Mr Stark, here is my report for tonight, I stopped a grand theft bicycle. Oh and I helped this old lady and she bought me a churro so…yeah, that was nice.
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My half of a collaboration with @ladytygrycomics . Frieza/soul action :D
It was a very long and very trying day.
And Frieza was loathe to admit it, but he needed some time alone. Time alone to relax--he couldn't destroy anyone, as would have been his usual, but he could at least have a nice warm bath.
Warm, but not too hot. The water was tested and he luxuriated in the glow of it, before actually getting around to washing up.
Then, rather suddenly, there was the feeling of being watched.
He didn't care, and stretched out further, until nothing but his head was above the water, and relaxation was seeping into every part of his body.
It was like a strange cool breeze, that feeling, and it didn't fade over time. The soul was enjoying this right along with him.
That was harmless enough. If he were a different person, he probably would've felt sorry for it, but as things were he didn't care that it couldn't take a bath on its own. It could enjoy this one with him as long as it didn't cause him any trouble.
Then there was a strange inclination. As he reached for the soap and washcloth, he realized what it was.
Admiration. It was looking over his soft, narrow hips and slender body and it was very much liking what it saw.
He gave a little smirk. Of course the soul would like what it saw. What person could look at his body and not admire it?
But he went on about his bathing, ignoring the further thought.
That part was over fairly quickly, however, but--
--when Frieza finished up, he realized that the admiration had not faded one bit. The soul was still watching him, was still liking what it saw, and he could feel its continuing interest.
Interest?
He got out of the bath and began to dry off. One glance in the mirror, and--awe. Was that...was that really what he was sensing from the soul?
"Oh? Are you in awe of me?"
Maybe came your soft, feminine tone.
"And why is that, exactly?"
Look at you, you said, You look like a work of art rather than a living thing.
"You admit that very freely."
There's little you can do about it.
"Is there, now? Is that all you think? That this form is beautiful?" Frieza asked. He looked into the mirror, knowing you would be looking. Knowing your eyes, from within him, would meet them there.
I could say more, but I doubt you would find any of it satisfactory.
"No?"
Or...proper. You are a prince, after all.
"You have clearly never seen an Arcosian court."
What does that mean?
"Well...what you're thinking is no doubt very tame compared to it, let me put it that way."
Then you want to hear what I'm thinking. Interesting. You've never showed much interest before.
That was before.
I think you're gorgeous, you thought, There is a reason I keep coming back to you.
The arousal was quite clear. He looked smug, as if he could feel your own interest, and was enthralled by it.
It's probably been a very long time since he had anyone touch it.
You looked back down his body, reflected so nicely in the mirror.
But as you looked, you remembered: there was nothing there. All he had between his legs were more scales.
Such a disappointment. Just the thought of getting at him was enough to dampen you, but then, there was...
...well, dicks weren't everything, were they? It wasn't a total loss.
Perhaps he was good with his tongue.
"I'd be insulted," he said, "If I weren't so pleased at the idea..."
Frieza reached a slender hand down.
"...of proving you wrong."
Stroke.
Stroke.
He smirked, and chuckled a moment later as he felt your interest rising.
"I assure you," he said, looking straight into the mirror, "It is there."
You were firmly entrenched, and he was meeting your gaze, knowingly or not.
"And you want to see it."
God, yes.
The thought was out before you could stop it, running rampant with all kinds of lusty possibilities.
"If you insist, then. You've kept me alive, and despite giving me a fair amount of lip..."
Frieza bent over slightly, and reached a slender hand down.
You felt what he felt. He moved further down, over smooth scales--until suddenly, there weren't any.
There was a breach into inner heat, and then you felt something finally emerging. It was an odd feeling, that shifting in the lower gut, and if it had been your body that you were doing this in, you'd be squirming. But this was his body, and so the discomfort was yours only. Frieza seemed well used to it.
His hand closed around the dick; it was smooth, slick, and hot. Smooth like a normal, hairless dick, slick like damp arousal, and hot...like you were beginning to feel.
It wasn't the longest dick by far, but it was certainly thick. His hand didn't even close around it.
You're just teasing me, you thought.
"And if I am? What are you going to do about it?"
I wouldn't think you would lower yourself to this kind of behavior. You know nothing of me.
"On the contrary," Frieza said, "I know quite a lot about you. I know you've got quite a fancy for me, to the point of preferring me over the rest of the rabble. Clearly, you have good taste."
And do you know why?
"Does it matter? Whether you like me because of my power, or my charisma, or my supposed beauty...the end result is the same. You want to see what you're seeing right now. In fact, I'm sure if you could, you would be here right now."
Silence.
"Don't deny it. I can feel it, you know, I know everything that you're feeling."
You looked back at the dick, reflected in the mirror. It was big, and the thought of getting on it was dizzying.
Good thing you didn't have to.
"And I'm not even done yet," Frieza chuckled. "Just wait until you see it all."
As he could feel your arousal, so too you could feel his. The rest of that thick dick emerged, and, gods...
He gave a slow stroke to be sure he was at attention, and then once more met your eyes in the mirror.
Go on.
"Getting demanding, are we?" there was a chuckle. "You should be nicer, given the honor you're receiving."
Stop teasing and go.
"And if I don't?"
There was a momentary jerk as you took control. You carefully moved Frieza's hand away from his dick and formed a fist before opening his hand again. Then you touched his dick again.
Slight stroke...
Oh, now that felt good.
But now you had it, it would be easy to finish. What about the rest of him? Were there any sensitive areas you could take advantage of?
Ignoring Frieza's protests, you put a shoulder against the mirror and leaned on it as you reached further down, behind the dick.
But when you got there with his other hand there was nothing.
What? He had an ass, there was no reason--
--right. Right. He was a lizard. Scale-covered. You reached, mentally, back to biology.
Then you felt Frieza again.
Amusement. He was amused by what you were doing...perhaps he was enjoying your exploration of his body, and the confusion at not finding what you thought would be there was funny to him?
It was getting uncomfortable, bending like that, so you flexed his tail and curved it around so that the tip brushed between his legs. Nothing. You moved the tip a bit higher, and there was a slight tremor.
Then, as you drew the tip higher, just under the base of the tail...
...the knees were weak. His knees, your knees--it didn't matter. Touching that spot made you go weak.
So you kept the tip of his tail there, and giving a smirk, took a firm grip on his dick.
He was equal parts angry and aroused. You were simply going to make him watch, but considering...well, if he tried anything, not that it would be effective, you could always take back control.
So you turned the body back over to him.
"You little--" Frieza snapped at you, "--that is not for you to play with!"
It felt like you enjoyed it. And before you say it, yes--I know that's besides the point. Can we skip to the part where we both get off? You're just sort of hanging out in the open air, here.
"You are certainly eager, aren't you?"
You bet I am.
You were ready. More than ready. And you wanted it now.
Frieza's hand started moving, and you felt a surge of lust everytime his fingers moved. To his credit, his tail stayed where you'd put it, and continued to rub at that delightful spot below the base of the tail.
"I bet you'd just love to have it in you, too," he went on, "Wouldn't you?"
No answer. There was no point in it. The weak-kneed feeling had returned, and you were luxuriating in the slow climb to orgasm.
First one and then another bead of pre appeared on the tip of Frieza's dick. A third showed, and the stickiness began to drip slowly off his dick and toward the floor in lazy lines.
"You'd scream," he laughed, "You'd scream and beg for me to give it to you until you were nothing but a writhing mess."
Go on.
"You want it."
Yes.
"What do you want, exactly?"
I want you.
It was easy; all you had to do was tell him what he wanted to hear. He was teasing, but...but it seemed to add to the lusty heat, instead of annoying or angering you.
I don't care what you do, just don't stop.
"Say that again." Frieza kept his dick in his hand and started pumping at it a little more rapidly, and you felt that familiar, shivery pleasure.
Don't stop.
"Again."
Don't stop.
"Again!"
The pace quickened again, and the shocks of pleasure, had you been in control, would've taken your breath away. Frieza, on the other hand, he kept right on going. He didn't have a bit of trouble.
You kept your tone, such as it was, desperate, to further egg him on.
Please, don't stop!
Frieza was now leaning heavily against the mirror, not even looking at you anymore as he continued to jerk away at his dick.
"You want it, do you?"
The peak touched briefly, and Frieza failed to stifle a gasp as it teased and then vanished.
Go on. Go on, I want it, I want all of it.
"You'd take it, wouldn't you, you filthy little--" There was a hitch in Frieza's breath, but he kept his hand moving.
Keep going, keep going, gods, we're almost there, I can practically taste it!
Faster and faster still.
OH GODS
The orgasm hit, and hit hard; semen burst from the tip, splattered against the mirror, and slid uselessly towards the floor.
A second pulse emptied another round onto the floor. A third followed in similar fashion.
To play this game, go to MapCrunch, select “hide location”, make sure you have all countries unselected, and click go. What this will do is drop you in a random part of the world. It’s as if you woke up on the side of a road in an unfamiliar country. The goal of the game is to find your way to an airport so you can return home.
Bonus Hard Mode: No using outside sources, and that includes using google maps to figure out your location from signs or landmarks
My DBZ-addled brain took this and had me wondering what kind of D&D campaign the villains would go through in hell.
With King Cold as the DM obviously.
“No, you can’t be all-powerful.”
“No, Cell, your warrior CANNOT use the magic sword. It’s for good-aligned characters only. ...how do you BECOME good? I don’t know, help an old lady cross the street or something.”
“You ate food from an ancient crypt. I think the skeleton horde is the LEAST of your worries right now.”
As Cell touched down just outside the festival gates, he remembered what Baba had said.
Three days. She and Yemma’d given him three days to do three nice things, unassisted by anyone else--he supposed that meant no one would have to goad him into it or something. It made very little sense, but he was never the sort of a man to turn down an opportunity. And maybe she didn’t mean to hold up her end of the bargain, but maybe she did. In any case it was a relief to be out of that hell they’d devised for him.
.
Of course, there’d also been rules. He couldn’t kill anyone unless it was to save someone else, he couldn’t tell anyone who he was (but he didn’t have to deny it, so there was that? Not that it mattered much)...and a whole bunch of other things. If he managed to do the three nice things, as well as not violate any of the terms Baba had set out for him, he’d be a free man.
And then, of course...well, he’d keep that part under wraps. If the old witch honestly thought that this would somehow be able to change him, he’d ride that delusion train until it got him to where he wanted to be.
But first, he had to suffer through this.
The festival had apparently been set up a short time after his death; and now every year on what would have been the day before the Cell Games, there was some kind of celebration. In a way it pleased him, at the very least no one would’ve forgotten him.
The idea of others dressed up in his likeness was irritating at best. It occurred to him, however, that that may be why they were sending him here; they wanted him to fail. And that idea alone gave some small comfort, because if they were trying to force his temper it was more likely that they’d meant the deal to be genuine.
Three days. Three nice things. Three chances.
Cell wasn’t sure where to start, to be honest; he’d never done a kind act in all his life.
So he decided to take the time to get used to his surroundings first. It’d be easy enough to do without being noticed, he figured, what with the crowd walking around in costumes and excitement generally ruling the air.
As he walked from the gravelly area he’d been placed in, he passed a bunch of weird metallic things arranged in oddly uniform rows. Cars, he was sure they were called cars--he couldn’t really remember, though. Where had he even learned something like that? Why had he bothered to retain such useless information?
He wasn’t nervous. No, the word wasn’t even in his vocabulary, but there was a still a sense of anticipation.
, he thought.
At first, hardly anyone gave Cell a glance. There were quite a few other people dressed like him, or at least, somewhat like him, but most of them seemed to get nearly everything wrong. Some people had painted themselves green and gone from there, except that the effect was more hideous than frightening, which he assumed was the aim of the whole thing.
Feh. He wasn’t frightening because he was trying to be, he just naturally was!
It was odd, looking at people with the aim of helping, rather than eating, as he’d done in his imperfect stage. Most of these people looked relatively happy, particularly those coming away with what he assumed was food from various little stands and tents.
It was baffling, the variety that they seemed to have. Why did they need so many different kinds of things to ingest when the purpose was nourishment?
Cell moved on. At least as he moved towards the building itself, there were less of the food vendors.
“Hee-yah!”
He hadn’t even felt the little knock at his lower leg, more heard it, and looked down to see…
Oh gods.
What the hell was that?
The child looking up had, it seemed, tried to imitate Cell’s current form, but it hadn’t really been done all that well.
The crest was actually a bit of cardboard twisted round and painted green. The biogem hadn’t even been attempted, it seemed as though the child was depending on its black hair to serve for that. A little bit of greasepaint served to imitate his pale skin, and on top of that was a bit of half-assed painting that was supposed to imitate his cheeks. And as for the child’s eyes…
...wow, that was a new low. Someone had painted the kid’s eyelids red.
The rest of it just appeared to be clothing with the design of his body, and to cap it all off, a pair of hideous yellow shoes.
What was immediately clear, however (besides the atrocity of the costume) was that no one was stopping the child. No one was screaming at
to keep away from it, either.
It was just looking up at him with grinning eyes. “Hi! I beat you.”
Ugh, the kid hadn’t even bothered to make his outfit blue…
Alright, he could do this. He could not kill the annoying small thing. “And,” he forced a smile even as he inwardly retched, “Where is your mother, small one?”
“I dunno,” the child said, “She’s around here somewhere.”
“Why haven’t you tried to find her?” That seemed the logical option. But small humans didn’t seem to be very good at things like that. “You should be able to find your mother. Or she should’ve kept better track of you.”
“She gets distracted sometimes,” the kid said.
“You’re very small, you know, and weak to boot. You’ll probably get eaten by something if you’re not careful.”
Its lower lip started wobbling, and a second later it was shrieking.
“Any more of that and you’re getting your first strike. If you think that’s going to get you any points you’re sorely mistaken.” Baba’s voice rang through his head, almost more piercing that the small one’s crying.
He growled inwardly, and thought, “How is its inability to care for itself my problem?”
“He’s lost, you insensitive clod!”
As much as it pained him, the rage Baba spewed was giving him an idea.
“But that,” Cell said suddenly, picking the child up, “Is why you need to find your mother. What does she look like?”
It sickened him to the core to be speaking in such a light tone, to be holding anything with any gentleness. But he reminded himself of his end goal: being alive again. He wasn’t chomping at the bit to go back to that hell, he wanted to
.
“S-she h-h-h-has red hair a-a-a-and...she’s wearing p-p-p-pink.” The child was sniffling now, but still breathing in an absurdly loud fashion. Good lord, did it have to do everything that way? How did these humans bear it all?
It relaxed in his arms, and began to look around as he walked.
“Cell,” Baba’s voice sounded off in his head again, “You’d better not hurt that kid.”
“I’m not going to,” he thought.
“Look--there’s a couple women that actually fit that description. The first is a bit to your west, so head left.”
Sighing, Cell did so. It was a good deed, right, and it would leave him with only two more things to do. He just had to keep thinking that…
“Hey, you know, you really should’ve worked harder on your kid’s costume!” A man dressed as Hercule stopped directly in front of him. “But I can’t say that yours is any better!”
This imbecile thought he was in costume, and due to the asinine rules, he couldn’t even--
.
“He’s not mine,” Cell said, “I’m trying to find his mother.”
“Well, we can both help you then!” The man struck a heroic pose, and Cell inwardly groaned. Who did this idiot think we was fooling?
He headed in the westerly direction, and found that the first woman wasn’t it. The third and fourth women weren’t the kid’s mother either. How many red-headed women in pink could there possibly be out here? Was there some kind of sale on pink outfits? Why was this even his problem?!
Right. The good deeds. Just had to remember. Good deeds meant life. This little brat was a means to an end, if he could endure it just a little bit longer.
“Mama!” the child called out.
“Evan?”
“Mamaaa!”
“Walk out of the crowd in front of you a bit.” Baba’s voice appeared yet again.
Ugh.
But Cell followed her directions, and suddenly, a rather heavyset woman that only vaguely fit the description of “redhead in pink” appeared.
Baba seemed relieved, though he couldn’t really understand why.
She stopped in front of Cell and took the child, then looked up at Cell with a smile. “Thanks for finding him, I was really start to panic.” She turned her attention to the child, “Evan, don’t run off like that, you scared me! What would have happened if somebody got you?”
“A predator would eat me!”
“Where did you...nevermind, let’s go get something to eat.” Once more the woman looked to Cell and thanked him, before turning to leave.
Evan waved at him before turning to his mother to beg for something.
“Don’t get cocky,” Baba said, “You’ve still got two more to go.”
He ignored her. This was going to be incredibly easy.
“Oh my god, that was adorrrrrable!”
The slurred and only slightly shrill voice rang out, and before Cell could ask who’d spoken to him, he felt someone gripping him around the waist, then smelled the strong odor of alcohol wafting up from about the same area.
Cell looked down to see...a blonde woman. Her wiry hair was curled about her hair like a gigantic golden cloud and the effect was, to say the least, unflattering. But the thing he noticed most once he looked her directly in the face was the makeup. By gods, it looked like she had a few pounds of the stuff on. Not that he knew a lot about it, but he knew what a natural, unadorned face looked like, and that wasn’t it.
“Adorable?” he asked, raising an eye ridge.
“Oh, yes! That poor kid was...was…” she took a minute to take a small swig from a red cup, and went on, “...he was scared! And you helped him out.”
“Yes, well…” She was touching him. Why the hell was she touching him?
“Your costume’s really nice, too…” she giggled, “You probably worked really hard on it. And it’s…”
Cell froze as the woman’s hands strayed over first his waist, and then to the biogem on his chest.
“You’re...you’re so warm. How d’you do it?”
“It’s not a costume.”
“Must’ve cost a lot...ooooooh, look at these!” She was touching his wings now, and stroking at the blackness as if it were something small and adorable.
Was she deaf?
“No, really, it isn’t a costume.”
“Nah, there’s no way it’s not. You, the real Cell? You don’t really look too much like him.”
Cell was swiftly reaching the upper limits of his tolerance to annoyance. But he bit back what he was about to say, and instead forced a smile. “Really, and how would you know?”
“You’re too handsome to really be Cell.”
“Of course I am.” And it was the first time he’d actually found himself enjoying her attention, not that he was going to let
know about it.
“Oh, and your arms!”
He cringed when her voice rang out again. “What about them?”
Did these human women just never shut up when they started ingesting alcohol? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? He was pretty damn sure that there was nothing nice he could do for her anyway, aside from not killing her.
While the woman found herself enamored with his “armored” shoulders, Cell occupied himself with the thought of which kinds of people might need a bit of cheering up, or something nice done for them. Probably people who were alone, or kids. He’d already helped one kid, and if that one was any indication, there’d probably be more of them running around--
“Wow, your costume is just...I mean, really, did you make it yourself or something?”
A somewhat shorter man stood before him in a Hercule costume, bad afro, cape, and everything, hands on his hips in what Cell assumed was meant to be an intimidating fashion. It was astonishing, the posturing that these humans thought did that when really all that resulted was their looking ridiculous.
“You shut up, he did a great job!” the woman said, “At least he picked something good-looking to copy!”
“And you’re getting your girlfriend to defend you. That’s really weak of you, man. Bad taste all around the board, huh?”
Cell just glared, despite being sorely tempted to strike the bigmouth. No. No, he wasn’t going to let this get to him. Not a peon like this.
“Bet I could--”
“I bet you can’t,” the woman said, getting between him and Cell, “Go run off and...I don’t know, bluster, or pretend you’re hot shit, like the real Hercule does!”
“He’s a hero,” one of the man’s friends spoke up, “And you’re making jokes like that. He basically saved everyone’s life, and the whole freakin’ world, and--”
“It sure didn’t look like he was saving anyone! It looked like he was getting his ass kicked!”
The argument went on, with the others smarting off about some feat or other that Hercule had pulled off, and the blonde woman snapping at them while leaning heavily against Cell.
Cell was...unamused, to put it nicely. So that was the name of that ridiculous man who’d blustered about and who he’d been so thoroughly unbothered by that he hadn’t even bothered to fight him properly. The one who’d showboated before all the
fighting began. Did all these humans think he was that weak? What kind of idiocy was at work here, exactly?! His fist clenched at the thought, and by the time he started listening again, he was practically drawing blood.
“...and he probably has a tiny dick, too!” the woman yelled, and a second later, she toppled over. The ground had rumbled briefly; Cell was doing his best to contain his temper, but in the face of such lunacy it was a tall order.
After the shaking ground, the punks thankfully moved on, seemingly bored with the lack of response from their target and the yelling from an enraged female.
The woman scrambled to her feet and moved to take his hand when the others left, and seemed to note how tightly his fist was clenched.
“They really upset you, huh?”
Cell didn’t even want to answer, really. He knew if he opened his mouth, he’d probably kill somebody.
“That got you
tense,” she said, looking up at him, “C’mon, let’s get away from all these people. I know how to help you out.”
He walked a bit, still fuming about the nonsensical statements that those fools had made about Hercule. Thinking someone that weak could beat him was more than just an insult, it was absolute slander. They were dragging his name through the mud to a degree that made him see red.
The woman stopped behind a vendor’s tent, and giggled as she looked up at him. “Lean over.”
Cell rolled his eyes, but did so, and half-stumbled back when she pressed her lips to his. “What was that, exactly?”
“...have you never been kissed?” She giggled again with both hands drawn up to her mouth.
This seemed to amuse her greatly, and he wasn’t sure why. What was so important about it even if it was his first kiss?
“It looks like it helped you out. You know…” she grinned, and took Cell’s hand again, “...I can help you out even more, if you’d let me show you something…”
She wanted to show him something? His interest was stirred, and he wanted to get away from these people dressed as Hercule anyway. So he let her lead the way, and gradually they passed through the crowd and into the building behind.
“Alright, where is...ah, there we are!”
Cell looked up slightly confused as she tugged him into a room labeled “Women.”
Why.
Why was he in a room with a word on the door? There were sinks on one side, and metallic stalls of another kind…
He couldn’t possibly be more confused.
“Stand there,” she said, pointing to a spot beside the door.
“Why? And what was it you wanted to show me?” Cell had the distinct feeling he was being lead on, but remained silent. If she intended to do anything, it was better to wait and see what it might be. At any rate, it would keep him away from the annoyances of the crowd outside.
“Well…” the woman grinned, “First it involves you showing me something.”
“And what might that be?”
She leaned over, and started stroking the biogem between his legs.
That...was new.
Why was she doing that?
“Let’s see now, I know there’s one here somewhere…” the woman appeared to be tracing around its edges, before moving her hands to...try and pull it down. It didn’t budge. She tried once more.
Nothing.
Then her hands moved to his hips.
“Where is it...I know it’s...there has to be one…”
“What are you looking for?”
“The zipper!”
“There’s not a zipper.” Cell would’ve rolled his eyes if he weren’t so confused and curious all at once. What was she after and what would happen next? It was hard to tell.
“You worked really hard on this costume...like, really hard.” she’d continued to stroke at the area. “C’mon, help me out here! I can’t do anything for you if you don’t get it out for me!”
“Get w….” Cell stopped and thought for a moment. Now and again, there was...something, beneath the surface of the biogem, something that moved about in a writhing, wiggling sort of way. Was...was that what she was after?
Well, only one way to find out.
She watched as his hand moved down to the biogem, and gasped slightly when one of his fingers sank into it. Something had started to leak from the area, too, in fact had gushed out a bit--all over his entire hand, and down onto the floor, it dripped so quickly. It took a minute for her to realize that it had actually parted around him.
It took a bit of, well, digging, but he finally managed to get hold of the damned slippery thing. Once he was sure of it he tugged it out of what now appeared to be more a sheath than a smooth gem. It seemed to exude something slick, though what that was puzzled him more. What was this slimy stuff supposed to accomplish?
“Is this what you were after?” he asked.
“Oh..yes. It is.”
She was looking at this blue appendage of his like it was the best thing she ever laid eyes on. It was at least vaguely comforting to know that however strange the behavior, she at least seemed to know what this was.
As Cell drew his hand away and wiped the slick stuff off in her hair, she reached forward and touched it with both hands. “You’re...wow, you’re big. Like, really, really big. And it’s all blue. You really did put extra work into this costu--no, no, I know! You must’ve put a condom on it, that’s why it’s all sticky.” No head, though...what was that all about? Oh well, it still felt the same and it wasn’t like it needed a head, right?
“It’s not a condom.” What the hell was a condom?
“Still not breaking character? That’s fine with me…” She giggled, “You just let me handle everything! Now let’s see here…”
Her left hand closed around it at the base, and ran up his length, scattering dribs and drabs of his wetness all over her wrist. It didn’t seem to faze her, though, and she kept going.
“You’re so stiff,” she said suddenly, leaning over in what seemed to him like an odd position to be in, “Are you nervous? Is this your first time or something?”
First time at what? Every time he thought he had this figured out, she brought something else up that puzzled him even further. How many more things could this woman possibly have in mind for a part of his body that he didn’t even know the purpose of?
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“Good.” Because he sure as hell didn’t...not that he’d admit that to her or to anyone else.
After giving the ever-more-wet appendage a few gropes, and getting a little more soaked herself, the woman finally did something else--she lowered her head.
There was a tingle in it, but it wasn’t a bad thing. It felt...good, actually.
And then he heard it.
“What the blue blazes do you think you’re doing?!”
Was that Baba?
“Oh my...eww. You know what, forget it. We’ll...check back up on you in...thirty minutes, or something. Just for heaven’s sake, don’t kill that poor girl.”
“Need I remind you,” Yemma’s voice followed, “That she is the one who--”
The voices cut off at that point, and Cell turned his attention back to the woman. He didn’t know what she was doing, exactly, but he did know that he liked it. The feeling was interesting, and in a good way.
And since she obviously knew what she was doing…
Of all the things she could’ve done, though, he wasn’t expecting her to actually take the soaked, wriggly thing into her mouth. Not that that thought lasted too long--as she took a little more in, and then moved her head back, pleasure started to really sting at him.
And as a bonus, she wasn’t talking anymore.
At first, what of him she wasn’t getting into her mouth was getting stroked, but as the seconds passed she began to go deeper. If he’d had the attention to spare, he’d probably have been amazed that she was getting in as much as she was.
Her tongue was absolutely dancing over the slick surface, and she could hear his breathing beginning to get ragged. Looked like it was working...but damn if this wasn’t the world’s awkwardest angle to give a man a blowjob from.
Cell’s breath hitched in his throat when she went forward again, taking more...and more...and then gradually, almost painfully so, moved back.
As she started to pull away his hand darted forward, entangling its fingers in her hair and pushing her head back down. The viscous liquid dribbled from her lips once more and she grinned--he wanted more.
“Keep doing that.”
“Are you sure? Because if you liked that, I’ve got something even better.”
Well, he certainly wasn’t going to say no to an offer like that.
“Better, hmm?”
“Much. Do us both a favor...I know it’s a public bathroom, but trust me…lay down. On your back. It’ll be easier for me to get at you that way.”
It was a little awkward--Cell couldn’t quite lay down the way she wanted him to due mostly to his wings and what was left of his tail, and so ended up half-propped against the bathroom wall with his legs splayed out.
The woman was...disrobing now. He watched as she stood up straight and tugged off the fabric on first the upper and then lower half of her body, then second (and much thinner) pieces as well.
Aside from the lumps on her chest (what were those, even?), he took notice of one other thing: the area between her legs was...different. It was only vaguely shaped in a sheath-like way, but...aside from that it didn’t look at all like his own.
The woman moved back over to him, grinning as she put one knee down by his hip, grabbed the squirming blue thing, angled it up towards her body...and then started to lower herself onto it.
Oh.
Oh.
So that’s what that part of her body was for.
Cell couldn’t stop the groan from passing his lips as the woman’s warmth and the inward thrill surged through his body.
“Oh...oh, wow, you’re…” She wasn’t even halfway down when she spoke again, “...you’re so big…”
He didn’t say anything, but was assuming, given the shade of red her face was turning, that being ‘big’ was a good thing.
It took her nearly a minute to get all the way down, but the whole of that part of him was now fully enveloped by her body.
“Filled me right up,” she grinned, “Do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Give me your hands.”
He did so, though more so because he wanted to see what she’d do with them than anything else. One of them she guided to her hip, and the other she brought up to her chest.
“What exactly am I supposed to do with this?” Cell asked. The lump she moved his hand to felt very odd, it was soft, and a bit squishy at the same time. Experimentally, he gave it a slight squeeze--because there sure as hell wasn’t anything else he could think to do with it.
“Just keep doing that. Exactly like you just did.” She moved up slightly, and then back down, producing little moans every step of the way.
It took a few minutes for her to adjust fully to his size, but after that she got a good rhythm going and he had every intention of seeing this through to the end--whatever that might be. Now he could see why she was doing this, now he saw why she’d been so eager to drag him back here. If this was making her feel half as good as it was him, it was small wonder she’d been so insistent.
And then the door started to swing forward.
It was another woman, but that was all Cell noticed before pushing the door closed again. There was a thump from the other side of the wall, a yelp of pain, and then a shout. “What the hell! You can’t just hog the bathroom!”
Sure I can, Cell thought with a smirk. The protest continued, but no matter how hard the door was shoved, he wasn’t letting it get opened again--in fact, he scooted over a bit so his back was against it.
They weren’t getting in here now.
The blonde’s little moans were going higher in pitch, each time she rose and fell again. And inside her...was it just him, or was it getting both warmer
tighter in there?
“Oh my god,” came a voice from the other side of the door, unheard by both Cell and his new lady friend, “Are you two--you are--I’m getting security, what do you think this is, the red light district? Bathrooms aren’t for fucking!”
After a few minutes of fruitless knocking on the door and trying to shove it open, the intruder seemed to give up and leave.
“Good work,” the blonde giggled, “Oh...oh, gods…”
When she used that almost desperate-sound tone, the pace shifted. Suddenly, she was forcing herself down faster, harder, and Cell’s grip on her chest and hip began to tighten as well. If it’d felt great before, this was--
“So...so…mmph…”
And then, suddenly, she screamed and fell forward against his chest.
“I...didn’t hurt you, did I?” That was the last thing he needed, to get a mark over this.
“Oh...oh no, you didn’t hurt me at all…” the woman pushed herself back up, and giggled a bit weakly, “That was just an orgasm. You really haven’t done this before, have you?”
“What’s a--”
“As good as you felt while I was doing that, think about that. Then think about a few seconds at about a hundred times that.”
So
was what it was all about? A few moments of pure pleasure? And then some odd twitching, if the small convulsions around him were any indication. It was like her body was trying to draw him farther in.
“You didn’t finish, did you? You didn’t get one yet?”
“No.” But he certainly planned on it.
“Then take it.”
Cell paused, and looked down at her. He was used to being challenged, but…
“Take it. Fuck it out of me.”
There was a pause. Well, if she wanted him to, and he wanted to, could he really be faulted for it?
In one swift motion he had the woman on her back on the now-sticky bathroom floor. Absently, he thought it must be from the liquid that he seemed to produce.
But as he pushed into her once, all outside thought was forgotten.
“Oh, you’re a natural.”
“Shut up,” he said, pulling her back end up slightly to make it easier to get at.
“Make me.”
That look in her eyes, the grin on her lips, the way she bucked against him…
He would certainly be happy to oblige.
A bit awkwardly at first--trying, of course, to be sure he wasn’t going to actually break her or something--he thrusted inward, and she groaned
Then he went in a bit harder, and it forced a gasp out of her.
There, that was it. Cell found a smirk seizing his face, and continued at that rapid, savage pace, keeping it steady. And despite the mingled labored breathing and little moans, she still seemed to be enjoying herself, even reaching a hand down to touch over the upper area of the slit he was moving in and out of.
There was a sudden sense of….gathering, a numb sort of tingling, and it only got stronger as he continued. His own breathing was finally starting to go ragged, and--
--he tried to stifle the grunt that followed, but only partially succeeded. It was a flash of divine pleasure, and he was only vaguely aware of a similar sound from the woman. After the orgasm had struck over his whole body, though, he felt an odd sense of something...leaving the blue appendage with what he’d call considerable pressure.
“Gods, for being a virgin you sure did...cum a lot…what happened to the condom?”
The warmth began to fade after that, and he withdrew, wings twitching as he did so. An absolute puddle began to form under her body as what apparently had left his own began to leak out of her in a small slimy river.
“I keep telling you it’s not a condom.”
So...so maybe...that wasn’t really a costume. Maybe she’d actually fucked the
Cell…no, no, that wasn’t possible.
“That was almost as much fun as killing all those people.”
“Look,” the woman said, as she started trying to get her clothes back on, “I get it, you’re dedicated. But geez, people might think you actually are the real Cell or something, if you keep that up.”
Baba was turned away from the crystal ball, as was Yemma.
“I’m not going to look. It’s
look at it!”
One of the ogres nearby who’d been watching looked up at them, “It’s over. And I think we’re going to have to give him a point for that.”
“What? Why?”
“She seems to be pretty happy with his putting out like that.”
‘
“Well...I suppose technically,” Baba muttered, “Fine. Two points total now.”
“You do realize that he only needs one more,” Yemma grumbled, “I thought you said, ‘Oh, no way could he get through this, he wouldn’t do a good deed for anyone, even if his life depended on it.’ And here he is getting two points in his favor!”
“Just don’t worry, alright? There’s no way he can get through tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” Yemma sighed, “Given how this has gone so far, I don’t think it’s going to do us any good. He’s been on...well, I wouldn’t say his best behavior, but he’s shown a degree of self control I wasn’t aware that he was capable of.”
“He’s not like Frieza,” Baba said, “That one couldn’t control himself for anything. Cell’s...he’s a bit different. He can be a bit more...goal oriented.”
“And you didn’t have any of these suspicions
you made this deal with him? You just made it hoping that everything would be alright?”
“Look, tomorrow is going to be the ace up my sleeve. I’ll tell him to enter the tournament.”
Had he been the sort to care, Cell would probably have helped the woman clean up a bit. Her back, the tube top she was wearing, shorts, and so forth, all had varying levels of stickiness from both the ‘lubricant’ as the girl had called it, and the ‘cum.’ But he wasn’t, and she in her drunken state didn’t seem to either notice or care.
He only smirked at the long line of women waiting as he and then the blonde woman (who was a bit wobbly on her feet) exited the bathroom.
As they emerged from the building and back out onto the festival’s main area, she took his hand; despite his trying to tug it away, she clung to it firmly.
“You really were great,” she said dreamily.
“You expected any less from me?”
“Oh, right. Right. Character, and all th--TAMARA! MARCY! OVER HEEERREEEE!” The woman had started off in the same dreamy tone as before, but seemed to get overly excited when she saw another couple of women passing by ahead. On being called, they moved right over.
“Girl, we’ve been looking for you,” one said, “Figures we’d find you with a guy.”
“Tamara, we’ve been over this like a hundred times already! It’s not Beth, it’s Candy. And anyway don’t be mean. Isn’t he gorgeous? Isn’t he amazing! Wonderful costume he has, right?”
Tamara just shrugged and then nodded. “He did the costume pretty well.”
“What do you mean, pretty well?”
“Well, he obviously has a sock crammed in there, who is he kidding with that bulge?”
Marcy seemed to giggle at that.
The blonde woman spoke up before Cell even had the time to get angry. “He is
not...he doesn’t have a sock in there. I checked, okay? That’s all natural.”
“Oh, really?”
“Back off though, he’s mine. Allllll mine.” Candy swayed a bit, and leaned against Cell; his arm was forcibly draped across her shoulders a second later.
“Figures. You always manage to find the best guys, and then you don’t even do anything with them!”
“Excuse me,” Cell said quickly, “I must reiterate, once again--it is
.”
“He’s a really dedicated cosplayer. So, shh. Pretend.” Candy lifted a finger to her lips at that.
Ugh. What dense fools these humans were! That woman had seen it with her own eyes and still didn’t believe it? ...he was being reminded more and more of why he’d wanted to wipe them out in the first place....
“Hey, Tammy, what’re you doing over here? Taking pictures with this asshole?”
A distinctly male voice rang out behind them, and Cell looked down on an approaching group of young men. Thankfully, none of them seemed to be in costume, although judging from their posture, they were going to be just as much of an issue as the last cretin to bother him.
“He’s got a nice costume,” Marcy said, brandishing a small device, “We were going to take a picture.”
“Look, just don’t go running out to hang out with random guys, alright?” said the second.
The third remained silent, and seemed to be studying Candy. The heat of the sun seemed to be drying the mixed fluids on her clothes, and it was quite obvious--at least, to this particular fellow, what they were exactly.
“Candy, did you…”
“Oh, you know her,” Tamara said quickly, “She really liked his costume.”
“Yeah, she liked it all over herself,” said Marcy’s boyfriend who then looked over to the third guy, “Sucks to be you, I guess, huh?”
“Yeah, well, she was a whore anyway,” came the quiet reply, “Who wants that?”
“Is that why you brought him?” Marcy chimed in. “You wasted money on a whole extra ticket to this thing just to bring him here and get him laid?”
“Well she gives it away practically free, we thought--”
“Oh my god,” Tamara said, “Look, she’s free-spirited and likes fucking and all that, but she’s not that desperate.”
“Yeah, well, I came all the way out here to this stupid event to get laid, and I haven’t gotten laid. And you.” The third guy looked up at Cell with arms crossed and brow furrowed. “Thinking you’re all big and bad, just standing there like you’re the king of the place.”
Cell gave him no response. Talk like that didn’t deserve one anyway.
“What, you think you’re too good to talk to people now?” he looked up again, and went on, “Got us a big tough guy, huh? Staying quiet because it makes the ladies go nuts, or some shit like that?”
Well, it had certainly impressed this ‘Candy’...not that he’d asked for it, of course, but he took wins where he could get them right now.
“He’s weak. Gotta be. Maybe he’s really a lot shorter and just on stilts under all that.”
The glare deepened.
“Oooh, gonna look at me hard, with those weirdo eyes. What’re you going to do with ‘em, huh?”
“C’mon, don’t be a dick,” Marcy said.
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want, that son of a bitch stole my girl!”
“I’m not yours!” Candy protested.
Cell was rapidly losing his patience, and likely as not would have walked away had the man just left well enough alone at that point.
But he didn’t.
“Yeah, well...doesn’t matter. His costume could be awesomer than this and he’s still just dressing up as some idiot that lost to Hercule.”
Cell had reached down to strike at the man’s nose, but due to some backward stumbling on the idiot’s part, ended up doing no more than decking him in the teeth.
“Dumbass,” Candy muttered.
The man was coughing from the second he fell on his back, and struggled to his knees scattering little red flecks as each hack went off. The source of this distress was evident a second later when he brought up--a tooth.
“That’s a strike, Cell,” Baba said, perhaps a bit reluctantly. “He deserved it, but you still hurt someone.”
Only one strike? He’d settle for that.
“C’mon.”
He felt a tugging at his elbow and realized that it was Candy. “What?”
“Let’s go. Before he gets up thinking he can hit you again.”
“Go where, exactly?”
“Well, they have a Cell costume contest. You could probably win it.”
Probably? He was Cell, how could he do anything besides win? This should be the easiest victory that he ever got!
He allowed her to lead him over to what looked like some kind of a stage, where there were a number of others dressed like him...and he used that term very loosely. A lot of them seemed to have merely worn face paint of some kind and appropriately color clothing, others had taken a little more effort and color over some plastic-looking “body armor”...a few of the more ambitious ones actually did look quite a lot like him, but they were few and far between.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery but Cell couldn’t help but be anything except offended. Why was this a thing?
Candy pulled him over to a desk where he managed to get entered into this farce.
Why was he even here?
Oh. Right. Life.
What a pain.
He found himself ushered away from Candy and backstage, where the rest of the costumers were doing things like touching up their makeup and paint and doing all kinds of things that he found completely nonsensical. Commenting on the inadequacy of each other’s suits. Boasting about how much they’d spent to ‘look this good.’
Cell just took a spot in the corner and watched them. After the fiasco with the guy that’d been after Candy, he didn’t want to risk losing his temper again...as most of the others seemed to be doing. This little contest wasn’t to take place for another half-hour, and for some reason some of the copycats had gotten into a minor fistfight about the lack of available greasepaint that they needed to touch up with. Security got involved, and silence resumed.
After another few minutes, someone with a “STAFF” tag went around handing out numbered stickers--his seemed to read ‘21.’
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Peel it off and stick it on your chest,” the guy said, heading off to give the next few contestants their numbers.
Ugh. Well, he could burn it off if need be, right?
Cell peeled the sticker off and did as requested, grumbling the entire time about how ridiculous it looked. His attention was diverted a second later when he felt someone tugging at his wings.
“So, uh, how do these work?”
“They’re wings. Surely you know how wings work.”
“They were moving while you were busy putting your number on...how’d you do that?”
“They just do that now and then. I can’t control that.” Life, he told himself. Put up with it, and you’ll have your life again...just a little bit longer.
Then he felt the uneven joint connecting his back and the wing being poked and snarled. “Could you not do that?”
“Wow, it’s warm and everything. Dude, good job on the realism. At least for that part. What’d you make them out of? Probably the same thing as the crest...though you got that way wrong.”
“Exactly what did I get it ‘way wrong’?” It would be so much easier if he could just...admit who he was, but judging from Candy’s reaction it probably wouldn’t do much good. Everyone would just think that he was playing around or being ‘in character.’
“It’s way too high. I mean aside from being wrong, as tall as you are you’re going to run into stuff, too. It shouldn’t be going straight up, either.”
“What else have I gotten wrong?” Honestly at this point he was just having his own variety of fun. Just how many misconceptions about him had there been? How could their idea, their vision of him, be so wrong?
“Well, your...nails, for one. He never had freakin’ claws like that,” the guy was scratching his head and studying Cell carefully. “And your eyes, they’re red. I mean, his eyes are supposed to be pink.”
Pink? Who the hell thought his eyes should be--? What yahoos decided that his lovely crimson shaded eyes were supposed to be pink?
“Well, they’re natural,” Cell said, stepping away from the gawker, “Stop touching my wings.”
“Fine, fine. Don’t blame me when you lose horribly, though.”
After another few minutes of being bothered about one thing or another, and growing ever more ticked off, another staff member looked backstage.
“Alright, guys,” he said, “The first round’s going to go like this. You’ll all walk out in groups of ten, and they’ll start eliminating you based on appearance. If you hear your number, you didn’t make the cut.”
Cell just shook his head.
The man seemed to look down at a clipboard. “Looks like there’s about fifty of you, so we’ll go in five groups of ten. So, one through ten, you’re up first.”
Ten of them went out. Two came back ROUGHLY ten minutes later.
“Eleven through twenty!”
The next group went, and only three returned.
“Twenty-one through thirty!”
First in line. Of course. He smirked, and headed out onto the stage. It felt ridiculous, but he repeated to himself--he
Cell. How could this possibly go awry?
The line of five judges seemed to study him quite intensely for a bit before looking to the next contestant. After a little talk amongst themselves (“21 was good but took too many creative liberties”? What kind of logic was that?), they eliminated 22, 24, 25, 27, 28, and 30.
After another two rounds, the number of contestants had been narrowed to a small total of 12, and he was feeling more than a little self-assured. Sure, they made comments about how he’d got things wrong, but--
“Alright, guys. Three of you will make the cut here, basically what they’re going to do is ask you to get really in character. So...good luck. Hope you memorized your speeches.”
Speeches?
Cell’s confusion was soon dispelled. When the twelve of them were lead onstage once again, one of the judges spoke up.
“Alright, you’ve all done very well so far. Now...putting on your best face, give us your Cell spiel.”
The first man took a deep breath before speaking into the microphone he was handed.
“All I wanted was to live in peace.”
What.
“Takes a lot to do that, with what you’d call normal humans. You know what they did? They chased me. Tried to kill me.”
Well he couldn’t say that humans hadn’t tried to kill him, but still--
“I didn’t do anything to any of them until they made me. And you know what? I finally lost it. I finally quit trying. If they wanted a monster, I’d give them one.”
Cell was...well, he was angry, but it wasn’t by any stretch the most offended he’d been all day. If the rest of them picked equally stupid things, though…
The second one started off, “It’s not really my fault, you know. I don’t exactly
to kill people. But that’s how I was made! That’s all I ever heard growing up! ‘You’re very strong, it’s your duty to purge the people’ and all kinds of horrible things like that. It--”
Cell just tried not to listen to the rest of it. That one...was also
true. He’d kind of been brought up to it...but that was only at first, before he’d learned to love the killing and whatnot.
The third man started, “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, really, I’m just trying to bring some awareness to some of the ills of the world. Do you know how many people go to bed hungry--”
He stopped listening after that. He was so close to having his life back, could practically taste it in fact, and he wasn’t about to let some imitators push him over the edge and into a killing spree. No. He was capable of containing it just a little bit longer.
“...and that was a beautiful one, lot of points there, I’m sure. Number 21, you’re up next!”
Well, at least he’d have a chance to explain where everyone else was going wrong.
“I just like killing people. Nothing is better than seeing the fear in their eyes, hearing the pleas for mercy, and watching all hope fade from their faces as they realize that the end of their miserable lives is at hand.”
“That’s a bit…” one judge started, trailing off with a bit of a sick look on his face.
“Dark,” said another.
“Yes, I don’t think we’re quite looking for something so violent.”
“I’m not done yet,” Cell said, stepping forward, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, “They’re disgusting, all of them, and they all deserve a slow and agonizing death.”
“Like I said, not so violent. We’re very much appreciative that you went to such lengths, but I think that’s a little more than we were expecting. You’re out.”
Out.
He was the real Cell, and they were going to boot him out of this just for--
“I have HAD IT WITH YOU IDIOTS!” Cell finally just--well, he wouldn’t say exploded, but his aura had flared, and half the guys on stage had fallen over. “YOU’RE ALL LUCKY TO BE ALIVE AFTER THE SLANDER I’VE HEARD TODAY!”
He seethed for a second before taking off, stopping about fifty feet up and charging a ki beam.
“Oh my GOD, is he actually flying?!”
“What is that?”
“He’s going to destroy the stage!”
“Holy shit, it really IS CELL!”
“It’s just a--”
FOOSH.
The stage exploded backwards, and Cell was a bit pleased (for once) to find that no one appeared to be injured, let alone dying--he could see the other costumers off to one side, completely unharmed.
“That’s a strike, you ass,” Baba’s voice floated through his head, “Blowing up a stage like that. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“I still have one more strike to go, do you not think I can manage to avoid it?” Two strikes, to two points. This was going to be easy.
“Why don’t you enter the world martial arts tournament tomorrow?”
“What’s the catch?”
“You can win every match, non-lethally of course...until the final one. That one, you have to lose.”
“Fine. I can do that.”
As he flew away, the crowd below was already chattering about the display and the violent outburst, there was one person not joining in.
“So...so that wasn’t a costume after all....”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At least sleeping wasn’t a problem.
After Cell woke up the next day, he headed straight for the tournament, utterly determined to make it through. They weren’t going to keep him away from his life, not for anything or anyone. No matter what they said, he wasn’t going to crack.
They’d called him Cell, at least, despite assuming he was in costume like the others. The other fighters had accepted it like question, though all of them seemed to be amused at something they wouldn’t tell him about. No doubt laughing at some aspect of his ‘disguise’ that was assumed to be wrong in some way or another. And, strangely, despite the fact that he easily bested each fighter who came before him, they all seemed to keep their humor about it. They were a bit salty, but seemed to content themselves with the fact that he was simply better.
How right they were.
It wasn’t until he stepped into the ring in what was to be the final match that he really understood.
Baba had set him up.
“Well, well, somebody what fancies themselves good at dressing up! Ha!”
Hercule.
He had to lose to Hercule.
“Try not to be too sore about losing. Guys that look like you have a bad track record against guys that look like me!”
This was complete and total nonsense.
This was just undignified.
So he had to make a fool of himself to live? Sighing, Cell realized he wouldn’t be the first...or last, more than likely.
He took a deep breath as Hercule started doing that same stupid hand-waving posturing that he’d done the first go round, and took a fighting stance of his own. A few punches. He’d get in a few punches, at least. Maybe knock a tooth loose, or break Hercule’s nose, just...just something.
“Nothing to say, huh? Just want to get the fight over with, do you?”
“Something like that,” Cell replied evenly.
“Well, don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure not to rough you up too bad.” Hercule smirked. “I’ll even let you make the first move!”
He dashed forward and swung badly, missing his opponent by quite a bit. It was insane, how hard it was to intentionally be incompetent!
Hercule laughed and struck at his jaw--
--Cell sent himself flying back, but stopped just before he went over the edge of the ring.
“Hey, you got up. Not bad, not bad…”
“I don’t plan on making this easy for you.”
“You just try as hard as you can, and I’ll try as hard as I can...not to leave you in pieces, heheh.”
What a buffoon. What an absolute--life, Cell thought. He was doing this to come back. He could make it through one fight to do that.
All the same, that smug look on Hercule’s face…
He rushed forward and took the next punch, as well as the one after that. To most the pained grunts would sound forced, but they seemed to satisfy Hercule.
Cell let himself be beaten to the edge of the ring, and swung weakly at Hercule, who stumbled backwards.
“Hey, you can hit! Not bad,” was the reply, “Too little too late, though.”
Hercule ran forward, leapt, and kicked--
--the blow his Cell right in the chest, and he fell back onto the grass below.
“And the winner is--Hercule!”
Cell didn’t care.
He could almost hear Baba and Yemma arguing and blaming each other, but either way, it didn’t matter.
This hadn’t just been a gamble. There’d been a contract involved.
Oh, the things he could do, the people he could now once more plot against. The revenge he could exact.
Above all, however, was the desire to avoid the hell that he had been sentenced to.
Somebody, somewhere, would undoubtedly pay for what had just happened, but Cell was certain of one thing--it wasn’t going to be him.
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