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The Cell Games Gauntlet!; Learning to Fly . . . From Recoome + Freeze!
Topic Started: Nov 20 2017, 03:57 PM (37 Views)
Radical
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Radical woke up screaming. Face down in a barren field, Radical was covered in dirt. Picking himself up slowly, he rose and haphazardly dusted himself off, focused moreso on his surroundings in an effort to gain some semblance of his location. The witch had sent him . . . somewhere. A desolate wasteland, by the looks of it, with gigantic petrified trees encircling him as far as the eye could see. A few dozen meters away, there was a large, blood red pond. Was he even still on Shi’kir?

Radical started walking toward the pond. He noticed small white clouds scurrying just above the ground, floating around him. He noticed the strange smell in the air, like burnt carbon and suffering. It smelled like death.

FRESH MEAT!

A booming voice screamed from behind Radical, so close that it startled him. Spinning around, Radical was only able to make out a mammoth silhouette. For the briefest of moments, he felt comfort: he thought it was Punchline. He was wrong. The silhouette moved so fast Radical’s sensors couldn’t follow and the attack landed like a meteor, smashing in Radical’s skull and flooring the wandering Android. Everything went black.

. . .

freshmeat . . . fresh meat . . . Fresh Meat . . . Fresh Meat! . . . FRESH MEAT! . . . FRESH MEAT! FRESH MEAT! FRESH MEAT!

Radical awoke to the sound of a hundred voices chanting. His head ringing, Radical shook it off. Something was happening. Once again picking himself back up off the ground – an act which, he feared, he would be doing a lot today – he took stock of his surroundings. He had been moved from the wasteland further into the petrified forest to a wide clearing. He could no longer see the blood pond anymore. Radical was in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by ominous fossilized trees, which curved and winded hundreds of feet into the air, obscuring the curiously yellow sky.

Yellow sky – Shi’kir didn’t have a yellow sky. Where was he? And where was Punchline?

It was hard to think clearly with the chanting. Just within the tree line, hundreds of creatures had Radical surrounded. A colorful motley crew of aliens, the races depicted in this eclectic gathering represented every kind of alien Radical knew of as well as several variations he had never seen before. Despite the threatening implication of their chant, Radical wasn’t concerned that he was outnumbered or on some kind of display within the center of the circle. Instead, he was concerned by what he was standing on.

Radical was in a tournament arena.

The entire set up smacked of the World Martial Arts Tournament: the rampant Android was situated upon a large white, stone platform assembled from hundreds of square pieces. Rising a few feet off of the ground, the ring itself was immaculate, a strange find for this gloomy place. Walking to one side of the ring, Radical scanned the crowd and noticed all eyes were on him. Something was about to happen.

Welcome to Hell!

A melodramatic voice called out from behind. Turning around, Radical found that one of the members of the crowd had entered the ring. Radical’s scanners immediately started analyzing the newcomer. He was a Bio-Android, but one unlike anything Radical had ever seen before. He was too . . . perfect. Insect-like, the Bio-Android had wings and a stinger along with a light green exoskeleton, complimented by black plating. The creature’s white humanoid face was expressive and clearly conveyed the Bio-Androids default emotional state: condescension. What troubled Radical most, a part from Bio-Android’s predilection for consuming Androids such as himself, was the monster’s Power Level. It was the highest Power Level Radical had ever encountered before. It was too high for his internal Scouters to read.

I am Cell, the creature exclaimed with the lure of an announcer. Crossing his arms over his chest, the crowd quieted in deference to their leader’s monologue.

And you are a visitor in our home.

Radical looked confused, his eyes narrowing. Hell? Could he really be in the afterlife? The Bio-Android read his confusion ably and smirked, chuckling to himself quietly.

He hasn’t noticed! Please, do us all a favor: look down at your hands.

Radical raised his mechanical arms and looked down, only to be stricken with shock. Radical’s arms were transparent. Radical’s entire body was like a ghost’s. He was himself, attired in the same sleeves blue vest and black cargo pants he had been wearing with Punchline, but his entire form was vaguely see through. Radical was a phantom.

The Android’s disbelief was palpable, and Cell laughed at Radical’s expression, shutting his eyes and shaking his head as he did so. After a moment, Cell opened his eyes and his gaze settled upon Radical’s ghastly figure.

As I said, welcome to Hell,
Edited by Radical, Nov 20 2017, 03:58 PM.
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Radical
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Now, judging by your reaction to all of this, I have to assume that you didn’t know you would be coming here, Cell was disturbingly insightful. And, given your disposition, let me reassure that your trip here is temporary – you haven’t died.

Radical tried to piece together clues to make sense of Cell’s words. Radical’s disposition was certainly different from everyone else’s. Every other creature here looked normal, exactly how they must have looked in real life, with the exception of a golden halo floating just over their heads. By contrast, Radical was a halo-less specter. The halos and the unsettling nature of Cell’s proclamations had Radical increasingly convinced he was indeed in Hell.

But, nevertheless, we are going to treat you as we would any newcomer that arrives with their body still intact. Please understand, we have an eternity to spend here, and our options for entertainment are quite limited. So, every time we get a new person, I host the Cell Games Gauntlet! The Premier Tournament in all of the Afterlife! Here, you will get a chance to fight against history’s strongest warriors. You will get a chance to prove your worth, show us how quick of a learner you are, and based on your performance, we will plug you into our hierarchy,

The aliens surrounding the ring erupted in a chorus of cheers when Cell announced the games. There was going to be a fight. Lots of them, by the looks of it. As Radical glanced around he noticed scores of aliens stepping toward the ring, each smirking and smiling knowingly. There wasn’t going to be a shortage of volunteers for this.

Do you have any questions?

Radical’s yellow eyes settled back onto his host and he nodded. His voice was steady, on the surface he looked calm. Inside, he was mortified.

Yes, two. First, how long is this going to last? And second, you mentioned that me learning was a part of your criteria for hierarchy, can you elaborate?

Cell once again chuckled. The fact everything was so painfully funny to him aggravated Radical. Cell’s cockiness was hard to overstate.

Excellent questions, Cell said, controlling his snorting. I can’t tell you how long you’re going to be a part of our little game. Based on the others like you that have stopped by, it seems to do with the nature of how you were sent here,

Radical looked away and contemplated Cell’s words. The nature of how he was sent here. The witch! His memories were hazy, but Radical started to recall the strange ritual and the conversation over tea. But why was he the only one here? Where was Punchline?

However, I can ASSURE you it will feel quite lengthy,
What do you mean?
Well, you see the Afterlife has its own unique temporal atmosphere. Time moves slower here. Additionally, we’ve taken certain measures to ensure that our time won’t be cut short, Radical noticed a small, squatty Bas-jin giggle and throw his fist in the air. Suffice it to say, I think you can expect this little game of ours to last approximately ten years.

Radical’s eyes widened. Ten years? Here? Radical felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath him. Cell continued making moves, and leapt off the platform as another contender climbed up and approached Radical; he didn’t have long to wallow in despair.

As for your other question, haven’t you noticed? You’re the weakest man in Hell with a body, my boy. If you’ve any chance of beating us, you’re going to have to learn what we’re doing and throw it back in our faces. Otherwise, heh,

Radical ignored the newcomer to the ring, he was still fixated on Cell.

I’m sure you’ve guessed that we can’t kill you here. However, a decade of nonstop agony does strange things to the mind. I can’t promise you’ll retain your sanity if you can’t figure out how to defend yourself,

That was where the entertainment value was. They weren’t going to destroy him and wrench the life out of him, they were going to see if they could beat him into submission, render him catatonic through a combination of excruciating pain and the existential hopelessness of his ordeal. They had one ten years to rip him a part.

Radical shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He was trapped here, a prisoner lost in time. He was alone. He couldn’t control a single aspect of his existence right now, save for one, save for his reaction to this moment, how he would respond from here on out. He experienced clarity, he knew with complete certainty what he was going to do. Radical decided that he would fight.

Victory is always possible for the person who refuses to stop fighting.
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Radical
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Opening his eyes, Radical faced his challenger.

Alright, I get you first since I found you . . . PREPARE TO FACE THE MIGHTY, RECOOME!

Evidently, pride cometh before and after the fall. Recoome was a Brutii attired in PTO armor and a green scouter and he made Cell look humble by comparison. After announcing himself in the tournament, he began a series of poses and grunts – several of which Radical recognized as nothing more than standard ballet moves – and started rising in the air. Floating up, suspended by his own ki, Recoome ultimately settled twenty feet over the ring, finalizing a pretty ludicrous pose that had required a few dozen spins and flips. Eternity had given him time to perfect this little routine, Radical suspected.

Come and get me, metal man!

This was awkward. Radical used to be able to fly, for that matter, his Power Level used to be comparable to Recoome’s. But rampancy had taken its toll. In addition to robbing his Power Core of any respectable energy levels, the rampancy had rendered his own energy manipulation an exercise in futility. He couldn’t focus enough to draw out his own ki.

Oh my goodness, he can’t fly! a hulking Shikirian shouted, prompting a series of boos and jeers.

Cell buried his face in his palm, shaking his head. Recoome laughed. Radical’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t been able to fly for years now, but that was when rampancy was in full swing. After Lutz, and now being here . . .

Fine! If you can’t come to me, I will come to you!

Recoome shattered Radical’s concentration. Soaring down from up top, Radical moved with a speed that the Android hadn’t encountered in decades. Closing the sizable distance between them in seconds, Recoome reached out and grabbed both of Radical’s steel arms. The rampant Android was stunned.

Ginyu Kick!

The big man delivered a snap kick right to Radical’s face. The force from the kick sent Radical skidding back across the ring’s surface, ripping his arms out of their sockets. When Radical stopped skidding, he collapsed onto his left knee. Both arms ripped out resulted in a series of sparks emanating from his torso, and the kick had shredded the skin off of the left side of Radical’s face, revealing his metallic skeleton underneath. This was bad.

Lurching forward, he— . . . caught himself, with his hand? Radical instinctively had reached out for the approaching ground to halt his fall and, much to surprise, his arms were somehow reattached. Reaching up, the skin had reformed on his face. Standing, he looked to Cell for answers. The Bio-Android offered a shrug.

The perks of your incorporeal nature,

Radical’s ghastly form had healed in less time than it had taken to destroy it. Recoome, undeterred by his opponent’s invincible body, instead saw a punching bag that wouldn’t ever break. Smiling, the gigantic Brutii took to the skies again. Radical’s sensors analyzed his patterns, and the method behind his attack. Cycling through a series of available views, Radical’s vision ended up with a mix of the infrared filter and thermal output so that he could see Recoome’s ki. He used to be able to fly like Recoome; he just needed to remember how.

The next eight hours went much the same. Trying to deduce the inner workings of a technique sans explanation, while simultaneously trying to avoid pulverization, was difficult. Radical failed each and every single time. Recoome ripped each and every one of his limbs off several times over. He had twisted Radical’s head off and kicked it like a soccer ball to the rest of the Ginyu Force. He had put Radical’s legs in his arm sockets and his arms in his leg sockets. And each and every time, Radical had recovered.

But the beatings were still taking their toll. Indestructible or not, each and every attack hurt. He had to endure the feeling of his body being ripped apart over and over again, he experienced being grinded into dust until suddenly rematerializing due to the witch’s spell, only to be grinded down again. He knew the sound that his own skull made when it was cracked open, and the feeling of having his Power Core ripped out of his chest by an arrogant fool of an opponent. He knew hopelessness.

Eight hours into a decade of torture and Radical was already reeling. Broken, but not defeated, some of the onlookers were beginning to grow tired of the show and were about to write Radical off when, to everyone’s surprise, he landed an attack. Recoome had lifted him over head and was about to break his back in half (for the third time) when Radical had loosed a powerful energy wave right onto the big man’s head. The blast had no physical effect on the exponentially more powerful Recoome, but it had surprised him and caught everyone’s attention. The crowd erupted into a cheer. Radical still had fight left in him.

Recoome brought Radical crashing down, bisecting his torso and snapping his head clean off his shoulders. As Radical’s head bounced along the ring’s surface, however, there was a curious smile on his face. Shutting his eyes, awaiting rematerialization, Radical had the same cocky grin Cell had. He had it for good reason:

Radical remembered how to manifest his own ki.
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Radical
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Radical spent the next three years (or so it seemed) getting intermittently crushed by the Ginyu Force. Along the way, he learned a great deal.

Whether it was Lutz’ experimental treatment or the spell itself, Radical could focus. After a few more rounds with Recoome, he was flying again. It was choppy at first, but since he had all the time in the world, he soon got the hang of it. Radical was back.

But still greatly outmatched. Radical was putting up enough of a show that the majority of the crowd had remained glued to their seats. While Radical’s fledgling ki blasts and kicks couldn’t really scratch the Brutus titan, or any of his compatriots, Radical was impressively quick. The fights were lasting longer than they should and it was taking more effort (comparatively to the zero amount of effort it had taken before) to destroy Radical. This was as close to winning as he was going to get.

Radical was also given continuous exposure to litany of techniques, utilizing ki in ways he had never imagined possible. Unfortunately, not all of them were within his grasp: several of the moves the other members of the Ginyu Force unleashed upon him happened so quick and were so overwhelming he simply couldn’t process enough of their finer points to try and copy them like he had flight. Other moves were specialty techniques so nuanced he had no hope of ever learning their secrets – i.e., his first fight against the Shikirian Captain had ended with Radical mysteriously switching bodies with his opponent, much to Radical’s surprise. He managed to use the purple form well enough at first, but with another blast he was back in his own body and promptly skewered by the Captain’s horns. Realizing, perhaps, that he might have actually lost the fight had Radical picked up on what was happening a little faster, Ginyu never used that technique again and Radical had never been given the opportunity to learn more about it – while more still simply required a level of speed and power he did not possess.

He had, however, managed to copy a simple version of the Bas-jin’s time manipulation technique. That such a process was even possible didn’t register in Radical’s head (literally; he had to turn off an error message flashing across his scanners reading ‘DOES NOT COMPUTE’ in order to avoid a telekinetically thrown rock) but he had been able to deduce some of the salient details, largely thanks to Guldo’s insistence on monologuing. Suffering for months at the hand of a fat Bas-jin checked any sense of ego the Android had, but in exchange for the ability to bend time, it seemed worth it.

After another ringer of being ripped to shreds by Burter and Jeice’s hyper-speed combo attack – another move Radical had no hope of ever copying – Cell stepped back into the ring and sent the Ginyus to the sideline. Evidently, Radical had fought back enough to earn a shot at the big man. There was no joke here or even a hope of Radical somehow beating one of them. This was simply a way for the cruel and powerful to feel powerful once again in a realm that kept them permanently trapped. If there was any scenario in which this turned out well for Radical, it was that he simply earned enough respect to eventually be left alone. So far, if there was any hope of escape from this place, Radical hadn’t found it.

Cell didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Radical suspected this was going to hurt. Still, he gave it a shot. Gathering a vermilion energy in the palm of his right hand, Radical threw a respectable energy lob at the biological nightmare. Calmly, Cell reached up and placed two fingers against his forehead, chuckling to himself, literally bubbling over with condescension. As Radical’s blast neared Cell’s form, he vanished.

Radical’s scouter went haywire. Cell’s energy signatures literally disappeared right before his eyes. There hadn’t been a movement pattern to trace, there hadn’t been a burst of ki signifying a powerful energy technique. He had simply ceased to exist. Radical had never seen anything like it.

Then he reappeared. Coming into existence as quickly as he had left it, the hulking Bio-Android towered over Radical, standing inches in front of him. Raising a single hand, Cell brought the edge of his palm crashing into the top of Radical’s skull, splitting his entire body in two. As Radical felt his figure fall in opposite directions, he stared off beyond the ring where a line was forming up – challengers that wanted a turn at annihilating him for sport. Next in line after Cell was a quiet Saiyan with dead eyes. Before everything went black in preparation for rematerializing, Radical had a fleeting, ominous thought.

Seven more years of this.
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Radical
[ Learning to Fly . . . From Recoome, Freeze! ]
[ +80 EXP! +200z! ]
[ Reward: Bukujutsu Level 1, Guldo's Battle Pausing ]
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