Dang Convergence Vol. 1

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT GARBAGE IN, GARBAGE OUT

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

GARBAGE IN, GARBAGE OUT

Dang had ordered them to rest and heal their bodies, but Wombat had other plans. According to him, his body had rested enough; it was only a matter of time before they'd have to re-fight Caden and Kai, and he never wanted to be that outclassed by an opponent ever again.

So he chose training.

Now, he was performing stretches to limber out his body while Dante stood over him, arms folded.

"From the sound of it, it wasn't your fault," Dante said. Wombat had had trouble convincing him to help with training but had ultimately succeeded, "You were ambushed. They fought you after you'd already battled Calta and the murderbots, and that new Prototype murderbot you told us about."

"Thanks for the consolation, but I'd like to be strong enough that those things won't matter," Wombat responded, "I want to be strong enough that, no matter what I'm coming from, the other guy's always going to be at a disadvantage." He pulled his knee up and held it against his chest for a few seconds before getting into a lunge to stretch out his thighs. The injuries on his body had mostly faded, and only a couple of them hurt when he poked them or when he made excess movements...like he was currently doing.

They were currently standing in the middle of the training field, where things looked much more different during the nighttime.

For starters, Daedalus had installed a bunch of lights around the field, making it so that visibility wasn't an issue at all. The star-strewn night sky stretched overhead, adding a sense of calm to the atmosphere and a steady, cool wind blew across the field, bringing with it, serenity. It would've been one of those perfect nights, but considering the fact that Anna was in a hospital bed, and the twins had been kidnapped, tonight was all but.

It wouldn't even be that crazy to call it one of the worse nights he's had.

"I don't even know why we're here right now. You should be resting. Healing." Dante said.

"I'm of no use to anyone resting and healing. I can't afford to sit around and do nothing while people's lives might be in danger because of me. Because I wasn't strong enough."

"Hey! No. You don't get to put that on yourself, it'll ruin you if you do," Dante scolded, "That kind of weight tends to break people apart trust me. I've seen survivor's guilt take down a lot of good people, and the worst part is that you never know it's there until it's too late."

Wombat closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dante was right. Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself, or guilty. "I just...I'm trying to get stronger. All the time. But it's never enough, none of it. Each time I figure something out, I'm just left realizing how much more I haven't figured out." He opened his palm and a flame sparked to life in it, "I want to feel stronger...but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm always going to be fighting people more powerful than I am. And that's only going to get more and more true from here on out."

He looked at Dante.

"I'm not like you," he continued, "You're leagues above me. Your fire's way stronger and you have more control over it. I look at you, and I see all the things that I'm not." He switched his lunge to his other leg, wincing slightly.

"All of those are true, but you forget that I've been doing this for a whole lot longer than you have, and your firepower's still pretty impressive for your level."

"Yeah...if only it could do more than be impressive..." Wombat muttered as the flame in his palm danced around. Dante laughed and Wombat balled his fist, snuffing out the flame. He stood and squared his shoulders.

"So, how are we doing this?" Wombat asked Dante, "Sparring match? Fire tag? Or are we playing duck, duck, dragon? If we are, you should know that I still don't understand the rules, but I'm ready to make it work."

"You know," Dante started, "fighting all the time is good for combat training and developing good battle senses but if 'stronger' is what you're aiming for, then I wouldn't recommend it."

"How else would you propose I get stronger?" Wombat said defensively, "I feel my strongest in battle, that's why I need to recreate those moments. Maybe if I get used to that feeling, it'll be easier for me to kick into a higher gear when I need to."

"That makes sense, sure, but it won't work now. You know, at least subconsciously, that I'm not going to kill you no matter what, so your survival instincts won't kick in. As compared to fighting an opponent who genuinely wants to end your life."

"Well, at least it's something to do. I'm not sure how else to train."

"You could leave training and try resting properly?"

"Not happening."

Dante sighed, "Fighting's not your issue. You're a great fighter and you use your flames well," he stepped towards Wombat and poked his chest, "Your problem is here."

Wombat glanced down at the finger shoved into his chest, "My heart?"

"Not literally," Dante laughed, "Answer this, why do you really want to get stronger? What's your reason for fighting?"

Wombat thought for a moment, "I guess, to protect my friends and the lives of the innocent?" He nodded, satisfied with his answer.

"That's a good reason, but is that the reason?"

Wombat's eyebrows furrowed, confused, "Huh?"

"Your firepower – how much energy you're putting out – is heavily linked to your intentions, you see. The purer your intention is, the more firepower you're putting out. That's why we seem to get stronger when our lives are in danger. Nothing is purer than the will to survive, the will of self-preservation."

He continued on, "But the reverse is also true, the more impure your intentions, the less firepower you'll be able to put out. The intention behind anything you want to do can cause your firepower to be swelled or hindered. Garbage intention goes in, Garbage result is the output. But the more personal, noble, honest intention, the stronger the output."

Wombat put his hand to his chin, "I think I understand...but isn't my reason good enough? I mean, I'm fighting to protect people, right? That's noble and honest, isn't it?"

Dante shrugged, "Yeah, sure. But that's everyone's reason for doing this. That's why we're fighting in the first place, to protect this world and its people, so that's kind of a generic reason. It doesn't count. You have to find out what you're fighting for. Personally."

"Hmmm," Wombat thought for a moment. It made sense what Dante was saying, about the intention part of using his powers. His mind went back to his fight against the murderbots and the Prototype, and he tried to remember how he felt in that moment.

What had his intention been? To protect others? Or to survive?

"What about you?" Wombat asked Dante, "What's your reason for fighting?"

"That's easy," Dante replied. An image flashed through his mind, one of a love he hoped to return to someday, "I fight so that those around me can continue to smile knowing that everything's going to be okay, I fight to create a world where no one has any reason to cry, and most importantly, I fight so my comrades can dive headfirst into battle, feeling confident because they know I'm behind them, watching their backs."

Wombat stared in awe. "That...was cool."

"I know."