In the Hands of Young Chôjin

By Son Rhandi

Chapter 11: "The Boss"

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Good to see you, nice to meet you,

New Generation wrestling few.

You may call me El Matador,

Slayer of old bulls.

A pinhole twinkle at the end of the tunnel, an engulfing yellow light and there they were, crush velvet underneath their feet. Someone had rolled out the red carpet for them, it seemed. It extended to the back of the room, folding over the steps of an ascending staircase and leading to a simple, marble throne with a giant cattle skull mounted to its head. The could see a figure rising to stand, too far away to make for any further distinctions. "Welcome, Muscle Leaguers..!" The figure boomed as he descended upon the staircase. "And Checkmate, as well..! The rival gang's all here!"

"You're the leader of Bloody Arms?" Mantaro growled his inquiry.

"So many people visiting me today…" The man ignored the muscle prince's question for the time being. Coming down to their level they cast their sights on him, a tall man approaching 7 feet and clad in red. A mask similar to El Niño's covered his face, cut away around the nose and mouth to reveal tanned skinned underneath. He kept his right arm close to him and hidden under a crimson cape fastened to his shoulder and tapering down to his waist. His outfit could have been inspired by Mars; where the dirty bird had a white outline of a phoenix, this fellow had the front view of a bull's head, and all accentuated with a black bullfighter's hat. "Welcome to the Bloody Arms space base."

"We're in space?" The guest wrestlers gained quizzical looks on their faces.

"Mm-hmm." The man in red clapped twice and the metal panels situated all around the throne room slid up simultaneously, revealing large windows, and nothing but stars and darkness to see through them. "See anything familiar?"

Sure enough. It took some focusing, but it looked as if they were somewhere near Muscle Planet. "We're on the dark side of Lunarplexis," he continued. "This ship is spherical and designed to look like a small asteroid. That's how we've been able to go unnoticed by the interplanetary authority on Muscle Planet. As far as they can see, we're just another floating rock in space."

"That's pretty clever," said the Kid, cracking his knuckles. "Mind tellin' us what yer deal is?"

"First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is El Matador. It means 'the killer' in Spanish. And like a matador, I slay bulls, the old kind that have been put out to pasture."

"Thou dost speak of the Legends…" Checkmate narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, that's correct. I suppose you'd like to know why we've been killing them left and right, eh?"

The ol' walrus bristled. "Well, we didn't come all this way to admire the view."

Matador chuckled. "No, I suppose you didn't. You see, the Legends are the best of the best. They've defeated countless enemies, saved humankind again and again, and so on, and so forth… Now that they've grown old, they're spending the rest of their days as instructors, molding new and unchallenged Chôjin into good and righteous protectors of justice. And so, the world looks back on them lovingly."

"Get to the point."

"The point is, progress can't be made if people keep clinging onto memories of the past. It's time to wipe the memories of the Legends from the people's minds and begin a new era in time. Forget Muscle League, forget dMp… Those are nothing but archaic institutions important only to those weak, old men. You see, we…" the man in red extended his hand to them. "are a beautiful, new breed of Chôjin, and as such, deserve a chance to shine. The new should not be forced to remain in the shadows of the old..! Just think: The explosive power of the New Generation Justice Chôjin , the hard-hitting carnage of the Bloody Arms wrestlers… Our war will be the greatest in Chôjin history!"

"…That is utter bullshit," said Terry, matter-of-factly. "You don't want a new era… You just wanna repeat history..!"

"Au contraire, cowboy. With the old Legends eliminated, there'll be no one to teach the Justice Chôjin of the future. They'll have the power, but not the skills necessary to wield it. That said, they'll be nothing but carcasses at our feet. The New Generation Devil Chôjin will reign supreme over mankind, and there won't be anyone around to stop us. Though the scenario may be similar, the outcome will be just the opposite."

"If thine purpose was to eradicate Justice Chôjin," Checkmate began. "Why didst thou murder my master, Sunshine..?!"

"Before I answer that, you'll have to agree to some of my terms."

"Forget it," Mantaro growled. "You've toyed with us all along, but this time, we're not gonna play it your way!"

The muscle prince bit his tongue and remained completely still. The others gritted their teeth and broke out in cold sweats. El Matador had pulled a glock on the wrestling royalty, aimed right between his eyes. "Then I can just kill you here. We can do it however you want. It makes no difference to me."

"…What kind of Chôjin are you..?" The young Kinniku breathed. "Not even the wrestlers of the dMp would stoop so low…"

"I'm just one of a beautiful, new breed of Devil Chôjin, a ruthless, killing machine. So, the canvas or the casket?"

"……Fine. What do you want us to do?"

Matador smiled devilishly, returning his weapon to its holster. "I'm sure you know Hoffman and Bighorn quite well by now." His two cronies threw out their ugly grins and chuckled. "And speaking of the All-Stars, where's Rhodes?"

"The cock won't be coming back," said Checkmate. "I sent him running in Berlin."

The man in red shrugged. "Whatever. My two strongest are here, and that's all that counts. Well, before I commence with the rest of the operation, I'd like to see your powerful generation in action. Two of yours against my Animal All-Stars."

"…Belay thy tongue. Thou speakest too much." Checkmate tossed away his checkered cape. "I care not about these two before me. Thou art the one I wish to do battle with."

Matador declined, waving his hand side to side. "Sorry, friend, but the only one of you I'm getting in the ring with is Mister Second Generation, himself."

"Hey, Checkmate," Bighorn called out to him. "It might interest you to know that Sunshine was our assignment."

The chess set wrestler's eyes widened. "That's right," Hoffman followed up. "We crushed him in ten minutes flat and set his place ablaze..! And if we could do it again, we sure as hell would!"

"You…" The king step forward, ready to pounce on either of the two.

"Well, I guess that's settled. Who will be Checkmate's partner?"

"I'll do it," Terry answered the call to arms. "I wasn't able t' be with y'all at Hercules or Berlin. Let me make up for it by fighting today."

The king nodded. "As ye like. Wouldst thou mind if I go first? "

"Knock yerself out, partner."

"Well, if that's everything, I'll let you four get started." Matador shifted behind his cloak and pull from there a small remote control. "If you would, step away from the carpet, please."

He pressed the button and a great rumbling came from underneath their feet. The carpet swelled and rose before them like a tower in a sea of red. It split and revealed a glorious four-sided ring, its sides decorated with the familiar red letters, B*A. "This is a special ring I had set up exclusively for this event," said El Matador, arms outstretched. "My All-Stars have been waiting for this moment since Operation: Bloody Hell began. Does it make you happy, you two?"

"It's indescribable, mein Führer..!"

"Please, sir," Bighorn stood at attention. "Allow me to express my joy in the ring!"

"Mm-hmm. Bighorn, you go first."

The Bloody Arms bruiser gave an affirming nod and hoped the ropes to land on the untouched canvas, Hoffman joining him at his corner and gesturing for their opponents to step up. "Ya ready, Check?" Terry patted him on the back.

"Quite. Let's begin."