Makoto's mind was racked with the thought of his family. Not only did he have Melody and RIza, but Mako and Ryuga had entered the picture as well. Makoto had never exactly been father of the year before. With the arrival of new children and the final battle on the horizon, Makoto had more than his share of thoughts. His mind drifted back to years ago when he first learned of Cyrill, the man had tried to recruit Makoto into his army. When Makoto refused Cyrill swore vengeance upon Makoto. "Why did I let him live?" Makoto showed mercy for the first time in his life and it ended up being one of the worst decisions he ever made. The part that troubled Makoto the most was that he was afraid to go fight Cynric. Not out of fear of Cyrnric himself, but of the fear of him losing his family. Makoto knew that if he went to fight Cynric then Ryuga, Riza, and Rosentan would certainly follow. In all the cases Makoto ran through his head, at least one of them didn't make it. He knew that he himself couldn't leave the fight. Makoto fidgeted slightly. He knew the danger of the battle. Cyrnric was far more powerful than Makoto. He had always been stronger. Makoto hated to admit it but this was a fight he most likely could not win. But he had to...he had to win. Everything counted on him to win. It was Makoto's fault that Cynric even existed today. In a fit of anger Makoto slammed his fist into the ground, creating a small crater. Realizing that he had lost his temper the Saiyan took a deep sigh. "Control yourself makoto.....Stop breaking things." He could help but tremble slightly at the ramifications of what he has done. Because of his mistakes a war started. Thousands and thousands have died because of him. He watched members of his own race get slaughtered for his mistake. What really got him going though was the fact that this whole thing put his family in danger. If they didnt win then Melody, Mako, Krageta, everyone was doomed. And yet what could he do? He wasn't the strongest. He wasn't teh smartest. He wasn't even the most handsome if that counted for anything. "No! Stop thinking like that!" Makoto stood up and began to pace. There was nothing he could do yet he had to do everything. The longer he dwelled on it the more he began to lose himself. Makoto has never been the type to panick but now he made an exception. "Why am I so worked up about this?I shouldn't be so worked up!" "Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!!" Makoto was psyching himself out and he knew it. More importantly he was getting angrier. Anger was something Makoto did not need. Anger led to destruction, and with Makoto destruction always led to more killing. "God damnit!" Makoto suddenly stopped. There was one way he could defeat Cynric. It was a last ditch effort but it was something. Years ago he had learned a technique created by Vegeta. The Final Explosion technique. Makoto cringed as he thought of using it. Could he still do it? Makoto silenced his mind and concentrated hard. His hand began to glow with massive amounts of energy. His skin flaked off and burned away like embers. Makoto stopped and then suddenly dropped down onto one knee and began to cough up blood. Yep, he could still do it. It wasn't fun but he could do it. He remembered the consequence of the attack though. Putting your entire life into an attack would turn him to stone. If he wasn't cured soon after that then he would crumble away to nothing. The question he kept asking himself was, "Is it worth it?" Makoto began pacing once more. "Can I even consider doing this? I hvae Riza, Ryuga, and Mako to look after. I can't do that to them...but if I can't defeat Cynric then they will die anyway. Motherfucker!" Makoto felt more and more exaughsted the more this mental war raged inside his head. Makoto suddenly thought of his children, being murdered by Cynric. The image continued to see Melody weeping at their corpses before being murdered herself. "No..No! I will not let that happen! I will do whatever it takes to protect them. Even if it means my own death!" His confidence renewed, Makoto returned to his home, ready to face whatever came.
