That Brave Feeling You're Standing For | CHAIN | JAJA | SOLO

---

THE STORY:

A man flipped through the air, spiraling once, twice, three times before his face met the edge of the ground and he scattered away, sloppily like the dust. The wave of different emotions washed over the man's party, as his comrades were all scared, amazed, offended or pissed. Jahanghir smirked before lifting his middle finger at the bandits.

“Listen up bitches! The only thing you’ll lift off me is this fist right here--So come and take it!”

“Ha! What do you think your fly smart as-”

He wasnt able to complete his sentence, within a small moment Jahanghir closed the distance between the men he gripped the man’s blade with his clawed fist the metal began to bend the metal beneath his might. Jahanghir squeezed and mangled the sword, and the blade began to crumble in his grip threatening to shatter.

“Urgh! Quit That Shit!” The soldier barked before swinging a blade at Jahan’s abdomen. Jahan parried the attack simply knocking it away. The Savage turned with the momentum and using his opposite leg he threw a kick to connect with Jahanghir. Jahan countered quickly grabbing him by the skull and slamming his head into the dirt.

“KEEP YOUR FEET OFF OF ME” Jahanghir commanded his overbearing strength keeping the bandit subdued. The soldiers face dug into the grass and mud and Jahanghir forced him into dirt to lie with the worms. From behind a bowman drew his arrow and started to shoot only for Jahan to knock the arrow from the air. The twig snapped in half and Jahan growled lowly in agitation.

He started on the man, getting up slowly and turning to face the archer.

“You dare take aim at my back?” Jahanghir questioned.The Archer lost his edge a bit at Jahanghir’s dominating  presence. Before the archer would think of a reply though, Jahanghir had closed the distance between them with his outstanding power and speed he ran into the man with collision force of a car.

The man skidded through the air like his bastard companion not too long ago. Jahanghir was pissed. It had already been a pissy day for the World King. However the addition of these idiots made everything just worse. Jahanghir was mad about two things, he wasn’t able to get to the designer tailor and these idiots decided to try and rob him.

Him of all people. Had they no idea what robbing a king meant? Was his crown not obviously enough a sign of his dominance. He was Jahanghir Nikator the King Vessel. Nothing to be trifled with,some kind of serious badass!

Jahanghir nodded his head egotistically, grinning and crossing his arms.

“Kill this fucking idiot!”

“Who does he think he is?”

Jahans eyes widened and he scowled.

“Im the world king! Jahanghir You will respect my name!”

The world king was pissed his head fuming. “Im over here kicking their asses and they’re still showing me disrespect!” Jahanghir thought as his violet eyes turned purple. He lined his feet up aggressively readying himself to run through them. Jahanghir started his sprint, and collided with the soldiers in a straight line. He ripped through the lines of the bandits. Injuring dozens of them with A tier damage.

"Surround him! Hurry Up! Charge!" The soldiers tried to get it together, scrambling to their feets and clambering to their weapons they readied themselves.  A large group of them began there attack as they ran up on Jahan with their arms pointed fiercely. Jahanghir stepped forward quickly, countering the closest of enemies with Black_Lion_Fang.

Jahanghir smacked the bladed part of his enemies weapon, the vibrations from his strike were so fierced they ran through his arm shatterings his finger's tendons.

"Aghh" the man screamed, and Jahanghir lashed at him Striking him with his fist dealing him A tier damages. The man's body dropped and made way for Jahanghir to narrowly Dodge the group's attack. Taking his turn Jahanghir's head whipped to his next enemy.

Jahanghir made a blur like movement and in a hurry he made quick work of the men. He mauled the first enemy with a barrage of fists, and they attempted again to surround hom. In turn he would spin and counter with a 360 back kick, crumbling men with his fanalis power. The men would drop and fold and he would be back upon them like a tiger.

[/b]
“Huh! You want me? Do you!” Jahanghir roared at the men. He had shattered Their morale and they began running. They would flee from Jahanghir at top speeds, fearing and praying he did not chase them.

---

He was caught within the rays of daylight and his imagination. Flickering within his vision, battles of the future consumed him. Jahan was caught, he was taken by the sound of metal and the spark of its contact. He was not paralyzed, jahanghir was unyielding, never-submitting and struggling. He lashed out at crowds of men, breathing his terror anger and force in full.

Jahanghir would never lie down like a dog. He would not be dominated, he knew his cause. As to where some others were lost Jahanghir knew he was meant to be the true king. His imprint and impact, would change the world for millenia. So be it. Jahan was foolishly brave and he had no fears.No fears, but the terror of ambiguity.

Unlike the thoughts beforehand, Jahanghir could not fill in the gaps, or paint the mental image for this. He would not know at what costs. Jahanghir kept seeing white hair in his dreams. Jahanghir was a blessed young bastard, fate had cared for the man. His sleeping mind was flooded with women, their scent shape and nature. The woman he had known, the nature of their caress and touch.

Balance. He was in balance, in his mind and memory. Jahanghir began to stir and wake from his nap. Yawning and stretching either hands to the side he uttered his first thoughts.

"Kicking ass sure takes a lot out  of ya"

He snickered at the line and he got up exiting his tent. The sun was still High in the air. He had a ways to go. He would survey the Kou North and continue moving forward.

Spoiler:

---

1085/1000 WC
STAM - 255/330 + 30 = 285
Mag -130/130 N/A

---

BATTLE LOG:

Spoiler:

The Story:

---

A woman pat her head rubbing the sweat from a nights dream from her head. She was Xiàngrìkuí, the priestess of Ning Village. Her dreams had always been a miracle, a connection with the rukh so primal and wonderful. She was a women gifted with clairvoyency magic, born into her duties and having been priestess her entire life she was used to having many visions. She saw things, from the path of the storms before they would hit her village, to the soldiers marching in the North.

Today the priestess was a valuable commodity within her village, as she was able to tell them when enemies would be nearing. In times of war as useful as this may be it was difficult. She often say soldiers in her dreams rather they be marching, fighting or raping women. She hated them so much, soldiers, warriors and bandits. Yet there was another thing she had seen in her visions lately and it was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

A King. Jahanghir was in her dreams constantly, or in her waking memory. She remembered the way he looked, a king that was dark and beautiful with an Ebony crown and gold embelishing. He was a king that had to have been foreign to here, he had no resembling of Kou culture. He was not pale, nor short or thin. No he was Jahanghir the iron hearted Black Lion, the World’s King.

She had grown to know this man quite well, his heart his spirit and his weaknesses. She had grown so fond of him, and like many of women she had probably fallen for him a bit herself. There was just such a magnetism to the man, the way he spoke and the confidence and rawness of his words. He was kind and free spirited, his nature like the wind or the ocean or space. She had known he had to be special, that fate must have been leading him to her for something special.
She shuddered, the thought of not knowing how things would turn out was too much for the priestess. She took a moment to light a few candles for the night and before soon the Priestess attempted  to go back to sleep. At this point she could only think of her Daughter, Chieme, what would be her future? They had spent so many years at war she had began to teach her daughter of it.

She had to, if she would not teach Chieme how to run, how to scream how to hide she wouldnt be able to do anything for herself. At any time someone could be aiming for the village in malice, it was the only thing she could to give herself some safety. She dreamed and she thought of her child the love of her life, and the village and everything that would be to come.

---

WC - 483
MAGOI - 130
STAM -285

---

Backwards, it was all backwards.

Jahanghir’s story was written unscrupulous, everything he had come to know and value was wrong. There was a wall between his strength, a hole in his heart, and fragility within his ego. Jahanghir! The World’s True King. Where are your powers? They have almost perished, were was your presence? Jahanghir sweated, his eyes shut tightly, he rolled and wrestled across the grass. His hand arm found stability and he jerked himself up, his eyes opened and the sun blasted his pupil.

“Uh..” Jahanghir muttered as the sun greeted him. He got to his feet and dusted himself off.

“Its morning” Jahanghir said and then he exhaled departing with the struggles of the night. The night had been so haunting to him, a man with so much conviction. His stagnancy was his only pain. It made him anxious. Jahan was cloaked in his gear, a parting gift from his past life  ;a uniform that was a black and purple richly colored silk. Adorned with golden ornaments, and across his chest an epaulette. Jahanghir has returned from his comatose all after the world has had 2 years to prepare for him. He felt the underdog again, nothing had changed from that night. He had not grown into the man he had wanted to since the day he became a King Vessel.

Jahan shook his head and snapped out of the funk he had been trapped in since he rose. The king was not the kind of man to get lost in his thoughts. It was rather odd for him like everything else he had been experiencing since he woke in the Kou mountains.

Jahanghir travelled through the coast of the Kou Empire. He had spent most of his time in the Empire with their people. If it weren’t for the kindness of the people Jahan wouldn’t have made it to where he is now. If anything he would be dead if not less of a king. He owed his Candicy upon Ariella who aided him in the conquest, the woman who had supported him after only just having known him, If he could have convinced her heart what else would Jahanghir be capable of? The world was his to claim.

He had seen miles over miles of the Kou brush, the exotic plants and acres of cherry blossom. He had found the land to be amusing, charming and entertaining. Jahanghir took a delight to the eastern world and its rich culture and people. He had only desired they had more purple garments. Though more so than delightful he  also had to say it was distracting. Kou was an interesting place, a land that has been plagued by conflict yet a land which boldly stands against the test of war. Yet in still within the air Jahan felt something calling him elsewhere, he needed to return to his home. Though before he could do that he had to amass some money.

“Battle” it was the first and only thing that had come to Jahanghir’s mind. He was not a servant, nor an artist or some sort of other labourer. He was a king and a king would gather his resources by his own strengths. Fortunately or not for Jahan there was no shortage on battles in The Kou regions. Everyday there was warfare and bloodshed to some degree. To various degrees even, inflicted upon soldier to civilians. Jahanghir had only began to search the air from  the high ground, he came across the sight of billowing smoke and fire.

The smell of burning and blood caught his nose, Jahanghir winced. He didnt know what to think or make of the sight of war. Jahanghir hadn’t witness war. He was a virgin to the battles countries would have within their walls or else. Though he would remember vividly the sensations he felt within Gremories Dungeon. The false reality he had experienced when he placed his crown upon his head for the first time. He remembered it, a battle where he had lost his lover. It made him scowl at the sight of the smoke billowing from across the pass.

“Its a battle for people that are not my own…”Jahanghir muttered, he fought over his curiosity and his adrenaline and he continued away from the scene of the battle. He wanted to avoid high profile appearances if he could, he didn't know who could be his enemy. As he was weakened and unable to access his Djinn equip properly the man especially didnt want to be caught up in any battle that might easily fatality himself.

“Though I could probably win..” Jahanghir muttered underneath his beath. “I might need to know how this goes…”

Jahanghir stopped. He had only taken but a few steps before he came to realise the mistake in his judgement.

“I am Jahanghir Nikator, the Candidate who will be king of this world, how could I not witness this battle.” Jahanghir did not need to be affiliated with either side of the war, people were people. In his eyes this world was a world of his people, if they were fighting he had a responsibility to pay attention to it. Jahanghir clutched his crowned and sighed lazily, as if he were about to put up more effort than it was worth.

Taking but a second to adjust himself, he bent down for a sprint and then he took off towards towards the heat of the battle. Regardless of Jahanghir’s efforts he would not make it to the battle with enough time to witness anything.

The stomach of battle had been worse than what Jahanghir had been able to imagine. He arrived on the scene that was painted like a grand massacre. The infrastructure of the wooden and brick laden town that had surrounded Jahanghir was devoured by flame.

“Corpses”,  Jahan muttered. He walked through the streets of the destroyed settlement. Heat from some of the flames remained on either side of the street. Piles of Burned structure, buildings toppled smashed and burned their insides sprawled about the ground. They very buildings had been a part of the massacre. Jahanghir scowled at the smell of filth, he smelled the scent of death in the air and it turned his stomach.

It was so disgusting, a complete disgrace to Jahanghirs Presence. Yet Jahanghir took it all in. He couldn’t reject it, any of the sight the smell or the hellish nature of it. It was a part of the path he had chosen. Battle, murder and death would definitely follow the man if he were to ever unite the world. Yes the ground laying before him that he would travel, painted in the crimson iron ore of life would be his map.

Jahanghir  did not speak again for the rest of his journey through the town, he had no words able to express the grief. He could only offer them silence, he could only offer them this moment of honor for the lives they had lived.

---

WC -1652/1500 | 483+(1169)
Magoi -150/150
Stam -410/410