Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Vinny]

CALIGULA
A TREATISE ON INSANITY

Chapter One: The Archaeologist

“Out there in the deepest parts of jungle is a man. Don’t be fooled by what the villagers say, he’s by all means a living, breathing, calculating human. It’s his actions that confuse the villagers. Many of us have stumbled onto his hunting grounds, seen the ravaged corpses of our friends strung up in the trees. The way they were taken apart and anyone could make the mistake thinking that they were dealing with an animal. All that was left was wet, fly-ridden flesh stuck to broken bones.

“Their skulls were split down the middle, a huge fracture around the nostrils – probably from where he stuck his finger and thumb into before he tore the skull open – and their ribcages pulled apart so he could get at the insides.”

A large, purple and blue mosquito buzzed up and landed on the man’s cheek as he listened to the archaeologist tell the story. It paced around on his skin before it thought better of sucking his blood and flew away.

“So, how are you sure this is a human?” the man said, drinking from his canteen.

“I met him,” the archaeologist gave a hint of a smile as he smoked his pipe.

”The stories interested me although I consider myself a man of science. Before I came upon the bodies myself I thought it was just another story this primitive, brown people concocted to scare their children from running off too far. What interested is how certain he was a man. Usually stories like this go imagine up an ill-described demon or monster that lurks always within shadows. But they were sure he was a man, although none like anyone’s ever seen. Easily over ten feet tall, most of his body consists of his enormous belly. He’s more like a ball than anything, I’d say, but he’s certainly not obese. What covers his body is an armor of muscle as good as any steel.”

The archaeologist hands the pipe to the man. The man smokes it before blowing out a thick gust from his nose.

”Despite his incredible size,” the archaeologist ran a hand through his hair as he stared off into the campfire, his pupils wobbling slightly off center as he searched his memories, “what was most striking was his hands.” The man seemed to pause for a moment.

“They were … excuse me, sir, but I have a question,” the archaeologist said, “Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?” The man doesn’t answer or even seem to give it much thought. The archaeologist pulls at his collar and continues. “Well, regardless, looking at those hands I can tell that God didn’t design them for anything but killing.”

“Killing,” the man mimed the words. “So then, are you sure it’s that guy?”

“Positive,” the archaeologist nodded, “He told me himself. The day I discovered the bodies I began to follow his tracks, large footprints about a foot-and-a-half wide. They ended at a small clearing by a stream. As I knelt down in the dirt, examining the last print, I felt a terrible dread wash over me. And then he was upon me, a huge, black shadow draped over me like a cloak. His presence blocked out the sun entirely and I felt like I was being suffocated.” The archaeologist took a small flask of liquor from his pocket and unscrewed the cap. As he was about to put it to his lips he remembered his manners and offered the man some, who politely declined.

“He asked what I was doing there,” the archaeologist said, “I told him that I was just passing through. Then I felt those hands of his on my shoulders, the fat thumbs pressing against the back of my neck like two shotgun barrels. He then began to laugh – a low, terrible laugh – and said ‘Aren’t we all?’”

The man listened intently. The archaeologist took a swig of his liquor as it to gather the courage to continue his story.

“He asked me my name and I said ‘Alexander Dangerseeker II,” the archaeologist said. “Then he told me his, ‘Caligula Lightning.’ And as quick as he appeared, he was gone.” The archaeologist looked up to see the man intently staring into the flames, his fingers interlocked and his brow furrowed.

“Since then I’ve had friends in New York do research on this man. He comes from a long, illustrious line of prizefighter announcers. Born to Germanicus Lightning and Agatha Lightning in 1928, he’s the eldest of his brothers but he himself didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. Instead he competed in the ring as a ‘professional wrestler’, a new type of sport that is really gaining popularity in the States.

“His brutality in the ring was on par with the brutality he displayed in this jungle. Most were left broken, mangled by those fingers, shaped in such a way that they barely resembled humans. The lucky ones were killed, and the heaps of dead grew so large that the influential Lightning family could no longer cover them up. With the government threatening the Lightning’s beloved institution, they realized that they themselves would have to take care of this problem. So one night when Caligula was entertaining after a fight, as he often does, legions of hired guns rushed in and opened fire. Although I have stressed that this man is indeed human, he took around three hundred bullets before finally being brought down, dozens of hitmen crushed underneath his feet and in his hands.

“But he didn’t die. Germanicus, despite that he knew his son was a monstrosity, couldn’t bring himself to kill him. Wrapped in chains, he was placed on a tanker that would take him to Africa where he would remain exiled, never to return to North America again. This was two years ago and, as you can see, it hasn’t taken him long to return to his old ways.”

The man had heard all he needed to know and rose to his feet. Dusting off his well-worn fatigues, he snatched the flask from the archaeologist and took a swig. Tossing it back, the man began heading in the direction the archaeologist mentioned, the place where Caligula Lightning dwelled.

“W-Wait a minute, didn’t you listen to a single goddamned word I said?!” the archaeologist bolted up from his seat. “He’ll murder you!”

“If he’s truly the man you say he is, all I want is a few words,” the man said before disappearing into the waist-high grass. The archaeologist shook his head before slumping back down beside the dwindling fire.

[Vinny]

Chapter Two: The Monster

January 7th, 1953.

The man I spoke of earlier has headed off into innards of the wild Congo jungle in search of Caligula Lightning. He didn’t give a second thought to my warnings and the excruciatingly detailed descriptions of Caligula’s slaughters seemed to stir nothing inside him. The way he was dressed - a man in dreary, stained fatigues and a grey tank top stained to a faint black in some places by the build up dry sweat – told me he had come to this remote section of Africa purely to hunt him down. Indeed, this person was fit, and under any other circumstances this proposed bounty hunter would get his man, but when dealing with a creature such a Lightning that seems to transcend the boundaries of the animal kingdom and he is simply no match.

However, maybe it was the whiskey or maybe in all this seclusion I’ve started to grow a little mad, but I decided to follow that man through the jungle, always thirty yards behind so I may have chance of escaping if he was caught in Lightning’s subverting clutches. I couldn’t tell if that gentleman knew I was following him, and if he did he paid me no mind.

He trudged effortlessly through the thick brush and into the running rivers with nary a scratch on his chiseled frame. Whereas when I waded through the cool waters of a river just outside my encampment I was ridden with leeches. He, however, was clean, as if the vermin had no interest in his blood.

Soon he and I were upon what I construed as Caligula Lightning’s territory, his domain a large, stone structure, much like a tower or a primitive pyramid, set in the center of a circle of crude domiciles in which his followers slept. Finding something like this was primarily the reason why I ventured into the Congo but unfortunately, due to threat of these wild natives and the beast Caligula himself, I haven’t been able to step a foot on this ground. The structure seemed Arabic in design but more primitive, perhaps built by early Swahili who had roamed through the area centuries ago.

The natives were dancing around fire; their bodies pasted a dark brown, presumably from dried blood. I didn’t encroach any further in Lightning’s domain but the man I spoke to easily infiltrated it, slipping past the natives skillfully. As he headed up the stairs towards the temple, one of the natives seemed to have become possessed and began convulsing. Dropping to his knees, he began digging his fingernails into chest as the rest of the natives swarmed him. One held his head firmly in place while two others forced open his eyelids. Carefully they extracted his eyes, doing it slowly as the victim howled mad gibberish, until they torn from his sockets. The two natives then gorged on the eyes, bursting them between their molars as they furiously gnashed. The victim dropped to the Earth, presumably dead.

The man had vanished from my sights and the natives had begun chanting “SACRIFICE.” It was then I saw Lightning’s temple began to shake rhythmically as a woman near the base of the stairs was tied to two, wooden poles. As the temple began quake every few seconds, two natives hoisted the woman onto their shoulders and began their ascent towards the temple entrance. From my vantage I could see that she was clearly pregnant so I knew not what deviant intentions they had for the poor girl. As the girl reached the summit, a large, white orb emerged from the darkness of the temple door. The orb was Caligula’s porcine gut, it sides scraping against the stone frame of the door as he made his entrance. Caligula, his facial features obscured with shadows, calmly reached down with his mammoth hands and wrapped them around the female’s legs. Soon I realized that the chanting was merely a substitute for a dinner.

He quickly hoisted her onto his shoulders leg first. The woman seemed to be in a daze, completely unaware of her surroundings as Caligula pressed his face against her loins. I witnessed his stomach retract slightly as his powerful lungs expanded and the woman’s unborn fetus was sucked viciously from her womb and down Caligula’s gullet.

Lightning unceremoniously slammed her neck first into the pavement, what I would later come to discover was called a “power bomb.” She instantly died, perhaps Caligula feeling a paltry amount of mercy on that day. Then the natives began grabbing their spears, beating their chests, and viciously feasting on the dead woman’s body. Caligula’s booming laugh muted the screams and cheering of his men for a few moments as he raised a hand and pointed south. I would later learn that this was merely a ritual to empower them before battle and that the village I was visiting would be overwhelmed by them and that every man, woman, and child would be slaughtered.

But Caligula himself didn’t join the battle. Perhaps he didn’t think it was sporting, or perhaps he had no interest in fighting himself but rather orchestrating these inhumane acts. Regardless, now that the camp was empty this was the moment that man was waiting for. He instantly emerged from his hiding spot in the shadows of the tower and leapt onto Caligula like a panther, whipping a vicious heel kick into his throat that shattered the sound barrier. Despite the strength, speed, and agility that man displayed, Caligula remained unfazed. From my position I saw blood drip down his chin but the powerful belch that followed indicated that the blood was the result of the indigestion of the fetus.

Slowly, Caligula waved his tree-like arm through the air and struck the man in the chest. The man in the fatigues was able to block it but was lifted into the air by Caligula’s sheer power. While he hung above the ground for a few moments, Caligula prepared a devastating hammer blow that sent the man violently crashing into the stairs. He rolled down each stone step before hitting the summit. Surprisingly, the man was still alive and was able to push himself onto one knee. That is when Caligula Lightning spoke.

“You must have quite a bit of animosity towards me if you are trying to stand after that blow,” Caligula’s voice rumbled as he slowly descended the stairs. “I wonder what misdeed has acquiesced your hatred and brought a pale boy to most devilish recesses of Africa.”

“I’ve come here to kill you,” the man replied as he stood straight up.

“Ah, that much was evident by your dramatic entrance. But that is not what I asked, was it? What made you seek my head, hm?” Caligula continued, taking a few more steps towards the man in fatigues.

“I’ve been sent here to kill you,” the man replied.

“Indeed, no white man would be wandering through here, let alone attacking me unless money was involved. Understandable. And I can tell by your voice that you are from America. Hmph, an idea just struck me and I have to say I’m slightly embarrassed. Did a unlucky traveler that my hunger had claimed turn out to be senator’s son? Is that why you’re here.”

“Something like that,” the man wiped the blood from his lips as Caligula was only a few feet away from him, “But to be honest, I mostly came here because I wanted to fight you.”

“Heh heh, is that so? You’re making me blush,” Caligula stood face to face with his opponent. “So then, I’m sure you already know my name, so what’s yours friend, or did the U.S. government assign you some silly alias?”

I couldn’t believe what I saw next. That behemoth’s feet left the ground by the RAW POWER from that man’s UPPERCUT. The ground almost seemed to TREMBLE from his audacity. Thunder crashed as the bountiful flesh on Caligula’s chin flowed upward, like a wave, across his face. The man grunted a hateful cry as Lightning was flung up the stairs and into his temple, destroying the entrance completely. My hands shake as I recount it now.

“I AM THE MAN WHO WILL DEFY GOD AND SUBJUGATE HIM WITH THE LEGENDARY FEAR I EXUDE,” HE SCREAMED, “HE WILL WALLOW IN DEATH AND CURSE MY NAME … JAMES BROCK MCHARRIS!!”

[Action Hank]

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS@!!!!!!!!!

[Big Fagot]

IMPOSSIBLE.

[Seru]

PREDICTABLE.

[Seru]

[Action Hank]

Of course, but its still JAMES BROCK MCHARRIS!

[Seru]

I wasn't much of a fan.

[Vinny]

I'm sure as soon as I revealed it was a story that took place in the past that the reader knew that McHarris HAD to show up.

[Action Hank]

TL's old John Baines promos had also hinted at this.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Hinted that McHarris fought Caligula Lightning in 1953?

[Vinny]

Chapter Three: Fear

The situation seemed to change in an instant. The man I had feared these past few months was now on his back and the man whose half-eaten corpse I was sure to see strung up in the jungle was standing over him. This James Brock McHarris looked completely different than the man I had met earlier. Not physically, but his entire presence had changed, his personality had shifted once the battle begun. His chest was out and his open palms were at his side, his stance showing no indication of fear of Lightning. In fact, his eyes were rolled in the back of his head and a wide grin of fanatical mirth across his face. It is true what he said. He came here to fight Caligula Lightning not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

The rubble that covered Lightning stirred little by little until it burst into the air as if dynamite exploded underneath it. Lightning leaped to his feet, an impressive visual considering his spherical shape, and wiped the blood from his lips.

“James Brock McHarris, huh?” Caligula spit out a tooth, not his own, I’m sure, into his hand while sizing up his opponent. “That was an impressive uppercut. To be honest, I’ve never met someone who was strong enough to challenge me, or even elicit the sensation of pain.”

“Is that so?” McHarris raised a hand up towards Caligula. “Then let me show you the fist that will bring you a lifetime’s worth of suffering!” Caligula seemed pleased by that response and raised one of his gargantuan legs into the air and dropped it firmly on the stone stairs. The stairs shattered, splitting open as a fissure grew towards McHarris. I blinked and McHarris was already soaring through the air towards that hideous being. He struck Caligula with a series of blows too fast to count before dropping to the ground. Even from that distance I could make out the indentations in his rippling flesh left from McHarris punches and kicks. But despite all of that Caligula seem unconcerned. Seizing his opening, Caligula’s palm burst forth and closed around the entirety of McHarris’ body. Caligula chuckled a bit before slamming his other fist onto McHarris, increasing the grip. McHarris no longer looked like a man but rather some toy that an obese child was trying to crush in his hands. As blood began to pour from McHarris nostrils and through the cracks in his clenched teeth, it pooled up Lightning’s hand. Lightning leaned over and a fat tongue rolled out and moved like a snake towards the blood, lapping it up.

“Feasting on you will be an utter delight,” Caligula Lightning rasped. The tongue darted up to McHarris’ bulging head as it searched for more blood. However, once it was in range McHarris bit into Caligula’s tongue and tore the tip off in one swift motion.

Caligula looked up into the air and groaned, blood spraying from his mouth in the form of mist. McHarris strained to laugh as red peppered his face. Caligula, his playful expression warped into that of intense rage, slammed McHarris onto the stone summit repeatedly; surely damaging his own hands in the process. Lightning then held him with one hand and raised the other above his head, planning to crush McHarris into the stone with blow. Just then I saw something surround James Brock McHarris. The air around him was distorted as if he was walking through the desert but the cold wind reminded me that this was impossible. Before I could ponder it further Lightning’s fingers snapped back, bending backwards at the joints as McHarris howled. With the other fist still descending, McHarris swatted it away with his left and dashed forward.

“I’M GOING TO SHIT ON YOUR SOUL YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!!” McHarris SCREAMED as he buried his fist into CALIGULA’S GUT. I watched as Caligula vomited blood and McHarris retracted his fist, his arm BOUND and WRAPPED WITH CALIGULA LIGHTNING’S INTESTINES.

Caligula trembled as he choked on his own blood. McHarris let go of the ball of intestines clenched in his hand and Caligula’s innards dropped onto the stone stairs set before them. As rivers of blood cascaded down the stone, McHarris turned to leave. Lightning grabbed his own guts, desperate to push them back into his body.

“Now you know fear, Caligula Lightning,” McHarris told him, “And for the rest of your life you will be under me. For the rest of your life you will cower at me, my heel placed firmly on your neck, pushing you into your own shit like the fucking dog you are.”

Once Caligula had placed his intestines back through the gaping wound and into his stomach, he slumped onto the summit of the temple and passed out. James Brock McHarris, soaked in blood, walked right past me without ever making contact. That was the last I ever saw McHarris or Caligula Lightning.

The End.

[Action Hank]

Oh, I thought Caligula might have been the other man who created the FTUW, but I guess not.

[Big Fagot]

Thank Christ I have Vinny because he basically has all the same opinions as me but is more enthusiastic and a better writer.

[Magic Juan]

Technically, Caligula created FTUW's sucessor out of fear and respect for FTUW