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Afrit Starts a Coup; Bow Down to the King... Of Demons
Topic Started: Feb 22 2014, 02:00 PM (82 Views)
Detective Wesson
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The lesson with Cell had been long and arduous. The Bioandroid was extremely demanding of Afrit. His technique and ki manipulation were pushed to the limits, as the perfect being demanded that the Djinn spar him before any lessons be taught.

Another powerful blow was leveled against Afrit’s abdomen, sending blood from his throat as his innards were crushed. “I could have killed you” Cell gloated, jumping back as Afrit collapsed against the hard marble fighting ring. Sneering, he turned his back to Afrit. “I should have killed you in fact. Your strength means nothing if you don’t have the speed to back it up.”

Cell turned around and gestured towards the shattered ring. “Repair this for me. That can be your use to me. I’ll reward you with your life.” Afrit struggled to his feet. “Yes… Cell. I’ll do that” Afrit said, straining to produce the words.

Hours passed as Afrit hewed gigantic block of marble from a derelict quarry. Nearby Pilaf lounged against the smooth quarried wall. “Are you really going to do his bidding Afrit?”

Afrit smiled, as he increased the intensity of his cutting beam. “Tell me Pilaf. When you found me in the depth of Hell, why did you try and take command of me?”

Pilaf shrugged, cupping his head in his hands. “That’s Emperor Pilaf to you! I did it because I wanted that control, you pathetic minion.” Afrit finished cutting the block, and pulled it from the ground. “And so is Cell. He’s putting me through this to have some measure of power.” Afrit smiled. “You don’t think he could kill me when I’m already in hell, could he?

“Well no” Pilaf said, clambering on top of the block Afrit struggled to carry. The Imp sat at the top as Afrit slowly flew it towards the Cell Games grounds. “But what makes you think he won’t keep you around to do his dirty work. I would have with you, if you hadn’t turned out to be impetuous.”

A moment of silence fell, as Afrit continued to haul the block. “Cell is a creature of pride, if any rumors in these parts hold true. He’ll teach me, if only to see the weaker results I produce. Just pray he doesn’t decide to make you his next plaything.”

Pilaf stared at Afrit then broke into laughter. “Pilaf is no one’s servant peon.” The guffaws faded as the Imp’s face went serious. “You may want to leave me away from that Cell thing in case you end up being right.”
Afrit soared towards to the ground, and Pilaf tumbled off the block into a patch of death rose thorns. “Come find me you brute! And please, don’t take too long.” The Imp cried, struggling to untangle himself from the hellish vines.

-

Afrit placed the last block into the now restored Cell Games tourney ring. “There. Is that to your liking?” Cell snarled. “Nothing short of perfection is to my likening, weakling. But this will do for the pathetic combatants this ring has to offer me.” Cell wore an almost blank expression. His eyes squinted, this first warning sign of anger that Afrit had come to recognize in their spars. This anger had led to much pain for Afrit these last 3 days. He stretched out a hand towards Cell.

“Before you strike me down Cell, let me ask you something. You surely seek a real challenge. Not from the likes of Frieza, Broly or Kid Buu. Someone noble. Regal. Someone with pride and power in this realm, no simple prisoner.” Afrit said, studying the Bio Androids blank face. Anger was replaced with mocking doubt.

“And is this supposed to save you? Surely, you don’t seek to break down my motivations Djinn. I have everything I want here.” Cell said, turning and beginning to walk out of the ring.

“Except for a worthy opponent Cell. And I can find you that worthy opponent, If you agree to train me.” Afrit shouted, his tenor rising as he waited for Cell to turn on a dime.

In a barely perceptible blur, Cell hands were now gripped around Afrit’s throat. “Spit it out Djinn, I have no patience for your dangling promises.”

“We make trouble” Afrit wheezed, as Cell’s grip tightened. “We lure Dabura, king of this realm to the Hell you raise. Then, you have your fight. The ruler of this plane, at your mercy.”

Cell dropped Afrit to the ground. A grin had appeared on his face, replacing the cold expression he had worn moments before. “Tell me more of this plan” he said, offering Afrit a hand up.

-

They say Hell is the worst of all the Afterplanes. The Chaos that the multiverse’s villains and scum bring to the plane is unrivaled. But the real torment of Hell is that it can always get worse. Sure, you might have been a shit-bag in life, but you might not have been powerful. Charismatic. Strong.

Unless you’re the strongest, or find shelter with the strongest, there is no peace in Hell. The Strongest of them all , Dabura, King of Demons station isn’t that of a noble King. He does not defend the weak. He maintains the status quo, making sure that the teeming masses of struggling souls do not step close to his throne, his station. Any upstarts where quashed under his dominating heel.

Deep in the Chaos of Hell, Afrit and Cell’s plan would soon throw a monkey wrench into Dabura’s well-oiled political and military machine.

-

Dabura fiddled with a Dragon Radar that had made its way into his possession, as most of the curios that had
entered the mortal world entered his possession. Brute force. Hell did not have much in the way or resources, and the few items that did exist in the infernal plane were brought in with the prisoners. Any Item that a captive had a particular strong connection with in life would materialize in the hellish plane. With them. As with any powerful item, Dabura had demanded the radar of a recent arrival seized, and brought to his collection.

The showroom was stacked with different devices. A favorite were energy weapons brought in by the hordes of criminals that were sentenced to hell. In some rare cases, entire rooms, or even homes were brought along with the newly damned. Dabura made these small hovels and grand castles his own, sending his Ogre servants to disassemble them piece by piece and reassemble them within his own domain.

Dabura and his men now had a small cities worth of buildings and infrastructure at their command. His seat of power was called “The City of Bones” by the denizens of Hell, because often times, Dabura stripped the former owners of the buildings of their flesh and bones, and assembled new buildings out of their remains. A storm of souls constantly surrounded the city, wailing in protest.

Dabura tossed the radar into a pile of similar models, and moved on to admire his art collection. It pained the Demon King that none of his pieces were originals, as the copies brought in by the Damned where merely strong spiritual projections. To compensate, he had new paintings created out of the blood of those who crossed him. You would be surprised at the variety of hues a Universe of alien blood could produce. Some reproduced paintings such as Dabura’s Mona Lisa, sported the very same dark colors and knowing smile that had made the original so great.

A hobbled Bas-jin limped into the presence of Dabura. Yepil had served the Dark Lord for countless eons, and though he prided himself on his ability to temper his lord’s outbursts, he knew what he was about to reveal would shake the City of Bones to its core. With a muffled cough, he drew the attention of his daydreaming Lord and King.

“My King” The ancient Bas-Jin wheezed. “We have a problem”

Dabura looked up from his collection absentmindedly. He etched his forehead in the shape of a curved M, as was his habit behind closed doors. The pain of being controlled by Babedi still left ghost pains from the former magical tattoo. In times of stress, the pains became worse.

“Well, out with it then Yepil. Do we have another upstart?” Dabura turned to face Yepil. His eyes were burning with an unnatural fury. Yepil on dared to disturb him when the situation could only be solved by Dabura’s direct interference. For Yepil’s sake, he hoped the Bas-Jin was right.

“Are you familiar with the Science Experiment Cell my lord?” Yepil said, his voice becoming rushed and choked.
“Of course Yepil. We allowed him to run his fighting ring. That problem has been solved for hundreds of years.

Does he demand new marble?” Dabura said, staring at Yepil expectantly.

“If only it were so simple my lord.” The green man wheezed. “It appears he has succeeded from Hell. He is offering our inhabitants protection against your retribution if they join him.”

Dabura turned back to his art. “Another pocket kingdom is none of my concern Yepil. We will smash it like any other. Wait for the fruit to over-ripen, and smash it.”

“Yes my lord, but this is a bigger problem. He has gained the support of 4 circles of Hell, and it is only growing.”

The bas-jin shuffled in place and looked at the ground. The next words were rushed and panicked. “If we don’t do something soon, we will have no kingdom to save, It will be his!”

Dabura’s dark aura flickered around him, knocking paintings from the wall, and unsettling the towering pile of Dragon Radars. “How did this happen under our watch!”

“We think he brokered deals before openly rebelling. The people are ready for change, our agents say. They are so desperate for it, that they’re willing to get it from a creature such as cell!” The Bas-jin’s voice wavered. He waited for the explosion.

Dabura only smiled. “Find me their base of operations Yepil. I will handle this personally.”
-

The last few months had been a whirlwind of activity. Afrit and Pilaf had spent every waking moment speaking and making deals with the inhabitants of Hell. What did one group need? What did the other. Would this side work with the other side? If they wouldn’t, what could persuade them?

The factions in Hell were Hell-Bent on making Hell for other groups. The cycle had been beneficial for the administration, as it prevented any kind of rebellion. 3 months had barely changed that dynamic, but the most recent dealing seemed certain to bear fruit.

“Look. We can split of the frozen wastes between you and the Hell’s Devils.” Afrit said earnestly. The man sitting across from him at the table grunted in disapproval. He was dressed head to toe in leather and chains, and wore sunglasses so dark they seemed to suck the light from the room.

“We Ain’t splitting it 50-50.” The Taifu-jin growled, quicky lodging a combat knife into the table. “And I wouldn’t offer us such a weak deal again, If you like those pointy ears, Djinn boy.”

Afrit scrambled to grab documentation. The Hell’s Riders wanted all the frozen wastes, but as of now, only controlled a quarter. The Hell’s Devils controlled another quarter, and the territory in between was home to some of the bloodiest conflicts seen in Hell. While the Devils had come around to the 50-50 deal, the Riders were stalwart in things remaining how they were. “We have excellent numbers for you to look at.” Afrit said, clawing through a pile of papers.

Pilaf popped up onto the negotiation table, and stomped towards the imposing Taifu-jin. Pulling with both hands, he pulled the combat knife from the table, much to the Biker’s shock. The blade was a claymore in his hands, and the mad Imp leveled it towards the Biker.

“You listen here, Bike Breath!” Pilaf screamed in a small shrill voice, brandishing the knife. “When we take the City of Bones, there’s going to be a large collection of motorcycles to distribute. If you want a piece of the pie, you’ll take this deal, or we’ll give the Devils all the bikes, and you won’t have a quarter of the wastes to fight for!”

The Biker chuckled, and grabbled Pilaf by the throat. “I don’t take kindly to threats, little man. Why the hell should we work with you weaklings?
A tall green man with a light purple face walked into the dark room, and launched a beam at the hand gripping Pilaf’s neck. Pilaf dropped to the ground, and the hand was vaporized.

You’ll listen because I’m the leader of the Coup. I demand perfection from my supplicants, and trust me, you would rather have me on your side than Dabura’s.” The hulking bug monstrosity said, taking a seat at the table.

“I apologize for my late appearance. Some other Allies were being uncooperative.”

Afrit fished a photo of Dabura’s motorcycle collections and tossed it to the Biker. “One handed or not, Hell’s Riders could use the new equipment. Join us or lose everything.” Afrit said. He motioned towards the stacked papers. “You can keep the non-sensitive literature.”

Cell turned to Afrit as they exited the decrepit building. “Think they’ll come around?” he said. Afrit motioned to the rusted bikes chained to a nearby tree. “Every piece of those bikes has seen better days, and likely only a few of them can run. They’ll come around.”

Cell laughed. “Good. I regret having to blow his hand off. We’ll have to keep an eye on him in case he gets any Ideas.”

Pilaf noded. “Thanks for that boss.” The Combat knife was now strapped to his side, now a medal of honor for
this secret war the three of them had been waging.

“4 Circles pledged to us Cell.” Afrit said. “He’ll know soon. Are you ready?”

Cell nodded. “I’ve been ready for this since my defeat at the hands of Son-Gohan Djinn. You needn’t worry for me”

With Pilaf tucked under his arm, Afrit and Cell took off.

-

Dabura’s palace was constructed from the bones of all those who though to cross him. Glossy exoskeletons and skulls adorned his gigantic throne, and a red carpet of Magma-jin skin ran along the floor from his throne to the massive double door entryway. Each door was constructed of a massive ribcage of some sentient creature that had been lost to the Universe’s history.

Dabura lounged on his throne waiting for word from his underlings. The Rebellion had been quiet thus far.
Yepil lurched into the Throne-room, struggling to release the double doors without being thown back with them as they closed. Panting, he scurried up the half mile walkway, and the thousand stairs that lead to the towering Bone-Skull-Insectoid throne that Dabura sat on.

“My Lord, we have news. The Denizens of the first, second, third, and fourth circles of hell have thrown out our Ogre guards. Cell has taken command of your summer palace, The Black Obsidian Citadel. We await your command.”

Dabura roused from his daydreams. “Send a message to Cell. Tell him that I wish to fight him, Man to Monster. That I have something very dear to him that he’ll wish to see.” Dabura tossed a bit of blue-white stone towards Yepil. “Make sure this finds his way to him. He will know what It means.”

Yepil bowed deeply and scurried back down the thousand stairs, across the half mile of antechamber, and struggled to open the doors. Outside a brigade of Ogre guards were torturing the inhabitants of the city with a variety of implements. Hot pokes, Stretching racks, Iron maidens, cattle prods. One Konats was forced into an ice water bath by 3 heavily muscled ogres.

Yepil moved towards a smaller ogre. This specimen was wiry in frame, and had hunger in his eyes. Small circular glasses sat perched on his nose, and small wings seemed to sprout from his shoes. Yepil held out the bit of stone to him.

“Mercury, Find Cell and Deliver this bit of stone to him. Tell him King Dabura seeks to fight with him, man to man. Make haste.”

Mercury nodded, and dropped the stone into a small vest pocket. In a flash, he disappeared. For a moment, a blurry afterimage of him remained, as a duststorm kicked up around the palace square

-

Cell sat on a black obsidian throne, with Afrit at his right hand. Both had spent the day listening to the complaints of their new citizens. As each left, they both laughed at their plight, and planned to do nothing to help.

“How long must we pretend that we care about this kindom?” Cell said, a long sigh escaping from the perfect being. “You promised me a greater prize than this bureaucratic nightmare Afrit.”

Afrit smiled, placing a hand on Cell’s shoulder. “I think you have your answer my lord.” He gestured towards a wiry ogre with winged shoes and a small vest who now stood before them.

“And what do you feel I owe you?” Cell groaned, his head sinking into a cupped palm. “Surely the Ogres don’t wish to join me now?”

My Lord Dabura sends a message” The man said. “If you would allow me to approach, I have a parcel as well.”
Cell nodded, and the man strode towards the throne, sure in his step, unlike the cowering supplicants that had plagued the palace for the last 4 days. Outstretched in his palm was a piece of blue-white stone.

“My Lord wishes to fight you Cell. 1 on 1. To settle this petty war you seek to wage.” The messenger said.

Cell snatched up the piece of stone, studying it closely, and then sniffing it.

“And this is no trick?” he said calmly, rolling the stone between his thumbs.

“I am merely the messenger.” The Ogre said. “What message shall I return with?”

Cell frowned, looking to Afrit. Afrit only nodded, returning his focus to the wiry Ogre.

“Tell your master I will meet him in 2 days time. I will take back what is mine.”

The messenger disappeared in a blue, leaving Afrit and Cell alone in the hall. Afrit began to laugh deeply, while cell looked on, his mind elsewhere.

“I told you it would work” Afrit said, leaning against the palace wall.

“It’s not over yet.” Cell said, rising to his feet. “But it appears what you claim is true. He has my Arena from my original Cell Games. I will have it back.”

“The rest is up to you.” Afrit said. “But I will have what is owed me.”

Cell slapped Afrit on the back. “Djinn, if this works, you can have all of Hell if you wish.”
-

Cell and Afrit had been ushered into the City of Bones in the dead of night. It appeared that Dabura did not want his lowly citizenry to see the faces of the rebellion openly walking the street. Pilaf had elected to stay behind, as he didn’t want to become an Imp sized barstool if Dabura double crossed them.

Afrit had issued an order to the allies he and Cell had amassed. If they did not emerge in 2 hours, the City of Bones was to be sacked of its valuables, and to the strongest, the spoils. Like a pack of ravenous scavengers, the gangs of the first second third and fourth circles waited outside the city, all imagining what they could do with Dabura’s precious stockpile of artifacts.

-

Within the Courtyard of the Palace of bones sat a fighting ring. Square, and reflective, it had 4 pointed obelisks at each corner.

Dabura sat alone at the center, cross legged. His face twisted into a smug grin as he rose to greet his two Visitors. “Have you come all this way Cell, just to claim this?”

Cell only stared, studying every detail of the ring. It was exactly as he had remembered it. Every detail was crafted to his original specification. It was, for all fighting purposes, perfect.

Afrit stepped in as Cell stared on, lost for words. “Yes, he has come all the way for this. Do you understand nothing of pride? You took the one thing he had brought with him from the mortal plane. Forced him into some cruel jest of his original games. This was an inevitability Dabura.”

Dabura nodded, turning his attention away from the Djinn, and back to Cell. “Do you think he could break his fixation away from the ring for a minute. Cell! We have business to settle!” Dabura screamed. There was barely any time for the King of Demons to realize. Cell was no longer standing where he had been.

The Demon King felt a wave of air behind his neck before a heavy kick landed, sending him into the blue-white stone ring, leaving quite the impression in the reflective stone. If Cell cared about the perfection of his creation, it certainly wasn’t showing, as he drove kick after kick into Dabura’s back.
T
he ground quaked as Dabura was driven deeper and deeper still into the earth. Shaking hands rose to his head as he attempted to instant transmission away. Cell grabbed one of his legs and tossed him into the air, sending two bright blue orbs after him, each catching Dabura in the stomach and exploding.

The dust cleared, and Dabura emerged unscathed. “Is that really all you have Cell? You’re going to have to do much better than that.” The Demon began spitting at Cell. A small bit hit Cell in the arm, and it slowly turned gray and began to crack.

“What is this!” Cell shouted, watching his entire arm turn to stone.

“This is one of my most powerful techniques. And you’ve allowed yourself to be hit.” Dabura sneered landing next to Cell. “You’re already dead Cell, even now your fate is to turn entirely to stone. I’ll keep you by this ring. A museum exhibit. You’ll finally get what you wanted.”

Cell grabbed his now stone arm, and ripped it clean off. A still dripping arm burst from the bleeding wound. Cell stretched this new arm, spinning it in circles. “An interesting trick Dabura. But if that is your most powerful technique, then I don’t have much to fear. Besides, I’m already dead as it is” Cell said, launching himself at Dabura

The action was difficult to follow for Afrit. Two blur’s moved across the ring. Each time they made contact, waves of compressed air washed over the Djinn. He leaned on a nearby tree, and grabbed a fruit, and took a bite. It was delectable. Only the best for the leader of Hell.

The clashes became more frequent, and more violent, and the rushes of compressed air became sonic booms. The entire Palace of Bones shook to the foundations, the swirling storm of souls above the city starting spinning into a furious hurricane.

One clash sent hell hurtling into the ring below, making hard impact and shattering the stone. His momentum thwarted, he lay in pain as Dabura landed.

“Cell, give up. I will allow you to leave here with your precious ring. If you agree to never again rise a finger against me” Dabura said, his gaze containing some measure of anger.

Cell stood, oozing purple blood from his numerous wounds. His head crests were chipped, and his abdomen’s armor missing small chunks. His breathing labored, he coughed out a response. “I will take this offer Dabura. May we never cross paths again.”

Afrit took another bite of the fruit before tossing the core onto the ground. “Cell, I will assist you in getting the ring out of here. But as we agreed, you will train me.”

Cell nodded. “It was an excellent fight Afrit. I will train you. I will have to work on my own perfection as well.”

Dabura turned his back to the two, walking out of the courtyard. “If I see either of you again, you will join the cloud of souls above my city. Disassemble the ring, and leave.”
Edited by Detective Wesson, Feb 22 2014, 02:03 PM.
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