Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Action Hank]

A large video monitor overlooks a busy city square.

On the screen a man in a black hood. Behind him is a really cheesy graphic of fire and explosions. The man is chanting something and it is mostly intelligible. Now and then he is clearly talking about some world-ending thing, or death, or perhaps he is talking about the latest Viscerape album.

The screen on the TV changes and we see a blonde-haired man in a business suit. His face is perfect. His attire and mannerism is impeccable. This man is the epitome of good taste.

"Good evening," the man says. "I know it has been a while since I've last sent out one of my weekly message, but Hell has become a busy place in the last few years. So many sinners, so little time."

A long cigarette seems to appear out of nowhere in the man's lips, and now he is holding a glass of wine and sitting back a fireplace in a smoking jacket. The transition should be unnatural, but it isn't. He smiles and the smile is like a personal secret that he only shares with you and no one else.

"Given the overpopulation of rapists and murders and thugs, and my growing boredom with the lot of you. . ." now the man is looking straight into the camera, his smile is hypnotic. "I think it is time for a little sport."

Now we see that the man is standing on a fire-singed bluff overlooking an immense stadium constructed from bones and skulls and smooth black volcanic rock. Blood waterfalls pour out from several openings around the building, feeding into a blood moat.

"Behold the HELLADIUM!" There are small explosions around the stadium that at first glance appear to be fireworks, but are actually bloated bodies exploding in the air all around, raining down crimson. "I am proud to announce . . . A MATCH MADE IN HELL!"

Lucifer smiles and sips his wine.

In the city square---a nightmarish version of Times Square filled with collapsing burning buildings and hawkers selling torn limbs, hookers selling venereal diseases, marquees announcing such musicals as "Les Miserables II: The Raping of Javier" and "Porgy and Beelzebub" the damned cheer.

[Spamdini]

The return of Jack "Jim Beam" Daniels?!
_________________

[Action Hank]

Can't. His soul was obliterated.

[Yogurtman]

Hard'Rok is hanging out in Hell.

[Spamdini]

Yeah, but he's the type of guy who'd totally be down with that.
_________________

[Action Hank]

Lucifer has called for an exhibition of violence and blood at the Helladium, a state-of-the-art colosseum located in the center of Hell's 7th circle. Among the billions of deviant souls inhabiting Hell, only a select few will be able to compete. What their prize is, beyond the glory of victory as greatest among the damned, is unknown. . .


Part One: The Competitors
----------------------------------

He is smaller than most of the other demons. A lanky thing of average height. He wears a gray tweed suit and had thick horn-rimmed glasses which smolder comfortably at the end of his nose. He carries a briefcase and a notepad wherever he goes, and his breast pocket is filled with a number of pens and pencils. Since this is hell, the pens are filled with blood and the pencils are made from fingers stuffed with charred corpses. He is Ratio of Abyssus. He is Hell's Accountant. And now, he has been tasked with an important job. For a moment he pauses at the edge of a pit which casts up an eerie red glow mixed with rancid yellow smoke, and he looks down and clears his throat.

"Excuse me," he calls into the pit. His voice is still demon deep, but more nasal than the others. "I have come for---" he opens his notebook and turns a few pages, flummoxed that he didn't have it ready.

It isn't a particularly large pit, not by Hell's standards. Large enough to hold about two thousand dead babies---the standard unit of measuring volume in Hell. Or large enough to hold the dozen large, grotesque bodies which are stumbling around a central pool of bubbling magma. There is a rocky spire in the center of the pit, and a man has been split upon it so that the point has gone up his ass and out of his mouth. He watches the stumbling masses gurgling on the rock before his eyes raise up to the accountant, who is still sifting through his papers. His view is blocked when a massive fist covered in festering boils and razor-sharp bone flakes smashes into his face.

"Ah, here it is," Ratio says, pointing his red finger at a name pressed in blood ink on the human-skin paper. "Bob." He looks back into the pit and over the rim of his glasses. "Is there a Bob here?"

One of the bloated monsters stops defecating in a corner for a moment and grunts in response.

"Good. Bob, I am pleased to announce that you have been summoned to the Helladium for a Match Made in Hell preliminary event, by our glorious lord and ruler and anti-god, Lucifer." Ratio speaks in a rather monotone emotionless droll.

Bob, the defecating monster growls approvingly.

"This is only the preliminary, mind you. If you pass, you can be one of the eight main event fighters. There, beneath the splendid," he looks close at the sheet of paper he is reading from, "and majestic being of the manifest chaos. . . ugh. . . Lucifer's visage, you can battle for title as Champion of Hell."

Bob steps forward and the light of the magma illuminates his bulbous head, revealing him to be a giant hairy baby. The other freakish beings within the pit shriek and growl in congratulations.

"You have been granted permission to leave this pit and are expected at the Helladium by the end of the working day if you plan to participate. You will need this."

Ratio pulls a certificate out of his briefcase and leaves it at the edge of the pit. "You will need to show this at the gates. Congratulations, and good luck."

Ratio makes a careful check in his notebook, and then sighs to himself as he looks over the next name on the list. He turns away from the pit and starts walking towards a mountain made of rotting vaginas tended to by corrupt Japanese business men.

"This next one won't be easy," he mutters to himself. "And of course, he's a must-show." The Accountant of Hell grumbles to himself a few more times, cursing Lucifer for giving him this stupid job. He's much rather be in the Fire Halls, counting the incoming souls. He was already behind in his normal work as it was. What was the whole point of this stupid tournament, he wondered. Then he adjusted his glasses and continued on his way. In the distance, a castle made out of bones and glass rises from a dark plane. Ratio walks towards it, briefcase and notebook in hand.

[Action Hank]

Ratio adjusts his horn-rimmed classes before stepping up to the large black iron door that is coated in a light film of random rotting putrescence. It had been a longer walk to the castle door than he had thought, and now all he could think about was soaking his feet in some boiling sulfur. But now was work, later he could relax. Demons may be evil, but they are lawfully so, and must follow their codes, as twisted and terrible as they may appear. Or as surprisingly droll.

There were a pair of large knockers constructed out of some giant knockers (boobs, don't ask), gristle and blood dripping from the end where it had been attached to the door. Hell's Accountant found that a steal ball had been inserted like some sick variation of a silicone boob job. He lifted the squishy heavy tit and let it clunk against the door. Someone screamed in pain.

Ratio leaned closer and noticed now that the knockers weren't attached to the door, rather, they had been stuffed through two holes in the metal. It was a living door knocker. He grinned at the ingenuity, but then regained his composure and held his briefcase close as the door groaned and clanked and lurched open.

A small, hairless nude man stood in the doorway. He had lazy pink eyes and his cheeks drooped like they were jowels. He sighed rather than spoke.

"Hellooo, may I be of service?" the little hairless nude man said.

"I am here to see your master," Ratio said, opening up his briefcase and pulling out a sheet of paper. He handed it to the little man, who didn't take it but rather walked up and rubbed his face against it.

"Yes, excellent," the little naked man said. "Come in. I shall get the maaaaster."

[Action Hank]

(Note: gonna try to keep tenses in line!)

On a throne of solidified blood sat a massive bulging blue-skinned demon wearing nothing but a pair of bright yellow speedos. He was hairless (save a thick glowing blue beard), and his skin was smooth and bulges solid, like polished stone. He was clutching the arms of the throne, which was slightly too small for his massive frame, gritting his teeth as Ratio entered the throne room. The gelatinous throne sagged.

The throne room was tall and large, but empty save the throne. The little naked man waddled over to a corner and stood quietly.

"Prince Mammon of iniquity, I am pleased to announce that you have been summoned to the Helladium for a Match Made in Hell preliminary event, by our glorious lord and ruler and anti-god, Lucifer."

Mammon closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose as Ratio read on the rest of the proclamation. When the Accountant of Hell was finished, Mammon's eyes opened and within them seethed immense anger.

"Ha," Mammon said, his voice strong and cutting, like sharpened axe-heads. "Lucifer summons me to fight in his little sideshow? Me? One of the Seven Princes? What pomposity!"

Ratio adjusted his glasses and double-checks the paperwork, as if the question was rhetorical.

"Does he truly believe that I would lower myself to such a level? What need I with the title of Champion of Hell. You can tell that pretty-boy to eat his mother's cunt. Oh, yes, he doesn't have a mother, does he."

Ratio did not reply, nor was he surprised at Mammon's response. He only stood and listened to Mammon's abusive outcries.

Mammon leaned forward and suddenly spoke in a quiet simmering tone.

"He wasn't always ruler of Hell, you know. He didn't make this place. He didn't create us demons. Just because he murdered God doesn't make him king shit. You can tell him that I . . . gracefully decline."

Ratio cleared his throat and pulled out a piece of paper from his briefcase.

[Spamdini]

Given the amount of FTUW wrestlers who must be in Hell, this tournament could have great potential. Will you be bringing back any all-stars?
_________________

[Action Hank]

You will have to wait and see, though it may take more time for me to get through this story than I originally planned (for a variety of reasons).

[Action Hank]

"According to contract between the undersigned parties, one Prince Mammon of Iniquity, hereby referred to as the Supplicant, and one Lucifer the Fallen, hereby referred to as the Overlord, one Supplicant must comply with the demands and wishes of the Overlord in perpetuity unless Overlord renounces such claims, is soul obliterated, or replaced. In return, the Supplicant remains keeper of the Fifth Circle of cheats, liars, chronic masturbators, leeches, gamblers, philanderers, and covetors; and is free to designate and deign new laws and rules within the confines of the Fifth Circle when no rule or law exists within the Statute of Hell (SOH). If the Supplicant fails to comply with any reasonable demand or wish of the Overlord (exceptions listed in SOH Section 8.3.11), Overlord reserves all right to remove Supplicant of title and duty."

Ratio finished reading and stepped forward to hand the paper to Mammon, but the thick blue demon closed his eyes, sighed, and waved Ratio's offer away. A thick vein bulged on his forehead. He opened his eyes, which burned red, smoke literally rising from the edges.

"Are there any. . . exceptions. . .to my serving? Can I send someone in my place, for example?"

Ratio placed a finger against his glasses in deep thought for a moment, as he ruminated over the rules and laws of the Statutes, contracts, and other legal manifests that governed Hell. Demons had to be so lawfully evil sometimes, that it gave him headaches keeping everything in line. But he was good at these things.

He also understood that Lucifer wanted Mammon, in person, to fight at the match. He didn't know why Lucifer desired this, but on the list of combatants Ratio was to invite to the match, five had pentagrams placed next to them, meaning that these were must-show fighters. And if they did not show---well, Ratio didn't want to think about what Lucifer might do to the Accountant, let alone those that refused his demands. Ratio must serve the papers, so at least he could protect himself with law.

The Accountant had heard stories of Mammon's obstinance before, how he was one of the Old Ones---denizens of Hell before God had cast Lucifer down there with his dying curse, and thus felt entitled to some degree of independence and autonomy. That was why they had the best contracts out of all the demons. Ratio was not so lucky. And he had to be honest in regard to the law. The consequences of lying or withholding such information would mean the loss of his title, job, and existence.

"You may only send an alternate if you can prove, in person, to Lucifer, that you are unfit to fight or otherwise contractually obligated at the time of A Match Made in Hell."

Mammon closed his eyes again as he thought deeply. A thin smile formed at the edge of his thick lips as he spoke:

"Tell Lucifer that I will oblige the contract."

[Action Hank]

Ratio sipped some water from his canteen. Even a demon can get parched, especially on the vast Helluvian plain where every molecule of water seemed driven out from intense heat of constant fire. Nothing else was moving along the plain, not even the smallest soul. Ratio was alone.

He approached a small heap, a small dust pile among more dust, and he stopped. Ratio opened his canteen again, and allowed water to pour out onto the pile. It took shape. Form from the dust. A man. Or a man-like thing. It was hard to make out what it was, exactly, as it wasn't fully hydrated. But it had lips and it talked in a whispered scratch.

"Vengeance," it said.


-----

In a dark corner of Hell, where flames were black and absorbed heat rather than generated, stood a strange monolith made as from obsidian. Standing on the monolith, wrapped in black robes, stood a hulk of a man. A cold breeze ruffled up the robes and there was a crash as if thousands of skulls were being crushed at once somewhere in the distance.

Ratio adjusted his glasses. He was having a hard time reading from his papers because of the darkness. He had tried creating some fire, but he could only produce the black, darkening, cold variety that existed around them. So he read mostly from memory. Then finished.

The hulk did not turn his attention to Ratio, but his dark shadow nodded, and so there was an agreement.

----

Ratio walked away from the small hut, and wiped some sweat from his brow. Even though he was a demon, he had never had such an experience. It wasn't exactly what he saw that made him so anxious and nervous and. . .frightened. . . What a strange energy. The air had felt so heavy. So intense. But he had done his job. He wouldn't have to go back there again.

He looked down at his list. Most of the names had been crossed off. Only four remained. Soon, he would be finished. Soon he could return to his small office filled with its demonic file cabinets. He could stand around the poison cooler and gossip with the other demons. Normal things.

Normal things.

He turned back and looked once more at the hut. For the first time he thought about what he was doing. For the first time he wondered about Lucifer's goals. He shuddered, then cleared his mind and continued at his task. Why question anything? He was only an accountant.

[Action Hank]

As Ratio continues his task, let's take a moment to break from the "action" and get a better understanding of the cosmology of Hell, as you will.

Dante described it as a series of descending levels, each assigned to specific sins and sinners, where at the bottom sat a frozen lake containing Satan. Dante understood the concepts of punishment and sin, but Inferno is a piece of fiction. Other authors, from Milton to Gaiman, have offered their take, but all were influenced by Dante, who in turn, had been influenced by Christian demon cosmology, which is derived from the Roman mythological Hades.

But Hell is less a physical, confining place (and yes, there are lakes of fire, demons, sinners being tortured, hierarchies of devils and demonology, cities of wicked and the damned), but it is also a metaphysical plane that reacts to its denizen souls. It shapes itself around their will, their thoughts, their desires and fears. And one soul is more powerful and corrupting than the rest. If Lucifer were a jolly soul, than Hell might have been a paradise. But he was, vengeful, vindictive, narcissistic, selfish, and above all else, angry. When he murdered God and was flung into the abyss in God's dying act, his vitriol shattered the face of Hell like a planet-sized meteor crashing into the Earth.

Hell is endless. There are no boundaries, for when one reaches a boundary, Hell will extend itself further. But it exists outside of our universe. It is a universe to itself. And Lucifer's hate and anger has thus far been proven equally endless. Though he has learned to sublimate his anger into the landscape while remaining rather calm, cool, collective, corrupt---yes---but in a disarming way, there remains deep and hidden within him an eternal flame.

There are valleys of fire and flame, seas of acid and boiling blood, forests composed of rotting intestines and feces, giants roam shallow pits wielding bleach-coated razor blades-encrusted chainsaw-mounted hedge-trimmers, and yes, there is even a place where souls are tied to rocks and have maggots shoved up their assholes that eat their ways upwards and outwards. But there are also silent stony hillsides and desolate canyons where lone souls hide in caves or eek out eternity in crumbling shanties. There are glorious, shining cities of neon and glass. And even villages and towns where if you didn't look out to the fires or smell the brimstone and sulfur, you would never know that you're in Hell.

Each part of this land is ruled, directly or remotely, by dukes and princes, who are in turn vassals to the Central Authority under Lucifer. There are currently seven Princes and thirteen Dukes. At times there have been more or less. Princes are older and more powerful, and rule for life. They were created when Hell was created, and are as much a part of it as the fire and stone. Dukes are replaced on a schedule of several million years, and are chosen from among the more recent souls. It was a power-sharing structure developed after countless civil wars among the demon-folk. As a result, Princes liken themselves to medieval nobility, and expect certain perks and levels of respect. Dukes act more like politicians.

The Central Authority was only formed thirty million years ago, and has rapidly enlarged since then into a complicated and confusing bureaucracy (imagine the bureaucracy from Futurama, then intensify it by a power of ten). Ratio was a member of the Circle of Accountants, one of the most prestigious and oldest orders within the Central Authority. Lucifer liked to use the Circle of Accountants as his own personal legal hit squad, as they understood the laws (not only were they CAH (Certified Accountants of Hell), but trained attorneys as well) and numbers like no other order (save the elite Cult of the Advocate). It was one of the easier, less direct ways of keeping his tight grip on his rule. Because at the very top of the Central Authority sat Lucifer, alone. Though years of increasingly byzantine law and red tape had begun to nibble away at his power, he could always just liquidate the Authority on a whim.

Lucifer kept his plans to himself. He had no inner counsel or advisers. His ministers served at his pleasure. They acted as his mouth and arm, not his brain. So no one other than Lucifer himself knew what the Match Made in Hell was all about, or if there was something more to it than a simple entertaining diversion to fill the endless eternity of suffering.

Only Lucifer knew its true purpose.