Liar's Den [Private Home]
Mar 30, 2015 23:51:41 GMT -7
Post by Promeleon on Mar 30, 2015 23:51:41 GMT -7
One post on the previous page
--/60
His right arm ached from his rather poor attempt at the technique, but Diomed was not deterred. The bone lay on the floor in two parts. The broken pieces were scattered on the floor, both coated in blood from being put through his flesh. His right arm hung uselessly by his side for now, as flexing the muscle brought quite a bit of pain to him. He could work on the technique with his left hand with ease, but using the off hand always felt slightly strange. The same pressure that he had felt on his right humerus was applied to his left, but this time he was determined to not allow the muscles to collapse in on themselves and break the arm. What he needed to do was expand them, he needed to entice them to swell. The pressure, unlike before, did not worsen upon the bone, and he felt a little more control over the technique than he had done so before. When not breaking his arm could be considered progress, the technique was worthwhile.
The muscle strained and caused him minor pain, but his body was tough and resilient, and the pain was nothing more than the constant reminder that he was alive and working towards becoming more powerful. A bubble of muscle popped out and the pain seared his arm like a knife being slowly inserted into the arm. His face turned from a concentrated frown to a mask of threadbare control. His eyes were wide and his lips pursed so tightly that they were nearly white. Another bubble burst in his skin and he lost control, unable to keep straining the muscle. Swearing loudly as the two bubbles of muscles receded back into his skin, he fell to his knees and held his arm to his chest, his elbow digging into the top of his stomach as he tried to apply pressure to calm the wound, but to no avail. He grimaced as the sharp pain continued to draw his attention. How on earth did the man do it? To increase ones entire mass seemed to be a talent that he would be unable to achieve perhaps?
That was unacceptable to Diomed though, to admit that other people had skills involving their physicality that he was physically able to perform was unjustifiable to him. The pain lasted a few minutes, and the Kaguya spent that time with his back pressed against the cool metal wall, trying to get feeling back into his right hand as well as trying to think of something that was not the pain of the torn muscle. Thankfully he possessed the bloodline of a resilient race, and beyond that, there was his own familial blood that gave him enhanced restoration abilities, which let him recover from small injuries such as this within a small amount of time. Considering what he had in store for himself in the upcoming training, his bodies resistance to damage, and his healing properties would be pushed to their limits. Everything about him was going to be pushed to his limit in his training.
Now that the pain had faded and he was able to move his right arm again, he felt it necessary to get back to work. Standing tall once more, his fists were pressed together at the knuckles. His right hand was coated with dry blood that cracked as his arm moved, and he could tell that his left arm was considerably weaker thanks to what had happened to the muscle as his fist could not be held quite as tight. After varying from what he had been doing for a month only once, he found himself to be quite tired already. It was a good thing that he had decided to begin his training anew, otherwise his muscles would have continued deteriorating. Not in the sense that he would grow weaker, but in the sense that his killing edge would be blunted, and his natural aptitude for movement in a fight would be diminished. When the whole world was against you, to weaken yourself and expose that weakness to enemies was madness. Through this training he would banish those weaknesses from his body, and he would combine the forces of the Kaguya with that of this powerful muscular transformation.
--/60
His right arm ached from his rather poor attempt at the technique, but Diomed was not deterred. The bone lay on the floor in two parts. The broken pieces were scattered on the floor, both coated in blood from being put through his flesh. His right arm hung uselessly by his side for now, as flexing the muscle brought quite a bit of pain to him. He could work on the technique with his left hand with ease, but using the off hand always felt slightly strange. The same pressure that he had felt on his right humerus was applied to his left, but this time he was determined to not allow the muscles to collapse in on themselves and break the arm. What he needed to do was expand them, he needed to entice them to swell. The pressure, unlike before, did not worsen upon the bone, and he felt a little more control over the technique than he had done so before. When not breaking his arm could be considered progress, the technique was worthwhile.
The muscle strained and caused him minor pain, but his body was tough and resilient, and the pain was nothing more than the constant reminder that he was alive and working towards becoming more powerful. A bubble of muscle popped out and the pain seared his arm like a knife being slowly inserted into the arm. His face turned from a concentrated frown to a mask of threadbare control. His eyes were wide and his lips pursed so tightly that they were nearly white. Another bubble burst in his skin and he lost control, unable to keep straining the muscle. Swearing loudly as the two bubbles of muscles receded back into his skin, he fell to his knees and held his arm to his chest, his elbow digging into the top of his stomach as he tried to apply pressure to calm the wound, but to no avail. He grimaced as the sharp pain continued to draw his attention. How on earth did the man do it? To increase ones entire mass seemed to be a talent that he would be unable to achieve perhaps?
That was unacceptable to Diomed though, to admit that other people had skills involving their physicality that he was physically able to perform was unjustifiable to him. The pain lasted a few minutes, and the Kaguya spent that time with his back pressed against the cool metal wall, trying to get feeling back into his right hand as well as trying to think of something that was not the pain of the torn muscle. Thankfully he possessed the bloodline of a resilient race, and beyond that, there was his own familial blood that gave him enhanced restoration abilities, which let him recover from small injuries such as this within a small amount of time. Considering what he had in store for himself in the upcoming training, his bodies resistance to damage, and his healing properties would be pushed to their limits. Everything about him was going to be pushed to his limit in his training.
Now that the pain had faded and he was able to move his right arm again, he felt it necessary to get back to work. Standing tall once more, his fists were pressed together at the knuckles. His right hand was coated with dry blood that cracked as his arm moved, and he could tell that his left arm was considerably weaker thanks to what had happened to the muscle as his fist could not be held quite as tight. After varying from what he had been doing for a month only once, he found himself to be quite tired already. It was a good thing that he had decided to begin his training anew, otherwise his muscles would have continued deteriorating. Not in the sense that he would grow weaker, but in the sense that his killing edge would be blunted, and his natural aptitude for movement in a fight would be diminished. When the whole world was against you, to weaken yourself and expose that weakness to enemies was madness. Through this training he would banish those weaknesses from his body, and he would combine the forces of the Kaguya with that of this powerful muscular transformation.