A sudden booming pillar of red engulfed Yamcha, shaking the ground underneath the stadium and shifting all the attention of the active battlefield to the pair of main attraction combatants. After the pillar of energy thinned down and only Yamcha remained levitating in a neutral fighting pose, a strict glare, a sweaty face, and a pant, One-Eight must have realized that Yamcha broke out of his mind control.
"That's yet another weakness to your technique," Yamcha said with a certain heftiness to his voice. The martial artist figured that if he could get One-Eight riled up again, he'd keep on yapping and give him a few seconds to cool down after exploding into a King Kai's Fist X 50 out of nowhere. "You apply your psychic stranglehold on a certain level of Ki. If that level goes through a drastic shift upward, you can't maintain it. Almost like tying down a man that can turn himself into a giant and snap your ropes."
"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you?" One-Eight gnashed his teeth. His left eye twitched, just like Commander Blue's used to when he turned upset and busted his facade of elegance and good manners.
Yamcha didn't want to admit it to his opponent by replying genuinely, but he didn't feel like he could maintain the constant switching between different layers of King Kai's Fist needed to keep up with and overpower his opponent. He had to break past his natural limits to match One-Eight, whereas One-Eight was an artificial human with stamina he could simply leech away from Yamcha, only adding to the tremendous schism of longevity between the two.
The thin outline of red died out and withdrew within Yamcha's body as the martial artist relaxed and coated himself in a layer of pure white outline that emanated with white flakes of energy. His build slimmed down as the tension present in his overworked muscles eased. The man that started his fighting career as a desert bandit took a deep breath in and blew out a stiff brush of air accompanied by cold vapors.
"Huh? What are you doing?" One-Eight's wrath and spite vanished from his face as they turned to bafflement why his opponent had just de-powered and purposefully lowered his overall Ki output. "My sensors indicate a sharp decline in fighting ability."
"I think I kind of understand the type of fighter you are. In combat, you're very much alike as you are in your work–greedy, manipulative, and thinking everything that everyone has, namely, everyone's treasured techniques and fighting styles, are only there to make you richer and more powerful, right?" Yamcha asked with a significantly calmer tone. His breathing balanced out somewhat, compared to the overworked panting from previously.
"If you have nothing more to show me and you've given up, you should've just taken the hint and killed yourself when I asked you nicely inside of your mind," One-Eight replied, taking a wary fighting stance as his experience dictated caution when one's opponent purposefully dropped this much in raw combat power.
"I can't say I blame you," Yamcha closed his eyes and straightened his back, completely dropping his guard. "Back when I started training with Krillin, my mind was a lot like yours. I sought for new, stronger techniques to improve myself and to catch up to the Saiyans, no, to surpass them. It was only after training with Krillin and seeing all the different styles of motion in the Galactic Baseball League arenas around the universe that I've come to realize that sometimes it's good to step back and stick to fundamentals. Temper your old techniques and polish yourself instead of chasing for new heights in power."
"So effete and ludicrously human… I am an artificial human–a perfect machine. I cannot polish myself any further because I already am perfect," One-Eight's lips extended in a cocky smile before he threw himself across the fighting stage toward his opponent. Yamcha's arms moved in a circle, flowing in excellent motion that seemed as natural to him as breathing–the fruit of laborious training in perfecting every motion of his Wolf Fang Fist and making it feel as natural to him as twitching a finger.
"Wolf Fang Fist: Charge…" Yamcha muttered, thrusting his left hand and leaving a stunning indentation in One-Eight's right shoulder that forced black, oily sludge out from One-Eight's mouth.
"Wh… What did you do? You… I didn't see you move an inch!" One-Eight grabbed hold of his busted shoulder and staggered back as oil leaked through the corners of his lips. Veins pumping the machine oil shot out in the open forehead of the Android as he stared at his despised enemy with a death-inducing glare from a distance.
"I didn't have to. It's ironic, but if I had come up with some insanely powerful new technique, you'd have just ended up gobbling it up and flipping the switch back on me. Instead, all I did was learn to use Ki to enhance that which I already know with finer control. Wolf Fang Fist: Rush!" Yamcha muttered while throwing a distanced volley of blurry punches. Even if his true Ki output had been significantly reduced by Cool White Ki control method, the martial artist's movements had been practiced and perfected so much that he compensated for the proportional drop-off in speed. Yamcha's shadowboxing rush attacks sent pressurized airwaves from the distance, pummeling One-Eight without Yamcha needing to close up and risk being grabbed and drained of Ki.
"Wolf Fang Fist: Devour!" Yamcha yelled out, pressing his clenched fists together and forming lion paw palms out of them with fingers bent inward as he thrust both hands out. It was the finishing touch on his rush attack, as a massive construct shaped like a wolf's head made of brilliant and clear Ki emerged from behind Yamcha and rode the airwave all the way toward its target. One-Eight's eyes whited out as his hair became messy and began flapping about, released from their slick formation.
This was no time to relax. Yamcha crossed his inward-curved palms in front of his chest and began spinning around his axis while releasing Cool White and returning his battle power to its base value. It took a blink, but a mighty gale formed around the spinning martial artist that tilted the downed Android off the ground and scooped him into its wrathful jaws. Even the steampunk cybernetic soldiers failed to maintain their foothold in the face of the howling whirlwind and, one by one, began scooping up toward it. The attraction spared not even the Chayote Security personnel and pulled them right into the vortex.
Mark Satan grabbed an airborne backpack and slipped into it, pulling on a strap and dissolving it into a blasting jet of jetpack flames. Mr. Satan used the carry of the jetpack to oppose the pull of the whirlwind to the best of his ability, though it seemed inevitable that he too would become overwhelmed and pulled in.
A slick, azure crescent slash lit up the manmade tornado. A handful of cybernetic soldiers yelled out and flew out of the whirlwind with crimson gashes on their chests, smacking down the ravaged stadium ground lifeless. One by one, the vortex coughed out the Chayote Security suits before lighting up with a network of remote Ki slashes that colored it. The attack left One-Eight's overcoat as just leathery straps hanging loosely over the Android's shoulders and opened up countless tears across his top and his exposed skin that bled with thick darkened drops of a mixture between oil and blood.
"Wolf Fang Fist: Gale Claws!" Yamcha yelled out before concluding his combination attack with a swipe of his hands that sent a cross-shaped network of crescent slashes of pure energy that dug into One-Eight's chest and sent him crashing down on the ground while the scooped-up soldiers began raining down around them. "Now for the finish, Ultimate Wolf Fang Fist!"
Yamcha's Ki erupted in a bright aura and enveloped the martial artist whole as he took a plunge down and positioned both of his curved palms beside him and ready to pummel his opponent into submission. The flashing aura around Yamcha turned into a hazy image of an ethereal wolf dashing right down from the sky toward the downed opponent. Yamcha stomped his foot down at One-Eight's feet, picking him back up like a living rake to pummel him with a rapid rush of palm strikes while the ethereal, lupine aura around him slashed with its paws alongside the rushing martial artist. He finished the rush down with a dual ripping-slash of his palms and then crashed both of his interconnected fists into One-Eight's chest, sending him flying.
The Artificial Human shot right through the northern side of the stadium, causing enough ripple to the entire structure that it began collapsing and crashing down onto the outskirts of the town below. This only made the fight on top of the Muscle Tower that more perilous as there was no more security from the stadium's walls and the battle on it became open to the elements.
"Amazing! Can you give us a hand now?" Mark Satan yelled out at Yamcha, snapping the stunned martial artist out of his stupor and leading to Yamcha charging toward the nearest bunch of cybernetic soldiers. Compared to the Android, they were particularly easy to dispatch. A few simple blows and kicks did the trick nicely.
That was when Yamcha noticed it. All the Chayote Security officers that were still able to fight standing in place. The poor folks had been utterly paralyzed in haunting poses, almost as if stuck in the past. Stuck at the very moment of doing whatever they were doing when this malady caught them unaware. Hearing a low-pitched grumble, Yamcha turned his horrified face toward Mark Satan too, who seemed to struggle against himself. The shaggy officer leaned down and picked up a rifle of a felled cybernetic soldier and slowly but methodically began aiming it toward his own bearded chin.
"It's about time to show you why I left these fashionless insects alive for so long in the first place…" a hissing tone came from further away. Yamcha turned around only to see the battered body of his enemy–One-Eight levitating in mid-air dislodged from the mountain he slammed into after being flung out of the arena for a few moments. "Listen up, you disgusting mongrel! You'll just stand there and let me do whatever the heck I think of, or else it'll be the brain matter of those fashion-blind nobodies I'll be providing Android 21 with. All to create more mindless drones for me to manipulate."
"Damn it…" Yamcha gnashed his teeth and wiped the sweat pouring down his face that mixed in with the blood from his scrapes to make something thicker and more washed out. It was something that stained the back of his hand.
"If only you used that attack alongside that red power-up of yours, you may have finished me off… Too bad your inferior human body and limited stamina failed you. Now you and your passe lackeys will pay the ultimate price!" One-Eight taunted Yamcha while the rest of the Chayote Security officers picked up their rifles and began aiming at their chins while collapsing on one knee.
"Damn it! Chayote will be so mad at me if I get all of her employees killed…" Yamcha cursed and collapsed on his knees, pounding the shaky layer of the floor with a hammering fist. "It's just like that time on the beach again… This slimy, rotten snake!"
"Hmm… You're even uglier when you sneer and pout. I don't like ugly things!" One-Eight clenched his fist, turning to a Chayote Security officer with spiky black hair and pale skin. A red gleam flashed in One-Eight's eye and a hiss of a plasma bolt signaled the end of the man's life as he collapsed face-first on the floor in a pool of blood leaking through the hole in his face. "Let this be a warning to you–at least try to act beautifully in your last moments."
"Yehmcha… I think this… Might be it…" Mark Satan gulped in fear as the barrel of the rifle reached the bottom of his chin and the head of security could no longer oppose the urge to kill himself. To be fair, it was only because One-Eight needed them in a perilous position and not to blow their heads off immediately that any of them survived longer than a blink. Yamcha could only resist One-Eight's commands because of his relatively matching battle power compared to that of the Android. These poor officers stood no chance and would've blasted their brains out at the first command.
"Now… Let's see…" One-Eight gave Yamcha a despicable smile as he then turned at one of the few surviving cybernetic soldiers. "You useless sacks of leather, scraps, and bolts, make yourselves at least a little useful…"
Bit by bit, the cybernetic soldier began inflating as One-Eight bloated him with sheer psychic energy surging inside of him with no particular purpose. If one's resistance was meager enough while the psychic was sufficiently powerful, even such a thing was possible. With a haunting howl, the soldier began wobbling up to Yamcha before One-Eight's telekinetic force flung him like a living bomb of psychic energy. A bomb that detonated with a thunderous blast and sent Yamcha flying across the stage and dragging his body across the stadium in a dirty ridge.
"Hmm… What a good look you've got going there!" One-Eight cackled to himself, licking his lips in excitement before waving his hand. In response to his command, another pile of bodies formed atop of Yamcha's fallen body that began inflating one by one. It all resulted in a chain reaction of psychic explosions. At this point, the floor just couldn't handle it anymore and collapsed in on itself, quaking the very foundations of the entire Muscle Tower.
"What the… What happened?" One-Eight began frantically scanning the cloud of dust, as he couldn't see any of the Chayote Security officers anymore. Then–a flash! Focusing his psychic glare at the source of the flash, One-Eight felt the pleasant grip around something solid. "Wait a second… This mind, it's puny and vomitous… This can't be Yamcha… But… The flash…"
Yamcha dashed in from the sidelines with a backhand strike aimed at One-Eight's abdomen. It met One-Eight's open hand with a rocky thud. The psychic stranglehold around Mark Satan's body and mind faded away immediately, shifting on to Yamcha's body and seeping into it at once. Yamcha's fist gleamed with a golden shine as the bright aura around his body focused on it. Unable to resist One-Eight's mind control any longer, he thrust his fist into his chest. A splash of crimson blasted through the breach in Yamcha's ribcage.
"Damn…!" One-Eight shrieked out when Yamcha's blood splashed him right in the eyes. "He's so useless he couldn't even kill himself with one hit!"
Yamcha's fist dug into One-Eight's gut, completely rocking the Android and making him gargle up machine oil from the sum of his injuries. The martial artist swiped once more with a quick slash of his palm strikes before tripping One-Eight up and driving both his hands into One-Eight's core, sending him flying off into the mountainous wilderness north of Ginger Town.
Fortune itself seemed to be behind Yamcha–the Muscle Tower roof collapsing inwards, injuring and concealing the hostages that One-Eight could've used against Yamcha, Mark Satan using another flash bomb in the dust to trick One-Eight to focus on him momentarily and buying Yamcha a chance to attack, Yamcha's attack breaking through his ribs but failing to splatter his heart by just a few inches…
Pain… So much pain… Yamcha coughed up blood, unable to follow up on his shining chance for victory. One-Eight dragged his hand across his busted forehead and extended his hand. An overwhelming telekinetic force made Yamcha brace for his life and sent him flying back toward the Muscle Tower. A blazing roar of jetpacks grabbed his attention before another cybernetic soldier swooped up and grabbed hold of Yamcha, intending to self-destruct.
A resonant blast shook the Muscle Tower again, sending sprinkles of stone pelting at anyone still fighting on the ground level. Yamcha's smoking body fell from the sight of a psychic explosion of the poor soldier and hit the ground with a noisy thud. One-Eight blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Yamcha's unconscious body and cause a similar psychic explosion there, but something irritating soaked his eye and forced it to shut–his own dripping machine oil from the crack on his forehead and over his brow.
"Damn it… How lucky can one ugly asshole be?" One-Eight hissed, waving his hand and commanding a nearby Chayote Security officer to hop over Yamcha's body and cause the wanted eruption of psychic energy from her body. "What the…?"
A loud pop followed and the red-haired woman in Chayote Security uniform turned into a blue and grey cat laying on top of Yamcha's chest. Because of this sudden shift in what he was targeting, the psychic charge inside Puar's disguise faded away, leaving just an injured and strained transforming cat.
"You shuffled that thing into the fold to trick me?" One-Eight shook his gaze in shock. Yamcha rolled back on his feet and placed his index and middle finger over on his forehead. "No use!" One-Eight yelled out. "Without your red aura power-up, you're hopelessly outmatched against my psychic powers!"
And yet… When One-Eight attempted to entrap his opponent, he was no longer there. As if the entire molecular composition of Yamcha's body moved elsewhere. "You'll pay for hurting Puar!" was all that One-Eight had the chance to hear an elbow dug into the back of his neck, bending it awkwardly and making the Android's eyes white out.
Following up after his attack, Yamcha thrust his foot into the center of One-Eight's spine, breaking it right in the middle as well. The sum of these injuries would've left any vertebrate opponent paralyzed for life. The martial artist swiped with an open hand palm strike a few times before rolling in mid-air and slamming his foot at the back of One-Eight's head, which sent him crashing down into the hills of the wilderness.
Yamcha floated toward the devastated tower, willing to check up on Puar's condition. While the forced cancellation of his transformation canceled out the psychic build-up of energy inside his body too, it must've done a number on Puar's body before One-Eight forced the cancellation of the transformation unknowingly.
"Now I've got you… Build up all the Ki inside your body, all of your life force, and make it all explode at once, you hear me?" One-Eight's stuttering voice rung inside of Yamcha's mind, stunning the airborne martial artist in place.
"Damn! I've got… No strength left to resist!" Yamcha struggled against the command but could only turn his head to see One-Eight writhing on the ground and doing his best to return on one knee and assume stronger psychic control over his target. Yamcha's body was acting on its own, defying Yamcha's will and reasoning, accumulating and overflowing with power, drawing out its very essence, the very life force he had inside him and converting it slowly into energy. It took a few seconds since Yamcha hadn't done it ever before and wasn't used to the process, but… There was no helping it.
"It's your own damn fault for assuming that I would have the same weaknesses as one of you fleshy humans. My spine doesn't work as yours does. Android 21 made sure to have our spines be fully functional if even a single spinal disc remains functional, using remote methods of connection and bypassing the broken sections of the network to move our bodies…" One-Eight snickered with a hazy, one-eyed stare as greasy oil poured down his many wounds. His functionality was stuck on a single matchstick. Still… He was still alive, and that was enough for him to finish the fight off.
"Shit! I got careless, sorry, Puar!" Yamcha yelled out as the building-up energy inside of his body began swelling up and glowing golden, bursting in a radiant shine and forming a sphere around his body that would soon begin to expand and decimate all within his reach. Without control, this could decimate the entire world and leave it just a lifeless wasteland or just a handful of space rocks floating in oblivion.
"Don't give up, Yehmcha! When in trouble…" a low-pitched grumble silenced Yamcha. "You can always count on the head of security, Mark Satan!" Mr. Satan yelled out, rolling over on his front and taking an aim far away in the distance through a crack in the busted Muscle Tower wall. Mark roared out like a berserk madman before taking the hissing shot and forcing his plasma bolt roar.
It could have worked, maybe… Normally the Androids were entire universes beyond being hurt by bullets or even cutting-edge scientific weaponry. Still, the weaponry of Chayote Security was enchanted by Kami Upa through magical means that bypassed the laws of sheer force. In addition, the Android had been barely been holding itself together and even the lightest love tap could have fumbled it over.
The blast hit One-Eight square in the chest and drilled into it for a few moments before vanishing in a flock of stray sparks. Just as One-Eight's petrified face began shifting to something resembling the joy of complete victory, the spark caught the pouring torrents of machine oil all over One-Eight's body and set it ablaze.
Despite the infernal blaze engulfing the Android, picking away its plastic layer of skin that its maker had outfitted the mechanical skeleton with, enhancing the remains of the man that Android 21 modeled this unit after, Yamcha still didn't feel any lighter. One-Eight defied the flames of hellfire coming to take their toll and saw to finish the job he had started. That was when a secondary plasma blast hit him square in the chest again. This one sent a rumbling blast across the wilderness. A thunderous crack that made Yamcha wonder if he'll go completely deaf after this.
Powerless and drained of the energy he himself had forced out from his body, Yamcha collapsed. With One-Eight being utterly destroyed, Yamcha canceled out his suicide self-destruct technique and simply flopped on his side, choosing to lie down there and bleed for a bit. At least until he could recover some of his strength. The rumbling of a jetpack didn't let Yamcha's dreams of a quick snooze come to light as Mark Satan's firm grip pulled him up and put his limp body over Mr. Satan's shoulders while the Chayote Security quickly hurried to regroup and force the remaining soldiers out from Ginger Town.
"That was a nice shot," Puar's squeaky voice rung in Yamcha's ear.
"Thanks, Poo-ehr! When you fight these mechanical runts out on the field for as long as I have, you know where their self-destruct mechanisms are. Normally, you can't even scratch the big and scary models this way, just the soldiers. But our pal Yehmcha here gave that dandy such a neat beat down that I gave it a shot. Didn't count on the first shot failing and only setting him on fire, but… The fire actually helped. Heat makes the self-destruct mechanism expand and get easier to hit…" Mark Satan replied while ascending a rope ladder leading back to the airship.
"Holy shit, Mark Satan…" Yamcha babbled out before passing out right after the Chayote Security officers flopped him on the airship floor and prepared to hear about results from other battlefields.