Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Vinny]

Lightning flashes and illuminates a monstrous castle that dominates the landscape. Inside a meek, elderly man is led by two massive guards decorated in crude imitations of Greek armor. It’s odd that such a weak looking man could exist in this world of ruthlessness. The guards push open two enormous, wooden doors and direct the man inside.

“Emperor Caligula, Dr. Benedict is here to see you …” a guard says, his head lowered.

The doctor looks up to see a figure sitting on a throne. He can’t tell if it’s just his perspective, but the thing looks gigantic, much larger than any human should be. The man is draped in shadows as he relaxes on his golden throne. A long, white beard trails down to his distended gut and his hand grips a barrel-sized goblet. As the goblet is raised to the thing’s lips, the doctor catches something. A leg floating in the goblet. A wave of red carries the limb to the mighty lips of Caligula Lightning, smacking against them before receding back into the sea of crimson.

“So, everything has gone according to plan then?” Emperor Lightning says, his voice an unnatural deepness, a dark and terrible sound that seems to shake the stone floor that the doctor stands on.

“Y-Yes, despite the odd request, I’ve managed to complete the surgery on all of your men,” Dr. Benedict stutters. Caligula pauses a moment, then smiles and brings the goblet back to his lips.

“Those men … they’re very strong. They are some of the most merciless creatures I’ve stumbled upon in this degenerate world,” Caligula chuckles, his belly pulsing with each laugh. “I take it they’re in fighting condition.”

“T-They’ll be able to f-fight immediately, sir,” Dr. Benedict says.

“Good,” Caligula says, opening his mouth and dumping the crimson mess into his mouth, the blood and guts being swallowed up into the darkness of his maw. “It’s been so boring lately … life isn’t worth living unless there’s something to excite the senses. My palette is in need of struggle, strong men desperately dancing on the brink of death, trying to extinguish their opponent’s life just to save their own.”

Dr. Benedict begins to tremble. Shit slowly squeezes out of his asshole.

“Kukukuku … that is the essence of humanity.”

-----

“W-W-What the fuck ARE YOUUUUUU?!” a mohawked goon screams, sweat fucking spraying from his pores. His attention is focused on a shadowy man slowly approaching him. As the moonlight shines on the figure, the man is revealed: a lanky creature covered in a trenchcoat with a black bandana wrapped around his head. He fingers carry a lit cigarette, each of the tips donned with a guitar pick. But it isn’t his outfit that the goon is shocked over. It’s the corpse he carries with him, the body torn open and his large intestine exposed. The intestine rises up from the wound and goes behind his neck before it returns to the body, serving as a strap for the dead goon. This man is Axelrod Waylyn, and he’s strumming the dead hanging from his neck like it was a guitar.

“This one isn’t giving off a good sound …” he mutters. The goon entourage is INFURIATED by his NONCHALANT REMARKS, and charges forward, clutching AXES AND SHIT.

”YOU FUCKERRRR!” THE GOONS SHOUT. Axelrod drops the eviscerated goon from his body and looks eye to eye with his ATTACKERS. He merely slides one from to the other, avoiding their blows until he’s behind them. AXELROD raises his GUITAR-PICKED FINGERS to REVEAL NERVES TIED TIGHTLY TO EACH, the goons in the background writhing in agony.

“How about if I pluck this one,” he says. Moving his finger, a goon SCREAMS IN HORROR. “That’s the sound I was looking for,” Axelrod smiles.

LANDING FROM OUT OF NOWHERE, A FUCKING TEN FOOT TALL GOON drops to the ground with a GIANT, BLOODY CHEESE GRATER IN EACH HAND, the faces of his VICTIMS CLINGING TO THE STEEL. He licks his lips before RUSHING TOWARDS AXELROD.

“LET’S PARTAAAAY!” HE SHOUTS, SLAMMING THE CHEESE GRATERS ON TOP OF AXELROD. But Axelrod isn’t there! He is instantly behind him, SMOKING A CIGARETTE while looking DISINTERESTED. Suddenly, the GOON SPLITS IN HALF, SPEWING BLOOD ALL OVER THE GODDAMNED PLACE.

As Axelrod begins to leave the scene, a golden glint catches his eye. Reaching down into the guts of the goon, he pulls a golden object from the body. Looking it over, his eyes widen in realization and his lips curl into a smile.

-----

“THE BASTARD’S HEEEEERE!” one soon-to-be-dead goon on a motorcycle screams, pointing his finger towards a cloud of dust in the distance. As the GANG OF MOTORCYCLING JOBBERS rush towards THE DUST , BODIES ARE FLUNG FROM THE CLOUD and PAST THEM. One goon pulls his radioactively enlarged DICK and slaps a FEMUR AGAINST IT, “HURR HURRING” IN TUNE TO HIS OWN COCK MUSIC. Out from the DUST EMERGES A FUCKING HUGE BONE BOOMERAGE (BONERANG) that FUCKING DISEMBOWLS THE ASSEMBLED PARTY.

“GRAAAAAAGH!” ONE GOON SCREAMS, HIS FUCKING INSIDES EJACULATING FROM HIS MOUTH. As the DEAD FALLS IN HEAPS, the DUST CLOUD dissipates to REVEAL THRAK, THE CAVEMAN WARRIOR. THE BONERANG FLIES BACK TO HIS HANDS and he STRAPS IT BACK TO HIS TORSO.

Sliding across the dusty ground is a LARGE, BLACK COFFIN. No longer being dragged by the CAVALRY OF MOTORCYCLE GOONS, it comes a MERE FIVE FEET BEFORE THRAK BEFORE STOPPING. SUDDENLY, THE FUCKING THING EXPLODES and a MIGHTY, FRANKENSTEIN-ESQUE GOON EMERGES FROM THE STORM OF SPLINTERS. GIANT SCREWS HAVE BEEN BORED INTO HIS SKULL FOR NO GODDAMNED REASON. The FRANKENSTEIN reaches a RANDOM GOON CORPSE and YANKS OUT THE RIBCAGE, breaking it in half and JAMMING THE BONES into HIS FISTS TO CREATE CLAWS.

“Ook,” Thrak solemnly grunts. THRAK THROWS A COCONUT FULL OF PREHISTORIC HORNETS THAT SWARM FRANKENGOON. The GOON’S FLESH IS TOO TOUGH EVEN FOR THE GIANT HORNETS and the MONSTER CHARGES FORWARD. Thrak DEFENDS AGAINST the SLASHES of FRANKENGOON using his GIANT BONERANG TO BLOCK. His heels dig into the dirt as the POWER OF FRANKENGOON begins to OVERWHELM HIM.

THE GOON kicks away the GIANT BOOMERANG and GRABS THRAK by the WAIST, LIFTING UP INTO THE AIR FOR A DEVASTATING POWERBOMB. Before he can SLAM THRAK into the GROUND, THRAK GRABS ANOTHER COCONUT and JAMS IT DOWN HIS FUCKING THROAT. The GOON DROPS THRAK to the GROUND AND BEGINS CLAWING AT HIS STOMACH AS THE HORNETS BEGIN STINGING HIM TO DEATH FROM THE INSIDE. SOON HIS BODY BEGINS TO SWELL AND HIS FLESH BEGINS DRIVING ITSELF FROM HIS ORIFICES, THE FUCKING MASS OF SKIN AND MUSCLE PUSHING OUT LIKE CANCEROUS LUMPS FROM HIS MOUTH. EVEN HIS FUCKING EYES POP OUT AS LUMPS OF FLESH POUR FROM THE EYE SOCKETS, VEINY AND BLOOD RED. Then the CREATURE’S HEAD EXPLODES FOR NO REASON, revealing a GOLDEN OBJECT.

“Hmm,” Thrak grabs the golden object, a thin, rectangular piece of metal with something inscribed on it. He seems to understand the writing and shoves it in his nest of hair.

-----

“I CAN’T DIE! I’M ONE OF CALIGULA’S CHOSEN FEW!” a long-haired goon, strapped in belts and spikes and animal furs and all the standard goon gear screams as he cowers in the corner of a BOMBED-OUT BUILDING. His LACKEYS SURROUND a SPLINTERED WOODEN door that HANGS LIMPLY OFF THE HINGES. They grip their weapons tightly as a shadow peeks out from under the DOOR FRAME.

“GET HIM!!” THE GOON CRIES. THE GANG DRIVES THEIR SPEARS, SWORDS, AND AXES THROUGH THE DOOR TOWARDS THEIR ENEMY. The weapons STOP DEAD AS THE MEN WATCH IN FEAR. INSTANTLY THE DOOR EXPLODES and SPLINTERS SHOWER THE GOONS, FILLED THEIR BODIES WITH NEEDLES THAT DRIVE INTO THEIR EYES UNTIL THEY COLLAPSE ONTO THE GROUND, WRACKED IN PAIN.

From the door frame emerges a figure, CLAD IN A JET-BLACK SUIT AND WEARING JET-BLACK GLASSES. HE RUNS HIS HAND THROUGH HIS SLICKED BACK BLONDE HAIR, assuring its PROFESSIONAL LOOK. HE DROPS A HEAVY BOOT IN THE BODY OF A MOTHERFUCKER, STOMPING A BLOODY CRATER IN HIM ACCIDENTLY AS HE HEADS TOWARDS HIS TARGET.

“W-WAIT A MINUTE! Caligula CHOSE ME! I’m one of his S-SPECIAL WARRIORS!” the goon SHOUTS, “LOOK AT THIS!” He points to the stitches on his skull but SUPER AGENT HARRY UNDERWOOD doesn’t GIVE A SHIT. A black-gloved HAND SNAPS OUT and HARRY jams his FUCKING FINGERS INTO THE MAN’S TEMPLES.

“H-H-HELP ME! PLEAAASE!” he screams as HARRY TWISTS HIS FINGERS LIKE A KEY. THE MAN’S SKULL TWISTS ONTO ITSELF BEFORE IMPLODING, AN EJACULATION OF BLOOD THAT SPRAYS OUT A GOLDEN TICKET. Harry CATCHES IT WITH HIS FREE HAND and PEERS CLOSELY AT IT.

-----

“ROLL ROLL ROLL ROLL ROOOOOLLLLL!” A FUCKING FATASS, PINK MOHAWKED BUSHWACKER SINGS AS HE RIDES INSIDE A SPIKED BARREL OVER A CROWD OF INNOCENT CIVILIANS. THE GLEEFUL FAT FUCK SPINS INSIDE the DEATH BARREL as it TURNS MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN into RED PASTE. Crashing into a BUILDING, he is THROWN FROM HIS VEHICLE, but quickly HOPS TO HIS FEET and dust himself off while BELLOWING A HEARTY LAUGH.

“Gah hah hah … you guys are hardly even putting up a fight!” the JIGGLING GOON laughs as he FINGERS A FLATTENED VAGINA stuck his DEATH WHEEL. He staggers from his WEAPON towards a CROUCHING MAN in a BLACK OUTFIT, the person kneeling in the in BLOOD AND GUTS while holding his TOP HAT-COVERED HEAD. Somehow this man has AVOIDED THE ROLLING GOON.

“Heh heh, with women becoming rare in this day and age …” THE FATASS LAUGHS, his TONGUE DARTING AROUND HIS LIPS, “… I’ve developed a … TASTE … for men!”

HE SAUNTERS UP TO THE COWERING, BLACK-SUITED MAN. WHEN HIS PUDGY FINGERS REACH OUT, A WHITE-GLOVED HAND REACHES OUT AND SLAMS INTO HIS CROTCH. The FATASS is unimpressed by this desperate attack.

“I’m not used to such forwardness,” THE GOON SMILES, “But if you want it … YOU CAN HAVE IT.”

THE GOON UNZIPS HIS FUCKING LEATHER PANTS IN FRONT OF THE COWARD. AS HIS FLY OPENS, A FUCKING BOUQUET OF FLOWERS POPS FROM THE HOLE WHERE HIS DICK SHOULD BE!!

“WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!” HE SCREAMS. THE MAN STANDS UP, A DEADLY LOOK IN HIS EYES. HE IS THE ILLUSIONIST, VICTOR POWERS JR.

“HNG!” THE MAGICIAN SHOUTS, SLAMMING A FIST INTO THE GOON’S STOMACH. The GOON STAGGERS BACK, STUNNED THAT HAS DICK HAS TURNED INTO FLOWERS, and STARES AT THE MAGICIAN. When he tries to curse him he can’t SEEM TO FIND HIS VOICE. When his MOUTH OPENS FUCKING RABBITS POUR OUT.

“GAARRR GLARHGHG AARGH!” HE SHOUTS. DOZENS OF WHITE RABBITS SPRAY FROM HIS FUCKING FACE UNTIL HE EXPLODES. IN THE MIST OF BLOOD, A GOLDEN TICKET DESCENDS FROM THE SKY, SLIDING INTO THE BAND OF THE ILLUSIONIST’S HAT. He grabs it, looks it over, and pisses his pants.

-----

Flames surround the born jobber Doolittle as he desperately crawls through a forest littered with bodies. Each time he tries to STAND he stumbles and falls face first into the BLOODY DIRT, his jarred nervous system disrupting his balance. Finally he finds solace behind a massive tree. As he struggles to catch his breath, he slicks back his perpetually wet, indy wrestler mop. However, BEFORE HE CAN SIGH A BREATH OF RELIEF, the TREE HE’S LEANING AGAINST FUCKING EXPLODES. SENT TUMBLING TO THE GROUND, HIS BACK FILLED WITH WOOD CHIPS, a DEMONIC FIGURE STANDS BEHIND HIM. As he steps into the LIGHT peaking through the LEAVES, something around his CROTCH AREA GLINTS.

“NO ONE ESCAPES KONG,” a GOON with a SEVEN FOOT TALL RAINBOW-COLORED MOHAWK SNORTS. Strapped to his fucking COCK is a GODDAMNED JACKHAMMER. THE JACKHAMMER THRUSTS TOWARDS DOOLITTLE MENACINGLY.

“S-Shit!” Doolittle cries. KONG grabs his hair with one hand and JERKS HIM TO HIS FEET. In desperation, DOOLITTLE ATTEMPTS TO CLOTHESLINE HIM but KONG DOESN’T BUDGE. Slowly, KONG FORCES DOOLITTLE TOWARDS THE PULSING METAL, READY TO CAVE HIS HEAD IN.

“GUUH!” KONG SCREAMS AS HIS HEAD IS LOPPED OFF BY A SICKLE IN CHAIN. The head DROPS FROM HIS BODY and hits the TIP OF THE JACKHAMMER, INSTANTLY EXPLODING. As KONG falls to the ground, a FIGURE CLAD IN ROBES DESCENDS FROM THE TREES and LANDS IN FRONT OF DOOLITTLE. He licks the BLOOD off his SICKLE or something while staring at his PREY.

“Kukuku … we in the Union of Fists always get first picks on fresssh meaaaat …” he says in a really retarded voice. DOOLITTLE LEAPS UP and DRIVES BOTH BOOTS into the MAN’S STOMACH but only manages to hurt himself. Doolittle looks up at the sky as he lies on the ground, the INTRUDER spinning his SICKLE MENACINGLY.

“I’ve used the clothesline AND the dropkick … what else is there left?!” Doolittle thinks to himself. INSTANTLY, AN IDEA POPS IN HIS HEAD. He ROLLS FORWARD and misses a SICKLE AIMED FOR HIS HEAD. DESPERATELY he CROUCHES DOWN and CRAWLS BETWEEN THE LANKY INTRUDER’S LEGS. The intruder seems AMUSED BY THIS DISPLAY OF COWARDICE.

”Where do think you’re GOING, EH?” the GOON LICKS HIS LIPS.

“This is it … SCHOOL BOY!” DOOLITTLE SHOUTS, HOOKING THE GOON’S LEG and TRYING TO ROLL HIM UP FOR A PIN.

“ARE YOU KIDDING?” THE GOON FALLS BACKWARDS SLOWLY, “I’ve killed thousands of men! THIS TECHNIQUE WON’T HAVE ANY EFFECT ON MRRLRKAAAH!” THE GOON FALLS BACKWARDS ON THE STILL ACTIVE JACKHAMMER DICK OF KONG! The TIP THRUSTS through the BACK OF HIS NECK and OUT HIS MOUTH, SPRAYING BLOOD INTO DOOLITTLE’S FACE. As the JACKHAMMER TURNS HIS HEAD INTO PULP, a GOLDEN TICKET is THRUST from his GULLET and into the AIR.

-----

ROCKS ARE KICKED UP and PROPELLED into the face of a WOMAN clutching her child. Surrounding her are a five particularly NASTY goons on motorcycles, who are eating haunches of meat and guzzling liquor as they slowly close in on her. They are from the DEN OF THE DEMON DOGS, each of them adorned in ANIMAL FURS and DOG COLLARS with the HEADS of COYOTES strapped on as helmets.

She collapses in a heap when a bottle bursts over her head, her PURSUERS stopping their bikes. Before they can move in to GANG BANG HER, one GOON EMERGES FROM THE PACK, a fat BEARDED ASSHOLE carrying a MACE. He scratches at his FUR-COVERED BELLY before SQUATTING DOWN TO TAKE A SHIT ON THE GROUND. The woman watches in horror as he approaches, his donkey dick swinging with each step.

“HEH HEH, you’re LUCKY to be chosen as my mate! I’M A CAPTAIN in THE KING’S ARMY, you know!” he says, TOSSING his MACE and CATCHING IT. “But let’s forget the formalities for a little while. Right now, me and my men will have a CARNAL FEAST WITH YOUR BODY. We must follow the King of the Demon Dog’s motto, after all …”

“TO STIMULATE AND EXCITE!!” THE GANG SCREAMS. THE WOMAN IS MORTIFIED. In desperation, she picks up her child once again and runs. AS HE ROUNDS THE BUILDINGS, DUCKING THROUGH ALLEY WAYS, the DEMON DOGS KEEP A SLOW, METHODICAL PACE. Eventually she comes to a dead end and begins DESPERATELY CLAWING AT THE WALL, trying to find some way to ESCAPE before the CAPTAIN’S SHADOW grows over her.

He slaps the MACE rhythmically into his palm as he PRESSES UP AGAINST HER. “Running, eh? For your life, you won’t need to have LEGS!” HE SWINGS THE MACE BUT THE WOMAN DUCKS, THE CAPTAIN SHATTERING THE STONE WALL BEHIND HER. “But I like your spirit!”

THE WOMAN HAS TEARS STREAMING DOWN HER FACE AS THE GOON LAUGHS. “HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH … HUH?!”

AS THE RUBBLE SETTLES, A GIANT IS REVEALED TO BE STANDING IN THE WALL. A 6’8”, BLOOD BEAST MADE ENTIRELY OF PURE MUSCLE COVERED IN FADED FATIGUES. THIS STATUE-ESQUE FIGURE IS CORPORAL BODY, AND HIS EYES SLOWLY OPEN TO CAST A SOUL-PIERCING STARE ON THE CAPTAIN.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN’ IN THAT WALL, EH?!” THE CAPTAIN SHOUTS. Without even WAITING FOR AN ANSWER, HE SWINGS THE MACE DOWN ON CORPORAL BODY but the FUCKING THING JUST EXPLODES. BODY’S VEIN-COVERED PAWS RISE UP as he BARES HIS CLENCHED TEETH. WITH AN ACCOMPANYING SONIC BOOM, his HANDS CRASH LIKE CYMBALS ON THE GUY’S HEAD AND SEND THE CAPTAIN’S BRAINS SQUEEZING THROUGH HIS FINGERS.

“T-THE CAPTAIN!” the rest of the DEMON DOGS stand in SINGLE FILE as they round the corner of the alley way. The woman TURNS TO CORPORAL BODY and SMILES.

“Thank you … if it wasn’t for you I’d-“ SHE SAYS BEFORE SHE’S CUT OFF WHEN BODY GRABS HER BY THE THROAT. USING THOSE GIANT MITTS ONCE MORE, he CLOSES HIS ENTIRE FIST AROUND THE BITCH’S HEAD. With FURIOUS TWISTING AND TURNING, BLOOD SPRAYS and her SKULL IS SHARPENED LIKE A PENCIL. INSTANTLY, CORPORAL BODY THROWS HER FUCKING CORPSE LIKE A GODDAMNED SPEAR AND IMPALES EVERY LAST DEMON DOG.

“GAAAAAAAAH!” THEY HOWL IN THEIR FINAL MOMENTS. Body looks at his bloodstained hand to find a golden ticket stuck to it.

-----

In an imitation ROMAN COLISEUM a horde of BLACK GIANTS clad in armor made from car parts DESCEND on a HULKING, YELLOW WARRIOR. As soon as they SWARM HIM they are BLOWN BACK, THEIR BODIES SOARING THROUGH THE AIR as DWAYNE GUAN takes some sort of AWESOME KUNG FU POSE. He draws back his FIST and EXHALES AIR through his nostrils as THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR (GRAAAAAAH!)

From the V.I.P. section SITS BARON HOITY VON TOITY with his TRILLIONAIRE’S CLUB entourage. He pulls on his mustache, nodding in approval at Dwayne Guan’s athleticism.

”A fire burns in that mix-breed boy,” Toity says, “Let’s see that it gets put to good use.”

ONE HELPLESS GOON WATCHES HIS FRIEND CONVULSE as a FIST BURSTS THROUGH HIS FACE. Blood splattering on his CHEEKS, he TREMBLES as the HAND REACHES THROUGH HIS FRIEND’S SKULL and GRIPS HIS HEAD. With ONE SQUEEZE, the GOON’S HEAD SHITS ITS BRAIN.

“IS THAT ALL?” DWAYNE SHOUTS. In cue, THE GATES OPEN and POST-APOCALYPTIC MONSTERS BEGIN TO LUMBER OUT. Out from one of the gates is one CREATURE LURCHING FORWARD, CLAD IN A LION SKIN. But it’s no GOON, it’s actually A BEAR, and it ALSO HAS FOUR ARMS. Right after that is a TWO HEADED TIGER, with a COYOTE HEAD GROWING OUT OF THE LEFT TIGER HEAD. And finally, COURSING THROUGH THE SAND, is a MUTATED SHARK that can somehow SURVIVE IN THE HARSH DESERT!

“Do you think he can survive against these monsters borne from the radiation of No Man’s Land?” Hickenbottom asks Toity. Toity doesn’t respond but only looks intently, a smile on his face.

“If that son of a whore Guan Fei could kill 100 beasts with his bare hands, I’ll kill 100,000!” DWAYNE SHOUTS. The GORO BEAR charges FORWARD, SLASHING FURIOUSLY AT DWAYNE GUAN as he EXPERTLY DODGES THE BLOW. His INTENSE MUSCLES BULGE and he RESPONDS WITH A PALM STRIKE that KNOCKS A HOLE OUT OF THE BEAR, sending the CHUNK INTO A COLISEUM SPECTATOR’S FACE. The THREE-HEADED TIGER SINKS his MULTIPLE JAWS into DWAYNE GUAN’S LEG but it can’t seem to BREAK THE FLESH. With a MANLY GRUNT, Guan FEI FLEXES and the JAWS SNAP SO HARD THAT THE HEADS ACTUALLY TEAR IN HALF. And finally, THE LAND SHARK comes BARRELING TOWARDS DWAYNE until DWAYNE SLAMS A FIST IN THE GROUND. The IMPACT OF THE BLOW EJECTS the LAND SHARK from his SANDY DOMAIN and into the AIR. THE SHARK HELPLESS, DWAYNE FLIES INTO THE AIR and KARATE KICKS THE THING IN HALF.

“And you were worried …” Toity chuckles.

Then ONE MORE GATE OPENS. Dwayne turns his head to see a DAMN BULLET SLOWLY MARCH OUT FROM THE DARKNESS. As it enters the arena, IT DROPS TO THE GROUND DEAD. Behind it is a TEN FOOT TALL GOON who’s SAVAGELY RAPING THE BULL. The motherfucker has a MOP OF FIERY RED HAIR that HANGS DOWN TO HIS LEGS and, instead of SPIKED ARMOR, just SPIKES COMING OUT OF HIS FLESH.

“This looks like it’ll be interesting!” DWAYNE GUAN CRACKS HIS KNUCKLES. The TEN FOOT GOON responds by SPINNING IN A CIRCLE, THE BULL BEING FLUNG THROUGH THE AIR WHILE STILL ATTACHED TO HIS DICK.

“HOOOOOOOOO!” THE GOON EJACULATES, HIS DICK SOFTENING ENOUGH THAT THE BULL FLIES OFF HIS WANG AND TOWARDS DWAYNE. DWAYNE GIVES AN EAR TO EAR GRIN and KARATE CHOPS THE FUCKING BULL IN TWO, THE HALVES FLYING PAST HIM. The TEN FOOT TALL goon DESCENDS UPON and INITIATES A STANDARD GRAPPLE. Dwayne Guan IMMEDIATELY GRIPS DOWN TIGHT AND TWISTS, GIVING AN INDIAN BURN SO HARD THAT THE SKIN IS RIPPED FROM THE GOON’S ARMS.

“EYAAAAAH!” THE GOON SCREAMS. SUDDENLY, DWAYNE GUAN APPEARS BEHIND HIM, A DEMONIC GRIN ON HIS LIPS, and TAKES THE SKIN FROM THE ARMS AND BEGINS STRANGLING HIM WITH IT. WITH ONE FINAL TWIST, THE GOON’S NECK SNAPS AND A GOLDEN TICKET IS EJECTED FROM HIS ESOPHAGUS. Dwayne Guan picks up the ticket as Hoity von Toity watches from his booth.

“It looks like he’s begun to move, then.”

-----

In a run-down, sand-worn building in the middle of Metalrapia kneels a hulking man fucking some chick on the floor. He’s covered in rusted iron armor, leather straps fastened over his heavy frame. His body is covered in faded wounds from all sorts of weaponry, his heavy gut covered in a thin sheet of scar tissue. AS HE CONTINUES GIVING HER THE BUSINESS, he carefully reaches upwards towards the AXE tied to his back. Once his fingers touch the handle, GOONS BURST THROUGH THE CEILING.

“EYAAH! Get the ASSHOLE! He’s got quite the BOUNTY on him!” a red afroed goon wearing a leather jumpsuit screams AS he’s falling down from the ceiling. The other similarly-dressed jobbers grunt in APPROVAL, all AIMING their POWER TOOLS towards THE MAN KNOWN AS GLORIOUS TITAN.

With a QUICK SWIPE the AFROED goon’s fingers are TORN FROM HIS BODY. He can’t stop his fall with SHREDDED HANDS so he just CRACKS HIS FACE on the floor. TITAN BACKFLIPS, DODGING THE VARIOUS INSTRUMENTS, with the chick still attach to his GROIN. Taking a SHORT SICKLE from his belt, his JAMS IT THROUGH A GOON’S JAW until the TIP BURSTS THROUGH HIS EYE. Another blood-hungry fool is HACKED AWAY AT GRACELESSLY with the AXE until he succumbs to the AGONY. The final two goons DASH at TITAN FROM BEHIND, clutching WEED WHACKERS. Instantly TITAN SPRINGS BACKWARDS, jamming BOTH HIS ELBOWS INTO THEIR MOUTHS, SNAPPING THEIR JAWS. With three human beings stuck to his body, TITAN grabs their WEED WHACKERS and DRIVES THEM INTO THEIR GUTS. Their intestines are TIED UP IN THE BLADES as Glorious Titan yanks the weed whackers out, carrying their insides along with it.

Titan draws his sword as he sees the AFROED GOON struggling to escape, leaving a trail of blood behind him. As he steps FORWARD he feels a SHARP PAIN and falls to one knee. HE LOOKS DOWN AT THE CHICK HE WAS FUCKING STRANGULATING HIS COCK WITH HER SUPER VAGINA MUSCLES. Veins ARISE FROM HER CROTCH, looking like one of the GANTZ suits when PUMPED UP.

“HOOOOOOOO!” HE GROANS, SWINGING HIS HIPS. She is SLAMMED INTO THE BRICK WALL, a GIANT CRACK running down both sides of her SKULL. As he CONTINUES SPINNING ON HIS HEELS, her HEAD ACTS A PAINTBRUSH, LEAVING TRAILS OF BLOOD ON THE WALLS. Once she succumbs to death, her VAGINA RELAXES and she’s ROCKETED from Titan’s COCK and into the AFRO GOON.

“Gyaaah!” the AFRO GOON throws the woman’s corpse off her. He turns to TITAN who is playfully spinning his sword, SHADOWS OBSCURING HIS EYES. “J-Just wait a second! I got FOOD! I GOT WATER! Girls, even! Just SPAAAARE MEEE!”

Of course not. TITAN takes the HILT OF HIS SWORD and drives it into the bridge of his nose. THEN AGAIN. AND AGAIN. SOON THE FRONT OF HIS SKULL CAVES IN. Inside, tucked away in damaged tissue is something gold …

-----

“LISTEN UP LEST YA GET YOUR THROAT SLIT,” one stupid looking goon on a megaphone shouts. A significantly un-raped city in southern Florida is now being overrun with the EFFEMINATE GOONS of PUSSY CENTRAL. Their standard issue post-apocalyptic gear is decorated with just as many flowers as there are spikes. Two rows of kneeling peasants hang their heads in fearful adoration as a pack of goons and four sweaty black men carry a throne. On this throne is the leader of the PASSIONE GANG, a lanky asshole with flowing pink hair, his soft, pale hands wrapped around a Fuzzy Navel.

One rag-clad man keeps his head low as the PUSSIES prance by. On his back is another man, passed or dead, his mop of black hair obscuring his face. Right beside them another man is clenching his fists tightly and trembling. As his face turns a bright red, he STANDS UP and POINTS a FINGER at the LEADER OF THE PASSIONE GANG.

“This is enough! I’d rather die and shame then let a bunch of PUSSIES rule over us!” the man shouts, “How could be let them encroach so far into Florida? They’re the laughingstocks of all the goon states, even Gay Man’s Land!”

Right on cue a spear is limply tossed at him, puncturing his eye. His death is pretty bad since the force of throw was so weak that he just runs around with a blade poking into his ocular cavity until he succumbs from blood loss.

“If any other of you shits wants to talk bad about the Passione gang, now’s the time!” a pink braided goon sneers. Right on cue AGAIN, the blonde man slowly sets down the passed out man on his back and rises to his feet. Whipping the hood off of his head, Nick Sparta reveals himself. He turns back to his brother, Al Sparta, who is fast asleep despite the ruckus of murder and the megaphone.

“Pft … pfftttttttt!” the braided goon restrains his laughter. Soon the rest of the pussies are joining, acting like their desperately attempting to stymie their laughter. “What’s a scrawny little shit like you going to do!” Nick Sparta raises one hand towards his opponent, squinting and looking past the tip of his thumb as if he was using to judge distance. Slowly, a small bit of blood trickles from the braided goon’s nose. He looks puzzled at it, touching it with his thumb, as Nick Sparta squints harder. The blood then begins to SQUIRT until it SPRAYS, then in ONE QUICK MOMENT a CUT DIVIDES THE GOON’S FACE VERTICALLY. THE SKIN OF HIS FACE SEPERATES IN FLAPS, the FLESH PULLING AWAY FROM EACHOTHER UNTIL THE SKIN IS TORN FROM HIS HEAD.

“AIYEEEEEE!” THE REST OF THE GOONS COWER. SPARTA, SWEATING AND BREATHING HEAVILY, takes his HAND, FINGERS OUTSTRETCHED, and AIMS IT LIKE A GUN. ONE BY ONE HOLES APPEAR IN THE GOON’S TORSOS, SPARTA SEEMINGLY FIRING INVISIBLE BLADES. The GOONS CRY, HOPPING AROUND AND CLUTCHING THEIR WOUNDS like STUPID PUSSIES as NICK CLOSES HIS FIST. The small, long wounds then SUDDENLY OPEN – FORCED OPEN – and BLOOD VOMITS FROM THE HOLES. The crowd of peasants stand up, REINVORGERATED but still afraid of PASSIONE and now of the MYSTERIOUS BLONDE DEMON beside them.

“H-HELP US, ROBERTO,” a goon GRABS the LEADER’S LEGS. Roberto looks disinterested, sipping his FUZZY NAVEL through a tiny straw while flicking away a buzzing fly. The GOON PULLS ON HIS LEGS HARDER until ROBERTO is FED UP and MERELY KICKS A HOLE THROUGH HIS HEAD. Roberto turns to Nick who is aiming his hand at him, barely able to stand under his own weight anymore. ROBERT instinctively brings his FUZZY NAVEL UP in front of his face and the GLASS IS SHATTERED. He smirks, the drink pouring on his robes, and hops TRIUMPHANTLY from his THRONE.

“What an interesting technique you have. Passione could use a man like you …” Roberto smirks, “But your fashion sense is unforgivable!” ROBERTO DAINTLY SOARS INTO THE AIR, DRIVING REPEATING KICKS INTO SPARTA’S JAW. Nick crashes into some ABODE LOOKING HOUSE, the wall cracking behind from the impact, as Roberto struts forward. NICK RAISES HIS FIST and HURLS A PUNCH, missing by about ten feet, but HIS FIST MANAGES to IMRPINT ITSELF into ROBERTO’S ROBE ANYWAY. Roberto winces as a small bit of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth. He responds by SWEET CHIN MUSIC’ING his NICK’S HEAD INTO THE FUCKING WALL.

“Fwoooooo,” Roberto pulls back his foot, wiping Nick’s blood off his shoe. Reaching into the wall, he pulls Nick out by his collar. His body is completely limp, his head hanging to the side, blood pouring from his nostrils. “Out of surprises already?”

AND THAT’S WHEN HIS BROTHER, ALESSANDRO SPARTA, RISES UP. HE WHIPS BACK HIS HOOD and runs a hand through his BLACK HAIR.

“NOPE,” AL SPARTA smiles, RAISING HIS FIST. INSTANTLY, ROBERTO FALLS FACE FIRST ONTO THE GROUND, bashing his SKULL AGAINST A ROCK. He springs back, HOLDING HIS BLOOD-LEAKING FACE, while kicking like a LITTLE BITCH.

“DAMNIT!” ROBERTO CRAWLS TO HIS FEET, “I’LL K-K-KILL YOUUU!” But then ROBERTO’S STOMACH SUDDENLY TURNS COLD. Is it the INTENSE PRESSURE RADIATING OFF AL? Not quite. ROBERTO’S STOMACH TWISTS AND TURNS UNTIL IT RIPS AND SHREDS. ALESSANDRO SPARTA SHOUTS A WAR CRY AND ROBERTO SHITS OUT OF HIS MOTHERFUCKING SKELETON!

Alessandro Sparta falls on his hands and knees in front of the viscera. As Al finds himself on the brink of unconsciousness, a stream of blood carries a golden ticket into his view.

-----

In the mucky, purple plains of the New Empire of the Damned stands a long figure clad in a tattered, white jacket. He pulls down the bill of his cap and watches wagons packed with fresh dead pulled towards a ominous city looming in the distance. The zombies of the N.E.D. are happier and fatter than ever, the constant supply of fresh corpses used as leverage in order to keep the ravenous legions of N.E.D. at bay so the states can war in peace. The zombie carriers check the corpses for freshness, PRODDING THEIR BRAINS with utensils and sneaking SNACKS when the other zombies aren’t looking. However, the man clad in white notices something in one wagon. Something moving. Peering closer, he notices that the wagon isn’t packed with dead at all, but with LIFE. LIVING BABIES!

“Now they’ve gone too far,” Kenjiro mutters, leaping from whatever cliff he was standing on.

“Alright men, let’s take a break,” a thirty-foot, hey, what the hell, a FORTY-FOOT PURPLE ZOMBIE. He reaches into the BABY WAGON and pulls out a heap of CRYING CHILDREN. Crowds of zombies press against him, jumping up and down for sustenance, as the GIANT playfully TOSSES THEM OUT. As the ZOMBIES ARE ABOUT TO EAT SOME BABIES, their STOMACHS IMPLODE into SMALL LITTLE BALLS. Eventually the COMPRESSION is too much for their WEAK, ROTTEN SYSTEMS and they just FALL APART. Kenjiro uses his VACUUM MAGIC to suck the babies into his arms, placing them back into the wagon before staring off at the mega-zombie.

“A humaaan!” one zombie groans, licking his lips.

“A living human!” another chimes in. The rest begin moaning “HUMAN” over and over as they close in.

“ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!” Kenjiro unleashes a HAIL OF FISTS, tearing the zombies a part PIECE BY PIECE until they are nothing. Kenjiro wipes the soggy flesh from his fists and turns back to the head zombie.

“The last time I got to fight such a strong warrior was when I was alive!” the mega-zombie laughs, “As I soon you into Hell, remember the name of GRUNGLEFUCK.”

THE EARTH SHATTERS and FISSURES OPEN UP when GRUNGLEFUCK DROPS HIS TREE-SIZED PURPLE ARMS INTO THE GROUND. Kenjiro sails into the air, RIDING A LARGE CHUNK OF ROCK, awesomely keeping his hands still in his pockets. GRUNGLEFUCK FOLLOWS UP WITH A VIOLENT RIGHT that SHATTERS THE ROCK but KENJIRO leaps to safety and SLIDES DOWN on his arm. AS HE REACHES HIS SHOULDERS, he unleashes a TORRENT OF KICKS RIGHT INTO GRUNGLEFUCK’S FACE.

“ATATATATATATA!” Kenjiro SHRIEKS. PUS SPRAYS GENEROUSLY as Kenjiro’s FEET TEAR INTO THE ZOMBIE’S HEAD. Grunglefuck SEEMS UNFAZED, HOWEVER, and responds by OPENING HIS MOUTH. Out comes a thick SWARM OF FLIES that OVERTAKES KENJIRO and sends him falling to the ground.

“Grk!” Kenjiro spits. Grunglefuck sends his HEAD FLYING DOWN, THE OVERBEARING BLACKNESS OF HIS MOUTH DESCENDING UPON KENJIRO. In an INSTANT, KENJIRO IS GONE, SWALLOWED UP BY THE ZOMBIE.

“Mmm, even better than babies, geh heh …” Grunglefuck smiles, rubbing his stomach. As he heads back to his wagon, a dozen of his more-dead comrades surrounding him, HE FEELS A TINGE OF PAIN. Suddenly, his RIGHT LUNG COMES ROCKETING OUT OF HIS CHEST.

“Guooo!” Grunglefuck moans. SUDDENLY, HIS KIDNEYS BOOMERANG OUT OF HIS BACK. He drops to his knees and both his LARGE AND SMALL INTESTINES explode from his BODY LIKE WHIPS IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS. GRUNGLEFUCK starts making DORIAN FACES as ALL OF HIS ORGANS SHOOT OUT OF HIS BODY. Finally, KENJIRO COMES ROCKETING OUT OF GRUNGLEFUCK WHILE SURFING ON HIS HEART. The heart FLIES into a SPIKEY ROCK or something and Kenjiro hops gracefully to the ground.

“B-But how … !” GRUNGLEFUCK says, his BODY EXPLODING BLOOD.

“Pft. Your flesh was rotten and decayed, I’m surprised you could even stand,” Kenjiro lights a cigarette, “That pile of babies in the wagon would have been a greater test for these fists.”

And with that, Grunglefuck collapses in on himself, a jet of pus shooting a golden ticket into the air. Kenjiro snags it and looks it over.

“An invitation … ?”

-----

And finally, in the soot-filled sky of Castlevania in the center of the Holy Lightning Empire …

Two towering wooden doors are blown open. First stepping through the darkness is a bloody mohawk. Attached to the Mohawk is a goon’s head, a shotgun barrel jammed in his mouth. Stepping through the door, dragging a dead bushwhacker, is a one-armed man with a Corinthian helmet masking his visage. Strapped with an assault rifle and other weaves strapped to his body, he steps into the throne room of Caligula Lightning with dozens of dead goons piled behind him. Dozens more guards immediately swarm him, pointing turbine spears that automatically thrust towards Deimos.

“Hoh hoh hoh …” the giant Caligula Lightning cackles, swishing his chalice of blood and guts around. He seems to take up the majority of room as he sits on his throne, his massive gut gyrating with each deep laugh, “You’ve finally arrived, Deimos …”

He pulls the shotgun from the dead goon’s mouth and aims it straight towards Caligula. The guards put their spears to his neck in response.

“Is that how you send invites?” Deimos asks.

Lightning dumps his chalice filled with body parts into his mouth, the viscous red liquid coursing down the white strands of his beard.

“As lively as always, I see. That’s why I wanted you here!”

“What the hell is this?”

Caligula Lightning motions his hand and a humongous banner made of flesh is unrolled above him. Inscribed on it, IN BLOOD, is a circle formed of bodies. As the bodies grow upwards, they begin killing eachother: strangling, stabbing, crushing, and snapping each other’s bodies. As the circle grows downwards, the bodies began to savagely fuck each other, men raping both women and men. It’s a swirling abyss of sex and violence, a writhing mass of joy and misery.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Caligula smiles, “It represents the defining aspect of our existence: suffering.”

Deimos stares at the banner, slowly lowering his shotgun.

“It’s the only thing that’s guaranteed. To suffer is to be human, to suffer and to cause suffering to celebrate our wretched and absurd existence!” Caligula Lightning shouts, rising from his throne. He drops his huge chalice, crushing a poor servant boy beside him. “That’s why I’m going to orchestrate this event …”

“YES, A GRAND DISPLAY OF DESPERATE COMBAT. I’ve surgically implanted tickets in the skull of 11 of my strongest warriors. I’ve instructed them to find death, to rape and to murder until they found a man willing to stand up and struggle to continue his own pathetic existence. And if he happens to survive … ho ho ho … he’ll find a ticket that will allow him passage into the Holy Lightning Empire … and an opportunity to continue his struggle by erasing another man’s life!”

“What the hell are you talking about? This is what America has become. Suffering.” Deimos shouts. Caligula smirks.

“It’s never enough …” Caligula breathes heavy, “I want everyone to die. But there’s no satisfaction in just killing them. Those pathetic weak borne from the twats of mongrel women, pumped full of seed of cowards … they’re useless! But the men who dare to FIGHT, who’ll do ANYTHING to continue living a life full of pain and anger and sorrow … nothing delights me more! The absurdity of it all! THAT IS HUMANITY!”

Deimos can only chuckle. “And my role?”

“You’ll be the twelfth. No doubt as a mercenary in this horrendous world, you’ve taken countless lives. But how far will you go to keep your own?” Caligula replies.

“And what’s in it for me?”

Caligula scrapes the top of the chalice along the ground, scooping up the remnants of the servant boy. With a wide smile, he brings the moist blood to his lips.

“You’ll be able to get your revenge on that man …” Caligula grins, “The Black Judge.”

Deimos stares for a moment, then sheathes his shotgun and heads back towards the double doors. Caligula lets out an uproarious laugh, his boulder-sized gut trembling violently.

“THEN IT’S SETTLED! YOU’LL BE CALLED IN ONE MONTH’S TIME. ABHORRENT ANATHEMA: A NIGHTMARISH NOCTURNE TO CELEBRATE EXQUISITE VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL DEBAUCHERY! LET HELL WASH OVER THIS LAND ONCE AGAIN!”

-----

Also, the enigmatic Lunar Plexus also gets a golden ticket.

[Magic Juan]

!!!

[Big Fagot]

This is great.

Vinny talks about blood and guts ejaculating so much!

[Spamdini]

Lunar Plexus interests me.

[Vinny]

He'll remain mysterious until Seru writes an actual bio for him.

[Spamdini]

Or a promo. Or anything.

[Seru]

>_>

Once people stop paying me to write things for them I'll get right on that.

[Seru]

This is pretty good!