Post by Kalaboo on Jul 4, 2019 5:12:07 GMT -6
Karon wished to grow stronger and asked the most powerful and dashing damned around - Kalabas Strongbone, of attempted prolicide fame - to turn him into a planet-shattering powerhouse to better erase from existence those souls that lingered in the plane of living because they didn’t know any better… or something. Such reasoning seemed to go against who Kalabas thought the ogre was, and the saiyan was quick to blame his own quite prolonged state of inebriation for this clearly nonsensical rationale. Karon wanted to grow stronger because that was one of the greatest joys in life, clearly! That guy had more saiyan in him than that ridiculous cone had led Kalabas to believe! Content by the justification, amused by the narwhal head, and at last spent of every ounce of energy, the saiyan collapsed on his bed…
And rose from his slumber on the third day, the promise to train his friend now a very vague memory. As he finished his morning routine of stretches and drowned his migraines away (with water, of course) something inside him stirred, that recurring need to hack at someone’s head... with his metal arm. Alas, this was a deathless Hell, and Kalabas no longer had that wondrous cherry red piece of saiyan engineering. Yet, he could still feel the nerves stapled to circuitry, the shared conduits of ki, the weight of his katchin digits over his flesh and bone ones… Kalabas clenched his fist, released it, saw the red marks where his nails had dug. As luxuriating as afterlife was, it was also beginning to take its toll on the saiyan’s sanity. Everyone he cared for was alive. Friends, enemies, family… Belle… If only there was a way to… contact the living, to let them know that he existed too, that he still harbored his love and hatred and anger. He missed them, all of them. Even him.
Kalabas heard knocking on his door. It couldn’t be Cruss because he was still recovering from the trepanation, nor Chard because he didn’t immediately announce his name. Who else knew of the saiyan’s apartment…? Well, Paige was on the Upper Realms, which left Karon as the culprit. “Coming.” rumbled the saiyan as he slipped into day clothes and swapped his headband for a more formal one. Disheveled in spite of his efforts to appear presentable, the saiyan swung open the door “Karon , hello. How much for your services?” he would have offered a handshake, but his right hand was bleeding profusely.
And rose from his slumber on the third day, the promise to train his friend now a very vague memory. As he finished his morning routine of stretches and drowned his migraines away (with water, of course) something inside him stirred, that recurring need to hack at someone’s head... with his metal arm. Alas, this was a deathless Hell, and Kalabas no longer had that wondrous cherry red piece of saiyan engineering. Yet, he could still feel the nerves stapled to circuitry, the shared conduits of ki, the weight of his katchin digits over his flesh and bone ones… Kalabas clenched his fist, released it, saw the red marks where his nails had dug. As luxuriating as afterlife was, it was also beginning to take its toll on the saiyan’s sanity. Everyone he cared for was alive. Friends, enemies, family… Belle… If only there was a way to… contact the living, to let them know that he existed too, that he still harbored his love and hatred and anger. He missed them, all of them. Even him.
Kalabas heard knocking on his door. It couldn’t be Cruss because he was still recovering from the trepanation, nor Chard because he didn’t immediately announce his name. Who else knew of the saiyan’s apartment…? Well, Paige was on the Upper Realms, which left Karon as the culprit. “Coming.” rumbled the saiyan as he slipped into day clothes and swapped his headband for a more formal one. Disheveled in spite of his efforts to appear presentable, the saiyan swung open the door “Karon , hello. How much for your services?” he would have offered a handshake, but his right hand was bleeding profusely.
