Beyond the Rapids

"Atlas, my son, there is always time for words."

As Atlas' burning fist swung mightily toward the eldest of the patriarchs, the old man's eyes finally opened. Nazariy watched as the blow flew toward him, and even as the impact met him with force indescribable, he did not budge so much as an inch. He allowed himself a quiet laugh, and took in a sharp breath as a faint crackle filled the air. Slowly, but surely, sparks began to arc over his armor, over his very flesh itself.

"You know, Atlas, it is quite improper in the highlands to demand a woman's hand without knowing the history of her clan. But in wartimes, it is understandable that you would not be made privy to such knowledge. If you will allow me, I will rectify the issue."

With one step, Nazariy made clear the strength he carried in even his old bones. It was not the force of will that his eldest niece had carried in life, nor the grandiosity of influence that the Hetman carried with her in times of crisis. It was a power that manifested in the most immediate of ways -- through strength of body, and through mastery of the world. The ground under his foot trembled and cracked, and as his arm drew back, the electricity which coated his body intensified, arcing through his muscles and across his fingers as naturally as water through a stream. All at once, his fist flew forward, at a speed which mundane eyes might never hope to comprehend. He knew his body would not tolerate this stress without requiring some degree of bedrest, but he would allow it for this one instance.

At the moment of impact, it was as though lightning struck the earth. The shockwave not only matched that which Atlas had created, but superseded it by several orders of magnitude. What followed was deafening silence; it seemed the world itself did not wish to interrupt the old man.

"I will ask you pay attention. Should you falter, there will be no chance that you could ever meet her expectations."

There came a point where the mind failed to actively think, instead relying upon basic instincts to keep it's body alive. Such events usually happened in times of great strife or stress. Atlas for all his genius mind could sparsely comprehend physically the movements of the Elder. It exceed such a force that any hope of dodging was remove from his mind, instead he had to merely go with the strike, His entire body relaxing as it turned at the point of impact, as his head turned away from the blow. In but an instant he would find his body ragged doll through the air, using his superior agility to adjust for optimal landing.

Even with such precautions he felt an ache all over his body, as his mouth leaked blood from one internal wound or another. The power this man possessed would far exceed his own at this current state. His eyes squinting slightly as he heard the words of the elder, slowly getting to his feet steadying his body. The silence which invaded the world causing him to draw in a deep breath.

"You have my attention."

The man's voice was straight, unwavering as he spoke. He straightened his back as he closed his hands into fists, he would need to touch deep into his abilities and powers if he hoped to win let alone survive such a bout. But that was fine, after all life was always a battle for him. TO think this would be any less straining, if he would not need to sacrifice his wellbeing to do so was foolhardy. It was why only a bloodied smile could come to his face.

"I did not wish to have to resort to such extremes. But if I may say.. something."

He'd spread his feet apart, as he began delve deep into the recess of his hardened soul. The energy which flowed throughout his body, picking up speed and intensity. A soft swelling of power was seen around Atlas, as the very air it's self seem to become wavy around him. A white mist escaping his mouth as he opened it to speak, including from his noses. The skin across his body drawing tight against his own frame. Veins protruding from his neck, and across his skin, as his muscles became more pronounced.

"My life has always been a battle, patriarch. I have come to find out that war, true combat, tests a man unlike any measure. That to wager one's life, honor, and beliefs on a cause lays bare the soul of a man. And to the greater the challenge, the greater the character of a man. And to win, or lose with sufficient grace, is truly amazing. I have come, to wager everything."

At this time he'd take a step forward slowly, before disappearing with an explosion of heat and force. As the world around them would explode into a cascade of shockwaves as he approached the man, moving at such a speed that only the two of them hoped to perceive. As he threw a hand towards the face of the man, it would never find it's mark, instead he would drop low to sweep their legs. The mere act of doing so would create a small tornado in the surrounding area, hopefully allowing Atlas to quickly follow up with a downward punch in the man\'s midsection to crash him into the earth.

Every movement sent pain through the body of Atlas, as muscles where torn and ripped apart. Even now he could feel muscles separating from bone, and his femur cracking as his enhanced body was brought to it's maximum- and beyond. He would not have long, especially if he went any higher in the release gates.

Nazariy was not one to fight in any sort of agile or evasive way. Not, of course, by merit of his being slow in body. It was simply not in his nature to fight in a manner that he considered, put plainly, rude, at least when faced with an honorable bout such as this. War was a whole other matter. So it was that, as Atlas' blows struck him, first in the legs and then to his center, Nazariy did not evade as well as one could typically expect. Rather, he made two reactions in the blink of an eye.

"You always were a very bold one. It is no small part of why we have always honored you so."

First, of course, he loosened his muscles and accepted the injuries that were, with absolute certainty, inflicted upon him. Cracked bones, a few lesions here and there. Things which would take time to heal, but were not the end of the world. His second response, however, was to let free the lightning which coursed over his body, all of it coursing into Atlas' fist as it made impact. Old Nazariy was perfectly content to take the blow at its fullest and be carried to the ground, for that simply meant all the more time in contact with the young man.

As he struck the Earth with a mighty crash, Nazariy took a quiet moment or two to collect himself, and of course, to allow Atlas a bit of time to breathe as well. After he had, he spoke quietly, a bit of raspiness in his voice given the injuries he'd just received.

"The Isaenko have lived in these highlands for thousands of years. These mountains are our home, and their stories are our stories. You are a well read young man, Atlas. Tell me, have you heard tale of the Narts? I will not inundate you with the countless details of their exploits, but I will simply reiterate that it was they, those first guardians of the highlands, who have led to us."

The earth seemed quiet once more, as the skies grew dark and the air grew heavy. Nazariy's gaze moved past Atlas now, to the heavens above, watching as the clouds coalesced in a manner which was most assuredly not natural.

"Among all Narts, there was one who reigned supreme. It was from his bloodline that leaders were born."

Those who have lived through the mightiest of storms know that, in those precious few moments before lightning flies toward Earth, the world feels still as could be, the pressure of nature's wrath overriding all other phenomena for a fraction of a second. Such was the state of the world as Nazariy spoke once more.

"Batraz, the King of Storms."

Down toward Atlas, and down toward Nazariy, crashed the sky's fury.

The world went numb around Atlas, before exploding into a cascade of red hot pain. The moment his first made contact with the elder, the consequences of his actions where known. Plasma pulsing through his body, burning marks into his skin which would not easily fade. Arcs of lightning seared skin now ran through his arm, the smell of sizzling flesh almost overpowering any other scent in the area. But it would be foolhardy to think this would stop the injuried warrior, for the moment he was allowed to capture his breath he did so quickly.

As he listened to the story of the patriarch he took in a sharp breath, eyes focused intently on him. Every now and again his vision would blur, as the overwhelming sensation of pain coursed through his body. Wounds which would not easily heal, which may never heal, had seared themselves onto his skin. Perhaps there was a possibility of death here, and if it was so be it. He had not come here to merely speak soft words, but to prove his indomitable will upon this earth.

As the world began to shift, the small trickling of energy gathering, he knew something was to come. He had a choice, to attempt to dodge or mitigate such damage. Or throw caution to the win, to make another gamble upon his life. To wager it once more, without pause, and do what is needed. As the world exploded into a cataclysm of lightning and destroyed Earth in an area any other man would be vaporized in, Atlas emerged forward charging.

Encased in a stone, and earth, armor which had been practically ripped from the earth beneath him. The stalwart, unshakable mind, of Atlas was only matched by his defense when the time came for it. He had not defended an impossible position, against a superior enemy, for nothing. As the solid earthen armor was scorched and broken off of body, it revealed a heavily damaged Atlas under. Broken bones, torn muscles, and scorched skin seemed to be excess on the man, but that didn't stop his quickly movements towards The Elder. Instead he stopped in front of him, bloodshot eyes staring upon him with the utmost conviction.

"A great lineage, for a great family."

His smooth tenor came out, despite his injuries. As if by sheer force of will he kept his body and voice together.

"It is far different from my own." He'd comment as he closed his hand towards his side, as an unfamiliar pressure began to build around the area. Up to now Atlas he relied upon his natural affinities, Earth and Fire being something of his signature. But he held a third domain, rarely used and invoked. The Domain of Gravity it's self, to pull which came one object to another. A self-destructive technique, one which promised a hit of multiple magnitudes at the cost of his health. Sparks seemed to emit from his mechanical blue eye, blood running like tears down his face. His once well kept hair now matted with blood and dirt, almost harkening back to his first days among the tribe.

"I am the bastard son, a man without father and a mother whom gave me the harshest education." Atlas felt the world begin to crack under his feet, tucking his hand towards his side. Flames igniting once more around his body, burning away the earth and whatever clothing he once wore. Broken fingers forcing themselves into a closed fist with a singular purpose, for he was reaching his end. "I am a rebel turned loyalist. I believed so strongly in the idea of fate.. of destiny, that I could justify all my atrocities." The man's voice shook, his knees buckling as he drew the last of his power. Before steadying himself through gritted teeth. His eyes locking once more with The Elder.

"I am the only master of my destiny, Nazariy. I have no great lineage, or ancestor. So I have but one choice; to become The Batraz of this life."

Every step he had taken in life had unknowningly carved out a legend for himself. A bastard, in name and action, turned into something more. A hero and villain, whom had embraced himself. That was what separated him from others. With that said he'd press forward sending his fist forward. The flames which condensed around the singularity around him arm would be aimed squarely for Nazariy face. Once it struck the cascading boom which resounded through the area would shatter the what was left of the ground around them. Atlas head shooting back as his body finally reached the limit of it's power, muscles snapping under their own tension and bones shattering under the pressure. A squirt of blood escaping from his mouth, as he began to fall backwards. His vision blurred and marred with blood, turning the world hazy.

"Katya.."

It never failed to astound old Nazariy, how unspeakably strong this young man's will was. Lesser men might have faltered long before this moment; worthy men might still have fallen in the face of it. But faced with the light of heaven, Atlas had not strayed from his course. Was this truly that same stray pup that he had known those years ago? It brought a faint smile to the old man's face, simply knowing that a son of the highlands had grown so strong. Not in steel, but in soul. Not in body, but in mind. As Atlas charged forward, Nazariy made no attempt to stop him. He was a man who could sense killing intent, and this did not carry it.

As the young man spoke, Nazariy listened. Listened to his every word with the fullest attention he could offer, for to miss even a moment would dishonor him in ways from which he might never recover. He had known, always, that Atlas came from a life of hardship. Much of what he heard now only confirmed what he had always suspected. If he sought to defy fate now, Nazariy had no doubt as to the outcome.

"It is said that Batraz, in his final days, fought against God Himself for the sake of his family. You, I think, are a worthy heir."

In the blink of an eye, the patriarch's blades were drawn. For all of his years, it was in that moment as if he were a young man once more. Like a flash of lightning did each blade arc toward Atlas, the wielder alredy knowing fully what the outcome would be. He would not deny Atlas this final blow, nor shy away from that which the young man threw toward him. All was in God's hands now. Though each stroke of his swords found purchase in young young man's flesh, he could not have hoped to match the strike which barreled toward him in that moment.

As Nazariy fell backward, unable to stand any longer, he bore no malice in his heart. There was, instead, only a smile on his face. Would his brother and sister have smiled upon this as well? Would they look proudly on this man who was to marry their daughter? As he finally struck the earth, his muddled vision able only to see the skies above, he thought for the briefest of moments that he felt his brother's gaze upon him, upon Atlas. That steeled, watchful eye which had led them to greatness, which had been taken from them far too soon. It was silent as the dead of the night in this place now, but Nazariy could hear in the distance his niece's footsteps, hurried and yet still so sure. He knew, already, where she would go when she arrived, to that loyal young man who would give everything only to show that he loved her.

He knew he would not be conscious much longer, knew he would not wake for many days afterward. But Nazariy could hear dear Katya rushing to Atlas. Could hear her tending to him, asking once, twice over why he had been so brash. He closed his eyes, content with this now. And, as he faded into that deep sleep, he felt his chest tighten, if only briefly. Happiness he had not felt in a great many years filled his whole being.

He knew, surely, that Anatoly and Sonia were smiling on their daughter.

The spray of crimson which erupted from his skin as he fell backwards coated the snow, his body slowly descending towards the snow before finally landing with a soft crunch. Entirely exhausted from the previous bout, his body lay steaming against the snow which was now steadily being soaked with his blood. His vision fading in and out with each passing second, extended into what felt like eternity. Atlas had been to death's door more than once, the cold embrace of death reaching out to him seeking to claim his soul tonight. Pushed to the brink by his own actions, all in the pursuit of love. Something in the past such a man would've never been capable of.

His head rolled to the side as he saw a figure approaching him in the haze, a softness cradling his broken and beat body. A familiar presence of comfort and worth which took over his being causing a rare smile upon his face. His eyes fluttered open softly revealing blood shot irises, his blue artificial eye sparking ever so much. "Katya.." The name escaped his lips in the softest fashion, his body screaming in agony as he raised a single arm. Across the arm ran bruises and large bumps, internally broken and fractured in many places, as through sheer force of will he placed a hand against her cheek.

"How you.. where right.. all along, my love."

The gentle words left his lips in the most pained and slow fashion, his vision fading in and out as he pushed away the hand of death just a bit longer. Perhaps he had pushed himself too far, had done too much, or maybe it was simply a lifetime of damage which had built up finally making it's way shown. But whatever his fate lay ahead, he raged against it once more to spend this time with her. A pained smile upon his features.

"I.. may have.. gone too far, this.." The words where cut short as he coughed, blood spilling from his mouth slightly. "I.. hope you.. do not think, ill of me.."