Again, Star vs the Forces of Evil is owned by Disney and Stands are the creation of Hirohiko Araki. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. Enjoy.
Flowers and Brimstone: Chapter 3.
(Across Town: Two and a Half Minutes Later)
DING-DONG~
Went the little electronic bell as Marco exited the Gas n' Go; hotdog and cold beverage in hand.
Waiting in that long line with all those irritating little peons had been unbearable, but with Janna scrutinizing his every move, even a minor offense like shoplifting could sign his death warrant. Granted, she couldn't watch him every second of the day, especially during a training session, but given how easily her Stand could overpower his own, the young Latino figured it wasn't worth the risk.
And yet, he wondered why he put up with it at all. With the Dimensional Scissors his wife had given him, the young god was free to go anywhere he wanted in the whole universe. He could fight and pillage to his heart's content. Heck, he could subjugate an entire galaxy if he so chose and be back in time for supper. So then why didn't he?
Perhaps it was because he knew that if he did, Janna and Jefferson would never allow him to return. One hair out of line in any dimension and he'd be barred from Echo Creek forever. And if he even tried to come back, Bangles would bite his head clean off.
But would that be so bad? Surely there were much better places to live than boring old Echo Creek. And with his powers, money would never be an issue; he could just take whatever he wanted and break anyone who tried to stop him. Plus, he'd have his precious Hex to keep him company. So really, there were no down sides.
Except… he'd probably never get to see his parents or Star ever again.
"Damn it." He cursed, suddenly realizing just how much he stood to lose. "I guess I'll stay."
"You always stand around talking to yourself, Diaz?" asked an unfamiliar voice from out of nowhere.
Suddenly shaken from his private introspection, the young Latino spun around to investigate the source of the intrusion. To his immense surprise, it turned out to be a young Caucasian girl about his age; well, physical age anyway. And speaking of age, she was quite small for someone hers, about a head or so shorter than himself; were it not for her rather… amble hips, he might've assumed she was much younger. Her light chestnut hair was cut into a short bob and her eyes were like freshly polished emeralds. All things considered, she wasn't too bad looking. But… who was she?
"Uh…can I help you?" he asked, trying to sound polite.
"Looks to me like you're the one who needs help." She replied, her voice an odd blend of sultry and oily. "I mean, standing around in a public parking lot, taking to yourself in broad daylight. Sounds like you're just one neurosis away from a rubber room."
"I wasn't talking to myself." He shot back defensively. "I was just… thinking out loud. And besides, it's none of your business what I was doing. Who the hell are you anyway?"
"Who am I?" she said indignantly. "How callous can you get. I mean, we were only in the same classes five years in a row."
It was at this moment that Marco noticed that she was wearing the all too familiar uniform of an Echo Creek Academy cheerleader. Ah yes, now he remembered her. She was that girl who was always palling around with Brittney Wong. The one that Star thought had a big butt.
"Oh yeah… your name's Chantal, right?"
"Actually, it's Chantelle. Chantelle Riverbottom, for your big fat information. You'd think you'd know it after all these years."
"Well, it's not like we're friends or anything. Hell, I don't think we've even spoken to each other until now."
"Hmm… good point. But I still want an apology."
"Yeah well, people in hell want ice water. So… f*** off."
Remarkably, Chantelle wasn't offended by the young Latino's rudeness.
In fact, she seemed rather intrigued; maybe even aroused.
"Huh… you seem… different, Diaz." She said, sporting a look one would normally associate with a cougar on the prowl. "Yes… very different indeed."
"Uh… what?"
"Yeah… and not just today either. Lately, everything seems different about you. The way you talk. The way you act. Sniff. Sniff. Oh~ Even the way you smell."
"Uh… what?"
"Oh~ yes~ That smell~ I know that smell~" Chantelle purred, apparently drowning in ecstasy. "You stink of blood~"
"Uh… you know what. You're actually kinda creepy. So… I'm just gonna go ahead and leave."
"Aw~ What's the matter? Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked, still purring like a panther in heat.
"Yeah… let's go with that. Later, wierdo."
And with that, Marco removed himself from the situation as fast as his legs could carry him.
All the while, Chantelle just stood there; giggling to herself at the young boy's reaction.
"Oh~ He's a cute one~" she said excitedly. "I could just eat him up~"
XXX
(Several Minutes Later)
Once he was certain that Chantelle wasn't following him, Marco slowed down to his normal pace. Being over two thousand years old and best friends with Star Butterfly, the young Latino was no stranger to freaky situations. And yet, the cheerleader's rather… unnerving display had been enough to turn even his stomach.
Seriously, what the hell was that? All that sexual purring and saying that he 'stank of blood'; talk about a creep show. How the heck did someone like that make it onto the cheerleading squad?
Eh, whatever. It was all over now. And Marco made a mental note to avoid that sicko at all costs from now on. Unfortunately, their conversation had left a rather nasty taste in his mouth. So, he was in desperate need of a pallet cleanser.
WHOOOSHOOM!
As if responding to his mental request, a massive pulse of psychic energy suddenly washed over the young Latino like a tidal wave; stopping him dead in his tracks.
Oh~ Now this was something.
The air was thick with murderous intent, and all of it seemed to be aimed squarely at him.
How interesting~
But where was it coming from?
Marco turned his head just slightly to the left and noticed that he was standing at the mouth of a dark and incredibly dangerous looking alley.
Certainly the ideal place for an ambush.
Had he been two thousand years younger, the young Latino might've avoided said alley and gone off to look for Star. But since he wasn't he did neither and instead chose to walk straight into the darkened passage with reckless abandon.
About halfway through he came to a large dumpster, which according to his senses was the source of the intense bloodlust.
How lovely~
"Alright, you can come out now." Marco said casually to his unseen aggressor. "Come on, no sense in dragging this out. I know where you are."
Moments later, as if heeding his command, a large, imposing figure stepped out from behind the dumpster; apparently getting up from a seated position.
Suddenly, the young Latino found himself standing in the shadow of a great colossus; at least ten feet tall, if not more. His body was like that of an ancient spartan; muscles so perfect they appeared to be carved out of solid marble. His Caucasian skin, which had been darkly tanned by the heat of the sun, was marred in several places by various bite and stab marks. His dark blue hair, presumably dyed, was done up in a large mohawk which gradually turned into a rattail that went all the way down the back of his neck. His clothes, which consisted only of an open leather jacket with no sleeves, denim jeans, and steel toed boots, were all scuffed and marked; as if they were the only clothes he'd owned for quite some time. But by far, the worst part was his eyes. Those dark, ice colored orbs that seemed to say, 'I'm going to have so much fun ripping your spine out through your eye sockets'.
In short, this was not a man to be taken lightly.
"Well, ain't you an eager little wallaby." Said the large man in a thick Australian accent, before shifting his attention towards something beyond where Marco was standing. "Oy! Nikki! Is he the one?"
"Yeah, that's him, Igloo." Said a familiar voice from the mouth of the alley. "That's the greasy little bastard who killed my Fats."
Looking over his shoulder, the young god noticed that, unsurprisingly, the voice in question was that of Nikki à Trois; girlfriend of the late James Howard Brown aka Fats Dynamite. He figured that she'd come after him for revenge sooner or later. He just didn't expect it to be quite this soon.
"Huh, so you're the scrappy little dingo that iced ol' Fats, eh?" the large, mohawked man asked, drawing Marco's attention back on him. "Well, you don't look like much. But then, the great ones never do. Hell, you shoulda seen Fats back in the day. Man, the stories I could tell ya."
"Oh, cut the crap, Igloo!" Nikki barked suddenly. "I brought you here to kill that little freak! Not make friends!"
"Better stow that tude, shella. Fats ain't around to protect you anymore. So, you try to tell me what to do again and I'll feed you your own eyeballs. Savy?"
The bald woman scowled, but said nothing else; indicating that she understood that he was serious.
"That's better. Now then, where were we?"
"I believe you were about to tell me who you are, and what you want." Marco answered casually.
"Oh yeah, that's right. Thanks, mate."
"No prob."
"Anyway, since you asked, the name's Wiggins. Bill Wiggins. Mum calls me Wiggy. But most blokes just call me Igloo. And, for your big fat information, I just happen to be the 2nd Deadliest Man Alive." The towering Australian said boastfully, before quickly deflating his ego just a bit. "Course, no one ever gets famous for being 2nd best. So, I won't take offense if you've never heard of me."
"I haven't. But then I'd never heard of Fats until a few days ago."
"Makes sense. Anyway, me and Fats had this sorta rivalry between us. I'm pretty much the only User that's even fought him and lived. At least until you showed up. And I always promised myself that I'd be the one to finally punch his timeclock, so I could take my place at the top."
"But since I already killed him, you've gotta kill me now to become the best. Is that it?"
"Yeah, that's about it."
"Well, judging from your aura, you're definitely worthy of the Number 2 slot." The young Latino said calmly. "You're only slightly weaker than Fats was. And you've got some kind of pressure coming off you that he didn't have. I'm guessing that's your bloodlust."
"Whistle. You catch on quick for a newbie."
"That being said, I already beat the best. And with minimal effort no less. So, killing you will be cake."
"Oh, is that right?"
SNAP!
WHUMP!
WHUMP!
WHUMP!
WHUMP!
Suddenly, Marco was surrounded by four new Stand Users; each one dressed in a similar fashion to the original. One was a young woman with spikey pink hair and a red Gibson guitar slung over her back. Across from her stood a pair of twins; one with light green hair, one with bright yellow, both morbidly obese. Lastly, there was a tall, thin gentlemanly looking fellow with slicked back purple hair and a cracked monocle. Overall, an odd but rough looking bunch.
"Heh-Heh! Boy, you should see the look on your face." Igloo said amusedly. "Marco Diaz, say hello to the fellas! Danni Charles, Cocky Dave, Horny Stu, and last but not least, Lord Cedric von Dullahan. We're the Diamond Dogs, mate. Or as we like to call ourselves, numbers 2 through 6 on the Biederbeck List."
Seconds later, the five enemy Users started lighting up their auras, and instantly the young Latino realized he'd made a terrible mistake.
Their power… it was… unreal.
Their Stands weren't even out yet and already their psychic energies were crashing down on him like a swarm of runaway freight trains. And if that wasn't enough, the intense pressure from their collective bloodlusts seemed to be sapping the oxygen out of the area; making it very difficult for him to breathe.
It was like he was drowning.
Drowning on dry land.
In the background, he could hear the bald woman snickering as the five assailants brought out their monstrous and imposing avatars. Marco wasn't a mind reader, but he knew exactly what that half Comanche Witch was thinking.
He was trapped in a space with limited mobility, surrounded by five S-Rank Stand Users whose collective power and lust for combat was literally both paralyzing and breathtaking.
Perhaps 'cake' wasn't the best choice of words.
End Notes:
Trivia: The Biederbeck List is an online database that catalogs known Stand Users and ranks them based on how much of a threat they pose to the world as a whole. While not based solely on raw power, it is said that anyone who makes it into the Top 20 could, if properly motivated, potentially enslave and/or exterminate the entire human. Fortunately, most Stand Users prefer to keep to the shadows and lack the kind of ambition necessary to accomplish such a feat.
See you next time, folks.
Peace.