[OP: My First Story – King and Ashley]
The Drive To Grow Strong! 2 Fools Who Recklessly Pursue Power!
[BGM: Scott R. Morgan – Resurrection]
What drives one to be strong?
For many in Conton City, it was weakness.
An inescapable lack of power; a slip-up at the last moment; a failure to play their part, resulting in the death of others.
Not many, however, are driven by betrayal.
"W-wh…?"
An ebony-haired saiyan child croaked by the body of his mother. Tears flowed freely as his copper eyes contorted in shock.
"Why…?"
His legs turned to jello. He crumpled by the corpse's side, still unable to comprehend what'd happened. Or why it happened so abruptly.
"It's just our nature. She bored me, so she died." He vaguely remembered the male figure he'd admired for so long taunt, before so casually walking up to him. Before everything went black…
"And what's worse? You just stood there and let me."
"What A shame. That I raised such a pissant."
None of it made sense.
"Why?"
He balled his fist, tight enough to spew blood.
It hurt. Everything hurt.
"Why…!"
An overwhelming monsoon of emotion overtook him.
Above all others, however, the most prevalent emotion of all, one which served as a terrifying trademark for both his bloodlines…
"Why, why, why why why wH-WH-WHR-R-R-R-R-"
Rage.
[RAAA~!]
The dingy warrior planet shook. Tectonic plates gave way or quivered. The red sky wept.
A screeching – a confused, terrified, abandoned, enraged child's ghastly screeching – pierced the planet's populace.
His mom, gone.
His dad, gone.
He'd never know why.
And so, a rage consumed the boy for more than a decade. In turn, it consumed the planet he once inhabited. Destruction became his source of survival; experience, his only source of education. He eradicated those in the way – willingly and unwillingly alike – of his warpath, the few innocents inhabiting the planet buried in the crossfire. All in search of "that man…"
So, why was he here?
No, not in Conton City.
Outside the workhouse?
"… FUCK!"
Someone'd dragged him out while he was sleeping.
This very-much so angered the Kazikum.
He made it a point to burst through the door and hit a wall soon after.
"Yep, had a feeling you'd come running back." The "wall" said, annoyed.
Kazikum violently shook away the 2 low-hanging giant grey bangs polluting his sight. "You son of a bitch, who do you think you are!?" he snarled in response.
"Look, kid, I get it. We all wanna grow up big and strong, but frankly, you're too much of a distraction to your peers. The snarling, the screeching, the threats, and especially the stench-do you even know what a bath is, guy? You smell like a corpse!"
"I'LL BATH YOUR HEAD OFF YOUR TORSO, LARDASS! FUCK OFF!" Kazikum proceeded to attempt to climb the colossal figure guarding the workhouse entrance. Casual swats stopped him from getting over the shoulders.
"Stop that."
"!"
"This isn't getting anyone anywhere."
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OR I'LL TEAR IT OUT!"
"… wait a minute… if this keeps up, I'm gonna end up smelling like you-OK BUDDY THAT DOES IT!"
"I'LL DO YOU-"
"Take a HIKE!" The muscle-bound big boy bellowed before sending Kazikum soaring with a boot to the behind. Soon after, he took a whiff of himself to confirm a suspicion.
He slowly teared up before squealing and sprinting toward the nearest shower.
"-AAAAAAAAAAAH-"
Kazikum slowly rose to his feet after slamming into a scaffolding and falling a few stories. He wobbled a fair bit, from a combination of rage and a slight concussion, before regaining his bearings.
"That veiny fucker…" he growled, one hand over the bloody patch on his head, and the other balled. "Once I see him again, I'm gonna…"
The half-spawn violently shook his head. "Bullshit! Bastard isn't worth my time!"
Despite his nauseating fury, his mind was still firmly set on one goal.
[BGM: Masami Ueda – Lock and Load]
"I've gotta get stronger!"
Instantly, he took off in a full sprint, the first method of attaining strength – it hurt after a while, so it had to be doing something – he could think of. He shot through the city like bat out of hell, clearing miles in seconds. In all honesty, the speed was child's play to all but the greenest of Conton's residents. No, what mattered was how long he maintained that exact same pace. With a manic scowl plastered across his face, he maintained his supersonic velocity for hours, flinging himself forward every time he wavered. Driven exclusively by wrath and a lust for power, his legs gave in without warning (pain doesn't count, shut up) around the 6th hour, causing him to slide across the grass cliff-side now he found himself on.
After what felt like an eternity of panting on the ground, he moved on to push-ups, considering he had to fall back on his arms. Thousands flew by, every ounce of pain instantly replaced with more searing existential ire as he tirelessly bore and lifted his own gravity. It reached the point where his arms became useless red bags of bone and strained lumps of flesh.
And so, he turned into his back and moved to sit-ups.
Kazikum stopped his crazed pursuit of power when he physically could not anymore. When every muscle in his body was sore beyond belief, when the pain reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.
[BGM: Kenichiro Nishihara – Our Love]
And he hated it. Having to stop. He had no choice but to gaze into the dimming sky above, his yellow eyes glaring into the otherwise-beautiful void, left alone with his contempt.
He was getting stronger, but at a piss-poor rate. None of this was enough to face that bastard. How'd he know?
Last time he tried, he died.
"Fuck…"
Black.
New day, new session of schoolage. Despite the seemingly-frivolous routine that only subtracted from key training time, there were lessons to be learned yet.
And school time was decreased to, like, 4 hours due to the oncoming exam, so that was pretty solid too. Hey, Conton knows how to run a school proper.
DING!
"Salutations, soon-to-be patrollers!" Stroga enthusiastically greeted.
3 out of the fully-stocked class greeted the professor back.
"Now, from the look and sound of it, you all've been hard at work preparing for the oncoming exam!"
"You mean tournament?"
"Another way of looking at it, yes!"
"Is it gonna be a tournament or not? Seriously dude I'm gonna Chiaotzu myself if this was all a dud don't push me I'll do it-"
"R-est assured, class," Stroga chuckled, caught off-guard by the previous statement, "There WILL be a tournament-styled brawl, you'll be able to fight to your heart's content, etcetera etcetera! Speaking of such… I've deemed it fit to allow occasional seminars with iconic fighters of the past!"
Those who weren't already quiet suddenly simmered down.
"I see I have your attention! Good, because my first guest will be temporarily taking over, in order to test the waters of this new system of mine! For my sake, I hope you don't get TOO attached, or I very well may be out of a job!"
Nobody laughed. A guy began coughing at a disturbingly-high pitch and pace, if that counts.
"holy shit dude you good-"
"Without further ado, give a warm welcome for your voluntary teacher!"
A small bald man in a white suit moonwalked to the stand from the left. He flicked off his white trilby and, after snatching it out of the air with grace, revealed himself.
"Krillin's in the House! How's it banging, dudes and dudettes!?" He proudly declared.
"…"
"…"
"…nNOOO-"
It was a fear tsunami. People began wailing. Some of the more dire cases began "banging" their heads onto their desks.
"DON'T LEAVE US WITH HIM!"
"I LOVE YOU, STROGA, YOU'RE LIKE THE DAD THAT DIDN'T BEAT ME!"
"THAT'S IT, I'VE HAD IT, I'M GONNA FUCKING DO IT, DON'T TRY TO STOP ME!"
"NO-NOSE! NO-NOSE! FROM THE PITS OF HELL, HE ROSE! NO-NOSE-"
"I, uh…. Think we got off on the wrong foot…" Krillin bashfully scratched his head.
"They've already began singing folktales about you," added Stroga, crossing his arms half-impressed before shrugging. "A rowdy bunch, but they respect self-respect from my experience. Word of advice: drop the forced relatability."
"But I spent five hours working on that moonwalk-"
"I spent five days on my initial introduction. Trust me, just take the fall with grace and be yourself."
Stroga took his leave, one last wink giving the mini-monk the boost he needed to carry on. He took a deep breath and…
"… OK, guys, let's just pretend that last disaster never happened, alright?"
"No." It didn't matter who said it, the class seemed to agree.
"Then, uh, can we at least give this another try?"
The class transitioned into a public discussion; or rather, a slightly-more casual court case. They seemed to come to a unanimous decision as it quieted down.
"You get ONE MORE CHANCE, Baldy!" answered a tailed athletic girl in a black-green vestlike saiyan armor.
"I don't remember agreeing to that, ya self-righteous zit!" replied a smaller, athletic blue-red shirted girl with a somewhat-elegant accent.
"OH, SHUT UP, HALF-WIT!"
"MAKE ME, SLAG QUEEN!"
"Man will y'all shut the fuck up?"
"I-"
"I-"
"Let him talk already, jeez. No one cares."
Krillin smiled. "Ahem."
"Chances are, you know me by now, but I'm Krillin. I'm a martial artist, trained under the great Turtle Hermit alongside a certain Son Goku-"
The class erupted into clapping.
"Yeah, yeah, don't get TOO excited now. Anyway, I've fought in just about every major battle in the main timeline, so I'm positive that, with my skill and combat experience, you'll leave with at least something that you didn't know about battle beforehand!"
"Yeah, experience in sucking, maybe!" a tall saiyan in a red bodysuit taunted. "Tell us how many times you died again, shortstack!"
"Oh, so we've got a wise-guy, do we? Look, brat, I'm no saiyan, but I've got enough skill under my belt to know that can hold my own just fine in a fight, regardless of… my streak…"
"YEAH, RIGHT! YOU'VE GOT MORE LOSSES THAN YOU DO HAIRS ON YOUR HEAD, COWARD!"
Krillin popped off.
"Alright, I may be a lot of things, but COWARD isn't one of them! So why don't you stay behind that desk, you walking stop-sign!"
A good-enough portion of the class reacted to Krillin's insult that this familiar tall saiyan felt pressured to quickly retort. He did it a bit too quick.
"YEAH well… you're bald…"
"I'D RATHER BE BALD THAN HAVE TO LIVE WITH WHATEVER THAT IS STUCK TO MY HEAD!"
"…"
"oOOOO-"
"OH, FUCK!"
"BLIMEY!"
"GET 'EM!"
"Cào nǐ mā, Hòuguǐ!"
"I'VE VAGUE UNDERSTANDING OF SUCH WORDS, BUT I'M INCLINED TO CONCUR!"
"W-w-well, uh-"
"Please, just… give it a rest, Archi…" moaned the prior-mentioned black-green armored saiyan, seeking shelter in the center of her palms.
The commotion could be heard from outside.
Stroga shook his head with a smile.
"Sounds like he took my advice… good on you, Krillin."
The shuffling noise of fabric being dragged drew his attention. Upon inspection…
"Oh! Hello, Wabi!"
[BGM: Baki the Grappler OST – Dearest]
A tall, teal-colored namekian suddenly stopped in his tracks, subtly catching quick breaths with an iron grip on his backpack full of… things.
"H.. hey, professor…" he greeted back, light on breath.
"So, how are you doing? Find anything you're interested in pursuing yet?"
"… yeah."
"Well?"
"Ajisa. I'm gonna plant ajisa." Wabi's eyes briefly darted side-to-side.
"A marvelous choice, for someone of your talents! Though I'd've suggested a spot in the Medical Department, I'm positive that you'll find fulfillment in agriculture nonetheless! You know, as a youngling, I…"
As Stroga went on a nostalgia-guided tangent, Wabi's eyes wondered to the direction of a distant path. He pursed his lips before gritting his teeth and righting his backpack.
"-why I have trust issues involving those feathered bastards to this day! Um, Wabi?"
"Ergh… gy-UH-HUH?"
"The ajisa patches are that way. And I'll gladly help you with your things, it's a long trip from here, after all." Stroga was growing suspicious.
"I'M… FINE, REALLY. THANKS IN ADVANCE, HEH!" the brown-robed namekian graduate grinned, resuming his grueling drag.
"It'll take you all day at that pace…"
"Don't worry, morning's still young! I've got time!"
Stroga shrugged, huffing dejectedly. "Alright, I've held you long enough. I'll be on my way."
"Have a good day, professor!" Wabi waved goodbye as Stroga took off.
"(Still as unswayable as ever, that boy. Still, glad to see he's found something that suits him. If he hadn't graduated before this year…)"
Stroga's expression turned melancholy.
His eyes threatened to bulge out the sockets as his bag, and then Wabi himself, thud onto the grass. This was always an arduous journey, but it beat risking a scene at the workhouse. He had a wheezing fit before picking himself up and opening the knapsack.
Out spilled dozens of capsules, painkillers, and 2 dumbbells.
"Alright…" he took out 3 before dropping his robe, revealing a deep-blue and white gi held by a tight brown belt. With balled fists, a deep exhale, and a scowl, he popped a capsule and approached a beginner's sparbag; basically a sandbag, albeit made with much more resilient material able to take what the average patroller could dish out.
He took a stance and struck it.
Hardly any movement.
He struck it again.
Nothing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
His movements showed no haste. His punches and kicks were textbook, with flawless use of movement and visibly-honed skill.
Yet after 10 minutes of ruthlessly hammering down with everything he had, to the point at which his fists bled and his lower legs bent out of shape, he'd failed to ever make it move more than a few centimeters back. Even with the painkillers, he was racked in hellish agony.
"I saw it… just a bit further back than last time…" he assured himself, weakly smiling under the pain. He started concentrating.
All of a sudden, his bleeding and broken joints seemingly mended themselves, good-as-new in seconds. Though it did nothing to soothe the pain, his body was once more in perfect condition.
"I just need to keep pushing it a bit further… I'll get there."
He moved on to the weights. After a few clicks, he registered them to output 500 pounds-worth of isolated gravity; an overly-complex way of saying that he set them to weigh 500 pounds. Conton City tech was sweet like that. Posturing himself, he attempted to curl one arm.
"Just a bit further…"
His forearm inched upward at a painfully-grueling pace.
"Just a… bit…"
He could feel muscle tearing, bone splintering.
"Come… on…!"
Finally, after such strenuous effort…
"GRA~AAH!"
His arm broke.
He collapsed onto the floor, clutching his broken appendage and screaming uncontrollably. Screams became pathetic mutters as huffed panicked breaths.
"… DAMN IT!" he cursed between his teeth. "WHY WON'T I CHANGE?"
"DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!" he cried, tears gradually welling.
He knelt down for a while, his will fading.
"Why try…" he mumbled from a mouth which couldn't be bothered to open any more than a bit.
His apathetic expression sharpened. He held his torn arm. It mended in a wave of light.
He turned to the pile of capsules, sighing.
"All I can do is better."
Animalistic screeching that wasn't his. Unusual way for Kazikum to wake up, but an effective alarm clock nonetheless.
"SHIT!" he hissed, still sore and injured from yesterday, as always.
"Who's there?" a light male voice anxiously blurted.
"Why? You wanna die?" he replied with class.
He struggled to his feet, finding a tall, lanky-muscled green man with 2 bug thingies on his forehead and stupid weak eyes near a host of equipment from that one room that big veiny bastard wouldn't let him get to. That's all he got before he fell again.
"What in the what happened to you?" Wabi asked wide-eyed, hobbling over with a limp.
"(How didn't I notice him before?) I've got you, just lay still."
"FUCK OFF!" he roared from the ground in useless defiance, as was natural for him.
Wabi jumped back, spitting sudden word spaghetti all the while.
"C-COME ON! I just want to help!"
"If you think you're gonna carry me down, forget it! I'll gnaw your fucking head off before I let you!"
"No way! I can heal… decently, I guess. All I need to do is touch you! That's all I'm going to do!"
Nothing indicated a lie.
"…"
Wabi expressed extreme caution approaching the razor-toothed saiyan. Even more so when actually moving in to touch him, despite the arc around his neck.
.
.
.
.
RAAH!
Wabi's soul briefly attempted to escape.
When that failed, he shrieked and fell flat on his ass, Kazikum howling with laughter.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" the long-eared weakling shrilly reprimanded, before storming off.
"Hey, dipshit! You forgot something!"
"Forget about it, you bastard!" Wabi yelled from a significantly farther distance.
"C'mon, pussy! Do it!"
"You think insulting me will convince me to help you?"
"FUCK YOU! HEAL ME, IF YOU EVEN CAN!"
Wabi began to utilize an ancient scholar's many insightful arts of war: ignoring the meaniehead until he went bye-bye. In the meanwhile, he opened up a hefty novel and a notebook, studying methods of attaining a higher power amidst the incessant barking.
With every page turned, he became more perturbed; every method listed, every technique and form of meditation he'd tried already… it started angering him. To the point where he could just-
"Mrph."
Kazikum bit down onto the book.
"…"
"…"
"HOW THE HOWING HOW DID YOU EVEN GET HERE!?"
Judging by the grass and dirt patches coating his tongue, he had his answer.
"Fix me, bitch." He nonchalantly groaned after swallowing.
"(You need a lot more than a physical fix…) Fine, if it'll make you go away!"
Owning up to his power, Wabi rested his hand upon the half-spawn and, after a pulse of blue light, neatly healed him.
"There, now leave me alone."
Like a good little devil, the initially-bewildered Kazikum rose to his feet and immediately strolled over to Wabi's wacky workout wonders.
"WHAT-NO-I SAID LEAVE!"
"This is mine now. Fuck you," the grey-haired boy stated in a matter-of-fact way, before picking up the dumbbell currently set to 3 tons like it were a toothpick.
"Hell's this?"
"THAT'S EXPENSIVE! PUT IT DOWN!"
He looked upon the weight's side spotted a button, pushed the button, and saw a number raise. Out of curiosity, he pressed it more, noticing a faint pressure on his arm.
"Hey…" Wabi muttered in curiosity, looking over Kazi's shoulder.
The latter caught on quick.
"GRRRRGH…"
"Slow down a bit, you're going too high…"
Kazikum was currently tapping at very high speeds, intensely glaring all the while.
"RRRAAAAAH-"
"OH MY KAMI...!"
Kazikum was currently tapping at mach speeds.
[BGM: Kenji Yamamoto – Dueling (0:21-0:38)]
His arm suddenly fell to the ground, grass flying through the air as a crater formed beneath it.
The cap: 1000 tons.
"THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!" he cackled, eyes dilating as he grinned like a psycho, giving his all to lift the weight.
"This guy…" Wabi muttered in amazement, the forked-tailed saiyan actually beginning to raise the mammoth weight. Judging by his rampant cackles, Kazikum was satisfied with the results as well, his arm now at a 90° angle with tightly-clenched kiloton in hand. Just as it seemed he'd done it…
"Shit, my arm broke!" Kazikum yelled, more aggravated than pained.
"HOW DOES YOUR BODY HAVE THAT MUCH BLOOD!?"
"QUIT YER' BITCHING AND FIX IT!"
Wabi sighed and smacked Kazikum's grisly injury; it vanished as if it never occurred.
"How do you pull that off!?"
He shrugged. "I just can, always could."
Good enough for the half-spawn. He hunched over and violently threw his hand toward the fallen dumbbell, devilishly smirking all the way.
Before he could take another swing at breaking his arm for power's sake, the weight at his feet exploded in a poor of smoke, a small capsule left in its place.
He froze mid-motion. He proceeded to begin uncontrollably shaking.
Before he could tear apart spacetime with a spazz-out, Wabi's hand scooped up the capsule. "You're one weird guy. Almost as much as you are also a dick," he scolded, bursting his other various training machines into similar pill-shaped contraptions and piling them up into his knapsack and re-robing himself.
"Where are you going!? I'm not done yet!" Kazikum snarled after watching the magic man turn the big things into small things.
"That's your problem. I still have to… help with the a…jisa…!" responded Wabi through his teeth with a hint of ill will, as he began the long drag to the other side of the city. "Besides… you pretty much… sabotaged my day, so… yeah, good riddance!"
Kazikum watched with a scowl as the lanky namekian began his long drag home.
… Impatiently watched.
… Angrily watched…
[BGM: Mass of Fermenting Dregs – After This Speed]
"..gRAAAAH!"
With no warning but his sudden outburst, he lunged toward the bag of Very Important Things and ensnared it within his grasp, to Wabi's intense distress.
"-WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE-"
"YOU'RE TAKING TOO FUCKING LONG, WEAK SHITSACK!" Kazikum yelled. "WHERE TO!"
Wabi's face contorted in a concoction of confusion and offense.
"WHAT?" the bizarre shirtless teen roared.
"… Across this side, over to the village with the blue grass."
"…"
"Where you going now?"
After a brief backward start-up…
"... Hey..."
"Hey, heY, HEY WAIT-"
Kazikum jumped the distance toward the destination, bag in one hand and weird weak magic man in the other. One of them screaming all the way.
Probably the bag.
Could bags scream?
Who cares.
An odd day yesterday. Or terrifying. Or exhilarating. Any of them would work.
He couldn't get that deranged saiyan from yesterday out of his mind. Or why he'd decided to lend a hand after all that mockery and pestering.
Regardless, Wabi finished his daily trudge to the grassy cliff-side. He dropped off his things, knelt down to catch his breath, stood back up and-
"What the fuck took you so long?" a certain deranged saiyan grinned in inverted pushup position.
The robed namekian's terrified expression spoke for him.
Still… what if this callous, stubborn asshole could help himself go higher, as well?
Most importantly... would it even be worth the effort to try?
[ED: Pay Money To My Pain – Weight of My Pride]
Yo! OP Here!
Yeah, that was the intro of the 3rd member of the 3rd team I'm working on! (Briefly scrapped the idea of this dude all-together, just happened to get struck by inspiration on the way to school and expanded from there.) Wabi's gonna be the glue that holds the team together, I'll just say that. Tragedy behind him is that he physically cannot get stronger, and despite having a gift in a certain field, he doesn't care about it and only wants to be stronger. But he can't. Is that saying too much? Dunno.
So now that he exists, what'll this mean for Dina? Answer: Not much, Kazikum still thinks food's yummy and he'll stop by to get fed like some stray Chihuahua. Maybe Dina and Wabi'll wind up getting along, considering their shared associate. In any case, both will help flesh Edgelord Supreme out. It'll be a fun dynamic to see.
In that case, there's ONE MORE character that I gotta establish training for - from there, it's brief character development/growth, and it's off to finish this arc with a BANG. You can probably guess who he is; young, blonde, can and will not annihilate you in 500 different ways, Kaza simps over him? I'll use next chapter to establish his ambition, as well. Hint: I've decided to use Tokugawa Ieyasu as inspiration for some of his traits. Basara Ieyasu, not the real one that didn't punch things. Not punching things is boring and dumb :(.
Fetty Krill's taking up the teacher mantle for a minute. Why? Dunno, just wanna use him and flesh him out as a human. Why not, Krillin's fun.
Mass of Fermenting Dregs is pretty sick. I started listening to them while editing the story (and as I type this) and their sound is that gud late 00s-early 2010s rock shit that I was raised by and need to live. Support 'em.
What else, hmm... Kengan Omega is great. Koga's becoming a favorite of mine, seeing as he's a lot more green than Ohms was, and he's working his way to the top with nothing to go off of. Speaking of Omega, spoilers down below for it and Asura. If you don't wanna be spoiled, now's your chance to skidattle. Stay safe and peace out, in that case.
.
.
You still here?
Aight.
OHMA CAME BACK BABYYYY!
MY NI- MY BOY OHMA DEADASS CAME BACK FROM THE GRAVE ON SOME BIBLICAL SHIT! WHOEVER USED THE DRAGON BALLS ON THE HOMIE, THANK YOU!
LES' GOOOOOOO!
Hah.
Hah.
Hooh.
Alright, that's about it. Stuff's getting turbulent outside, y'know, so stay safe, keep your humanity, and maintain a clear head. You're loved, and I'm glad you're here.
Till next time, See ya.