Conscious, Conscientious

The initial downpour in the woodlands of No Man’s Land had settled down to a much more bearable mist for the past hour, so Phillip deemed it safe to continue his travels along the slightly muddied path. He silently carried his sleeping teammate along the way.

Phillip tried to avoid looking at Pang; whenever he did, he would just become more concerned about her, and angrier with the immature Imaginer who hurt her.

It had been a couple hours or so since their lost fight against Skrili and Deon. Phillip wondered where Deon had taken his own fallen teammate in the midst of the rain. He speculated if Deon was taking care of her—or if he even cared about her at all. All he knew of Deon and Skrili was that they didn’t seem to get along that well. Phillip didn’t understand how a team with that much inner conflict could ever function.

“That was fun…” Pang muttered softly. Phillip looked down at her. She was still slumped in the same position and her eyes remained closed.

Phillip couldn’t tell if she was either talking in her sleep or half-conscious. The healing ray feature on the TeamTrack affected everyone differently, and for Pang, it apparently made her sleepy. She had never needed to use it until today, and due to the severity of her injuries, Phillip guessed she would probably be out of it for a while longer.

Pang’s golden eyes opened halfway. By now the dark ring under her left eye had developed into a full bruise. It was somewhat swollen, causing that eye to be a bit more closed than the other. She looked up at Phillip with a dazed, wavering gaze that was still somehow alert. “That Deon…he plays rough, doesn’t he?” she said.

“Mm,” Phillip agreed, though he wouldn’t have worded it so lightly.

Pang smiled, as if she had been dreaming of something special. “Yeah…he really…” she started, and her eyelids began to fall. “…Got me good…” she finished as her eyes closed and her head drooped back against Phillip’s shoulder.

Phillip continued to watch his no-longer undefeated teammate for several more seconds. She appeared to have returned to that special dream, with a little smile on her face. It unsettled Phillip: even in brutal and humiliating defeat, Pang seemed to see this merely as a game—one that she was particularly enjoying.

He was pretty sure of the reason, but he tried not to think about it.

As he observed the healing girl in his arms, he felt the opposite as her: resentful. An image of Deon pestered his mind. He could picture Deon from when they had fought: the white-haired Imaginer stared back at him with those lively, overconfident orange eyes and that annoying, bigheaded smirk. Phillip had no patience for him.

Deon…Phillip thought bitterly. Anyone who can go so far as to beat a girl senseless like that and walk away without remorse is…is just…

Is my enemy.

~

“Do you think Pang is gonna hate my guts from now on?” Deon asked Skrili over the loud buzzing of his bug-wing flying device. He was holding onto the handles and steering the contraption as it traveled forward. “Like, if we meet again, is she gonna be ticked?”

“No,” Skrili answered below him. She was hanging on tightly to Deon’s ankles. Together they floated amongst the trees, hovering above the swampy ground. The excessive rain of the day before had caused the streams to flood and muddy the pathways in the direction they were headed for as long as they could see, so utilizing Deon’s flying technique was the best way to advance.

“‘No?’ Are you sure?” questioned Deon, looking down at her. “I mean, I didn’t just win against her—I beat the living daylights out of her,” he elaborated. “While she was being a total jerk, I still feel pretty bad about it.”

“I know her,” Skrili said decidedly. “She’ll be more excited than anything, especially if you really beat her as bad as you’re saying.”

“Huh. Weird,” Deon commented. “Well, I gotta say it again: you must feel lucky to have a teammate so good he can take down someone as strong as Pang!”

Skrili rolled her eyes. “I’m shaking with joy,” she said plainly. “Just be sure to—”

“WHAAA! HORNET!!!” cried Deon, abruptly jerking to the side to avoid a large oncoming bug. “Phew! That was close,” he said. But then he noticed Skrili’s weight had vanished. His eyes widened. “Uh-oh…”

Skrili splashed into the slushy mud below.

Deon nervously lowered his bug wing device closer to where Skrili had landed. She lay on her back in the muck, holding her travel bag in both hands above the ground to keep it from getting soiled.

Skrili stared at Deon as he descended. She appeared emotionless, but he knew she was probably rather irritated.

“Want me to take you over to the stream?” Deon asked apologetically.

“Just do it, you dummy.”

~

Now Deon flew alone, wandering about the woods as he waited for Skrili to rinse off in the stream. He stayed nearby the water so he’d know how to get back to her when she was ready.

At least I didn’t drop her on solid ground…Deon thought. She’d probably get a Power Rebound and kick me into the clouds. He chuckled at the thought, painful as it sounded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Deon spotted someone sitting under a tree not too far from him on the other side of the stream, in a patch of land that was still dry. It was a young woman, probably in her early twenties. She had straight, blonde hair that fell to her mid back and stylish rectangular glasses. The woman wore a fitted dark green coat with large buttons, dark pants and matching boots. Beside her lay a couple of small travel bags.

Hey…there aren’t too many blondes in Tailpiece, Deon noted. And I have a bit of time on my hands…

He swerved the bug wings to turn in the woman’s direction. After crossing over the stream, Deon landed a good distance away from her to avoid freaking her out with his strange contraption. After imagining away the bug wings, he made his way over.

Now with a closer view, Deon noticed that the girl had a light, pretty face and to his surprise, pink eyes—but not in a sense that she was sick—her irises were a soft shade of pink.

“Hello,” she greeted. “Can I help you with something?”

“Nah, I’m just strolling around…” Deon told her coolly. “I hope you’re not all alone out here.”

“Oh no, I’m just waiting for my teammate,” the woman explained.

So that means she has a friend, too, Deon thought to himself. Deon, you may have hit the jackpot. “Oh, that’s good,” he told her in the same cool tone. “You know, I have to say: I’ve never seen anyone with pink eyes like yours before. It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” the girl said with a small smile. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with orange eyes.”

“’Runs in the family,” Deon said with a shrug. “So you must be a consciousness fighter, right?”

“Yep, I’m a—”

“WHO’S THIS LITTLE PUNK?!?!?!” a deep voice bellowed from above. All of the sudden, a man dropped seemingly out of nowhere, landing directly in front of Deon. He was a towering guy with short, spiky blonde hair, a large and currently angry face, and toned muscles, which were visible even through his red hoody and jeans.

“We were just talking,” the woman explained composedly. She casually glanced up into the tree. “How long were you up there, hun?”

“Long enough to see this pipsqueak hitting on you!” the man spat, getting even closer to Deon. “Listen here, buddy.” He placed a thick finger on Deon’s chest. “You have no right to be hitting on my wife!”

“W—wife?!” Deon repeated. Then he laughed. “Oops, my bad. I had no idea she was married. And I didn’t think chicks went for guys who stalk them up in trees. That was pretty weird.” He laughed again, collectedly removing the man’s finger from his chest.

“Did you just mock me, kid???” The man exclaimed, veins popping out from his head. “I can snap you in half if I want to!”

Deon chuckled. “I doubt it. But you can go ahead and try.” This guy has no idea what he’s getting himself into, he told himself.

“Benny, don’t get too worked up over this,” the man’s wife uttered tranquilly behind him, wiping her glasses on her jacket. “We have more important things to worry about.”

“Yeah, Big Benny, you don’t wanna hurt yourself,” Deon added with a taunting smirk.

“Stay out of this, Darla,” Benny told her. “I need to teach this punk not to mess with my lady.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” Darla sighed, putting her glasses back on.

Benny swung his huge fist at Deon, but he easily hopped backwards to dodge it.

Deon crossed his arms. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?” he asked.

“Oh, so you want me to bring out the big guns, huh?” warned Benny.

“If you’re gonna do that, try not to kill him,” Darla instructed.

“No promises,” came Benny’s response. He raised his fist again, even though Deon was now out of his reach. But as he did, another arm twice as large and muscular appeared beside him, mirroring the position of his actual arm. “Eat this!” Benny exclaimed, and he punched forward his fist. As he did, the giant arm punched and shot forward at Deon like an arrow. Before Deon could react, it nailed him in the stomach and sent him backwards several paces before he crashed onto the ground.

Deon sat up immediately after the attack, his stomach aching. He’s an Imaginer! he realized. No sweat; that’s my specialty. He stood up confidently. “That’s a cute little technique,” Deon analyzed. “But it’s not good enough to—”

Benny brought back his arm again, this time imagining the giant arms on both sides of him. He punched and shot the first fist, and immediately launched the other one behind it. Deon cautiously pounced into a fighting position. He ducked under the first fist as it flew above him, and then imagined a stone wall into existence in front of himself. The second fist slammed into it, but didn’t break through. Deon imagined the wall away.

“As I was saying, it’s not enough to take me down,” Deon finished. “You’re not just dealing with an everyday Imaginer, you know.”

“That’s my line,” Benny said with a chuckle. “That was just a little taste of my Fist Flinger attack. Here comes the real—”

“‘Fist Flinger?’ Really?” Deon repeated, laughing.

“See, Benny? I told you it was a stupid name,” Darla chimed in behind Benny.

“WHO’S SIDE ARE YOU ON?!?!” Benny steamed. “That’s it: I was gonna hold back, but now I’ll show you how a real professional does it!” After that, several more Fist Flingers faded into existence around him. Deon was about to make another sarcastic remark, but then the fists kept appearing. Soon enough, there were more giant, jacked arms than he could count. They filled up all the space beside and above Benny. There must have been hundreds of them, all aimed at Deon.

Deon’s eyes widened. Oh…crap…that has to be the most imagined things I’ve ever seen someone put into one attack…this guy really is a true pro! he thought nervously. Well, now I’m in trouble…

“Not so cocky now, are we?” Benny taunted.

Deon frantically imagined another concrete wall in front of him, but this one was taller, wider, and had a rounded shape so it could serve as a bunker to hide behind.

Benny laughed and began a rapid-fire of his Fist Flingers. Deon ducked behind the bunker, but imagined a small eyehole in it so he could peak through and look for an opening in Benny’s stance. The fists pounded against the bunker, disappearing as they made contact. He noticed that every time a fist was shot, another would appear in its place, ready for launch.

Dangit…it’s like the attack I used on Pang, Deon observed. And there’s no opening in sight!

Suddenly, a fist crashed into the bunker right beside Deon’s eyehole, and a large crack formed along the concrete.

“You won’t be able to hide behind that thing forever!” Benny called.

He’s right, Deon told himself. Soon enough, the bunker would break apart, and Deon would get bombarded with punches before he’d get the chance to put another one in place. In that case…Deon focused through the eyehole again and began to imagine his large shoe attacks above the bunker. After making about fifty of them, Deon began to shoot them at Benny.

Fake fists and feet flew everywhere. Some collided into each other and disappeared, and while very few of Deon’s attacks made their way to their target, Benny easily sidestepped them. Meanwhile, Deon’s bunker was still getting pounded.

Deon focused hard, trying to imagine more shoes to replenish those he was shooting. But something was wrong: he wasn’t moving fast enough. He didn’t have the same focus as he did when finishing off Pang.

Why can’t I attack like I did yesterday?! Deon wondered hopelessly. Where did all that new strength go?

Meanwhile, Darla still sat against the tree, watching the flurry of fists and kicks with little interest. Suddenly, one of Deon’s shoe attacks zipped at her face. Unfazed, she tilted her head to the side and the foot bashed into the tree behind her.

Darla looked at the foot as it faded away. “That would have made things interesting,” she said to herself with a smile. Darla then casually stood up and walked towards the stream as more shoes occasionally zoomed right past her. Soon she was to the side of the fight, out of range of the attacks. Darla yawned, and then stood beside the stream and watched the fight from a distance.

“Excuse me,” someone said quietly. Darla turned to see a teenage girl with purple eyes and damp dark blue hair standing beside her. “Have you seen a guy with white hair, wearing a black tunic?” Skrili asked Darla.

Darla pointed to the fight in front of them. “Is that him?” she asked.

Alarmed, Skrili looked to the battle. Two overly determined men were launching fist attacks at each other and shouting silly insults, and one of them was Deon. Skrili slapped her hand against her face in humiliation. “He’s such an idiot…” she mumbled despondently to herself. “I’m sorry…that’s my blockheaded teammate. What did he do to you guys?”

“Nothing,” Darla said. “Only…I don’t think my husband was too thrilled to find him trying to hit on me.”

“I’m sorry…” Skrili repeated.

Darla laughed. “No, it’s okay!” She reassured. “My husband’s the one being a blockhead. He thinks he’s teaching your teammate ‘not to mess with his lady.’” She laughed again. “But I hope this ends soon; we have some serious practicing to do.”

“Big fight?” Skrili guessed.

“Yep! Well—a few, actually,” Darla explained. “We’re registered for the big Conscious Competition coming up next month in Fantasy Country. You know, the national one. It’ll be the first Conscious Competition for us since the one before our wedding last month.”

“Oh, so you guys are certified?” said Skrili.

“Mm-hmm!” Darla confirmed. “And you?”

“No, we’re actually on our way to Fantasy Country to get my teammate registered right now,” Skrili told her.

“Oh, fun,” Darla said sarcastically. “I remember how long we had to wait in line…make sure you get there early.” She then took notice of something going on in the fight. “Oh—okay, honey! I think you won! You can stop now!” she called to her husband.

Benny stood panting and sweating. He imagined away all the floating arms that remained. Across from him, Deon was completely covered under a shell of rock, which he had imagined around himself as a last effort to hide from the relentless punches. Deon imagined away the shell and poked his head up from the ground to see if it was really over.

“Consider this a warning, you little twerp,” Benny told Deon. “Come on, babe, let’s get out of here.”

“Alright,” Darla said. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Skrili. “It was nice to meet you. I’m Darla, by the way. Power Rebound.”

Skrili’s eyes widened. “I’m Skrili. I’m a Power Rebound, too,” she said. “I’ve never met another Power Rebound before.”

“Me either—there’s not many of us out there,” Darla said with a smile. She began to walk over to the tree where her and Benny’s bags rested. “Well, good luck with your registration! Maybe we’ll see each other at a tournament sometime.”

“I hope so,” Skrili told her with a small smile. But then she noticed Deon walking over, and her smile was immediately gone.

“Man, that guy was tougher than I thought,” Deon told Skrili as he joined her. “I couldn’t even put a single hit on him.”

Skrili glared at him.

“What?” Deon wondered.

Wordlessly, she turned to continue their travels along the stream.

“What, Skrili?” Deon repeated, following her. “What?”

~

“Good grief, Phillip!” Pang exclaimed.

Phillip knew it was coming—now that she was alert, she had realized Skrili’s TeamTrack was gone.

“You couldn’t have told me I have this hideous black eye?” Pang finished as she walked over to Phillip and stood above him with her hands on her hips.

Phillip sat against a tree trunk, taken off-guard. He had been waiting for Pang to return from washing up in a nearby stream. She now looked and sounded livelier than she had been since the day before—Phillip figured the cold water probably helped wake her out of her groggy state. Even still, her black eye and the bandages she had placed on her remaining cuts immediately reminded him of her injuries.

But—she wasn’t mad about the TeamTrack? Or their whole plan being foiled? Just the black eye?

“Sorry,” Phillip decided to utter quietly.

Pang flipped her still-wet hair. “Now, be honest: how stupid does this make me look?”

“It doesn’t,” Phillip told her plainly. He was being truthful: Pang’s black eye was very noticeable, but the swelling from yesterday had already gone down and either way, it didn’t take away from her features. “You…you look nice,” he added awkwardly, growing quieter towards the end of the statement.

Pang stared back at him in disbelief. She shook her head and smiled. “Well, at least now I know you keep me around for more than just my good looks,” she joked. She began to look over her bandages and check on their stability, letting out a single laugh.

“You should’ve seen it, Phillip,” she said. “After I easily knocked Deon over, he got really mad. Then he stood right up, and…his eyes…they were glowing.”

Phillip looked at Pang with increased interest.

She glanced at him for a moment to see his reaction, and then returned her eyes to her bandages. “I’m not kidding, I swear,” she continued. “His eyes were literally glowing—like, they actually got brighter. It was bizarre…the scariest thing…” She tugged a bandage off her arm and repositioned it. “And he looked so angry at me…it freaked me out. You should’ve seen him attack me, too; he was a monster.” She laughed briefly. “He was brutal. I seriously thought he was trying to kill me.”

Phillip shook his head in disgust, but Pang didn’t notice.

“I’m telling you, Phillip, that Deon guy is something else,” said Pang. “I don’t know why he sticks around with Skrili—he could really branch out.”

“Whatever,” Phillip uttered.

Pang immediately looked up from her bandages and gazed at Phillip with surprise: she clearly hadn’t expected such a negative remark from him. “Was that emotion I heard? From you?” she questioned, astonished.

Phillip said nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Pang asked him as her eyes began to smile. “Are you upset Deon beat you, too? Or…are you jealous?” Now her eyes smiled even more.

“No.”

“Then what is it?” Pang insisted, highly amused.

“It’s…just…” Phillip paused as he felt himself beginning to blush. “Deon was too violent to you. He could have ended it without hurting you so much.” He looked away, embarrassed and afraid to see Pang’s expression.

But the silence lasted too long for him to bear, and soon Phillip cautiously looked back at Pang. Her mouth had now joined her eyes with a big smile as she now appeared even more amused.

“Aw, that’s just precious!” Pang exclaimed. She walked closer to Phillip and sat down beside him.

“…What?” Phillip muttered defensively.

“You’re being protective of me,” Pang expounded, nudging his shoulder. “That’s just too cute. You’re adorable.” She laughed spiritedly. “But I’m okay, Phyllis. Don’t you cry one little tear for me. I know how to take care of myself, alright?”

Phillip sighed and nodded. He knew she was right. Pang was small, and—if you didn’t make eye contact with her—unintimidating, but the fact of the matter was that she was tough and relentless to the core. Phillip couldn’t think of a single person more capable to handle the life of a consciousness fighter than her. In fact, she certainly had her own history of fighting too intensely, so why would she see Deon’s actions as wrong?

And yet, Phillip still couldn’t help it: Pang was his teammate, and Deon had hurt her unnecessarily. He wasn’t about to just let that slide.

“Speaking of tears, remember that one Persuader we fought a while ago?” Pang recalled. “He wasn’t very persuasive at all if you ask me, remember him? What a loser…I don’t understand how so many crappy consciousness types think they can be fighters, I really don’t…”

Phillip sat silently and listened as Pang began one of her many one-sided conversations with him.

But…something was still off…

“What do we do now?” he asked cautiously.

Pang stopped with a surprised look. Phillip had never interjected when she got going on one of her fighting stories. “Hm?” she asked.

“Well…we don’t have Skrili’s TeamTrack…we can’t enter a Conscious Competition anymore…” continued Phillip.

A smile slowly morphed on Pang’s face. “Trust me, that won’t be an issue.”