Dante's Abyss 2008 Sign-Ups

[Orion]

The Kai teleportation method always seemed far more elegant and streamlined than his own Instant Transmission. Transforming into light and then rushing through galaxies was fast, and produced results, but in essence he was still a mass travelling at a ridiculous speed. And that never got comfortable. King Kai's power, however, impressed upon the saiyan that the entire universe travelled past him at tremendous speeds, as if he stood upon a faster than light conveyer belt. Such small luxuries rarely went unnoticed by the cycloptic veteran, as they had been so few.

As Orion's vision focused, he found himself upon the jewel of the solar system, Earth. King Kai was going to send the warrior to his homeworld of Vegeta, but decided that due to the stir that the annual Dante's Abyss generated every year on the human dominated planet, it would be easier for the elder fighter to locate a joining station before the cut-off for the competition was imposed.

Indeed, as the somewhat all knowing god predicted, it was not long before a boisterous television personality caught Orion's attention at a nearby electronics store window and declared with much enthusiasm the locations of the sign-up stations. The saiyan took flight and hurried towards the nearest booth, knowing only a few scant hours remained.

After a time of flying, he spotted a large crowd of humans watching participants from Earth trying their luck at the Dante's Abyss check in stations. He alighted behind the mass of bloodthirsty conisseurs and pushed his way through. Many were thin, bifocal sporting, pimple covered adolescents, holding magazines, flyers and other Dante's Abyss memorabilia from years gone by. One particular nerd cuddled a doll with long, jet black hair and a monkey tail, wearing a shirt with 'RADITZU, DA 07 CHAMP' emblazed in red. The name didn't ring any bells, but Orion heard somewhat secondhand that a saiyan warrior was the champion of the annual deathmatch. That must've been him.

"All right, all right!" a DA official yelled, growing agitated with the fanboys trying to clamour over the barricades. "Is there any other contestants that wish to try their luck?"

Orion gracefully floated over the gaggle of geeks and touched down before the desk. "Yes, I'd like to join."

"Excellent," came the response. "You actually look like a fighter. Most sign ups have been from these spindly kids in home made costumes their mums made for them." She sighed. "Although, I do admire that part of your costume!" She motioned above his head.

"What?"

"You know, that halo?"

"Ah," Orion nodded. He forgot that he was technically still dead.

"Is it some ploy at being 'angelic'?" the official laughed, despite herself.

Orion failed to answer, instead concentrating on the application form.
----
Name: Orion
Race: Saiyan
Age: 47
Prior DA experience: None
Technique: Secret
Goals: Victory
----

"Done," he declared, handing back the clipboard.

"OK, would you like to step this way for some photos and footage of your fighting skills?" the tournament employee offered.

Orion shook his head. "I'm no showboat. You can take one photo and then let me go."

"Uh..." came the stammered response, obviously not what she was expecting to hear. "Please, it'll only take a moment-"

"Just take the photo," he answered.

Arching an eyebrow, she did just that; a serious face-on image of the one eyed wonder. Orion noticed the teletube used for the participants to be whisked away, and promptly made his way to it before the tournament official could object.

Standing inside it, Orion was warped from Earth towards the deadly battle royale, hoping to reclaim his saiyan spirit once more.

[Uno]

Continued from here...

After waiting for some time, Uno finally was at the front of the line. He looked ahead to the old man behind the counter. The man looked like he had seen many years of a long; perhaps too long. The man was short and wrinkled, and wore an oversized pair of eyeglasses. He yelled, “Alright, will the next whippersnapper get the hell up here?! I don’t got all day!”

Taking that as his cue, Uno stepped up to the front of the small table. He stood at attention in front of the elderly man, waiting for him to say something. After waiting for a few moments, he began to get impatient. “Excuse me?” he asked, waiting for the man to respond. He didn’t move a muscle. Uno moved closer to the old man, wondering what was wrong with him. Upon closer inspection, it turned out that the old man had fallen asleep. Uno sighed, nudging the man’s shoulder to wake him up.

“Gahwha!?!” the old man screamed, franticly opening his eyes and flailing his arms about. Uno quickly backed off, no wishing to anger his elder anymore than he already had. When the man had calmed down, he adjusted his glasses and looked directly at the white-haired young man. “Ah, it’s another one of you damn whippersnappers. You nearly scared the false teeth out of me!”

“Sorry, sir.” apologized Uno.

“Don’t you sorry sir me! All of you damn youngins and your ‘rock n roll.’ Back in my day, we didn’t have ‘guitars’. We had classical instruments, ya hear? It was a rock you hit with a stick. Best music I ever heard. Those were the good old days. But now you damn whippersnappers and yur ‘Wal-Marts’ and yur ‘florescent lights’ and yur ‘Blu-Ray’ and yur ‘Barbie dolls’ and yur ‘Y2K’ and yur ‘Nascar’ and yur ‘hybrids’ and yur ‘laptops’ and yur ‘YouTube videos’ and yur ‘cat food’ and yur ‘extreme Frisbee’ and yur ‘MC Hammer’ and yur ‘quantum physics’ and yur ‘bling bling’ and yur ‘PS3s’ and yur ‘calculators’ and yur ‘Cloverfeild’ and yur ‘post it notes’ and yur ‘Jell-O’ and yur ‘picket fences’ and yur ‘glove compartments’ and yur ‘used panty dispensers’ and yur ‘baggy pants’ and yur ‘Jew fros’ and yur ‘Limewire’ and yur ‘lunchboxes’ and yur ‘toilets’ and yur…”

“ALRIGHT!” Uno yelled, silencing the old man for a moment. The white-haired weapon master took a deep breath and then calmly asked, “Could you please get on with it?”

“Hmpf, you damn whippersnappers are so impatient. Anyway, what’s yur name?”

“Uno.”

“Don’t know? You don’t know yur name?! I tell yah, these whippersnappers are getting dumber by the minute.”

“No, it’s ‘Uno.’” the white-haired weapon master tried to explain.

“I heard you the first time, you don’t know. That’s fine, you’ll be that unnamed ‘X’ contestant that all the damn whippersnappers find mysterious and sexy. I tell yah, these girls today are dumber than a sack of beans. And I’ve lived through enough shit to know that. In fact, I think I took one just now. Good thing I have my diaper on. That’s the one good thing you whippersnappers have invented. That, and prune juice. You know, that reminds me of a time…”

While the old man was rambling, Uno grabbed a signup sheet from the desk and filled it out himself. He then went in front of the camera and summoned a Ki ball into his hand. He juggled with it before tossing it up into the air. He quickly grabbed his Tachi blade and sliced the ball in two, which exploded behind him in an epic fashion. Uno then sheathed his sword and walked himself to the teleport, entering the coordinates himself. As he began to dissipate, he could still hear the rambling of the old man.

“…but he didn’t find the fungus until he was fifty-nine!”

[Bujin]

Bujin sighed.

It was more out of frustration than anything. It had been a year – a full year since he had deemed himself crazy, and a full year with little to no result as to finding out how or why it happened in the first place. He had been through a lot in that period of time…after all, there’s nothing like risking one’s own life to take someone’s mind (or lack thereof) off of things for a while. It had worked, too – until, however, the anniversary of the origin of his lunacy. His mental playground – Dante’s Abyss. The thought alone was something that made his skin crawl, but yet, somehow, he found himself standing at its gates once more.

He hated himself for being there. This marked his third time participating in something like this, and every single time, he did something that ultimately lead to his own demise. However, after all that he had gone through; after the contest had toyed with his life so many times, he knew that he had to be there. Just standing around waiting for some reason to fall out of the sky was unreasonable – Bujin was still clinging on a small hope that there was something on that God-forsaken island that would clue him in on why the voices left, and, more importantly, why they were there in the first place.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he waited and waded through the lines until he stood up to the receptionist, who was impatiently waiting for all the slackers to sign up. However, she was reading a file and was too consumed with it to notice him. After giving an exaggerated cough, she sighed and looked up in a glare.

“Okay, okay, fine. Are you here to sign…” she said as she looked up, stringing together a temperamental inquiry until her frown turned into a confused glare. Bujin blinked, slightly taken aback by her sudden burst of confusion until he finally noticed what she had apparently noticed. They both shared an awkward eye-lock until they both opened their mouths.

“Didn’t I get you last year?” they both asked at once.

“God, you’re that creep from last year! I thought last year would have filtered out all the weird ones,” she exclaimed, putting a late hand up to her mouth to mute the impetuous comment.

“Hey, I’m not a creep!” Bujin protested. “I had…some problems last year. Problems that have been sorted out, so just sign me up already.”

“Fine. Nam--…”

“Bujin, 22, and give me a minute to show you that awesome move that I know you’re just dying to see,” the small warrior cut off the receptionist, spouting off the information that he recalled having to give last year. The woman sighed and waved him off dismissively, slumping backwards into her chair and crossing her arms in wait.

Bujin raised an arm into the air. Like always.

He created a blade out of his ki. Again, like always.

He waved it around in front of her face as if to say “See? Absolutely nothing has changed, and we’re wasting our time.”

“Just splendid,” she clicked her tongue. “Go ahead and go through the…”

“Way ahead of you,” Bujin waved at her behind his shoulder as he passed through the tele-tube.

[Hellfighter 17]

Things were, suddenly, quite odd for the MAN. One second he was struggling to get out of a trap, a heinous one at that, set by the devilish clowns, and now he was safely on the floor of the very ship he crashed. Looking around, he thought he saw something, but it was merely a mistake on the narrator’s part, for there was nothing there. Literally, there was nothing there. The absence of light, energy, matter, magic underwear—all of it was missing. Standing up, Seventeen started to walk towards it. However, on the way there, he happened to notice a slip of paper lying on the ground. Opening it, he started to read it aloud: ‘I’m coming for you.’ Naturally, Seventeen took this to be coordinates for something. Sticking the paper into his pocket, he walked into the black abyss.

*

No beep. No chirp. No rustling. No squeeks. No sound. No, no, no.

There was, however, a light. It was powerfully radiant, beaming out in its magnificence across the sky. On a cloud above, there was a large patch of red on it, in the shape of an ellipse. On a cloud nearby, there was the same thing, but part of it was missing near the edge of the cloud. Tracing the beam down to its origin, one passed tree limbs, birds, a pterodactyl or two, and a puff of grey smoke that was nearly all dissipated. And, at the roof of it all, was a set of balls. Two, in fact, that were nearly identical in shape and size. On both of them there was a series of concentric circles that formed a kind of bands on each ball. The first band was chestnut in colour, very vibrant and deep, as though one could see the other side of the ball. The inner band, which formed a filled-out circle was red, and the origin of the beam. The balls themselves were eyes, and they belonged to an android named Seventeen.

Seventeen needed no sounds. They were useless, even though he was fitted to be able to make them out extraordinarily well. Most of his body was built with sensors that could detect waves, particularly those in air, but in any fluid medium—this meant he could know what someone was saying underwater, even if they were a fair distance away. All he needed was his sight and his power. With his power, his body began to radiate a very distinct colour—burgundy. Burgundy was the colour that Seventeen associated with power, since he was made to believe himself to be the Alpha and the Omega. Whether this was true or not, he did not know, but it was in his instinct to believe it. He was in no way aware of this knowledge, but the thought crossed his mind at times, such as when the burgundy aura surrounding his body caused the metal that had been lying on top of him to shatter. The molecules and alloys that composed it broke apart from one another and disintegrated into their constituent atoms, for the time being. He was now free to get up and walk away from the wreckage of the site.

Standing up, one could see that the damage to his head, with the skin missing from it, was not all that had happened. There was also an impalement in his abdomen, along with a lot of skin missing from his left shin. Other than that, though, the damage to his body did not even reach superficial. Looking down, with the red glare having died down to a minor radiance, he thrust his hand onto the large piece of metal that was sticking out of his torso. It reached nearly two feet out in the front, and a couple of inches in the back. He gripped tightly onto it and wiggled it about in his hands for a little while. Soon enough he started stroking it, feeling the grooves along it, memorizing where each one was as he did so. Then he gripped the end of it and with much strength once again, but then let go. He looked up, and a display appeared before his eyes.

On the display was a coordinate pair which lay beside a map. The map listed where the coordinates lay and where Seventeen himself was. A line, which was straight for the most part, connected the two, and advised the android to follow it. Looking in the direction, he began running. Immediately he encountered a large forest, to which he reacted by doing nothing. He continued running, and the burgundy aura around him seemed to cause the trees before him to splinter and break apart into virtually nothing. With several minutes, the android reach his destination. To stop he merely placed one foot in front of the other sideways and pressed hard onto the ground. Within a couple of feet he stopped, but he stood beneath ground level, with the ground having melted due to the heat that was caused by his feet braking on the ground. He jumped up onto the ground, and there was a rather large building. It was not tall, but its perimetre probably reached into the tens of kilometres. He walked towards and into it, his hand having knocked the door off.

Seventeen soon found himself at a desk, where a man was. They were a pair of glasses that appeared to be tinted, such that the eyes were hidden from view. ‘I take it you wish to sign up for this year’s Dante’s Abyss Tournament?’ the desk clerk asked. Seventeen merely stared at him. The man was not sure how, but he felt as though his eyes were being concentrated on with all the energy of the Universe. Unable to find the words to reply, he merely stared at the naked man. ‘Wait a second, you’re naked?’ The android did not even look down, for it was irrelevant whether he was naked or not. He was told to go here, so he did so. ‘Well, we are going to need a demonstration of your powers,’ he said, staring at the thick metal that composed Seventeen’s head.

With squinting eyes, which covered up all but the red pupils, the android once again placed a hand on the metal sticking out of his torso. He wiggled it around for a bit, allowing the clerk to hear it scraping and crushing support metals and organs in his body. Eventually, he pulled it forward by a couple of inches and then, rather than continue, he pushed it backwards, slowly. It started emerging on the other side with blood, oil, and optical fibres on it. The clerk stared in incredulity and eventually had to cover his ears. Not due to the scraping of metal on metal, but the sound of organs and muscle tissue being crushed and broken was too much for his organic ears to stand.

Once there was only an inch of the metal left sticking out, Seventeen pulled his hand off except for one finger at the end, and he then continued to push, with his hand starting to thrust into his own body. Within another minute, the beam fell to the ground on the other side, and Seventeen pulled his arm out of his abdomen.

*

Conveniently for the android, there was a place in the building for him to fix his wounds, after he had given sufficient information to be eligible to join the tournament. Once he finished repairing himself, with new skin on his face and shin, he was shown a room where he would be able to choose whatever clothing he wished, to cover his naked body. Once he was left alone in the room with the computer that could display any clothing fathomable, his eyes stopped glowing red. With a dazed look, he began pressing buttons at the terminal, and after two hours of messing around, he emerged from the dressing room wearing the following clothing:

A hat that reached twenty inches above his head and that was adorned with an array of fruit—all fake, of course; a grass skirt that only reached down two inches; a pair of underwear that went from his groin all the way down to his ankles; flip-flops that were adorned with glitter; a pink shirt that said ‘Real Men Wear Pink’; and the most badass pair of sunglasses to be imagined.

[Talys]

"Christ! How long have we been here?!"

"Why the hell would they host the sign ups of the biggest event of the year in this tiny shit hole?!"

"About three hours man. . ."

"God dammit! Move!"

"Fuck! Watch where you're stepping!"

Insults and cries of complaint flew across the continuously growing crowd smashed into what was possibly the smallest gym in South City. Burly fighters of all shapes and sizes pushed and shoved in a futile effort to put their names in for the galactically famous Dante's Abyss and get out of the building before their ADD kicked into full gear. One specific warrior, slightly under-built compared to many of the titans filing into the room, stood off to the side contemplating the impatience of the world at large. The dark haired warrior, not particularly adept at handling or comfortable in large crowds, was content with his small, two square feet of space in the corner. . .that is until the abnormally large, in all directions, man before him broke the bubble and stepped on his foot.

"What the hell did you say to me?" The man turned, his blond locks whirling with the motion in an almost feminine contrast to his other features.

"I said: 'Fuck, watch where you're stepping'," Talys said cooly, slowly raising his muddy emerald eyes to meet that of the giant Aryan before him.

"You'd be wise to watch who you're talking too," even the man's sneer caused unknown muscles to ripply and flex.

"And you'd be wise to watch where you're stepping. . .and to not wear pants that tight. . .they don't flatter your. . .area. . ."

The huge fighter made an insulting gesture involving the presence of one particular finger and stomped his foot down towards that of Talys'. The shorter combatant quickly pulled his foot up, though, with a speed that sent ripples through his deep green shirt.

"Was it the steroids? I hear they can do that. . ." He coaxed with false concern. "Or maybe the steroids came second to make up for something."

The titan roared and flung his fist towards his verbal abuser. Talys expected this though and threw his own forward was well. The two clenched hands collided in midair and sent a deafening crash across the room. There was a slight pause as the shock worked its way up the bulging, outstretched arm of the blond man. There was an audible crack as the force reached his shoulder and forced it out of its socket. He let out a yelp of pain and was surprised to see Talys suddenly directly under his nose.

"iHola!" He said cheerily before sending his opponent flying across the room with the palm of his hand. He tumbled painfully through the crowd before finally smashing into the registration table at the back of the room.

"Well, that was convenient. . ." Talys muttered as he walked through the path left by the flying ball of muscle. Not a single person stepped up to stop him.

"Uh. . .name?" A small red headed woman in glasses asked from the table as he approached, taking a short breath to look at the unconscious body now decorating her station.

"Hi, I'm Talys. I represent the Desert Martial Arts Academy and will obviously fight out of Earth." He firmly, perhaps a little more so than necessary, planted his foot on the face of his victim which rested on the floor. "Now, if that's all, I'd like to get out of hear. . .I get grumpy in crowds."

"Uhhh. . .yes. . .that is all. . ." The woman stammered and motioned to the door, simply wanting the casual fighter to leave.

"Thanks," Talys winked and strutted to the door, whistling an improvised tune as he went.

[Bojack]

"Hey," someone said, "hey man, you gotta sign up first!"

"Not now chief," Bojack replied, "I'm in the fucking zone."

He was high on nerves, adrenaline, and fear; the saffron ring in stasis above his head a reminder why. For two months he braved the fiery planes of Hell, running into "old friends" that wanted to catch up on old "times". The wounds were still there from when Bojack ghosted them in a former life, and he was happy to fill them with more, right between the eyes. They stayed down, most of the time, but more kept coming. And coming. And coming. It got the point where he felt like he was an ancient folk hero fighting a horde of undead.

For two months, he was accosted by the deeds of his past and choked by the overwhelming guilt of it all for the first time in his life (if you could even call it that at the time). He never considered them much more than a pricetag. There, forced to fight and beg with his former victims, he learned of their families and their hopes and their dreams and their fears, all of which they were more than happy to dump off on him. Two months of that shit was enough, and at that point he did what very few have been able to do. He broke out.

"Dude wtf are you doing," a man struggled to stay at his side, "you haven't followed any of the procedures... you haven't even told me your damn name!"

"Hi, I'm Bojack, I like taking long walks on the beach and stuffing people's balls down their throats. Wanna see?"

"What the hell, dude you have to go-"

It only took an instant for the man's crotch to become a pulpy mess of blood and flesh, and for his mouth to be swelled with unsavory contents. Camera's flashed in the distance. People screamed. He didn't care too much.

"Hey! Get back here!"

"Go suck a dog's bleeding ass."

Bojack embraced the azure fluorescents of the teletube, letting the warmth steady his nerves. The hum of live circuits gave birth to a soothing white noise. It calmed him; gave him a chance to call upon that steel fortitude he normally leaned on like a crutch. Usually it was more than enough to get him out of a jam, but this time he had a feeling all the guts in the world wouldn't get him out of this one. The Devil doesn't take too kindly to people just up and leaving Hell, and Bojack knew that there was someone or something hot on his heels waiting to drag him back.

As he fragmented into a stream of atoms, one thought weighed heavy in his head. A piece of poetry, one of his favorites in fact, resonated with a stern finality.

I'm coming, and hell's coming with me.

OOC: complete fail, IS EVERYONE HAPPY NOW D=