Day Two: Afternoon

[Burter]

Day Two
Noon - 6 PM

"It's high noon once again and I can officially announce that the ratings have broken the '06 record! Congratulations! Here is your death list:

#04 Vazko
#20 Paragus
#27 Bojack

Now, for the new danger zones:

F-9
I-7
I-8
J-7
J-8
D-7

That's it! Good luck!"

[Minoshia]

Trying to understand what had just happened was pointless. His mind had been racing like a hamster on a wheel ever since the android had agreed to his statement about his methods. Seventeen, the person who had harbored hatred for Minoshia’s actions for years now, had seen the logic in his lifestyle. As he relaxed, he felt a pulsating wave of satisfaction sweep through his body. He disguised his satisfaction with a grim, stone mask – the same cold expressionless face that had roamed the darkness without remorse for years.

His back pressed softly against the hard bark of the palm tree behind him, the wide set leaves acting like an awning that cast the perfect amount of shade. He downed what was left in his canteen; feeling instantly rejuvenated as the cool water flooded his throat and cascaded into his stomach. Immediately he leaned forward and refilled the storage device before falling back against the exotic plant. From the corners of his vision he noted that the cyborg was chewing on a morsel of bread. Thinking it a wise choice, Minoshia reached into his own bag and pulled out the aging loaf of wheat. It wasn’t good food, it was hardly even satisfying, but it did the job – it helped them survive.

“You seem hesitant, nervous even.” The Dark Prince commented on the reluctance in Seventeen’s voice as he had agreed with the Konat earlier.

“About?” He turned his head towards his partner, as their eyes met the machine realized he didn’t need to ask. The child was always pointed in his questions, they always had a purpose. He was obviously referring to their prior conversation. He shrugged in response, and finished chewing his section of bread. “Change takes time, you know that Minoshia.” His words were met with nodding confirmation from the alien who sat under the second palm.

“It’s not that bad,” Minoshia tried to explain the process of blackening one’s heart, of turning to the darkness. “… It’s just a matter of embracing your emotions - and not suppressing them.” It wasn’t an easy thing to talk about; the hesitance in his voice was obvious. His words were met with a quizzical look from his counterpart, followed by yet another shrug.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Seventeen replied, his ebony hair sweeping across his darkened face as the breeze silently picked up. His countenance told a tale of confusion, what lied beneath the Konat could only guess. The mohawked warrior had returned to his small meal. His chin rested on his fist, which was in turn supported by the elbow that rested on his knee – the pose of man deep in thought. He was wracking his mind for a simple way to explain himself, in a manner that would be easier for the hybrid to grasp. A few minutes passed by as they both rested idly, the moments frozen in a sea of silence. After these moments had passed, it had become apparent that Minoshia had crossed that sea of treacherous quiet. His chin lifted off his clenched fist ever so slowly, his mouth opening as if he were ready to speak, only to close again. He performed this exercise multiple times, before he rotated his torso towards his target.

“Murder is a lot like smoking cigarettes.” Minoshia blurted out, his sentence blunt and pointed. The abruptness of his words caused Seventeen to immediately spin towards him, almost laughing as he registered what had been said. Instead his mouth simply curled into an intrigued smile, and he readied himself to listen further. “The first couple times you are hesitant, and afterwards you feel a tinge of guilt. But eventually, much like smoking cigarettes, it grows on you in its own addictive manner – it becomes a habit.”

[Violet]

As the noon sun bore down on the menacing duo, the scent of fresh blood assailed them. Sure enough, the far too enthusiastic voice of Karl piped over a hidden loudspeaker, stopping the pair as they made re-entry into familiar territory. Buildings loomed in the distance like sentinels frozen in time, their dulled surfaces reflecting the parching sun’s rays towards them.

Three more down, which brought her count to nineteen souls still breathing, still walking around on borrowed time. That time belonged to her and Bardock, their lives were but tiny stitches woven into their tapestry, all waiting to be ripped asunder beneath their wanton hands. “Can you smell them, Bar?” her voice was a silken purr as she closed her eyes against the wordless voices that stirred inside her head. “I can hear them, all running away like the cowards they are. They fear us.”

His glanced over at this strange woman, wondering where this new side had come from. It appealed to him, but he wasn’t so stupid as to completely let himself be comfortable with this new persona. “Let’s take it slower from here on out;” he suggested. “The danger zones are closing us all in. Eventually, they’ll be forced from their hiding places and into our hands.”

She nodded in agreement, herself agreeing that the plan was a sage one. “Let them come.” Her nail gun was heavy in her hand, her thumb caressing its textured handle as one would do a lover. In a sense, Death was that lover, her weapon was merely the harbinger of His power and potential. She wielded it now, the power, the control. They both did.

They stood at the edge of the city, the wind whipping over their bronzed bodies as they looked onward into the distance. Out there, nestled within the safety of the many structures, she felt life as it stirred within the thin walls. She still hadn’t encountered Seventeen, or any of her enlisted clan mates. A few had already perished, but he still remained. While he was out there, he remained a threat, a threat that only her hands could squelch, and damn it if they didn’t itch with the need to feel blood upon silken surface once more.

“We’ll pause for a few moments here, if they don’t start coming out of the woodwork soon, we’ll move.” Bardock instructed.

“Sounds like a plan to me;” she replied, her entire being strumming like a tuning fork with the prospect of racking up another kill to her long list of bodies strewn behind her. Although this was all fake, it brought her no less satisfaction, just this time, it was all legal. Life sure knew how to throw in some good twists, she thought as Bardock led the way to a concealed area that hid them, but left the rest of the cityscape a clear enough view for their feasting eyes.

Their eyes scanned the region, alert, ready for any danger that would come their way. The need for stimulation overruled all else, all save for the distracting presence of the menacing brawler. In this moment, something broke between them. It was an almost audible POP, slowly severing the negativity surrounding both their perceptions of one another. Something big was happening, and she was excited. She couldn’t have asked for a better partner than the brooding menace at her side now.

[Zangya]

The path had not become much harder for the jade-skinned woman, and it would continue to remain that easy as long as she felt the warmth of her beloved Gokua’s hand touching her hand as they walked alongside one another. She smiled as she adjusted the pack on her shoulder, looking out to the endless plain that she was walking on—she had left the city behind long ago, and now, as she stared out at the falling sun, she felt complete.

She hadn’t made it this far last year. As she watched the sun drop slowly to the edge of the horizon, it dawned upon her more and more that she was doing better this year than last. The green tinted lady remembered last year, how she had not lasted a single day—she had been in the competition just a little bit more than eighteen hours last year.

“Can we stop here for the night, Gokua?” she asked him. “I’m tired.” The blue man that stood beside her, and turned. He stroked her orange hair, still tied in one pigtail that hung off to the side, and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and she sat down, laying the survival bag she’d stolen from Bojack beside her. Gokua looked down at her, and she looked up to him, asking him for help silently—and his look signified that he was reminding her that he was a figment of her imagination, and he could not assist her in any way.

So, she did it by herself. She set up the fire, and got it running. She sat down beside the fire as the dusk came closer and closer, and ate her dinner. Evening wasn’t quite yet there, but Zangya was ready for it to be. She wanted to sleep—she didn’t want to remain awake any longer. She was tired. She needed rest.

She lay down by the fire, her eyes staring into the blaze. Gokua shuffled over to her, sitting down behind her and stroking her hair again. The two lovers stared longingly at the fire as it danced magnificently before them, entertaining them like a classic tribal ritual would also entertain savages sitting around a blaze of the magnitude Zangya had created. Gokua looked down at his love, a thought suddenly crossing his mind.

“Zangya,” he said, speaking for the first time since she’d killed Bojack, “Why did you pick him to kill?”

“Because…” Her voice was weak, and she felt as if she was going to have to strain to reveal the answer to him. It was silly, but it was something that had plagued her since he had joined their group.

“He reminded me of you.”

[Bujin]

“Rae, I’m tired.”

Silence.

“Rae, I’m hungry.”

Nothing.

“Rae, I…”

Bujin stopped himself from finishing another complaint, clicking his tongue as he realized that no answer was going to come no matter how much time he spent bitching at it. Sighing, he lay down on the sand once more, staring up at the sky as he wasted his time away figuring out what he was going to do. This predicament mirrored the one he was facing last year – he lost the willpower to keep going; the pace and concept of the game caught up to him once more. He could feel his chances of reaching his goal float further and further away. Rolling his eyes at the concept, he turned his head towards Rae and glared.

“This is your fault. If only you were sharp. Or…could shoot shit at people. Or explode… ” he trailed off a moment as he ran out of useful things any sort of weapon could do. Thinking of one, he pointed a finger at the cube and continued. “Or were a woman. God, that’d be sweet.”

He chuckled to himself, creeping even himself out in the process. Anything that could get him going would have been helpful, and the Lord knows that a woman would have done the trick. However, all he had was a duffle bag filled with meat that was likely closing in on its expiration date. Bujin was afraid to eat it at times, but he did whenever he felt he had to. To this end, he wasn’t starving by any stretch of the imagination, but his…rather developed pallet was suffering, and that was almost as bad as death.

Simply put, Bujin was in no real danger of dying, and he knew it. The test of Dante’s Abyss was one that he had to pass in order to move on, and even if it was against insurmountable odds, he knew he couldn’t quit. With that in mind, the midget clinched both fists and struggled to his feet. Sand sprinkled to the ground as he brushed it off of his baggy clothes and prepared to move further towards his goal. Using Rae as a platform, he scanned the area for any indication for where he was to go next.

“If I’m gonna gain anything from this competition, it’s not going to come from standing around here. I have to keep moving, no matter what the cost. Besides, this fucking sand is starting to get annoying,” he muttered. Jumping off the cube, he walked off with renewed vigor.

“Onward, Rae!” he yelled, pulling it forward with his makeshift leach.

[Android 17]

“But eventually, much like smoking cigarettes, it grows on you in its own addictive manner – it becomes a habit,” Minoshia concluded, smirking vaguely as he tore off another chunk of his bread. On the opposing side of the tiny pond, Seventeen reached into his duffel bag and pulled out an empty pack of cigarettes. With a frown, he flipped open the top and stared at the vacant space inside the tiny, cardboard container.

As the android stared down into the used up box, the konat’s analogy coursed through his thoughts, and before he knew it, Seventeen had crushed the container between his shaking fingers. A few feet away, Minoshia let out a soft chuckle and began to collect his belongings that he had scattered about at the beginning of the short break. Now that the fury of high noon had subsided, the two warriors were more than willing to continue their journey across the barren, inferno-like wasteland.

Discarded the empty packet of cigarettes, Seventeen yanked open his bag the rest of the way and skimmed through the bevy of trinkets and foodstuffs that he had either taken from the gym or stolen from those moronic people who had swarmed around him in the barracks. Oh how he desired to rend them limb from limb and scatter their broken bodies across the ground.

Make me proud, kiddo. The voice resonated, prompting the android to frown heavily as he pushed aside cans of soda and packets of junk food and fought his way down to the bottom of the congested duffel bag.

“No one asked for you opinion,” the machine-hybrid snarled, plunging his hand beneath a bag of potato chips. A few moments later, his nimble fingers closed around something, and with a faint smirk, he yanked out a small plastic cylinder. A few yards way, Minoshia remained relatively uninterested in whatever the android was prattling on about. By this point, the young konat had grown accustomed to the bizarre exclamations of his traveling partner.

It was obvious to the dark prince that there was a vast turbulence locked away in Seventeen’s mind, and with a sort of sadist glee, Minoshia had enjoyed watching the machine-hybrid’s further descent into madness and fury. The mohawked prince’s less than noble mindset left him interested in seeing what lay beneath the surface. Unfortunately for Minoshia, he was never the most patient of his people, and the waiting was causing him a mild degree of frustration.

“Are you ready to go?” The dark prince asked, watching intently as the android unscrewed the small plastic cylinder and pulled out an object similar to the cigarette he had offered the konat a few hours earlier.

“Cigar,” Seventeen said, having noticed the strange look of confusion and intrigue that had subconsciously propped up on Minoshia’s usually fierce visage. “Cuban, I think…but I haven’t the slightest idea,” he added as he light the large roll of tobacco and took a few short puffs from it, before letting it rest casually on his bottom lip. “We can leave now,” he concluded as he zipped up the duffel bag and tossed the strap over his lithe shoulder.

“Good,” Minoshia replied, sounding just as irate as ever. With a grunt, the konat prince shoved off the ground and scooped up his bag of supplies. Without waiting for the android to join him, he started off toward in the general direction that they had been traveling before their stop at the tiny oasis.

Something is coming. The voice spoke up, causing the android to stagger slightly as he took his first step toward his departing partner.

“What?” Seventeen mumbled, walking slowly toward Minoshia as to prevent the inward conversation from potentially annoying the mohawked warrior.

You can’t feel it? The formless speaker inquired, triggering a frown to spread across the cyborg’s haggard visage. You don’t feel the strength?

“No?” The machine-hybrid answered unsurely. If anything, the strange headaches and fits of muscle spasms had sapped him a little bit of his usually limitless supply of vigor and energy.

Heh…good. The voice cackled, before fading back into obscurity. As its presence slowly dissipated, it left the already confused android feeling just a little bit more lost. Part of him was shaken by the silent war being waged within his mind, but another part of him was completely complacent with the outcome. And try as he could, Seventeen was helpless to do anything but dredge onward and to continue his journey. There were still people out there who deserved to know the foul taste of the android’s fury as it pieced their hearts.

A smile spread across the android’s visage as he imagined murdering all those little fools who had seemed to cling to him during the pre-show. Although he didn’t know some of their names, he had images of them burned into his mind. With that thought, the feeling of helplessness subsided once more, and Seventeen was left with nothing but the blackness that was spreading like wildfire across his mind.

“What the fuck are you doing back there?” Minoshia growled, glancing over his shoulder and scowling at the android who was trailing behind him. Grinning coyly, the machine-hybrid jogged forward until he was standing beside the young konat warrior. “You fine?” The dark prince asked, raising an eyebrow as he stared at the manic expression that the android wore upon his pale, almost skeletal visage. The question was less out of compassion than it was to ensure that Minoshia wasn’t going to have to squelch the potentially unstable warrior.

“Never been better,” Seventeen replied, sounding bizarrely confident despite his prior track record of doubt and confusion.

[Burter]

Face to Face

Android 17, Bujin, Minoshia

It was a weird sight for the two men as they peeked together from behind a series of rocks. In front of them was an odd warrior, only about the height of their rib cages. He was a blue man dragging a pale cube by a string, though believe it or not, that wasn't the strangest part. He was trying to pass the time...by singing.

"She'll be coming 'round the mountain, coming 'round the mountain, coming 'round the mountain when they come," He was whistling and murmuring the words through his trek across the badlands, moving north with his trusty bag and companion cube. He seemed very out of place in this environment.

Seventeen nodded to Minoshia which direction to go and then moved in the opposite way. The Konat headed as directed, gripping his weapon as he snuck his around the rocks, ready to strike.

Bujin, for his point, already knew that he was being followed. He wasn't sure who it was, but even before he started his song he was aware of the presence of two people. But he just kept moving, wanting to give himself the element of surprise.

Sure enough, Minoshia came up from behind a shoulder, his mouth open to let out a battle cry. The baseball bat came down, only to slam into the companion cube that was thrown forward by the leash. Bujin instantly spun around in the opposite direction, yanking the smashed cube backwards with him.

Seventeen was right in front of Bujin when the cyborg raised a foot up, catching him in the forehead. The thud was thickening as he landed hard, back-first, onto the solid desert floor. The cyborg above him brought down his boomerang, catching his arm and twisting, shattering the bone. "Agh!" Bujin shouted, "Fuck!"

The short blue man turned to try and sneak away, but with only one arm usable and two superpowers on either side of him, there was no way to go. Minoshia kicked Bujin with the heel of his face, cracking his forehead open. He then brought his baseball bat down, smashing into the facial structure of the alien.

Bujin couldn't get away. Seventeen would kick and shove to keep the man down while Minoshia continued to bash at the poor guy with his bat. After a few minutes, there wasn't enough of Bujin's brains left in his head to properly keep him alive anymore.

It was a bonding experience for the two rivals turned partners. Seventeen and Minoshia were bound by a common goal and they were both starting to understand each other. One, through the joy of murder and the other through the nessecity of it.

Outside of the game, they were Minoshia and Seventeen, two men too different to live amongst the other.

But here, in the Abyss...they were the same.

#23 Bujin DEAD

18 Remain

The companion cube is there for either of you

[Celipa]

"Zangya..."

Celipa could barely function on a mental level. The pain that was coursing through her chest and shoulder was enough to inspire an almost crazed desire to be nuked with painkillers. The struggle to gain and then release breath was an ongoing one to the injured saiyaness, and even worse than that, was the struggle to process the happenings of the past few hours in her brain.

One dead ally. Bojack's corpse remained at the campsite, with nothing but a pile of vomit to act as a gravestone. Half of her wanted to go back and bury him.

One backstabber. Zangya was gone, carrying away nothing but Bojack's bag and Celipa's misplaced trust.

The others around her were as silent as the dead body they had left behind. Kirano's eyes were closed for silent thought, and his back was propped up against a tall tree. And Aero's gaze was almost always on her, when Cel looked over. She owed him her life for saving her from the pitchfork wielding super saiyan, and yet, she wasn't sure how much of this was care and how much of this was him hitting on her.

Her thoughts were jarred by a particularly painful gulp of air setting off a spasm of pain in her chest. The saiyan's nimble hand found its way to the injury and clung to it in an attempt at soothing. Aero was on his feet in an instant, ready to offer his assistance.

"Cel, are you -"

Her pride answered for her.

"I'm fine!" she snapped. The events of the past few hours were breeding an almost unexplainable aggression in her.

He seemed taken aback by her edginess.

"Err, ok...sorry," he sat back down, and gave her a look of rejection.

She felt bad for a moment, but, the same pride that had gotten her into this situation was denying her the right of apology. Celipa sighed, and turned her head to look at an innocent mouse scurrying through the grass nearby.

She wondered how long it would be before nature took its course, and the mouse would meet its maker just like every other living thing on this island.

It was at this point she thought she understood what it was that the Abyss was about. It wasn't about making the best friends you could, and it wasn't about watching out for the weaker rungs on the ladder.

The Abyss was about survival at any means necessary. Bojack was proof of that, lying back at the campsite, utterly cold and dead - killed by the person Celipa had been most devoted to protecting. Why was it that she had pitied Zangya?

In the chaos and uncertainty, she had forgotten.

[Bardock]

Seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes ticked to hours. All of the pent up excitement had nowhere to go without some kind of violent encounter. The lazy afternoon hours slowly expired, showing nothing along the horizon. Dangers were present, yes, but there was no immediate threat. It was so incredibly…boring. When night fell, they were obviously going to have to find their jollies elsewhere. Bardock appeared to be a little more practiced at patience, except this new version of Violet wasn’t quite as willing. She was a little twitchy, like a kid on their birthday waiting to open the presents. Bardock smiled inwardly. Unfortunately, things didn’t always work out like you planned. Going gung-ho into this world only panned out if you actually ran into somebody. A lot of it was waiting…waiting, and careful strategy.

The afternoon sun was warm and soothing. Coupled with the serious lack of stimulation, the fighter was suddenly made aware of how tired he had become. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly slept. It must have been two or three days by now. The brawler had once been able to do it during training, but that had been non-stop focus and bodybuilding. Now, he was not only physically exhausted from running place to place at such a clip, he was mentally exhausted from all of the effort to keep the pieces of his partnership from falling through. Bardock’s eyes began to droop heavily, wear and fatigue fully setting in. He glanced over at Violet. It was possibly a very, very bad idea to fall asleep when she was like this. As her eyes met his, however, something powerful and unspoken passed between the two. Bardock stretched out and laced his fingers behind his head, sitting back against a wall. His chest rose and fell more slowly, more rhythmically. The world turned hazy, and her clear picture began to blur. She was the last thing he saw as his consciousness disappeared into nothing.



Bardock was running. Running fast, and hard. His breathing easily reflected the brutal pace upon which he found himself. His legs pumped wildly through a dark tunnel, nothing visible except those that would bring the saiya-jin down. The axe clenched in his fist danced and cleaved through the air, a painter’s brushstroke. Blood sprayed through the air as nameless, faceless bodies slumped to the ground, the artist enacting his masterpiece. A trail of them snaked behind the frenzied warrior. As the final obstacle leapt in his path, Bardock roared and raised his deadly blade, bringing it down in a dramatic sweep. A severed head fell first, followed by the lifeless corpse. The ebony-haired fighter found himself at the end of the tunnel as a bright light enveloped the blackness. Vast ocean blended with the rays of a setting sun greeted him. He stood boldly upon a grassy cliff, the deadly rock face sloping sharply down to what could be a craggy death. End of the road.

Someone else was there with him. His head slowly turned to the side, and saw Violet standing before him. Her small, delicate body was peppered with misty red, as no doubt was he. Without a word, the two strode over to one another and met in an embracing kiss that rivaled that of their previous. Bardock couldn’t help but wonder what else she was hiding from him as he thumbed at the hemline of her jean shorts. It was a strange and frightening feeling, but he let himself go to it for a moment. Only a moment.

They sensed it was time, and simultaneously broke away, jumping far back into their separate sides. Bardock twirled his bloody axe anxiously in one hand, face hardened into an expression of battle. She was the same as her finger strayed to the trigger of her nail gun. Bardock sucked in a deep breath, and that was the audible cue. The scene was no longer from the viewpoint of the saiyan, but instead played out in a panoramic profile view, the setting sun across the ocean fashioning a dramatic backdrop. Bardock leaped high into the air, bringing his other hand to grasp the handle as he pulled the axe above his head and behind his arching back, preparing to bring it down in a single cleaving stroke. At the exact same moment, Violet raised her nail gun, aiming expertly for his heart as her index slowly squeezed the trigger.

It was the end.

And it was also just the beginning.

The scene faded to white just before the final blows were struck.



Bardock slowly awoke, consciousness returning to his brain. Immediately, he looked for his companion. He found her almost instantly, still gazing at the city. She was still here, and so was he. The fighter stretched the sleep from his muscles and stood. There wasn’t a scratch on him that hadn’t been there before. He joined her at her place of observation. The bright yellow ball of light was dipping below the surface, casting a somber glow upon the dead metropolis. That certainly seemed to be a recurring motif. Cracked and ruined buildings stood silently, their stories already told. The remnants of this place were naught but memories now. Some of theirs had been added to them, swirling along in a painful past of what was once and would never be again.

No matter how badly they’d started, things were looking up for the duo. They were going to fight…together.

Bardock spoke, breaking the moment. “Let’s go. There’s nothing here for us anymore.”

[Android 17]

Although Bujin undoubtedly died a few minutes ago, the android and konat continued to savagely stomp and club his bleeding, broken body. It wasn’t until Minoshia broke through the ribs that the two finally had to stop, both of them now slightly winded from their encounter with the blue-skinned competitor. Taking a step back, Seventeen let out a long sigh and hunched forward, placing his hands on his thighs as he breathed heavily. On the other side of mutilated corpse, Minoshia was striving to catch his breath as well.

After a few seconds, the dark prince began to laugh—it was a soft chuckle that slowly grew until is a malicious cackling that echoed into the afternoon sky. A few seconds later, Seventeen found himself laughing along with the young konat warrior. After a little under a minute, they both fell silent once more, their eyes finding one another’s gaze. The konat’s perpetual scowl was half masked beneath a thin layer of Bujin’s blood, but Minoshia didn’t seem to bother. In fact, the expression on his face could almost pass for glee.

Raising his hands to his face, Seventeen glanced at the boomerang. It was at that moment that he noticed he was also adorned with a thin film of blood. Under normal circumstances, it was plausible that the android would have felt revolted, but for one reason or another, he soon came to the realization that he was smiling. Something about the sensation of blood on his body unearthed a sort of previously unfelt glee within the android.

Why does this feel so gratifying? The voice inside the android’s head was his own. Is this…is this the man that I am? It was another one of those moments where the presence nestled deep within his subconscious was absent, perhaps taking the time to silent celebrating its victory. Kneeling down, Seventeen found himself staring at Bujin’s obliterated skull. Although the bone itself had caved in and his brains were now decorating the desert floor, one of the warrior’s eyes was still nestled within what remained of his face. The other was resting in a bloody mass a few inches from the blue man’s cranium.

As he stared into Bujin’s foggy, lifeless eye, the android felt a little surprised that he felt nothing but a mixture of overwhelming frustration and satisfaction. Nowhere amidst the whirl of motions did Seventeen feel anything vaguely resembling pity. The blue-skinned warrior was one of the competitors who had flocked to the android’s bed in the barracks prior to the start of the show. He was friends with the saiya-jin who the machine-hybrid had run into a day beforehand.

“Looks like your monkey friend wasn’t here to save you,” Seventeen whispered, leaning closer to the ensanguined corpse. This creature was the first of those little irritants that the android had dispatched, and if the cyborg had his way, he wouldn’t be the last of them to die at his hands. “Worthless,” the android rasped, and with that, he shot his hand forward and punched his thumb through the remaining eye of the blue-skinned warrior.

Pulling his finger out from the ruined skull of the slain combatant, Seventeen quickly wiped the blood off using his jeans. As he returned to a fully vertical position, he noticed that the konat had watched the strange little interaction, his bloodstained facial features expressing the sadist delight he extracted from his observations of the machine-hybrid’s more brutal side. Whilst still maintaining his eye contact with the android, Minoshia gave the corpse a final, violent kick and let out a delightful cackle when Bujin’s already broken ribs split apart into smaller pieces.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” The konat asked, reaching down and wrenching away one of the warrior’s splintered ribs. With a faint grin, Minoshia flicked the shard of bone down toward the ruined corpse—impaling it into Bujin’s abdomen. “The strong survive and the weak perish,” the dark prince uttered, prompting the android to silently shake his head. “No?” Minoshia inquired, lifting one of his ensanguined eyebrows as he stared at the cyborg

“No,” Seventeen muttered as a small globe of energy began to hum to life in the palm of his right hand. “This was personal,” he added, frowning heavily as he hurled the ball of ki into the shattered ribcage of the slain warrior. There was a faint flash of light, and then the already desecrated corpse exploded into a vibrant mass of fire, blood, and biological shrapnel. As the thin mist of smoke and blood subsided, the cyborg found the konat staring at him with a faint smile.

“Vengeance?” Minoshia inquired, cackling softly as he collected his bag. “Man of my own tastes,” he added as the android collected his possessions.

“Shall we go now?” Seventeen replied, staring at the blackened scar on the earth where Bujin had collapsed and been subsequently beaten to death like the dog that he was.

“Certainly,” Minoshia snickered, wiping some of the blood from his face as he turned toward the direction they had been traveling prior to their massacred of the blue-skinned warrior. “I’m sure there are more victims just waiting for us,” he added, his eyes gleaming with an overwhelming cruelty as the pair prepared to resume their trek.

[Kirano]

Kirano had his doubts about trusting them. He had only known them for five minutes now they were supposed to be one big happily family, all shacked up by a campfire. Hell no. He had every right to feel paranoid, every reason to expect one of them to stab him in the back. Maybe they were a family, but he did not feel welcome, instead felt like an outsider. None of them had really known him like they had known each other. After all, they had been travelling together for some time now according to Aero. Kirano on the other hand had been a lone warrior since the start of the competition. What could they possibly want from a person with one useful arm?

This is ridiculous, he thought. I must eliminate them all.

His eyes scanned each member of the group. Celipa was obviously the easiest target due to her major injury from a pitchfork. Her head rested on Aero’s knee. Two shots from his pistol would remove both of them from the competition, but then Zangya and Bojack would retaliate.

No, I can’t do it yet.

Kirano had to be smart, wait for the right opportunity.

Something transpired, putting the hybrids suspicions at ease. To his shock, Zangya gave him a senzu bean. “Eat it, it’ll heal you up.” Kirano still wore a priceless flabbergasted expression on his face. Was this a trick? Were they playing games? If he reached out for the bean, would they try to break his right arm too? “Trust me,” she smiled. “It works.” He gazed suspiciously at the other members of the group and then with his right hand, slowly reached from the senzu bean, quickly snatching it from her small hand and then shoving it into his mouth without a second thought. While chewing on the bean, his suspicious expression turned into a smirk. He could not help but chuckle as the feeling in his left arm came back. “Aaah,” he whispered in delight, flexing his left arm. It was safe to say they genuinely needed Kirano amongst their group.

--------------------------

The reduced size of their group from five to three was due to the betrayal of a comrade, not a comrade of Kirano’s, but of the others. Bojack suffered a fatal, life altering poisoning orchestrated by Zangya, a poisoning that would lead to his demise. It was a dramatic scene that not only stunned the young man, but the rest of the group. She had not even explained the reason for her betrayal. She fled instead, underlining her guilty involvement. She had fled no doubt to avoid any repercussions following her betrayal.

Aero’s infuriation was undoubtedly justifiable. For an outgoing person he hardly had much to say since the female aders betrayal. Kirano’s feelings towards Zangya were not the same as Aero’s. The hybrids feelings were mixed. Yes, she was a backstabber, but had she shown her true colours? It made perfect sense for Zangya to use the poison on Kirano. After all, he was the strongest amongst the five, but yet she used it on someone else, someone far less powerful than him. Why had she chosen Bojack instead of him?

The earthling thought back to the time Zangya helped him during his vulnerable, drunken state back at the bar on Dante. The memory caused the hybrid to gaze at the hip on his right hand side. He had been numb at the time of his drinking, but now he could feel the woman’s touch, the young woman’s hand around his waist while she escorted him out of the bar.

Why am I…why am I thinking about that specific moment? Why the touch?

He frowned, preventing himself from concluding that he had feelings for her.

I don’t have feelings for her. I just don’t.

Although he continued to deny it, the man could not shut the woman out his mind.

Zangya.

Whether it was during Dante’s Abyss, if he were to encounter her, or after DA, he would find out why she chose to kill Bojack instead of him. He would find out from her if at all he meant anything to her.

[Celipa]

Celipa awoke from a nap to find herself a bit more able to move than she had been previously. The saiyaness rose to her feet shakily and took a look around. Aero was dozing lightly on the ground, and Kirano was still deep in thought.

She had no plans of waking Aero, since the two hadn't slept at all since the competition had begun. Now that her nap had removed some of her fatigue, Celipa found that she could sort things out in her brain a bit easier. Priorities seemed a bit clearer.

Priority one was taking revenge on Zangya.

Priority two was getting her injuries healed through any means necessary.

Her eyes darted down to the gaping holes in her saiyan armor; two matching holes resided under her collarbone and in her shoulder, respectively. That super saiyan had fought with an unbridled power that Celipa had never even imagined possible.

When the two had locked eyes, Cel recalled making an undiagnosable connection to the man. The look in his troubled teal eyes had shaken Celipa to her core. It was a look that oozed lust for battle; even with her injuries, if Reijin had pulled that pitchfork out of her, Cel's urge to compete with a fellow pure blood would have driven her right back at him for round two. In fact, she found herself smiling faintly at the thought of battling him one on one. What if she had triumphed? She knew she wouldn't have, but, what if?

The afternoon had brought with it an eery silence -- Celipa didn't much like it -- and sounds of any sort were few and far between. Occasionally Kirano would open an eye which would in turn rove around the campsite, but close when he saw that nothing interesting would happen. Cel wasn't sure what to think of the blonde man, exactly. He had come in with Zangya and barely said anything to the group of them at large.

And the looks he gave weren't sitting right.

Cel shrugged off her suspicions and then rolled her left shoulder to gauge its mobility. In the beginning of the motion, it only burnt. Then, as she moved it further, the feeling evolved into a full-blown searing pain. It was almost unbearable. And even when she wasn't moving it the pain was nagging constantly at the back of her brain, trying to draw her attention back to it.

She sighed.

Then, her eyes fell to Aero, who was still sleeping peacefully. He looked like he was shivering. Celipa crept over to him, wincing a bit each time her collarbone moved, and then sat down beside the human. At least he had proven that his loyalties to her were real.

She laid her head down on his chest while he slept, and then nodded off herself.

[Zangya]

The flames danced in front of her face, taunting her with images of the past she had wanted to remember. The face of Zangya had transformed—she was no longer rough, or someone who preferred not to be a damsel. All it had taken was for her Prince Charming to return to her in her time of pure distress—and that was exactly what he had done. Her thoughts dwelled on him for ages, and then on her life in the near future. What could be done? What would she do?

She was unfit to be a mother. She was young, only twenty years of age. She hadn’t found the virtues that a mother would need, the instincts that she would have to teach her child. As she evaluated herself, she became more and more dissatisfied with her potential to be a mother. It seemed wrong that she was putting herself through this, living in pain, for this child not to have a life that fit the pain she would have to endure to bring it into the world.

She looked down at her abdomen, caressing the child in her womb—it had not moved yet, as the pregnancy was still a few months from its first true stages. She was only two months pregnant, after all—that’s why she had chosen to enter. She would not have come into the competition if she thought that she couldn’t handle it. In her current condition, however, she felt as if the child had not hindered her since her incident with sickness yesterday.

Yet, even as she attempted to build her confidence, pride herself in the endurance she’d had for such a young mother, she always seemed to fail with the final and most important question: could she provide for the child what it needed? She looked up at her beloved, but suddenly, he was not there to guide her. His mirage had disappeared from her campsite. It had left her alone. She looked around, and for the first time, she felt like she was on her own.

On my own. The words echoed throughout her head, a reminder of what her life would be once she had birthed the child. Pretending he’s beside me. She was just imagining him, he wasn’t there, he was DEAD for God’s sakes—she didn’t have anyone there to care for her, or for the baby—he wasn’t really there, he couldn’t help her, she was all on her own. All alone, I walk with him till morning. She looked up at him, or where he used to be, and remembered their travels.

Without him, I feel his arms around me. She remembered the warmth that she had felt at his touch, and the strength it had given her—it was almost unrealistic, now, to think that he would return and bestow that strength upon her again. He wasn’t real. And when I lose my way, I close my eyes and he has found me. Thinking of this, she closed her eyes tightly… but there was no one there. She couldn’t see a thing.

He had left her, all on her own.

OOC: Lyrics (scattered about the post) credit to “On My Own” from Les Miz

[Android-18]

Small birds twitted and chirped as the sunshine draped down upon them. A small creature, similar to a squirrle, leapt from a cluster of small trees and scurried past her toward a plain of long grass. The girl paused and looked after the animal, perhaps it knew where to go? She turned and adjusted her pack before advancing through the thigh high grass. It was straw colored, but seemed v ery luscious and smelt strange as she took in the scents about her. She swatted as little insects saught to annoy her. Once or twice she felt the bites upon exposed flesh, but she continued onward regardless. The air beacame hot and the breeze dry. It had to be this way, she was sure of it. She licked her parched lips, dry as leather, and wiped her sweaty brow with her wrist.

There it was, a beautiful sight if she ever saw one. It was a watering hole within this dry land, from each end a small meandering river took water to and from it’s depths. The girl slumped her pack down to the dusty ground, and looked around for anyone or anything. For the most part she was alone. A few avian’s took pleasure in splashing and grooming themselves with cold water. She could not tell if they were ducks, or birds, but they were awfully cute. She had to hold back from chasing after them like a child.

She felt a presense, which caused the hair on the back of her neck to prickle. Eighteen turned slowly, and then screamed as a dark figure leapt from the tall grass toward her. She fell down raising her arm above her head, and then heard laughter.

“It’s just me, you were taking forever so I came after you.” His rough voice cut into her freight and she looked upon him in shock.

“Don’t do that! You scared the crap out of me!” she cried upon getting up and stomping her foot with anger. She didn’t like being taken by surprise, she wasn’t used to it. The Saiya-Jin took her into a hug, and then let her go as he apologized.

They took in the coldness of the water, washing their face and arms, and even stripping close to nude as they reveled in the lovely water. It was most refreshing, and the android could have stayed there for days. She waded in the water, sandy mud settling upon her feet and between her toes. Small fish tickled her ankels and calves. She felt the sun hot against her shoulders, only wearing her bra, and she knew she’d be tan before the end of this adventure.

“This is nice, just taking it easy. I’m not good at strategy.” She spoke, and the long haired fighter stepped in beside her.

“Yeah, but man I could go for a cheeseburger right now. Oh, or a taco, that would be sexy.” He added and crossed his arms against his bare chest.

“Didn’t you eat that…rabbit?” she didn’t want to think about it, but she was curious.

“Yeah, but babe, a rabbit is no taco. I had no way to make it a taco, it just didn’t work. I could have tried to make it a burger, but I didn’t feel all that creative this morning.” He sighed and dropped his arms.

“I’ll buy you something when we get out of here, ok?” she patted his shoulder and looked up at him. “Let’s fill up our water and get back on the road.” She began to slowly make her way out of the water, her feet being sucked into the mud. She didn’t want to put her dirty clothing back on, but she couldn’t go on in this game naked or partially naked. She had no idea where they would go, either. Hopefully her companion would have some insight on what to do, otherwise she may end up leading them wrongly…and she didn’t want that.

[Minoshia]

“Certainly,” Minoshia snickered, bringing his hand to his brow and wiping the crimson fluid from his face. He lowered his hand down in front of his eyes. The tip of his index finger and also his thumb were the only fingers making contact with his face as they glided against his cheeks, smearing the blue dwarf’s blood over his dark, chiseled face. He looked over his shoulder in the direction they had come, trying to decide the most opportune path to take. “I’m sure there are more victims just waiting for us.” He finished his response to his android accomplice with a pointed hint towards further mayhem, his eyes gleaming with giddy excitement – after all, the simplicity of mayhem was one of the few things that he enjoyed.

What was once a meandering trek had turned into a determined prowl. Both men fully extended their legs with each long stride, their pace quickening with the death of Bujin. The dark child was like an addict; once he tasted the adrenaline of a kill flushing through his body he needed another fix, and another, and another. The Android seemed interested in his reactions to murder, he had killed for personal reasons – but understanding the Konat was another mystery altogether.

“Why do you do it?” Seventeen turned towards his partner, leaning inwards slightly and hissing the question. His face was both confident and menacing; he seemed satisfied with his actions – but not entirely understanding. The confused mask had disappeared, but he Konat was sure it would resurface at some point in their journey. Nothing about change was simple, nothing about it was easy. Especially if the host didn’t whole heartedly agree with the mutation. “I’ve never seen you happy, Minoshia, not unless you were killing.”

He shook his head at the question, briefly looking over towards the android before turning his attention back to the horizon in front of them. His response was limited to a grunt, followed by a sinister chuckle. The android kept his eyes on the man for a moment longer, before shifting his head towards the land that lay before them. It appeared the Prince of Darkness was sensitive to personal subjects, much like Seventeen had been only a few hours before. Why wouldn’t we answer his question? Come on, fucking patsy. The voice in his head argued against his decision to ignore the inquisition made by his ally. A lack of trust, that was the reason he refused to explain himself – the respect he gained during the course of this tournament was limited to simply that, respect. Trust was something much harder to earn than respect in the eyes of the child warrior. He was courageous enough to explain himself on numerous occasions, yet when our moment comes how do we respond? By cowering behind a chuckle and a shake of the head? A maniacal cackle, similar to the one that the Seventeen had heard on many occasions during prior encounters, lashed out from the depths of his mind. Is that what we have become, after everything we have been through? I shudder to think.

“Fuck it.” He snorted in agreement; the demon shepherd had never misguided him before. His crude and almost silent flare-up caught the attention of the raven haired warrior, who tilted his head slightly with interest. Minoshia paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “When you take revenge, you feel satisfied – like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.” Seventeen nodded in agreement.

“Now, imagine if the only time you felt relief, the only time you felt satisfied, the only time you were happy, even for a moment,…” He was getting worked up now, his voice quickening, his tone becoming angry and loud. This was not the Minoshia the android knew, the cold and calculated responses had been replaced with savage emotion – almost a primitive rage was palpable in his words. “…was when you were killing. This curse, this gift – whatever you want to call it – brings nothing but depression and pain, anger and stress.” He stopped walking for a moment, the machine continued on for a few steps before realizing his partner had stopped. The dark prince was massaging his knuckles down, his hands intertwining and twitching with particular unease. “Some people have the luxury to go to the bottle for relief, or medication. The only thing that dulls my pain, and lessens my misery, is that adrenaline felt while killing.” He continued to walk now, as did Seventeen, the two moved in synchronized motion – both pairs of feet collided against the ground simultaneously, traveling in perfect harmony. “Death is my medicine.” He dropped his head and lifted his hand to his now closed eyes, rubbing the lids with particular vigor and frustration.

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.”

[Reijin]

Continued from: http://www.cdbzrpg.com/forum/showpost.ph...stcount=15

His breathing was heavy as he sludged through the forest, focing his way through the rain that had slowly begun falling around him as he boot sunk into mud. Jun'ai had been trying to discuss with him, but he had to be completely honest when he said he really didn't care what she had to say. She had a lot of talk for one that had yet to prove to him that she knew anything of what she was saying. She had probably stayed with someone in her time being sheltered while riding around with all sorts of futuristic technology.

In the distance he could see the white sands of the beach, moist and brown beneath the rain's fall as he approached. He could see kicked sand to show that someone had been here not all that long ago but nothing gave away information as to where they went nor how long they'd been there. The fresh sea air wafted through his nose and the waves thundered as they slowly washed up the side of the beach, moving in and out with the tide's call as the day grew closer to night.

The urge passed onto Reijin to simply allow the current to take him away, take him from all of this, but he lacked the motivation to bother with it. In truth, he just wanted to make everyone else here suffer. He'd had the chance but that damned woman had run her mouth until the kill had escaped, taking with it the binoculars he could use to hunt others with.

Continuing in his stride, he finally reached what appeared to be a hilltop in the beach area, a higher mound of sand that seemed a bit more stable than the rest. He supposed he could use that to allow him to scout a bit more for planning his way. He slammed the pitchfork down strongly as if hoisting a flag to claim the hill when he heard a loud thud.

"Eh?" he grunted, taking his eyes from the crashing waves to look down to what appeared to be a wooden door. He narrowed his eyes as he kneeled, sweeping away sand until he found a very large trap door before him. "Well... I wonder if anyone is hidden down in here, trying to sit out through the tournament..." he trailed off, finding the latch on the doorway.

Well, let's hurry up and go rip out their entrails and feast on their brains, Jun'ai thought into his mind, frustrated at his complete ignorance of her the last few hours.

"I like the way you think," he responded sharply, enticing her to continue her anger in silence. He wanted a fight, and the only fight that he could find was taking place within his mind. That alone angered him. What good was a true fight if one could not feel the blood of their opponents coursing over shattered knuckles?

The door creaked loudly as he pulled it back, a large amount of sand falling down around the sides, hissing as if the room were filled with snakes. Glancing down, Reijin decided that even still the room was better than standing outside in the rain hiding beneath a cloak for warmth.

His legs found the sturdy ladder and he slowly climbed down, carefully pulling the door shut overhead, casting himself into utterly consuming darkness.

[Reijin]

Continued from: http://www.cdbzrpg.com/forum/showpost.ph...stcount=16

The rain pattered hard against the door overhead and those sounds and the feeling of gravity were the only thing that helped Reijin have any placement within the void. He slowly lowered his feet, carefully listening around for any sounds of another warrior hiding within, waiting to cut his Achille's tendon.

He sniffed casually at the deadened air within the musty cellar, smelling nothing more than the smell of old stored alcohol, but nothing of burned ash nor that of fear. His feet touched the bottom and he reached around blindly, his hand finally falling onto a rod shaped object. Running his fingers along it, he realized that it was an unlit torch, simply waiting for the flame.

You can light that with your Pyroki- oh nevermind.

"Shut up..." he whispered again, his voice breaking the silence sharply. Pulling the torch down he fumbled until he found another old metallic rod shaped oject, this time a bit tougher to his touch. He picked it up with his other hand and suddenly a beam of light burst forth, the Saiyan falling backwards against a shelf of bottles as it struck the ground.

Oh a flashlight. That will be helpful!

Jun'ai's words did nothing more than agree with his own thoughts as he leaned down carefully, the bottles managing to do nothing more than settle back into their placement as he found the flashlight. Holding it up for a moment, he tossed the torch over his shoulder before looking casually over the alcohol bottles before him.

There were many types of bottles, ranging from vodka from the human planets to weaker Saiyan moonshine. There was nothing to compete with the drinks of his home planet, but it seemed that nearly any other form of alcohol he could want was represented, simply waiting here for the taking.

Except one.

In one location, Reijin leaned forward, sniffing the air and realizing that someone had been here before him. This person had left everything in its place and had taken only the bottles along one column, and in their place he had left a note.

Picking up the note, Reijin shined the light on it in curiousity of who may have been here before.

Sorry mate, but the rum is gone...

The note was signed with nothing more than the image of a sparrow along the bottom. Reijin's mouth twisted up in amusement as he mused to himself while replacing the note. "But why is the rum gone?"

[Orion]

What a horrific display.

That's what Orion thought as he walked the near barren lands of Dante's Abyss with his companion. The combustible Namekian aside, they had seen no one, and the saiyan wondered if that had affected the raven haired fool in front of him. He just performed some sort of weird insanity rain dance, his arms and body convulsing in mildly entertaining but seriously concerning ways, even falling to the floor. Yet, when he got whatever out that was in his system, he just rose to his feet and beckoned the one eyed warrior as if nothing had happened.

What was going on inside his head?

Well, perhaps that thought had been prevalent the moment Orion laid his eye on the fruit hat donned contestant, but that questioned resounded in his head the longer they spent time together. Nothing he did, nothing, made any discernable sense. One moment he was a perfect candidate for a mental asylum patient, the next his eyes shone with crimson bloodlust and he became the perfect warrior. Why was there such a dichotemy raging within this human?

The curiosity was getting the better of him. Well, that, and the fact that the uncertainity of Seventeen's actions meant that perhaps the grass skirt clad contestant was equally friend as foe. He needed to find out what was going on.

Orion increased his stride to match Seventeen's. He kept surveillance of the area as he spoke.

"So," he started, leaving a space before continuing, "what the hell was that epileptic fit you had earlier?"

Seventeen turned his head to face Orion, a quizzical look on his face. "Trying to find my eyes, of course!"

"Your eyes?" the saiyan replied.

"Yes! I was looking out of my ass!"

This discussion wasn't alleviating Orion's fears.

"Well, then why were you running around like an idiot?" he asked, risking another disastrous answer.

"I'm no idiot; I is smart," came the foolsih response of Seventeen.

Orion stepped in front of him. "OK, that's enough. Something's unusual about you, and I want to know what it is."

Seventeen seemed surprised. "I'm ... unusual?"

"I think there's something going on in there," Orion stated slyly, pressing a forefinger into Seventeen's forehead. "And I'm going to find out."

Before the bewildered human could respond, he felt dizzy. Orion guided him to the ground, staring intently into his eyes. Their views mutually blurred, colours around them illuminating as if miniature suns and stars poured their light into the landscape. Confusion and disorientation consumed both their minds as Orion molded his consciousness and streamed it directly into Hellfighter's mind.

------

Darkness surrounded the saiyan. There was no ground; he was suspended in the abyss. He tried to move by swimming through the black, but there was nothing to move through. Even the most dimmest minds usually had content within, but there was just emptiness here.

"Seventeen!" Orion called, his voice echoing throughout the mental purgatory.

Suddenly, the lights came on. And Orion found himself plummeting through the sky.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of mind melds, there was no ki for the saiyan to utilise. For all intents and purposes, he was a normal human within Seventeen's skull. The rapid descension through the emerald coloured clouds was terrifying. Orion had never experienced the lack of the ability to fly.

The ground was approaching fast; a field of crimson grass with a random, thick set tree, its bark purple and the leaves golden yellow. Orion braced for impact, throwing his arms over his face, but something caught him moments before he splattered against the ground. The saiyan opened his eye, realising that one of the trees had caught him with its thin branches. It gently lowered him to the floor and bowed before the guest.

"Seventeen!" Orion called out again into the black sky. He turned to see Seventeen approaching him, but he was walking backwards towards him, and instead of the foolish getup he wore on the island, his mind-self was wearing a Napolean uniform.

"Greetings, good sir," he welcomed, still facing away from Orion, and bowed. "What could I do for you?" He spun in spot, stamped one foot and bent his knees to sit. Out of the earth a blue chair arose on command, providing a seat for Seventeen. Another identical chair arose behind Orion, who chose to sit upon it.

A puff of smoke exploded in Seventeen's hand. When it cleared, a corn cob pipe appeared. Seventeen brought it to his mouth, sucking in what Orion presumed was smoke, but upon exhaling, several bluebirds flew out.

"Well, I-"

"Wait, wait," Seventeen spoke, motioning for the saiyan to stop talking. He clenched the pipe in his teeth and performed a handstand, resting the top of his head and crushing his velvet blue hat upon the chair. "OK, continue."

"I wanted to get to you, the real you. I know there is something strange about you, and there was no way I would discover that on the outside. So, here I am."

"Oooh, an interview?!" Seventeen exclaimed, excited by the idea. He clicked his fingers, and the entire landscape melded into a television studio. Orion stood behind a desk with a buzzer, an electric panel displayed his name and his points on the front of it. Currently he was on 0. Seventeen was behind another desk, hair slicked back, wearing a terrible tartan suit, holding a microphone and cue cards.

"Well, Orion, if you'd like to win the prize ooooooooof..." he motioned to a set of crimson curtains in the back middle of the stage, which suddenly pulled open, revealing a clone of Seventeen, "mmmmeeeeeeee, you'll have to answer these following questions!" A non existant crowd filled the area with applause and cheer.

"Oh, here we go."

[Aero]

“So, human, do you really think that you have the power to tolerate an attack from a Super Saiyan?”

Aero fisted a hand, retracting it back. He was prepared to fight at any moment. His ears flickered between feline and human. His figure slowly transfigured into one more suitable for agile movements. He bared clawed fingers and pawed feet. “Bring it, mothafucka!” he retorted, balling up his other hand. His short and chaotic hair slowly developed into a full turquoise mane.

Reijin smiled. His hair flashed glimpses of gold and erected into sporadically directional spikes. His eyes changed from mysterious black to the super saiyan’s emotionless green. Reijin’s visage had never been so stone (it appeared, to Aero, that it could have been sculpted). He bored the figure of a titan, seasoned in the art of war—his body as his militia and his mind as his general. Thus was the way of the saiyan.

Aero couldn’t give a shit about a saiyan’s demeanor. He was ignorant to the race of fighting machines. The only thing that he knew was that no man—regardless of race, religious values, or sexual preference—was going to make a mock of him. He would prefer dying, shot down in a blaze of glory. He valued such an idea; he placed it on a pedestal. Some people called it cocky, blinded by arrogance. He called it death before dishonor, a code that he had survived by his entire life, since his rough upbringing in the lower tiers of American society. In the real world being a bitch did not permit you very far.

“You’re in a man’s competition,” another voice spoke, from behind Aero.

He threw a glance over his shoulder. It was Seventeen, with his ebony hair covering his face, only leaving twisted smiles and merciless eyes visible. Aero didn’t care about the android either. Just another fuck in his way, making his life less enjoyable.

“You can get some too, ” Aero replied, turning sideways, keeping an eye on both of them.

A war on two fronts. He felt like a German fighting the Soviet Union and United Powers. Still, he was no bitch. On the contrary, he liked this situation much better than Reijin alone. That blaze of glory was going to be more of an epic explosion (a mushroom cloud, Aero hoped).

Reijin smirked. He readied all of the powers that super saiyan had bestowed upon him and rushed forward. That emotionless visage still curtained his face.

Seventeen waved a hand through his hair, pulling it back momentarily before it fell back over his eyes and nose. He charged as well.

“Fuck you!” Aero roared. His aura enveloped his body, flaring up like a fed fire.

***

His eyes slowly opened. There was no Reijin. No Seventeen. Celipa rested against his chest, and off a small distance in front of him was a blond-haired man. His ragtag group of warriors—he used to deem them friends—had turned into a trio, again, this one without the pregnant Zangya. She had betrayed Bojack. Aero felt betrayed too.

With a faint sigh he placed the heel of his palm on his forehead. This is just great, he thought. I come here for fun and instead I get a shitload of frustration. If I wanted that I could’ve went to the DMV.