Permanence by Rhekarid  | TEAM: Solo Hero |  | SECTOR: Uptown |  | KIT CLASS: Olympian |
|  |  |  Hall Of Fame! |  Survival - 8 wins! |  Brutal - 3 fatalaties! |
| Fight Record
League Wins: 8
League Losses: 3
Out Of League Wins: 0
Out of League Losses: 0
Total Wins: 8
Total Losses: 3
Night Terror - Loss 0-0
The Bling-Bling Skeleton - Win 0-0
Dave Stepl - Win 0-0
R.H. Sullivan - Loss 0-0
The Pyromancer - Win 0-0
Ping - Win 0-0
Never Named - Win 0-0
TCWAHWFAM - Win 0-0
Beatrice Guasconti - Loss 0-0
Carnassial - Win 20-2
Blue Monday - Win 13-9
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 | The universe is impossibly vast, even when you keep to just one dimension. Every possible variety of life has existed and will exist again. Even immortals come and go, dying off in one way or another, but a few endured. From the beginning was a race of the true everlasting, born as they were from the ether and never aging, never dying, never changing. And they, like many of the earliest beings, succumbed to the greatest wrath of immortality: boredom. A thousand years of life in a lonely, perpetual existence is a harsh burden to bear. A million years will drop most individuals into the throes of total madness. Insane or no, their lives became nothing more than constant attempts to pass the time, to come up with something new that hadn't been done for years already. Every profession that other races have ever conjured up came and went, as well as a billion others that may never be reinvented. As time passed, the desperate search for entertainment finally reached an inevitable point. War offered entirely new ways to pass the time, dreaming up strategies and weapons, fighting each other ceaselessly for ever more millions of years. Without the threat of death to concern them, monstrous devices and technology were built, until every individual possessed enough power to destroy their own world. They didn't care. The conflicts went on until the constantly improving weaponry tore a rift in space, and the immortals got their first glimpses of other places, times, and races. Every last one of them entered the rifts without hesitation, never having known fear, seeing only the possibility of a new form of entertainment. The obsession for something different was their only thought. And of course, when realities are ripped and meddled with, Khazan is bound to be reached one way or another... | Personality: Think you've been bored in your short life? You don't know the meaning of the word! Have you ever literally watched grass grow? How about planting it and then watching it for its entire lifespan? I have. We all went through the phase of wanting to die, wondering what curse had befallen us that denied the final, ultimate way to pass time. As time passed that faded, we went nuts, recovered, maybe slid back and forth a few times until that got old too. I think war was one of the best things we had going, but maybe that was a phase we'd already gone through in earlier times. Who can be expected to remember everything that happened to them over billions of years? I'm tired of living, we all are. I'm tired of everything I can think of...at least, I was. I've never been here before, and the newness of it all is delicious. I'm doing everything here. There was still a couple moves I wanted to try again better before we got past the war era, ten thousand or so. Enough for a few years. But in this place, even those things will seem...different, like they were the first time. |
 | | Strength: | Superior The pinnacle of human strength.
Can bench press 1000 pounds. | Agility: | Superior This fighter can dodge, weave and move
with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. | | Body: | Supreme Extremely tough.
This fighter is built to last. | Mind: | Supreme Brilliant to the point of supra-genius.
Can easily think many many moves ahead. |
 | One with forever |
The woman had been backed into an alley, far from where anyone could, or wanted, to hear. A large pistol was pressed into her gut and a heavy, gloved hand muffled her voice. A simple robbery, so common in Khazan as to almost be considered a reputable job. The criminal was crazed with desperation, but before a shot was fired he followed the victims eyes to a strange man suddenly watching them. "What the Hell are you looking at!? This ain't your business! Get out of here or you're next!" He waved the gun menacingly, but got no fearful response whatsoever. The stranger took a step forward and raised an eyebrow. "Are your bullets made of anything unusual? Shoot me. I want to see if it feels different." "You're nuts, man! Beat it!" Another step was taken, and the gun was redirected at the newcomer, the woman still held in place, paralyzed with fear. "This place is still in a law enforcement phase, right? So the current game is to escape them? I'll shout if you don't fire." With the third step the gun went off and the man was shot straight between the eyes, the force knocking him on his back. A scream was pressed back down the woman's throat. "That's what the psycho gets!" The assailant started to turn back to his victim when the man suddenly rose, unharmed despite the blood visible before as if he were an entirely new person. "Hmm, no. It's the same. Anything else?" The pistol wavered, and then was raised for another shot when the stranger spoke again. "No, this is old now." His arm flicked almost imperceptibly, and the gun exploded into a cloud of metallic dust. "Let me try something." The last thing the woman heard as she ran from the alley was the brief, soft sound of something else being reduced to power with a touch.
 | I've tried it all |
When wars last longer than the lifespan of civilizations, fighting isn't a learned skill. It's an observed habit, like doing something because you saw your parents do it. The bored immortals had thrown the same punch in a thousand ways, and a thousand variations of each of those ways. There weren't styles anymore. It had been done, mastered, forgotten. It isn't trained...why bother? When you've seen every attack the body is capable of hundreds of times, fighting is just another thing you know how to do alongside breathing.
 | Been doing this a long time... |
If you practice kicking against a brick wall over and over again for an eon, you start to learn some things. What angle, which muscles, how hard, what timing...which precise atoms to strike in what way. Eventually you learn to turn that wall to rubble with a kick outwardly no stronger than the first. If you practice *everything* for an eon, you learn some of the same things. How to spot particular holes in atomic structure so that a wet piece of cardboard can cut through steel. How to plot the route of a bullet by the angle of the barrel and from every nuance spanning humidity to the wielder's pulse, and then stop that bullet with a breath. If it can be done, the Permanents have done it before...and if it can't be done, they've done it even more.
 | Here we go again, again... |
Permanence sighed and lazily dodged the punch, eyes scraping over his assailant. The ligaments in his right elbow were causing him pain, judging by the weight of the punch...there was no threat here. A single hair on the immortal's head shifted under the wind from behind, and his thoughts reacted so fast he was almost left behind. Only seventeen thousand, eight hundred and fourteen things that could be. The confidence in the slow attacker's face narrowed it down to only a few hundred, and another split-second later it was obvious. Sniper on the rooftop, taking aim while Permanence was distracted. A common, infantile plan even among children. Permanence tapped his heel against the sidewalk, only in the third second of his dodge, using the sound to determine where the concrete's atomic structure was weakest and strongest. Five point one-seven-eight-nine-eight....the fraction went on for a few more hundred decimals in his head. Fourth second. Another wisp of air meant the gunman's finger was starting to pull the trigger. Without looking down, Permanence kicked down into the sidewalk, sending a fragment spinning up into the air behind him. The bullet struck it and went off course by a tiny portion of an inch, streaking past his head and striking the knee of the man in front of him. Five seconds. A free hand came up and flicked the shattered cement, sending one shard careening hundreds of feet into the difference. The groan of pain in the distance signified a direct hit, and both men hit the ground almost simultaneously. Looking down disdainfully at his writhing attacker, Permanence jabbed at him with his toe. "Next time, try something more original." He sighed again, and slowly walked away into the shadows.
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