Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball, DragonBall Z, or any of the characters associated with this great manga. These manga are the exclusive property of Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation. However, Rolo Yeung, Hard Copper, and Fein Okonkwo are my original characters so hands off.
Chapter 19: Dust Bunnies in a Hurricane
"Will Champion Hard Copper and contestant Siafu please enter the ring?"
The crowds whipped themselves into a fevered frenzy as the current National Champion Hard Copper stepped into the ring followed closely by his opponent, Siafu the Leopard. After much debate, the MAS(Martial Arts Society) President finally conceded in allowing Siafu full use of his natural claws in the upcoming battle, albeit with much controversy.
"I tell ya Al," began co-announcer Firecracker, "Never have I seen such a desire to kill! Hard Copper's face is set in stone! Awesome,...just awesome!"
His partner Mr. Akira, grimaced internally. "Considering that this is Hard Copper, I just hope we don't see a repeat of last year's performance…"
"It took three days to clean up the mess!" added Mr. Fireracker. "And he let that guy live!"
Siafu cracked his feline knuckles in anticipation for the slaughter to come. The large jungle cat annihilated his human competition in the preliminaries, quickly securing himself a spot in the quarterfinals roster.
The massive jungle cat tried to stare down his even larger human opponent. "During the entire Prelims, I was forbidden my use of claws!" he growled. "I was forced to fight as a human, with my fists closed!"
"So what of it?" chided the monstrous Native.
"Tempered as I was, it was like having a big juicy steak right in front of me and not being able to eat it!" explained the jungle beast. "It played with my senses! Now I am unhindered. Accidents may happen! Ha,hahahaha…."
Hard Copper smiled menacingly at his quarry, "There can only be one predator in this jungle!"
"Contestants! You may begin!"
"And so the hunt is on…," whispered the jungle cat.
"So it is." Hard Capper couldn't resist grinning ear to ear. He lived for stuff like this!
"Come!" taunted the giant Korin Indian, "I won't kill you…much."
Dropping to all fours, the massive anthromorphic jungle beast went into a run. Its fangs bore, Siafu pounced upon his quarry. Just as the creature was about to chomp down on the dreaded Mountain King's face, a loud 'snap' rang through the field.
Looking down, Siafu found himself being held, suspended in the air, his fangs just short of his target. It was the Mountain King's iron-hard fist that brought him to a halt. As if a firecracker had gone off inside him, a contusion erupted in the feline's rib cage, sending him crashing to the floor.
"What the…? Ladies and Gents! Contestant Siafu has been injured!"
"I didn't even see him move," said Announcer Firecracker, aghast.
"Neither did I...," seconded Mr. Akira. "We better call the fight before this gets ugly!"
"NOOO!"
The astonished announcer duo looked upon the downed Siafu. The jungle beast was crumpled in a fetal position at Hard Copper's feet.
"NO!" Siafu screamed, "I can still do this!"
Looming like an ominous cloud, Hard Copper towered over his downed adversary. Amused, the giant Indian began to taunt, the words coming too like a whisper. "Try as you might, you were never destined to be at the front of the line. I see now that that spot is reserved for only one."
Turning around, Hard Copper prepared to leave the ring. 'Come on! I dare you! Get up! I want you to get up…!'
To say that his opponent was flabbergasted, was putting it mildly. Siafu clawed at the tiled floor, as if the will to stand were something he could just seize out of thin air.
"Come back here!" growled the downed jungle cat. "Y-you can't do this to me Mountain King! Remember your promise! Long ago, you said this would be our battle! Don't just walk away!"
Outside the ring, Yeung, Tien, Mercenary Toa, Fein, and Master Roshi looked upon the spectacle with mixed interest.
"These two have met before," explained the Turtle Hermit.
Toa Pai-Pai nodded in accordance. "Right now, there are more emotions tied up in that one acre of concrete than any of us will ever know!"
"What's this?" The actions of the reigning National Champ left the announcers absolutely baffled. " Contestant Hard Copper is walking towards the edge of the ring! Could this be a forfeit?"
The behemoth native stopped just short of the ring's edge. In the center of the platform, his opponent struggled to pull himself up. Finally, Siafu stood.
"Don't you turn your back on me!" Siafu snarled. If it weren't for his feline ears, the jungle predator would not have heard his opponent's gruesome chuckle.
Reaching over his shoulder, Hard Copper brought his thumb and middle finger together, and with a quick snap of his fingers, sent a wave of compressed air back at his wounded opponent. The pressure wave tore into Siafu with the force of an anti-personnel grenade. Concrete was powdered and blood and fur were strewn about the site of impact. When the smoke cleared, a gaping crater lay in the center of the ring. In the middle of that depression was an unconscious Siafu.
"Um…, Siafu is down," said Mr. Firecracker. Turning to his colleague, Mr. Akira, he asked, "Do you think we should we start the count?"
"A knockdown is a knockdown…," stated the blond announcer. "One…"
"Count all you like," began Hard Copper to himself, "He's not getting up."
"Ten! Siafu is out! Champion Hard Copper advances up the ranks!"
In the stands a ruckus played out among the spectators. "That's not surprising!" stated one. "Looks like HC's gonna win this one too.." mussed another. Down in the field, panic had broken out among some of the other participants…
"He didn't even touch him!" shouted an exasperated Spopovitch.
"Inconceivable!" blurted Mr. Satan.
"He isn't human…" whispered Caroni.
"Hmm…, Karrin-sama's training has granted that man abilities far surpassing anything my training could accomplish," said Roshi. The old master turned to his student. "Fein!"
"Master?"
The Turtle Hermit's plea had desperation to it that Fein hadn't heard since he began his tutelage under the aged sage. "I want you to forfeit!"
Fein could not believe what he was hearing. "You have got to be kidding me!"
"Listen boy!" ordered Roshi, "Regardless of what you've learned under me, you cannot defeat that monster! Your levels are just too different!"
"You're senile!"
"And you're fucking stupid!" retorted the hermit, "If you press Hard Copper, he will bury you! Come back with me and train for one more year. Anything's possible!"
"Sorry Master but you know I can't do that!" asserted the dark-skinned teen. "There is only one way that guys like me can find themselves, and that's going through freaks like him!"
"Fein, you're a fool!"
"And you are dead weight!" With that said, Fein marched off in a 'huff,' a nagging Master Roshi tromping after him.
"This is gonna get ugly…," said Yeung to himself.
"You have no idea." From behind came his seifu, Toa Pai-Pai. "Concerning his next fight, the Turtle student has more than his work cut out for him!"
"Yeah..," Yeung sighed.
"However, I agree with what the kid sez," opined Toa, "There is relatively little to worry about until crossing paths with big, tall, and ugly. It'll be you and the Moutain King in the semifinals."
"Master.., do you honestly think I can defeat him?" asked Yeung pleadingly.
"Up until now, he hasn't shown his true abilities so it's hard to say." Toa stroked his mustache in contemplation.
Meanwhile in the stadium infirmary, the North City coroner threw back the plastic opening of a black body bag containing the recently deceased Yakuza, Rat. Colored a pale purple, the cadaver was riddled with lacerations and contusions.
"There's not a lot left of this guy is there?" asked the man.
"Hmm…," mused a second.
Unnoticed by either of the two men, the body began to stir. Suddenly, the eyes of the presumed-dead killer flew open. Taking a moment to get his bearings, the infamous gangster observed his surroundings.
Having their attentions fixed elsewhere, the coroner and his assistant didn't catch what was happening until it was too late.
"WHAT THE!" screamed the assistant, paling. The coroner turned to see what the fuss was about only to have his face torn clean off. The older man skull-planted in a fit of pain on the cold room floor.
Rising from the table, Rat the Iron Bullet reached for the now dead coroner's assistant. "Come here you!"
The unfortunate mortician backed himself into a corner. Rat sized the man up.
"Help me with your friend over there," ordered the revived killer. "If you cooperate, I might let you live."
"Uh…, O-OK!" stammered the petrified assistant. Grabbing both ends of the deceased coroner, the two lifted the body onto the table recently occupied by Rat.
"I need his cloths and his ID," demanded the assassin.
Minutes later, what looked like a bloodied version of the coroner stepped out of the infirmary. Reaching up, the man peeled away his face reveling that of Rat underneath.
"Someday, that kid and I will finish what we started." Refitting the grizzly mask, the Yakuza hit-man turned to leave, a sardonic laugh following in his wake.
Back on the field, the contestants of round five prepared to enter the ring. Draped in heavy robes, the first one, Ackmed, was a tall, big-boned Arab man who sported a thick, bushy beard. Topping off his look was a headdress fastened in place with a bronze-colored linen tiara.
The second contestant, Jezebel, was a mountain-sized female wrestler. She was Beatrice's older sister and tag team partner in the Pro circuit. Her thighs were the size of drain pipes and her torso was a stocky as a man's. She was homely in appearance and bore a crushed nose from the prelims. The tournament official charged with frisking the two participants was reluctant to touch Jezebel for obvious reasons.
"Everyone, we have good news!" chimed Mr. Akira, "Contestant Siafu is not dead! So.., let's get on with the show!"
"We'll start with contestant #9," added Mr. Firecracker. "In his home country, he is renowned for his skill with a halberd. In the preliminaries, his bear hug put the squeeze on a number of opponents! Give it up for Ackmed!"
"Mmmhmm," nodded announcer Akira, "And his opponent, you all know her well, the elder of the Fitzpatrick duo, Jezebel!"
"Hmph!" huffed Ackmed, "I cannot believe these infidels would pit me against a she-devil! I ISSUE A FATWA ON ALL OF YOU!" The large Burber male went into a litany of curses, many of which were in an Indo-European dialect few could understand. What was apparent was that Ackmed was pissed…
"Cool your jets ragweed!"
Doing an about-face, Ackmed was pulled into a towel hug by the elder Fitzpatrick sister, bringing the two of them nose to nose.
"Err…You filthy whore! HOW DARE YOU!" Bringing up a hand, the large man slapped Jezebel sideways. "You vulgar vagabond! I care not about the rules! I sentence you to death the moment we step into ring!"
"I take it that that is your way of asking for a date," guessed the gargantuan woman, dabbing her bloody lip.
In the ring, the two contestants engaged in the oh-so-common stare-down. For Jezebel, there was no fear, only a desire to get the horse and pony show over with.
Ackmed for his part was exceptionally tense. Here he stood preparing to break what to his people constituted a major societal taboo. A man of his tribe was prohibited from striking a woman unless she walked in public without being accompanied by either her husband or an older male member of her family. If such was the issue, and in Jezebel's case it was warranted, his holy laws deemed the said women a sharlet, a whore who is to be put to death on the spot. Such was the conundrum: The tournament prize money or his religious purity. In his sash he had carefully hidden a short curved blade. Money was not an issue. He was already a member of a fabulously wealthy, emirate family.
His mind made up, Ackmed prepared to uphold his culture's code of honor. When the gong wrung, the most unclean sharlet was to die by way of beheading.
"You may begin!"
At the sound of the gong Jezebel ran at her Middle Eastern opponent. The sight of such a huge woman tromping at him, cowered Ackmed somewhat. In all his earlier rage, he overlooked the fact that Jezebel was nearly as big as he was. Surely, he would kill this bitch, assuming he didn't get walloped trying.
Finally with the distance between them erased, the life and death struggle began. Ackmed lunged at the huge woman, trying to catch her in his patented, bone-splintering bear hug. Coincidentally, Jezebel had the same idea. The two giants of opposite gender locked in a terrifying grapple from which only one would emerge unscaved.
"Holy…! A simultaneous bear hug!" shrieked Mr. Firecracker. "A realm in which contestant Ackmed dominates! Will his experience land him the leg-up?"
"Err…, I'll crush your bones!" growled the Arab man. Trying to find a better center of gravity, the giant Imam bent his knees.
To accommodate her opponent's momentum, Jezebel shifted her gargantuan Gadonkadonk body backwards. "We'll see about that lover boy!"
Veins burst and joints popped as the two combatants tightened their respective holds. Sure enough, something gave. A wet 'crick' resounded through the center field. Ackmed's eyes rolled back into his head as the great man slumped to the tiles.
In the end, nothing came of Ackmed's plan to hold a public spectacle, for it was his lumbar region that gave first. Having an opponent that came from a country with far lower health standards, in this case bone integrity, gave the match to Jezebel.
"And that's that…Jezebel is victorious!" cheered Mr. Akira. The blond announcer flashed a peace sign at the stands.
"That she is Akira…that she is," Jody concurred. "And she shall move up one in the ranking. Let's give it up for Jezebel Fitzpatrick! Tag team Champion of the World!"
Fists held high, Jezebel trumpeted a loud battle cry reminiscent of something from Xenna Warrior Princess.
"That's one pair of panties that I don't mind not having," the Turtle Hermit remarked.
"No shit!" snapped Toa.
Leaving the ring, the massive woman joined her injured sister on a bench.
"You've always been the stronger one," Beatrice said ruefully. "I'm so useless to you. Sometimes I wonder why you even keep me around…" The younger Fitzpatrick felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder. Looking up, her eyes met those of her older sister.
"Beatrice…," Jezebel breathlessly uttered, "There's always next year." The two siblings shared a moment of warmth a hug can bring.
"It is now time for Round Six! Will Puntar and Killa please enter the ring?"
"As you all know, Killa is the world Middle Weight Boxing champion," Announcer Firecracker droned. "Coming up on the mean streets of South Side East City, he is the undefeated 'King of Fists' both in and out of the ring! His indelible record stands at 51-0-2!"
"An incredible record by all accounts!" Mr. Akira concurred, "However, I wouldn't sell his opponent short though. Punter's MMA combat abilities are nothing short of legendary and his size advantage is breath-taking!"
In the ring, Punter and Killa stared each other down. The two men had greater aspirations than just the North Kingdom's Nationals. Each had entered the competition as a stepping stone towards future glory in the Tenkaichi Budokai. One had to fall so that the other could make a name for himself later on.
"You men may begin!"
Killa, a tall black male, calmly approached Punter. The man showed no signs of apprehension or anger in regards to his opponent. Candidly, the boxer extended his hand to Punter in a display of sportsmanship.
Punter however, had no such code of honor. The fat, burly Indo-European bent down and spat in the extended hand. "I will not sully my hands with your stink!"
"Figures I'd get the asshole," muttered the Middle Weight title holder.
Just as it seemed both men were about to return to their corners, Punter doubled back and snuck up behind his smaller competition. Killa didn't have a prayer.
"WHAT THE?" was the last thing Killa yelped before being ground into the tiled flooring. Lifting his massive leg for yet another strike, Punter brought all his weight down on the incapacitated Killa with the force of a plow drive.
"Woah! In a blatant act of dirty conduct, contestant Puntar has put his foot down, all the way down on Killa!"
"Oooh! That looks like it stings!" remarked Toa. If not for his prosthetic face the Crane teacher would have winced.
"Forgive me boxer but I couldn't risk your bringing those fists to bear against me," Puntar chided arrogantly. "You'll understand little boy."
Writhing in agony, Killa floundered about on the floor like a beached fish. The wind had been knocked out of him and his lumbar region felt like jelly. Reaching down, Puntar grasped Killa's ankle and physically hoisted the smaller man into the air.
"Night! Night!" With one great swing, Puntar swung Killa like a hammer straight through the ring floor. Dust and rubble were kicked up as the Middle Weight Boxing Champ was embedded in the concrete platform. For a moment, Killa lay there foaming at the mouth twitching.
"Contestant Killa is down and by the looks of it, out! I'll start the count! One…"
"Count all you want," Punter snickered to himself, "That fool isn't getting up!"
"Ten! And the match goes to contestant Punter!"
The crowds booed fiercely at Punter's complete lack of sportsmanship. Some went as far as to pelt empty bottles into the field.
Off to the side, Master Roshi, Tien, and Mercenary Toa stood talking amongst themselves.
"This tournament has seen well more than its share of nar-do-wells," mused the old Turtle Hermit. "It's as if none of this upcoming generation have honor."
"Your modern fighters are mostly cut from show business," said Toa. "Most fight for nothing more than their fifteen minutes of fame. There are a few bright spots here and there but for the most part the vast majority are nothing more than paparazzi magnets."
"I don't know who is worse, the fighters or the fans!" snapped Tien in disgust.
"Ladies and Gents! It is time for the seventh round of the Northern Kingdom Budokai!"
"And what a round it's going to be Akira!" blared Mr. Firecracker. "For in this match we will have the pleasure of witnessing the return of one of martial arts' greats! Please give a big round of applause to the 22nd Tenkaichi Champion, Mr. Tien Shinhan!"
Some of the older spectators who were more familiar with the triclops' record stood and offered a bow of respect to the returning champion. The younger spectators either cheered or threw expletives.
"Well…, I'm up." Mercenary Toa gave his one-time student a good slap on the back.
"Take it easy on em," laughed the old killer. Whether Tien heard him or not didn't matter. It had been years since the triclops had set foot in the ring. This was sure to be one hell of a comeback!
Tien along with his opponent Insideout, approached the official charged with weapon searches. The official in question padded the former Champion first. Not wanting to disrespect a former world title holder, the man opted out of checking Tien's mouth and arm pits.
When it came time to frisk Insideout, the man was even more trepid though for different reasons. Insideout was literally a man whose body was inside-out. Due to some miracle of science, nature, or both, this twisted being was a slithering violation of all natural laws.
Tien looked upon his opponent with a mix of pity and curiosity. The creature had overcome all odds and made his way to the finals through the employ of a strange style centered around organ shifting and gastrointestinal squirt gun action.
"Will the two fighters enter the ring?"
Tien and Insideout stepped onto the platform. Tien wanted to end this quick so as to avoid injuring his opponent. The two combatants assumed their respective sides of the ring. Right before the signal was given to start, Insideout began to speak. Even his/her/it's voice had a slithering quality to it.
"Sssooo many foolsss in thisss world think thhhhat fighting is about building up one's body," the aberration hissed, "There are othhher worldsss out thhherrr…One you ssshall soon see!"
"The two warriors may begin!"
Instantaneously, the veteran Z-senshi phased in and out of hyper speed, reappearing behind his gobbledygook opponent.
"WHAT SPEED!"
Using heat sensors located on his external brain stem, Insideout tried to find his opponent. All of a sudden, the strange creature felt a prick at the back of his/it's 'head'….
From behind, Tien had jabbed a finger into what he thought to be his opponent's cerebellum. The shock left Insideout falling forward face first.
"At least I didn't have to hurt him," said Tien. His task complete, the triclops turned to leave the ring.
"And it seems that contestant Insideout is out cold!" The co-announcers Mr. Firecracker and Mr. Akira prepared to start the countdown until…
"Wait…, What is this?"
"Huh?" It was then that he sensed it. It was vague but still there. Despite being infinitely outmatched, his opponent Insideout stirred.
"Looks like I missed the acupressure point," said Tien.
"Not quite!" replied Inside out. Out of the conglomeration of disconfigured organs and connective tissue, a form began to take shape. Bones and cartilage began to knit themselves together. Tendons shifted and muscle fibers and nerves slithered around the resulting frame. Finally, with the cerebral cavity and brain tissue in place, the frontal plate of the skull set itself allowing the face to reattach itself. When it was all said and done, a naked man stood in the center of the ring.
"That's a new one on me," said Tien to himself.
"You like that one eh?"
"It's…. interesting," mussed the triclops.
"Oooohhh!" Clapping his hands like a giddy school kid, the doppelganger Insideout squealed with delight. "To hear praise such as that from a former champ! Oh, how it warms this old circus performer's discombobulated heart?"
"You're a circus sideshow?" Tien's jaw fell just a little at that.
"Oh yes!" Insideout shot back ecstatically, "I was once considered the 8th wonder of the world you see! Insideout the shape-shifter! That's what they called me! My ability to shift and bend my body like a pretzel made me famous."
Tien stood there 'seat-dropping' for a moment before saying, "Uhh…,That's very nice and all but I didn't come here to hear your life story. Your fifteen minutes of fame has passed!"
"Oh but wait! You haven't heard everything!" implored the former circus sideshow. "I was not content with just bending and swallowing whole sections of myself! You see, I wanted to transcend!"
"Will contestant Insideout please shut the hell up and start fighting?" begged one of the announcers.
"Yes please!" huffed Tien. Insideout looked hurt at this.
"You're just like all the rest of them!" he shouted accusingly, "Never acknowledging my keen intellect! My innovations! Well, no more! With this victory I will rise to a level of fame that none have seen before!"
With that, the gobbledygook man brought his arms to his sides. Again his body began to discombobulate and bulge ever which way.
"You can't knock me out if you don't know where my vital points are!" The talkative sideshow freak was about to say something else until he was caught by a powerful uppercut to the center.
Tien stepped back and gave his opponent some room to breath. Mouth limply hanging open, Insideout continued to stand there. His legs felt like water and his vision was going fast. With a light 'thump' the strange cretin face-planted on the tiles.
"Contestant Insideout is out cold! The match goes to Tien Shinhan!"
"At least he's quiet," muttered the three-eyed warrior.
"A little rough don't you think?" Master Roshi asked.
"This event is for fighters," said Tien, "Not attention-hungry Hillary Duff wannabes!"
Out of the blue, the stadium erupted into a heated frenzy.
"Speaking of wannabes…."
Decked in resplendid robes and flanked by his two close students Piroski and Caroni, Mr. Satan waved to the crowds.
"Here he comes people!" Mr. Firecracker beamed with pride. For years, the slick-haired announcer had traveled and worked with Mr. Satan. Even before the Cell Games, he practically made Mr. Satan the star he was on the Super Fighters circuit. "You know him! I know him! He is the savior of mankind! Your hero and my very best friend MR SATAN!"
In the stands, fangirls waved Mr. Satan paraphernalia and signs in utter euphoria. Chants of "Mr. SATAN!" resonated for miles as the people's 'champ' stepped into the ring.
"YEAH!" bellowed the burly grease ball. The afroed combatant blew kisses to his adoring fans. "They love me!"
"That they do Mistro." Piroski concurred. "Give them good show. You can't afford to lose this match!"
"You know I will!"
"And his opponent…."
In contrast to Hercule Satan, his opponent received nothing but scorn, scorn that bordered on hatred.
"Standing 6 ft 7in. The most notorious of the Super Fighter Circuit! The wildman of backyard brawling! Spopovitch!"
Spopovitch was a renowned cheater in many of his matches. Oil slicks, tacks, powdered glass…. Nothing was too dirty!
Just as the muscle-bound redhead was about to step in the ring, he was grabbed roughly from behind. Being spun around, the super fighter was brought face to face with the event official charged with pat-downs.
"You want something?" the brute chided threateningly.
"You know the rules!" asserted the official.
"For every rule there is a twenty dollar bill." Spopovitch flashed a toothy grin, adding emphasis to the implication.
"Hmm, alright!" said the man. Reaching into Spopovitch's spandex, the MAS employee fished out a waded fifty.
"The deal was for twenty!" Spopovitch whispered harshly.
"Considering what will happen to me if you get caught, I should have pulled out more!" With a swift pop on the rump, the official gave the massive redhead the 'all clear.'
Stepping onto the platform, Spopovitch fixed an angry glare on his opponent. It wasn't long ago that Mr. Satan held the Super Fighter heavyweight championship title that he now had. The carrot-topped beast tried his best to build a career in the arena on par with that of his predecessor but to no avail. This would be his last chance to rise up and surpass Satan.
Paying no mind to his adversary, Mr. Satan continued to wave at his fan base. The sad thing was, he was ignoring Spopovitch on purpose. Finally, the afroed Polynesian acknowledged the younger man's presence.
"Spopovitch? I'm surprised they even let a chump like you in the ring!" Hercule arrogantly spouted. "These are my fans so try to give them a good show."
It was as if the older fighter knew just which buttons to push. "Grr….,Why YOU!"
"The two combatants may begin!"
Mr. Firecracker barely had time to finish before contestant Spopvitch lunged at the current World Champ. The large redhead was all wide swings, no style at all.
Mr. Satan easily sidestepped his larger opponent, sending Spopovitch tripping all over himself.
"My God you suck!" goaded the Champ.
"GO TO HELL!" screamed brawler. Getting up, the large man charged once again at the Champ. This time however, he stopped just short of Mr. Satan. Reaching into the chest region of his spandex, Spopovitch withdrew some white powder and flung it straight into his smaller opponent's eyes.
Mr. Satan, to his credit, brought his hands up to shield his face from the blinding cloud of white. Spopovitch took this opportunity to make a last desperate wide swing for the man's face. Sadly for Spopovitch, strategy was never his strong suit. In a mindless squandering of opportunity, the man threw his swing at Mr. Satan's raised guard.
"Huh?...You have got to be kidding me!" mouth Mr. Satan disbelievingly. His opponent was a total flop. Spopovitch couldn't even win cheating.
Jumping high into the air, Mr. Satan brought a jaw-wrenching heel kick to the man's frontal lobe. The ensuing strike sent Spopovitch coasting out of the ring.
"Come back when you're older!" Satan shouted at his beaten opponent.
"And the victory goes to Mr. Hercule Satan!" gushed Mr. Firecracker. "Such a great man! I tell ya folks…"
Outside the ring, Roshi and the others commiserated.
"Ya know! That's one time I'm happy to see that goofball win," admitted Roshi.
"Too bad Tien's gonna humiliate him in his next match," added Toa.
"Come on! He's not that bad," said Yeung. "He takes care of the strays."
"Sadly, beating that bastard is gonna kill the hopes and dreams of millions," admitted Roshi.
"I'll talk to Tien about helping the guy save face," offered Mercenary Toa. "I don't do this often but…"
"…Sometimes the truth can hurt people more than the lie," finished Master Roshi regrettably. "How did it come to this?"
"People let it come to this."
"Well, looks like I'm up!" beamed Yeung in mock cheerfulness. The stout-bodied warrior did a few toe touches in preparation for his next fight. He did not even notice his teacher stepping up beside him.
"If you win this one, it will be you and Hard Copper in the semi-finals," said Mercenary Toa warningly. "However, I don't want you to completely disregard this opponent! The Dragon isn't as weak as you would think. He gets a chance, he'll kill you without a moment's hesitation."
Power Levels-
Average human: 5
Hard Copper: 302
Siafu the Leopard: 85
Rat the Iron Bullet: 107
Ackmed: 30
Punter: 35
Jezebel Fitzpatrick: 32
Killa: 20
Hercule Satan: 30
Insideout: 48