Post by Nabel on Jun 26, 2017 15:58:17 GMT
The gruesome sounds of grunts and groans echoed throughout the dark, damp alleyway. Beneath the light of a crescent moon, three men were locked into (what they assumed to be) mortal combat with a zombified midget, kicking and flailing away at the monster with all of their combined might and oversized cutlery. Yet despite their clear advantage in numbers, and even clearer advantage in Chef Rouille's Gigantic Kitchen Knives ("Perfect for cooking and comic phallic symbolism")™, the trio of would-be muggers couldn't seem to catch a break. Each and every time they attempted to strike at the very much disabled dwarf, their fists and weapons seemed to miss their moving target by just the skin of their corn-yellow teeth.
How a one-armed rag-doll of a person moved faster than the eye could see was beyond the criminals' comprehension, as the three of them weren't the brightest pugs in the pig pen, but they didn't let that hold them back. As previously stated, they were really fudging dumb. Instead of hightailing it out of there like any sane individual, each missed strike only fueled their hunger for blood and cash. And if they were fighting a less merciful opponent with the same capabilities, there was no doubt that their lives would have ended then and there, as was customary for beings made out of the sins of mankind.
But luckily for the crooks, Nabel was a fairly decent person. His morality had certainly shifted further towards the side of good, considering how he had helped his Vampiric Master torture a captured princess in cold blood around two years ago. That wasn't a very high point in his life. But the dip he had taken as of late was an even lower state. The young man could only ask himself where he went wrong with life, as he sprung from step-to-step, pirouetting away from his would-be murderer's strikes with breezy, careless ease. (He had always liked spinning.) He could've been a contender, and he damn well knew it.
Two years ago he was a butler to a Demon who seemed primed to take over the human world, and had risen above the ranks to be crowned as her heir to the throne. And while he regretted all the wrong he had done in that time, he couldn't deny that his standard of living was much more lavish back then. But now? He was a pencil-pushing mail-boy at the local government. Yet as much as he questioned his current condition, the demon didn't regret the decision he had made, the one that lead to his current situation.
That self-assured bit of selflessness was fresh on his mind, as he recalled that he was currently fighting for his life in the back alleys. At least he would have been fighting for his life, if his opponents weren't complete tools. Maybe the three of them would have stood a better chance if they were facing a regular person, as opposed to whatever the hell Nabel was. With their combined power levels, they might have been able to give an untrained denizen of hell a heck of a work out. But to the disciplined Demon, who had spent moe than two-thirds of his life training in the martial arts underneath the tutelage of a very drunk Konatsian, they were slim pickings.
A fact made abundantly clear as they huffed and wheezed in exhaustion, while their supposed victim was yawning from sheer boredom. After a failed attempt to tackle Nabel with all of their combined efforts was instead met by a literal butting of heads, the criminals took a moment to reevaluate their strategies, as they sat on the ground in a three-sided huddle. Their voices were as loud as they were stupid.
"Houston, we have a problem."
"No duh, Sherlock. We haven't laid a finger on him."
"It doess not like how thiss iss going. It thinkss that we should retreat. Hiss.
"Oh snap, I just noticed that that one's a snake-man. Neat." The doll demon stood above them, stretching in place as he hummed along. It was clear that he wasn't taking any of this seriously. It was even clearer that he had no respect for his apparent muggers, as he pulled out a flask of foul-smelling alcohol from his khakis, and sipped from it. He even held his hand out as he did so, as if telling the trio not to move a muscle as he quenched his thirst.
"Doesn't really give any of you a personality, but that's still kind of neat." Nabel shrugged, as he set aside his canteen. It was a miracle that his work clothes were still so clean after all the bouncy dodging that he had done. He could've sworn that some sort of grime would've crawled onto his slacks and polo by now, but miraculously, it remained rather pristine. Was his ki flaring up? Perhaps it was burning through all of the dust like a really convenient dry cleaner. It probably also helped that Nabel couldn't sweat. "So why do you all have weird names?"
"That's racist, man." The biggest of the crooks, Sherlock, answered back with a whimper. The heavily muscled dog-man was not only the strongest of the three, but he also seemed to be the most sensitive, as tears dripped down his cheeks at the mostly inoffensive remark.
His less scalier companion, apparently called the actually demeaning 'It', comforted him with a pat to the back. "That iss pretty racisst, man." He scolded the demon, his gimmick of stretching out his words wasn't getting grating in the slightest.
Houston, the only non-Zoanthorpe of the group only responded by throwing his Chef Rouille™-brand Knife at the demon. It lodged into the center of Nabel's chest, cutting through his office attire, before falling to the ground uselessly a few seconds later. Aside from that bit of clothing damage, no blood or guts could be seen. It was almost as if Nabel wasn't wounded by the attack.
Mostly because the man actually wasn't hurt in the slightest. He was more annoyed, if anything. And he had every right to be. This polo was the only one he had left for the week. And now he'd have to check in at work the next day with a hole the size of a very water-worn penny. How was he going to explain this to Amy? With a lot of apologies, and a whole lot more chocolate, that was for sure. The boy didn't want to incur her wrath now, not after they'd finally settled down in the city.
"Aight, you know what?" The demon looked at the three angrily, as evil energy began piling up within his very soul, as purple-tinged ki flowed throughout his body. Even to people that couldn't understand the concept of life energy, it was fairly easy to deduce what was happening. Nabel was powering up. "Screw this. Screw you. I'm out." He declared, before laughing like a mad-man.
As the odious chortling ceased, the bodies dropped to the floor in complete silence. The crooks weren't dead of course, Nabel had never been directly responsible for anyone's demise in his relatively short life. He had merely used a technique of his that he had never bothered to test before, one that altered the flow of ki within a person, To these weaklings, it meant twitching along helplessly on the ground until they could recover their senses. But to anyone who wasn't a complete Raditz, the best Nabel could probably do was stun them from a moment.
Upon he recovering from his sudden bout of needless exposition, the demon shook his head and sighed. He was not looking forward to the conversation that awaited back home. The demon was supposed to be adjusting a normal life at this point, not picking fights with criminals for kicks. Granted, it wasn't much of a fight, but his adrenaline was stimulated until his final frustrated moments in the situation. And that would be enough proof against him.
With a guilt groan, the young man whipped around and adjusted his clothing. He may as well at least try to look presentable before walking back towards the apartment. But as he did so, an idea struck him. Why not take a cue from his older days and reward himself for his endeavors? He deserved it, didn't he? Was it really a crime if it was against bigger crooks?
It might not be able to save him from having his ear talked off by Amy later down the lined, but it was better than going home empty handed, at least. So with a skip in his step, he walked towards the semi-conscious crooks, and ripped their wallets right out of their pockets. Afterwards, he bounced out of the alleyways and flew away from the scene. That was one way to make an exit.
How a one-armed rag-doll of a person moved faster than the eye could see was beyond the criminals' comprehension, as the three of them weren't the brightest pugs in the pig pen, but they didn't let that hold them back. As previously stated, they were really fudging dumb. Instead of hightailing it out of there like any sane individual, each missed strike only fueled their hunger for blood and cash. And if they were fighting a less merciful opponent with the same capabilities, there was no doubt that their lives would have ended then and there, as was customary for beings made out of the sins of mankind.
But luckily for the crooks, Nabel was a fairly decent person. His morality had certainly shifted further towards the side of good, considering how he had helped his Vampiric Master torture a captured princess in cold blood around two years ago. That wasn't a very high point in his life. But the dip he had taken as of late was an even lower state. The young man could only ask himself where he went wrong with life, as he sprung from step-to-step, pirouetting away from his would-be murderer's strikes with breezy, careless ease. (He had always liked spinning.) He could've been a contender, and he damn well knew it.
Two years ago he was a butler to a Demon who seemed primed to take over the human world, and had risen above the ranks to be crowned as her heir to the throne. And while he regretted all the wrong he had done in that time, he couldn't deny that his standard of living was much more lavish back then. But now? He was a pencil-pushing mail-boy at the local government. Yet as much as he questioned his current condition, the demon didn't regret the decision he had made, the one that lead to his current situation.
That self-assured bit of selflessness was fresh on his mind, as he recalled that he was currently fighting for his life in the back alleys. At least he would have been fighting for his life, if his opponents weren't complete tools. Maybe the three of them would have stood a better chance if they were facing a regular person, as opposed to whatever the hell Nabel was. With their combined power levels, they might have been able to give an untrained denizen of hell a heck of a work out. But to the disciplined Demon, who had spent moe than two-thirds of his life training in the martial arts underneath the tutelage of a very drunk Konatsian, they were slim pickings.
A fact made abundantly clear as they huffed and wheezed in exhaustion, while their supposed victim was yawning from sheer boredom. After a failed attempt to tackle Nabel with all of their combined efforts was instead met by a literal butting of heads, the criminals took a moment to reevaluate their strategies, as they sat on the ground in a three-sided huddle. Their voices were as loud as they were stupid.
"Houston, we have a problem."
"No duh, Sherlock. We haven't laid a finger on him."
"It doess not like how thiss iss going. It thinkss that we should retreat. Hiss.
"Oh snap, I just noticed that that one's a snake-man. Neat." The doll demon stood above them, stretching in place as he hummed along. It was clear that he wasn't taking any of this seriously. It was even clearer that he had no respect for his apparent muggers, as he pulled out a flask of foul-smelling alcohol from his khakis, and sipped from it. He even held his hand out as he did so, as if telling the trio not to move a muscle as he quenched his thirst.
"Doesn't really give any of you a personality, but that's still kind of neat." Nabel shrugged, as he set aside his canteen. It was a miracle that his work clothes were still so clean after all the bouncy dodging that he had done. He could've sworn that some sort of grime would've crawled onto his slacks and polo by now, but miraculously, it remained rather pristine. Was his ki flaring up? Perhaps it was burning through all of the dust like a really convenient dry cleaner. It probably also helped that Nabel couldn't sweat. "So why do you all have weird names?"
"That's racist, man." The biggest of the crooks, Sherlock, answered back with a whimper. The heavily muscled dog-man was not only the strongest of the three, but he also seemed to be the most sensitive, as tears dripped down his cheeks at the mostly inoffensive remark.
His less scalier companion, apparently called the actually demeaning 'It', comforted him with a pat to the back. "That iss pretty racisst, man." He scolded the demon, his gimmick of stretching out his words wasn't getting grating in the slightest.
Houston, the only non-Zoanthorpe of the group only responded by throwing his Chef Rouille™-brand Knife at the demon. It lodged into the center of Nabel's chest, cutting through his office attire, before falling to the ground uselessly a few seconds later. Aside from that bit of clothing damage, no blood or guts could be seen. It was almost as if Nabel wasn't wounded by the attack.
Mostly because the man actually wasn't hurt in the slightest. He was more annoyed, if anything. And he had every right to be. This polo was the only one he had left for the week. And now he'd have to check in at work the next day with a hole the size of a very water-worn penny. How was he going to explain this to Amy? With a lot of apologies, and a whole lot more chocolate, that was for sure. The boy didn't want to incur her wrath now, not after they'd finally settled down in the city.
"Aight, you know what?" The demon looked at the three angrily, as evil energy began piling up within his very soul, as purple-tinged ki flowed throughout his body. Even to people that couldn't understand the concept of life energy, it was fairly easy to deduce what was happening. Nabel was powering up. "Screw this. Screw you. I'm out." He declared, before laughing like a mad-man.
As the odious chortling ceased, the bodies dropped to the floor in complete silence. The crooks weren't dead of course, Nabel had never been directly responsible for anyone's demise in his relatively short life. He had merely used a technique of his that he had never bothered to test before, one that altered the flow of ki within a person, To these weaklings, it meant twitching along helplessly on the ground until they could recover their senses. But to anyone who wasn't a complete Raditz, the best Nabel could probably do was stun them from a moment.
Upon he recovering from his sudden bout of needless exposition, the demon shook his head and sighed. He was not looking forward to the conversation that awaited back home. The demon was supposed to be adjusting a normal life at this point, not picking fights with criminals for kicks. Granted, it wasn't much of a fight, but his adrenaline was stimulated until his final frustrated moments in the situation. And that would be enough proof against him.
With a guilt groan, the young man whipped around and adjusted his clothing. He may as well at least try to look presentable before walking back towards the apartment. But as he did so, an idea struck him. Why not take a cue from his older days and reward himself for his endeavors? He deserved it, didn't he? Was it really a crime if it was against bigger crooks?
It might not be able to save him from having his ear talked off by Amy later down the lined, but it was better than going home empty handed, at least. So with a skip in his step, he walked towards the semi-conscious crooks, and ripped their wallets right out of their pockets. Afterwards, he bounced out of the alleyways and flew away from the scene. That was one way to make an exit.