The calmness of rural life contrasted heavily with the erratic and tiring rhythm of the city. For the weekend, Wryce had agreed to help a friend work on his farm as he currently lacked the manpower to do so by himself at the moment. The crops were bountiful, and a great season was upon him, which prompted the man to ask Wryce for an extra pair of hands. What’s more, he knew the Crane School student was worth ten men all by himself, and with the intention of paying him for that much, there was no way Wryce could refuse.
As far as he was concerned, Wryce was glad to help, and the work provided him with a good excuse to get some physical exercise in. Sporting overalls with a shirt underneath to fully embrace the farmer’s life, the fighter was tending to the cows in the pasture before he heard something crash into the ground, a fair distance from where he stood but still within the limits of the property. Curious as to what could make such a sound, he grabbed a pitchfork that he used to move the hay with and walked toward the source of the noise.
In a clearing nearby, Wryce noticed what appeared to be a person, though he couldn’t see much more than that from the dust cloud that formed after the crash. Speaking, he asked:
“Who’s this? What happened there? That sounded pretty bad. You alright?”
If it was a plane or vehicle crash, he hoped the victim was more or less alright so that he could transport them to a nearby hospital.
Chaos, violence, blood. Onoma knew these things well, and for once (allegedly) he was not the source of it. There had been rumors of a bandit group that had holed themselves up in the Eastern Pastures of Earth— but these were no ordinary bandits, oh no no. They were the type to assault areas that cultivated the bountiful produce of Earth.
So, how exactly— better yet why exactly did Onoma of all people find himself involved with fighting them?
It was simple, really. He had caught wind that they were messing with a farm that was responsible for producing very unique kinds of coffee beans. It was an entirely selfish reason to intervene, but he was doing so all the same.
After tracking these bozos and getting the jump on them, he brutally beat them within mere millimeters of their lives as local authorities had arrived before he could actually kill them. In the skirmish that followed, one of the bandits had managed to escape, at which point Onoma ignored the authorities completely and gave chase.
The bandit had a head start. They fled, and they fled fast, taking to the skies in a panicking fit they nearly used all of their energy before eventually crash landing in a completely different area of the region— the Spinach Wastes. In a crumpled and bruised heap on the ground, the bandit whimpered only to shoot back up to their feet, almost shrieking in fear as someone approached.
“Wah—” Their breathing sped up, uncertain if they should be relieved or afraid still. “Y-y--y-y you gotta help me man, t-t-t-there’s a comple-complete m-m-maniac after me! Please, please—”
A bolt of black and red landed violently behind the bandit, forcing the dust away from the scene. “There you are, you slippery little shit. I hope you’re ready to snap, crackle and pop like the rest of your entourage did!” Onoma snarled menacingly, dispelling his aura.
The bandit started sweating bullets and screaming at the top of their lungs, scurrying to try and hide behind the Earthling farmer that they had pleaded with moments ago. “G-GET HIM AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEEEE—”