Hell Hath No Picnic (Open)

Massive webs of thunder struck from the gloomy clouds above, a chilling gust of wind lashed the brambles madly against one another, the saibamen stopped their cackling and hid from the Duke no matter how many treats were hurled their way. Kalabas adjusted his headband, clueless as to what was causing so much disturbance in all around him. This change… it couldn’t possibly be coming from him, could it? In his past forays into Hell’s untamed wilds, damnation was just that, untamed and wild, it kept going in its natural coursing and at times even bloomed in Kalabas’ presence. What he saw then was beautiful, what he saw now was like some prey scurrying away in one last - pathetic - show of might. The wind stilled, the clouds parted, the bramble forest fell silent, and Kalabas could no longer feel the saibamen or any other creature save for himself, and a very familiar energy… This ‘other’ had a voice, and it called. More intrigued than scared, he was far too powerful and dead to ever again fear for his life, Kalabas turned and walked down the trail with some haste, anxious to see just who this person was.

It was Paige, of course! Heaven’s Fruit, returned for some training from hell! “Indeed there is!” Kalabas walked confidently, with large and dominating strides down the treacherous dirt path “Not just anybody, however - but the Kingdom’s very own Iron Duke! It is I, Kalabas Strongbone!” he bowed with excessive care and pomp, this was all - well, not all - a joke to him, and he was in a good mood to boot! Wasn’t Hell wonderful? Straightening himself with a cough, the Duke ruffled the shinjin’s hair “Have you doubled your power, shinjin? Amazing, simply amazing!” Sure, when Kalabas fired his first Execution Beam he was already about as strong as Paige was now, but he had been engineered to be the way he was, so it was far from being a fair comparison. No, the sensei was genuinely proud, doubling in power was a sign that whatever it was he had done he had done it well… Did his words help unlock the confidence Paige needed to reach for greater heights of power? Perhaps, perhaps not. Kalabas would have preferred if she had a zenkai-like instinct to exploit, which she didn’t. “Come now, I prepared something for our spar. I hope you are ready for an unforgettable luncheon!... Do the shinjin feel hunger or thirst? Bah, you are sure to like it either way! 'Tis a homemade, secret family recipe!” without waiting for a response, he held of Paige’s hands “Let us begin with something light. Can you fly me to the top?” A simple request, made all the more difficult by the weights sewn into Kalabas’ headband and the sheer weight of his armor.

While Paige glided through the air as gracefully as an elderly flu-ridden pigeon with both wings clipped and at a tenth of such a creature’s speed, Kalabas wondered if the shinjin’s grip would slip and send him falling down to a second early grave. If the saiyan was feeling so inclined he would have lent a hand by taking the weight of the headband upon himself to carry, but he wasn’t so inclined, if anything, he was surprised in two fronts but acted on neither. Firstly, he didn’t expect Paige’s less-than-impressive flight, a certain dabbling with flying was a given with most fighters (or any ki-wielding creatures, for that matter), so this ‘drag’ came as a surprise; secondly, the fact that nevertheless the shinjin was managing to carry the Duke, and his armor, and his weighted headband was quite simply shocking. He was in good hands, all things considered! Even if they carried him like a burly sack of potatoes, these were still the hands he believed would carry him to the tippy- top of the Skull Mountain.

Which they did. Thank the Supreme Kai King of Northern Kaioshins.

Kalabas hopped off his blueberry steed, breathing in in silent relief. He took in the view of the bramble forest that stretched to the far horizon - tame, orderly, hellishly idyllic to the eyes of any other but quite boring to him - and then turned to give his apprentice a more composed nod “Good effort, but we will have to work on your aerial maneuvering. Flight is as important as fight, to pick one’s battles first one must be able to keep up with the fighters, no?” thus spoke Kalabas as his form blurred with the background, became translucent, and finally faded “Afterimages are useful, too.” noted the dead saiyan as he walked from behind his apprentice, teapot in hand “Above everything else, it is speed that will see you through. Or is it a keen eye? Quick thinking, for sure. Well, after a fashion...” he concluded as he handed her the teapot. It was neither hot or cold, merely lukewarm by the wait “Heat it with your ki. Be slow, be careful, I want the water boiling, not the porcelain.”

Kalabas laid a picnic blanket, and decapsulated an entire menagerie of meats and sweets and sweetened meats and meaty sweets - the lack of an actual need for sustenance had done nothing to tame his sweet tooth. Then came the second wave of food. Blood oranges, deviled eggs, other vaguely HFIL-themed foodstuffs, and of course, a blueberry pie baked in honor of the shinjin. Only then was the cutlery placed along with plates, glasses and mugs. This was done with extreme care, as etiquette and common sense demanded it all to be arranged in a way that made it seem bountiful and organized. Well, the food was certainly bountiful, and the due instruments of culinary enjoyment it were there, but the much pursued feng shui had escaped the Duke entirely. _{“Ah, blast...”}

“I was unsure what you would prefer, so I ordered what I could find and cooked what I couldn't... Remember, a fighter mustn't fight on an empty stomach, or one bursting to the seams. Pick carefully, as you will be expected to do among the mortals.” sitting right beside his little piece of heaven, Kalabas filled his plate with copious slices of rum ham and fried pineapple - he was a saiyan, so his stomach was something akin to a bottomless pit “Speaking of mortals, how was your stay in the Upper Realms? I hope your visit here hasn't troubled you in any way. I mean... this is Hell, every damned is here for a reason, and you are under tutelage of one of the most powerful. Does that not concern your fellow shinjins in any way?” He gorged down an entire slice, masticating with very little movement, almost no sound. Very gentleman-like indeed.

Kalabas’ hunger was more psychological than physical, in truth he didn’t need food any more than Paige, but it had been a while since he put his palate to good use, and it helped him remember the time of feasts, ballrooms, good food, better company, the delighting of all five senses in those nights wasted in revelry with friends and comrades (and people of lighter virtues). Time well spent, debauched and vapid and abruptly ended by the Fleet, but nevertheless dearly missed by the Duke... Alas, recollecting was a dangerous thing to do in Hell. It led to redemption, yes, but it also made one more keen to use the soul cleansing machine - and the thought of having his very self vanished to nothing, no matter how pure of heart and soul ‘he’ would then become, made the saiyan quite indisposed. Angry, even. He had so much to mend, so many to break, so why did these thoughts of simply... giving up haunt him so frequently, so mightily? Chard did not struggle like this. Was Kalabas somehow less tenacious, less ambitious than his uncle? This fault was his own only, he reckoned self-impatiently, he remained as cynical of himself as ever! The irony did not escape the Duke.

He put aside his fork, ceased his aggression on the bacon-wrapped meatroll, and listened to his student talk about konatsian chosen ones and similar nonsense as he poured himself a cup of tea. Red as hellwater, the translucent fluid had a earthy scent to it and a mild bitter taste - it was a palate cleanser of course, meant to break the monotony of sweetness and umami with its unpleasant aftertaste. Kalabas made a face, an imperceptible cringe, as he smacked his tongue and drank some more. “Revolting.” he remarked dryly, either to the tea or Paige’s people or perhaps even both… Only Vegetan cuisine could produce such a powerful palate cleanser.

“What’s so great about these Greater Kais? Power, is it? Dominion over the way of things? A reach beyond yours?” Kalabas popped a caramelized peanut into his mouth “These are rhetorical questions, allow me to put what truly troubles me into words. You are of a lesser batch, always the messenger, but never the destinatary or sender. Do you not resent this?” Kalabas was vague, cautious, revealing his intentions now would be too daring “Whether the result of nature or nurture, it seems to me that you are all too willing to please, to serve in the interest of others - the Kais, this Hangan fellow, me... Altruism is a fine thing, your presence and wisdom and growth are alms to my soul, but I must ask… When my final time comes, when most of everyone you’ve served passes away, what will become of you? Beyond a messenger, a friend, and a fighter... who are you?”

“What I mean to ask is,” he spoke slowly and softly, as one would to a child “who are you? Not your current place in the grand scheme of things, nor your standing with others at this time - both are liable to change, you are not, and I want to know you at your core. I fancy myself of a perceptive sort, I wouldn’t be down here otherwise, yet… I cannot descry in you any sort of… How should I put it?” Kalabas nearly brought the cup to his lips. He wished he had brought anything else to drink, and not this vile concoction. “Dream? Ambition? Reason to be, perhaps. Certainly. I worry for you. Forced into servitude by happenstance, from it reaping absolutely nothing but ‘sparse greetings’ and the pity of a single superior… Yet on you march without even a sigh of resignation, a word of protest, passive, submissive, subdued… And so I ask, what do you want in life, if anything at all?” Perhaps the shinjins were all like this, inherently transcendent to petty mortal things like desire. The saiyan shuddered, if so then it was no wonder that the ‘gods’ were so divorced from reality as perceived by their less-than-divine charges. Then again, albeit hailing from the lowest celestial echelon, Paige wasn’t in any way uncanny to the Duke, he simply could not understand her.

“And do not talk of fate. Fate is not something that can be trifled with, for it does not exist! Only to the weak, the naive, and the misguided - and to those that have aught to earn from it, of course. You are none of those, and I am dead, so what do we gain from believing that our actions are predetermined, that their consequences are but merely inevitable eventualities? ‘Tis better to do away with that notion, exorcize those thoughts, trust that judgement alone can reach greater heights that one’s circumstances would allow.” Kalabas used to believe in fate, chosen ones, legends. He thought that he was in some way destined. Then he died. It was a sobering experience, to say the least. Yet, he did not think of himself as cynical, merely a realist, although his ego still hemorrhaged from the swift yet underwhelmingly brutal end he had met. What a legend he was, projecting his insecurities unto his student like this.

Crack. “My soul will not fade.” Kalabas interrupted as he threw away the porcelain shards of what was once his cup, wiping his hand on a napkin now damp with ‘hellwater’. He ground the slivers embedded in his palm into fine dust, blowing it away with the howling wind. “Better let the millenia corrupt and degenerate my soul into a pale imitation of itself than have all of it erased. Entropy will have its way, as it always does, and I will eventually cease to be… But I will not fade. My essence shall carry on in some way or another, but carry on it shall as Kalabas Strongbone, Duke of Strongbone. No damned can be forced into the soul recycling machine - and I’ll be twice damned if the thought ever crosses my mind. And those that try to sway me...” the saiyan stopped, feeling his muscles tense, his energy rage around him, the anger building up in his chest and aching to be released “I am in Hell. It cannot get much worse than this, can it?...”

“Again, a rhetorical question.”

Kalabas took a deep breath, and with a sigh his body released, his aura faded, his anger was reigned back into the limbo between his id and super-ego. “I am I and my circumstance. Yet, my decisions define me. I am propelled forward by the actions I take, not because I was grown in a vat in an aggrandized likeness of my father. I carry on because it is in my nature, because I want to, because I was raised to be ambitious and ruthless and that idleness and weakness are what makes one a slave to the forces beyond them. My life is over, I answer to no one, I do as I please within the boundaries imposed upon me - by myself. Be sure that I do not plan on staying here for long. There are ways to escape, no? Myriads. I need only to find one that does not cost me everything.”

“There is no fate, the past is unchanging and the future is what we make of it in the present. Grand plans lead to great victories and crushing defeats, interminable stalemates too… Above all else they lead to change, growth, development. We will be who we are in potential, we need only the tenacity to realize it in full and not simply…” he rubbed his temple, gesturing as if trying to extracting the meaning of his words from nothing but air “be content with the roles assigned to us. Because it is not some inscrutable force of order that commanded you to be who you are, fate is but a construct, no you owe your worldview to your betters. And better as they might be now, I assure you this… ambition can carry you beyond even them, even me.”