05-27-2007, 04:39 PM
His dreams were sweet. Cold sat on a beachfront somewhere, sipping from a gauntlet suitable for his mass and watching the sun soaked waters crash against the white sand. Koola was there too, but Cold couldn't quite determine his purpose. He did determine this was a dream, as he'd never sipped a Pina Colada and the taste that was on his tongue was that of something else. Chicken, fried of course.
"Koola, what is your purpose in my dream?" King Cold called out to his mental reproduction of his son. Koola shook his head and shrugged, his tail slapping against the sand. "I'm fully aware in my dream and I can't even get myself a decent woman to chef me up something proper."
Within the moment the beachfront turned to a beachhead, with military forces clashing where KC had decided to assume his rest. He honestly despised his imagination at times. The earth imploded upwards where Koola stood, spattering the unsuspecting changeling czar with the remains of his son.
"Koola!" he cried out, despite being submerged in the worst of his own subconcious. It was funny how paradise could turn to anarchy in between sips.
Cold dove to the earth, grabbing a convieniently place weapon. It felt potent in his grip, its grip against his palm, its trigger pressed against his trigger finger. Faceless men fell, bullets infused with ki carving a bloodied path through their feeble frames. They weren't as resilient to the weapon Cold held in his grip. Where the automatic had drawn a line through a man they became perforated and torso easily separated from its lower cousin.
They weren't able men, they fell easily. Contenders in a plot that didn't yet concern them. Cold grew bitter.
"You!" someone called out above the rest of the crowd, his finger pointing upon the changeling emperor, his voice gruff and undiscernable. Cold hadn't ever met the man to know what his voice sounded like, so he fabricated one that would suit him. It was the one from those promotional posters that plastered every inch of the signup centers, except now he'd been beaten within inches of his life and left to reclaim the island.
"Ugh..." Cold scoffed, lifting his weapon to face the monkey. There was a ear-straining roar of gunfire, catching King Cold in the chest and sending him backwards onto his ass. It was instinct that caused him to clench his fist and plow hollow-tipped shots into this saiya-jin's face. Cold floated backwards, half expecting to fall forever, right back into the reigns of Hell. However he fell right back into his shiny beachchair, Pina Colada falling into his lap. It was here that his eyes shot open and he sat up in the darkness that was Dante's Abyss. Koola watched him intently.
"I think that's the last time I'll be going to sleep." Cold stated, pondering explaining to Koola. "And make sure I never drink Pina Colada's."
"Koola, what is your purpose in my dream?" King Cold called out to his mental reproduction of his son. Koola shook his head and shrugged, his tail slapping against the sand. "I'm fully aware in my dream and I can't even get myself a decent woman to chef me up something proper."
Within the moment the beachfront turned to a beachhead, with military forces clashing where KC had decided to assume his rest. He honestly despised his imagination at times. The earth imploded upwards where Koola stood, spattering the unsuspecting changeling czar with the remains of his son.
"Koola!" he cried out, despite being submerged in the worst of his own subconcious. It was funny how paradise could turn to anarchy in between sips.
Cold dove to the earth, grabbing a convieniently place weapon. It felt potent in his grip, its grip against his palm, its trigger pressed against his trigger finger. Faceless men fell, bullets infused with ki carving a bloodied path through their feeble frames. They weren't as resilient to the weapon Cold held in his grip. Where the automatic had drawn a line through a man they became perforated and torso easily separated from its lower cousin.
They weren't able men, they fell easily. Contenders in a plot that didn't yet concern them. Cold grew bitter.
"You!" someone called out above the rest of the crowd, his finger pointing upon the changeling emperor, his voice gruff and undiscernable. Cold hadn't ever met the man to know what his voice sounded like, so he fabricated one that would suit him. It was the one from those promotional posters that plastered every inch of the signup centers, except now he'd been beaten within inches of his life and left to reclaim the island.
"Ugh..." Cold scoffed, lifting his weapon to face the monkey. There was a ear-straining roar of gunfire, catching King Cold in the chest and sending him backwards onto his ass. It was instinct that caused him to clench his fist and plow hollow-tipped shots into this saiya-jin's face. Cold floated backwards, half expecting to fall forever, right back into the reigns of Hell. However he fell right back into his shiny beachchair, Pina Colada falling into his lap. It was here that his eyes shot open and he sat up in the darkness that was Dante's Abyss. Koola watched him intently.
"I think that's the last time I'll be going to sleep." Cold stated, pondering explaining to Koola. "And make sure I never drink Pina Colada's."