Bitter (Open) Oct 3, 2018 15:40:32 GMT -6
Post by Vocado on Oct 3, 2018 15:40:32 GMT -6
Thread Power Level: 58,000
On the edges of Namek sat the Outer Plait. A lawless land covered in magma and volcanic rock. Most civilized folk would never think to step foot here, but the Saiyans saw it fitting to make it their base of operations. Hidden in a craggy valley was their base; rough and shoddy, it would be good enough for rugged fighters like themselves, but if a battle broke out here they'd surely lose it to a well-trained force.
And within this base sat a medical tent. Moreso a capsule building than a tent, the inside was lined with Healing Tanks and other medical equipment. There were few soldiers who needed medical attention despite their extended stay, though when someone needed treatment it was usually a severe blow. One such individual was in one of those tanks already, floating in a cool teal liquid. His tail swayed limply behind him, and his eyes were shut, though he was beginning to stir.
It was still hard to rouse himself, but he could feel a pressure in his head. In his dreams he was fighting, and his body was starting to falter. He was dueling a golden man, his aura a bright fire in the darkness of this empty world. The gold man with a shadowed face traded blow for blow in their clash, but each swing the man landed on our slumbering hero felt like a jackhammer to the skull in the Saiyan's mindspace. He tried and tried to fight, dodging this way and that, and landing hits when he could, but could not compete. In the end, he faltered in his own mental battle. As he fell, a myriad of faces crowded the sky above, mocking him for his failure.
"Never a very good King, was he?" one face crooned.
"I always knew I'd have to overthrow him," taunted another, more stoic face.
"Wasn't even that cute," said a feminine face.
Finally, his opponent walked toward him, gripping him by the throat and lifting him into the air. The shadows shrouding this opposing Saiyan's face faded, revealing his attacker to be none other than himself. King Vocado, the Super Saiyan, cackled in a dry, soulless tone, and pulled his free arm back to form a ball of Ki.
"Looks like you failed, as always. You've never been good at much, have you? Shall I end your miserable life? Maybe someone competent will finally take that crown of yours."
Vocado tried to protest, but was too busy choking to do so. The Ki blast overwhelmed him, and he felt... Nothing.
His eyes opened, a panic in his heart, but he remembered where he was. The liquid in his tank began to drain, and Vocado ripped the breathing mask on his face off, drinking in real oxygen for the first time in hours.
Stepping out of the tank and into the Medical Facility, Vocado gripped his head, and frowned. He wouldn't let doubt kill him off. Ramen punched that lesson into him, at least. He grabbed his armor from a table near his tank, and began donning it. He wondered who might have cleaned it, but didn't give it too much thought.
"Damn... I must've been out for a day at least," he said aloud, almost to reassure himself that he was not in another layer of some nightmare. "Perhaps I should check in on my people."
He grabbed the Scouter off the table, and tightened his gloves, before walking out of the building and traversing the base. Perhaps he'd run into a trusted friend on his way to the main building.