becoming coated in the thick red liquid. Her eyes opened, shocked. It didn't belong to her, no, it belonged to the unnervingly familiar sight of a black-haired man in front of her, a clean set of holes punctured straight through his armor. He didn't die quite yet, instead raising a defiant hand to manifest a bolt of electricity. Don't Hazel screamed. It'll kill you! He fired anyway, the shot piercing clean through the robot's head. The recoil bounced back, a shudder wracking the Saiyan's body as he began to tip over. She trembled, catching him as he fell to the sandstone below. Red was everywhere, on everything, only staining her more as she clutched his body. Say something. Hazel begged, staring into his rapidly distancing eyes. His mouth opened, as if to whisper words of wisdom, but nothing came out but a bloody gurgle as he fell limp. She shook him. She pleaded. She cursed the heavens itself. Nothing helped.
It took some time to clean up the worst of the damage. To scrub the crimson off the stone and sand. To carefully wrap the bodies of the fallen. It was time spent away from her own thoughts, and for that she was grateful. The work came to a crawl, the villagers pushing Hazel and her mother to the side to have 'time to mourn'. It was one of the few times she'd ever cried, her face buried deep into the comforting shoulder of her last living family. Proper funerals weren't really a thing, due to the nature of the sandy terrain. Hazel said her goodbyes to a wrapping, the light in her eyes having dimmed as she gazed upon what remained of her... dad. The next few months were somber. Hazel functioned well-enough, continuing her training and work albeit with a much more sorrowful tone to it. One day she had taken time to speak to her mother. I wish to go to Earth. She said. I want to find a teacher to become strong. And to just temporarily forget this place. Of course, she was grown. Hazel could make her own decisions. Hazel and her mother hugged as she boarded a spacecraft on the capitals' port. I'll visit sometime, or try and at least send letters She promised.
A new future awaited the hybrid.
