The transmission had reached Yadaran before it had reached him. He had noticed that the old ogre was more than a bit different in the way he had acted that day, and when Tomoka was given the news, he realized why. Both would sit down in the shaded dune, the cliffside covering the sand they sat on.
“It seems our attempts at escape will be far easier with a wish from Porunga.” Yadaran would say, a mischeivous grin on his face. Tomoka would shake his head in response though, a smirk of almost sinister complexion appearing on his face.
“Why in Kami’s name would I waste a wish on something so easy to do? I have better plans in mind. Easier plans, plans that’ll make sure I won’t be back here until I shoot myself because of alzheimer's.” he would respond, stifling a laugh. Yadaran would frown, sitting up and walking over.
“Exactly what do you plan on doing, boy?” he would ask, brow furrowing. Unable to hold it any longer, he would let out a laugh, though it would die quickly, leaving a smirk on his face.
Slowly, he would get up, taking hold of the torn, ruined rags that he had worn. Concentrating heavily, he would begin unstringing his fingers to the point that they were nearly impossible to see. Wrapping the tiny threads of light around the equally tiny and frayed ends of the rags, he would begin uncoiling the fabric, unwinding it, relieving it of attached dirt. Soon, a pile of string lay before it. He would grit his teeth, a vein in his temple visible. All at once, he would pull his arm upwards, and his fingers, along with the fabric, would recoil. The once tattered and ruined rags had formed into a hooded cape, blacker than his own, cracked chestplate. His smirk would return shortly after, and he would turn back to the ogre.
“You’ll see…” That, of course, had been days before. Now, he had arrived. Sitting over his head was the halo, as it had sat since his body had manifested. Covering his body was his armor, the insignia of the Mazoku Dominion beaming on his left chest. Over it all he wore Before him sat a ring, and across from him, a foe. The setting brought back memories of the academy. Memories of failure, stalemates, and humiliation. Today would mark a change in that trend.
Around the ring, dozens, no, possibly hundreds of people were staring at the ring. Tomoka would glance at them, than over to his opponent once more. He wore strange, flamboyant armor, bleached white with strange rungs on its shoulders, and a navy cape flowed from behind him. In contrast, Tomoka wore his usual attire, a red and black battlesuit with a Mazoku brand stapled on his chest. Only this time, a simple, short black cape would hang in a similar fashion. The reason?
Grandeur.
Taking a look at his opponent once again, his eyes would narrow.
“Huh…” he would mutter, before his lips would curl into a smile.
“So, Captain Nova, is it? I’ve heard quite a bit about you. If our strength wasn’t moderated, there’d be no doubt as to who would win in this fight. But artificially jacking it up or down… well, I think it’s safe to say that the results haven’t changed.” he would finish, before letting out a laugh. He couldn’t tell if the man was glaring through that visor, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was. The man would smirk in response, saying something along the lines of,
“Justice will triumph!” but Tomoka’s mind had already begun to wander.
In all seriousness though, Tomoka had vaguely heard of the version of this man from his own universe. Apparently, he was a human, and apparently, he had taken up the mantle of a hero, protecting his planet from its enemies and instilling order upon its people. While he didn’t do it alone, the task of punishing law breakers, especially on a planet filled with billions of people, some of which having the strength of Super Saiyans, Tomoka wasn’t ready to let his guard down just yet. Strength may not matter, as even the weakest of the weak and the strongest of the strong were all brought to the strength of a burgeoning Super Saiyan, but this enemy may know techniques. Techniques which may end this fight before it could properly begin…
However, Tomoka’s luxury of planning was ripped from him as the battle, along with the ten minute countdown, began.
Throwing himself forward, he would attempt to land several basic blows, some of which actually making it through the hero’s defenses. This, of course, would come with the cost of being hit a few times as well. No dialogue was exchanged between the two, only grunts, yells, and groans of pain.
Tomoka would soon find himself on the defensive, but only from a lack of trying. He was more focused on finding any advantage he possibly could. He thought about grabbing the rungs on his shoulder and yanking, but realizing that he was more likely to snap them off rather than break the hero’s arms, he decided against it.
Suddenly, however, the hero would stop, before bringing himself to the ground. Tomoka would give him a confused look, but he would set down before him. All of a sudden, however, the hero would shout at him. “If you believe this fight has been easy, Saiyan, think again! Prepare yourself, for what I will unleash will surely change this fight in my favor!” he would finish. Tomoka’s confused look would melt away, being replaced by one of amusement.
“I’m the one who’s got the high ground, Mr.Nova. Both of us are at equal strength, which means any attack you throw at me, any barrier, anything you do, I can either break through, dodge, or-” he would stop, seeing the man begin doing something… odd.
He would get into a stance, and begin doing a bunch of… circus acts?! Tomoka could only watch as Captain Nova would perform various, incoherent moves that he could barely follow. Floating there, he would blink as it came to an end, trying to figure out what he had just seen, utterly shocked.
Taking the opportunity, the captain would fly upwards, and his fist would connect with the Saiyan’s face. Tomoka would be sent reeling back, yelling as blood began to spill from his nose.
“GAHHH, DAMMIT!” he yelled, groaning as he clutched his own face. He would bring himself down to the ground, as would Captain Nova. He would than pull his arm back, Ki charging, before throwing it forward, shouting an attack name Tomo couldn’t pay attention to.
All at once, a torrent of energy would be fired from his enemy, almost blinding. Tomoka would only have a moment to react. Was this it? Was he to be among the lowest of the low, knocked out in the first Tournament?
…no.
To far. To far he had come. To far he had come to give up. To far he had come to give up, lay down, and fail.
Piecing the words together, he would sidestep the attack, an image left behind him. Time would seem to stop, as he would stand behind the man, coming to a screeching halt as he did, though none would hear it.
Nicolas would wait, seeing that his blast was about to connect with the Saiyan. He was a weird one, for sure, and the fact that he was listening to his own Universe’s Xylo only made it weirder. However, when the blast would simply fly through the Saiyan as he vanished, Nic would pause, realizing what had happened. “Oh cra-” he muttered, swirling around to see the Saiyan staring at him. Before he could react, the Saiyan’s fist would launch forward, and his visor would shatter almost all at once. He’d have to close his eyes, crying out as the glass would dig into his skin. Stunned, he wouldn’t be able to stop Tomoka from grabbing his face, and squeezing.
As bones cracked, he would throw the Hero even further up into the air, as he readied his hand. Extending it, he would aim, pointing his finger forward. “Pew pew.” he would say, before firing a large, red blast from his finger, hitting the Nicolas directly. His armor would crack, and it would shatter once he hit the ground.
Tomoka would slowly walk towards the downed warrior, unsure if he had won yet. When he reached within at least five feet of his former enemy, he would take his noes, and quickly yank it, cracking back into place.
“Fuck me…” he hissed through the pain, before kneeling down. Swiping the glass from his face, he would place his hand on his chest. He was alive, and while he had annoyed Tomoka, he intended to keep it that way.
Pulling his foot back and kicking, he would fly from the ring, battered and bruised. Tomoka would now stand alone, with a blood covered face and a noticeably swelling bridge on his nose, and with quite a few scratches on him. He would than turn to the strange looking announcer from before, standing in his suit, goggles, and clip board. Pointing at him, he would simply ask,
“...Did I win?”
Didn't bother putting in a lot of details, as it's a fight with an NPC. Nontheless, it's less than ten days, get me to the next round please, thanks, by.
Capper the Patroller