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 The Story of Celeria

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Posts : 389
Join date : 2010-03-04
Location : Planet Delta-2814

The Story of Celeria Empty
PostSubject: The Story of Celeria   The Story of Celeria I_icon_minitimeMon Oct 28, 2013 1:34 pm

Chapter I - Forged In Blood
“Stand up.”

Those were the first words Celeria remembered hearing.

“Stand up.”

Here they were again, albeit the intonation was changed. It had more intensity. It beckoned her.

Her legs felt wobbly, but she made it to her feet. She looked up at the stern face that was now graced with a faint, yet sincere smile. She felt a hand on her head, her hair being stroked gently. And then everything went black once more.

“Stand up.”

She opened her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy. There was a metallic smell; a metallic taste. Red.

“Stand up.”

It took some effort, but she was on her feet again. And no matter how many times the attack would come, she would again be right there, standing. And it was then that Celeria realized she wasn’t very fond of getting hit. As the punch flew at her, she crossed her arms and blocked the brunt of the assault. When the attacker withdrew, she lowered her hands.
Only to be knocked back by a side-kick.

“You have to be better. Strength is not enough. Intellect is not enough. Savagery is not enough. In order to triumph, you must have all three. Do you understand me, Celeria?” Her father glared at her, with eyes full of promise. He crouched down and grasped her shoulders.

“You have such promise, child. But should you neglect any aspect of yourself, said promise will be as rotten as your lifeless corpse.”

She stared deep into her father’s eyes. Much to her surprise, it seemed as if she innately understood everything he was telling her. Even though she did not know what ‘promise’, ‘corpse’ or ‘yourself’ meant. She did not have a ‘self’. She only had her own two hands.

In the years that would follow, Celeria would kill, destroy and lay waste to entire worlds with those two hands.  

The training would continue day after day, hour after hour, month after month, year after year. Her first mission came soon. And so did her first kill. The missions went on just like the training sessions – it didn’t matter how many hits you took, it only mattered to get back up again. But Celeria developed a grace in this savagery. Even as a young girl, she killed quickly and efficiently. More often than not, the team that she served in didn’t even have to transform. There was an incredible method to her manner of operations that made her a mystery to most of her early team mates.

“Why don’t you just waste the fuckers, kid?” A towering heap of muscle grunted at her from two feet above.

She raised her little head and focused the features of the brute with her dark eyes.

“Because one sloppy step sets you back three.” She would say with indifference.

She did not expect them to understand. But her father made sure she would remember it every moment of her life. He beat it into her, letter by letter. And every wound she received then saved her life on one occasion or the other.

But when it came to extinguishing life, Celeria discovered she was different than her peers. More than once, she looked at their faces. They were beside themselves with enjoyment while killing weaker adversaries. Their excitement seemed like borderline ecstasy.

Celeria loved a challenge as much as any saiyan. But, more often than not, there was no challenge to be found. Women, children, workers not soldiers. For reasons unknown to her, it felt below her to torture those sad creatures. It felt below her to torture anyone who failed to match her in strength. That, and not some tactical compulsion was the true answer to her flawless execution.

It didn't take long for Celeria to tire of the desperate dying faces. Of beastly, crude team mates. And so she progressed. Each mission was two steps higher until finally, she found herself among the ranks of the elite. Her promotion allowed her a chance at truly testing her mettle, realizing her true potential that she had nurtured meticulously for all these years.


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