Note: John posted this story; the author is currently denied access to the
Internet.
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.
~ Sadness, drunken sorrow,
Fills this land with despair,
Loving hearts now shattered,
Hatred consumes this land in Darkness
Devil's City, city of malice,
City of unnamed souls. ~
It was raining as usual in Devil's City. The air carried the sweet sorrow of broken love, now lost forever; its taste was an acquired one, one of bittersweet heartbreak. Puddles of gasoline-tainted water riddled the street, guiding you toward the path of despair, for that is the rhythm of this place, the Malebolge.
Rain pounded against the sides of steel buildings, the constant 'ping' noise was enough to lull most to sleep, unfortunately, sleep only comes to the thieving, the false, and the wicked in this town. Thunder rumbles threateningly, as though trying to say "Stay Away", lightning strikes menacingly at your soul, clawing, ripping, gnashing, tearing biting at you.
A flower, a single scarlet rose, would have brightened the lives of all who lived in Devil's city, but no rose exist in a barren, industrial wasteland created by man, and fueled by the Monster himself. Walking, head hung lower than a dead man's, a single figure wanders the sidewalk, trampling over fliers for hookers, pornography, and the latest sexual aid off the market. The common attire of the city, a black trench coat, and cane, be it used for the elderly, blind, or the well-to-do, adults in the city never were to be spotted without one; was also the manor of dress for this person, one thing distinguished him from the rest of the drones here.
The mark of the traitor.
The sky, powerful with rage, as treacherous as the sea, silenced for an instant, as the figure inclined his head to the sky. Rain stopped pelting the earth, lightning slithered away, and thunder held its tongue in disdain at the bastard child of the devil himself. In the unnatural calm, the figure took no notice of the unsaid spite that existed between him and the planet; all he knows is that this precise moment, all is well in him, guilt, vengeance, discomfort, they bare no restraint, he is free.
Rain continues to plummet to the hard ground, thunder grumbles, and lightning forms spider veins in the sky. The figure holds his head level, long, wet, gray hair clings to his angular face, a tattered blindfold blocked his eyes and nose from view, still, high, regal cheekbones jut through the cloth material; a pointed nose, inherited from his father, also made its presence known through the rag. Pale, almost ghostly, green skin proved a rough contrast against the dark, sleeveless, leather coat, yet they differed little in texture.
Briskly he walks down the cement path, carrying his cane by a strap on his back, nobody quite figured out how he manages perfect stride without aid, then again, nobody dare ask. He rounded the corner of Main and Chapel, brushing a bandaged hand gently over a potted evergreen bush by the entrance of 'Dante's Diner', and proceeded, passing all matter of dilapidated, condemned apartment buildings that were useful for little more than collecting rain and vermin, be it human or animal. He quickened his pace to a fast jog, the tails of his coat flapping lifelessly behind him.
Water drenched his black jeans as he starting running wildly down street by street. Gunmetal, rust, and dun colored buildings blurred in the background, the occasional half-functioning neon sign clacked against glass windows violently, as though possessed by the wind as he passed.
By luck, or sheer brilliance, he avoided a short walk and a sudden stop by hover car, on more than one occasion. His feet beat in a constant, even, rhythm on the ground while he ran to nowhere. He exhaled hoarsely after seven blocks of non-stop running, the first sign he showed of living. Three- week-old coffee grounds burning black for one last cup, created an ungodly smell in the air, throwing his beat off momentarily.
Heaven started to pour golf ball size hail upon Devil's City.
Hail tortured the metropolis mercilessly with fist of ice, beckoning skyscrapers to fall, roads to crumble, and death to spread its wings to blacken the sky.
~ Land of waste
Land of death
Black Death reigns supreme here
Burning ice
Freezing fire
Black Death destroys all ~
The figure comes to a complete halt as the flood comes. He looks up, down, left to right, every conceivable direction. A smile cracks on his lips, he knows. Slowly he starts walking into an old warehouse labeled 'Ware 15A: BIOPLANTS'. A mixture of decaying flesh, rotting tomatoes, feces, and rancid water engulfed the place; yet, he did not seem to mind. Hail clattered against the roof like a thousand angry fist, to any normal person, the sound alone would drive him out. His steel-toe boots beat like a mallet against marble upon the concrete floor as he tread across the building.
Pods scaled the walls, mocking wallpaper; each pod was ashen in color, topping twelve feet in length, little more than three in width. Inside, hidden in gallons of life-giving, syrupy, liquid, lies the fetus of an child. From the time it is grown inside till two years later, it is impossible to see what form the child will grow into. Some, tragically, become dogs of 'men' crawling among cockroaches, lapping their own dross. Other, however, are destined to great strength, brutal force to kill with, but lacking on the intelligent side of the gene pool. There is another option for them. A race, a superior breed, shaped by men exists now. In creating this specie, a law was broken; the law in which man and animal alike are bound, the 'douou'. The actual law was carved inside time and space, on the secret ground of the Eternities, the words are not to be uttered by man, but, loosely, it states: 'Anyone who binds man with animal, will die by the hand of Karayan, the beginning.' When this law was broken, a ripple effect began here, in our dimension; it spread to twenty-six others, destroying all but five; those five are referred to as the Unseiitsutsu, or, Lucky Five.
The figure stopped in front of an old pod, welded into the ground unlike the others; its cables had been ripped out years ago, telling by the degree of rust on them. The oval glass piece in the center was fragmented; pieces littered the ground, reflecting his covered face. Steadily, he retrieved a larger piece and held to light. For a while he 'stared' into it, checking every detail as though it were precious to him. Though it was a fragile porcelain piece, he rested it down where it had lain, unwilling to cause damage.
Righting himself, he resumed 'gazing' at the vessel. Lightly, he touched it, claws scraping off layers of dust. He looked at the tips of his claw- like fingers, he saw nothing. He brushed the opposite hand over it, barely, he detected four...five bony, single-jointed fingers, no fingertips, just leathery hooks he indignantly called nails. He replaced his hand on the pod; the number 7.5 was permanently engraved on the side.
"I thought you were over it." A bass voice taunted in the background
He stopped his activity, placing his arms by his side, and tilted his head to the left. Exhaling a lazy sigh, he turned to face the man.
"What do you want old man?" His words rolled smoothly over dried lips.
"The same thing I want every time Seven Point Five."
"You think you can end this tonight, then you are truly foolish. We have discussed this before, my mind is made up about mankind, they are a virus, like all viruses, they must be destroyed before they spread, inflicting other planets, like locust if you will."
"You're too young to judge people."
"Love has clouded you vision, you know what I am doing, if it were not for the sayain hybrid, you would be doing the same thing. You and I are the same, if you hadn't noticed, I am part of you, as you are me; because of that, I cannot stop the need- Go home Piccolo, where you are wanted, Devil's City is no place for you and your antics, Piccolo.
"You know, wherever you go, I'll find you, and we will have the same conversation over and over again till old age is over us, and we are no longer able to speak."
"Let it be."
"As you wish, my son."
~They will fall in the night
Light will not overcome darkness
Life will bow to death
Servant will order master
Father will beg son
Circle of Life
Repeat waltz ~
Author's note: You never know what lies beyond our shadow realm, in the darkness, in the night..
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.
~ Sadness, drunken sorrow,
Fills this land with despair,
Loving hearts now shattered,
Hatred consumes this land in Darkness
Devil's City, city of malice,
City of unnamed souls. ~
It was raining as usual in Devil's City. The air carried the sweet sorrow of broken love, now lost forever; its taste was an acquired one, one of bittersweet heartbreak. Puddles of gasoline-tainted water riddled the street, guiding you toward the path of despair, for that is the rhythm of this place, the Malebolge.
Rain pounded against the sides of steel buildings, the constant 'ping' noise was enough to lull most to sleep, unfortunately, sleep only comes to the thieving, the false, and the wicked in this town. Thunder rumbles threateningly, as though trying to say "Stay Away", lightning strikes menacingly at your soul, clawing, ripping, gnashing, tearing biting at you.
A flower, a single scarlet rose, would have brightened the lives of all who lived in Devil's city, but no rose exist in a barren, industrial wasteland created by man, and fueled by the Monster himself. Walking, head hung lower than a dead man's, a single figure wanders the sidewalk, trampling over fliers for hookers, pornography, and the latest sexual aid off the market. The common attire of the city, a black trench coat, and cane, be it used for the elderly, blind, or the well-to-do, adults in the city never were to be spotted without one; was also the manor of dress for this person, one thing distinguished him from the rest of the drones here.
The mark of the traitor.
The sky, powerful with rage, as treacherous as the sea, silenced for an instant, as the figure inclined his head to the sky. Rain stopped pelting the earth, lightning slithered away, and thunder held its tongue in disdain at the bastard child of the devil himself. In the unnatural calm, the figure took no notice of the unsaid spite that existed between him and the planet; all he knows is that this precise moment, all is well in him, guilt, vengeance, discomfort, they bare no restraint, he is free.
Rain continues to plummet to the hard ground, thunder grumbles, and lightning forms spider veins in the sky. The figure holds his head level, long, wet, gray hair clings to his angular face, a tattered blindfold blocked his eyes and nose from view, still, high, regal cheekbones jut through the cloth material; a pointed nose, inherited from his father, also made its presence known through the rag. Pale, almost ghostly, green skin proved a rough contrast against the dark, sleeveless, leather coat, yet they differed little in texture.
Briskly he walks down the cement path, carrying his cane by a strap on his back, nobody quite figured out how he manages perfect stride without aid, then again, nobody dare ask. He rounded the corner of Main and Chapel, brushing a bandaged hand gently over a potted evergreen bush by the entrance of 'Dante's Diner', and proceeded, passing all matter of dilapidated, condemned apartment buildings that were useful for little more than collecting rain and vermin, be it human or animal. He quickened his pace to a fast jog, the tails of his coat flapping lifelessly behind him.
Water drenched his black jeans as he starting running wildly down street by street. Gunmetal, rust, and dun colored buildings blurred in the background, the occasional half-functioning neon sign clacked against glass windows violently, as though possessed by the wind as he passed.
By luck, or sheer brilliance, he avoided a short walk and a sudden stop by hover car, on more than one occasion. His feet beat in a constant, even, rhythm on the ground while he ran to nowhere. He exhaled hoarsely after seven blocks of non-stop running, the first sign he showed of living. Three- week-old coffee grounds burning black for one last cup, created an ungodly smell in the air, throwing his beat off momentarily.
Heaven started to pour golf ball size hail upon Devil's City.
Hail tortured the metropolis mercilessly with fist of ice, beckoning skyscrapers to fall, roads to crumble, and death to spread its wings to blacken the sky.
~ Land of waste
Land of death
Black Death reigns supreme here
Burning ice
Freezing fire
Black Death destroys all ~
The figure comes to a complete halt as the flood comes. He looks up, down, left to right, every conceivable direction. A smile cracks on his lips, he knows. Slowly he starts walking into an old warehouse labeled 'Ware 15A: BIOPLANTS'. A mixture of decaying flesh, rotting tomatoes, feces, and rancid water engulfed the place; yet, he did not seem to mind. Hail clattered against the roof like a thousand angry fist, to any normal person, the sound alone would drive him out. His steel-toe boots beat like a mallet against marble upon the concrete floor as he tread across the building.
Pods scaled the walls, mocking wallpaper; each pod was ashen in color, topping twelve feet in length, little more than three in width. Inside, hidden in gallons of life-giving, syrupy, liquid, lies the fetus of an child. From the time it is grown inside till two years later, it is impossible to see what form the child will grow into. Some, tragically, become dogs of 'men' crawling among cockroaches, lapping their own dross. Other, however, are destined to great strength, brutal force to kill with, but lacking on the intelligent side of the gene pool. There is another option for them. A race, a superior breed, shaped by men exists now. In creating this specie, a law was broken; the law in which man and animal alike are bound, the 'douou'. The actual law was carved inside time and space, on the secret ground of the Eternities, the words are not to be uttered by man, but, loosely, it states: 'Anyone who binds man with animal, will die by the hand of Karayan, the beginning.' When this law was broken, a ripple effect began here, in our dimension; it spread to twenty-six others, destroying all but five; those five are referred to as the Unseiitsutsu, or, Lucky Five.
The figure stopped in front of an old pod, welded into the ground unlike the others; its cables had been ripped out years ago, telling by the degree of rust on them. The oval glass piece in the center was fragmented; pieces littered the ground, reflecting his covered face. Steadily, he retrieved a larger piece and held to light. For a while he 'stared' into it, checking every detail as though it were precious to him. Though it was a fragile porcelain piece, he rested it down where it had lain, unwilling to cause damage.
Righting himself, he resumed 'gazing' at the vessel. Lightly, he touched it, claws scraping off layers of dust. He looked at the tips of his claw- like fingers, he saw nothing. He brushed the opposite hand over it, barely, he detected four...five bony, single-jointed fingers, no fingertips, just leathery hooks he indignantly called nails. He replaced his hand on the pod; the number 7.5 was permanently engraved on the side.
"I thought you were over it." A bass voice taunted in the background
He stopped his activity, placing his arms by his side, and tilted his head to the left. Exhaling a lazy sigh, he turned to face the man.
"What do you want old man?" His words rolled smoothly over dried lips.
"The same thing I want every time Seven Point Five."
"You think you can end this tonight, then you are truly foolish. We have discussed this before, my mind is made up about mankind, they are a virus, like all viruses, they must be destroyed before they spread, inflicting other planets, like locust if you will."
"You're too young to judge people."
"Love has clouded you vision, you know what I am doing, if it were not for the sayain hybrid, you would be doing the same thing. You and I are the same, if you hadn't noticed, I am part of you, as you are me; because of that, I cannot stop the need- Go home Piccolo, where you are wanted, Devil's City is no place for you and your antics, Piccolo.
"You know, wherever you go, I'll find you, and we will have the same conversation over and over again till old age is over us, and we are no longer able to speak."
"Let it be."
"As you wish, my son."
~They will fall in the night
Light will not overcome darkness
Life will bow to death
Servant will order master
Father will beg son
Circle of Life
Repeat waltz ~
Author's note: You never know what lies beyond our shadow realm, in the darkness, in the night..