Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Seru]

- It is with great reluctance that I keep this journal, for the secrecy of my mission is of the utmost importance. Should this knowledge be made public a mass panic would ensue, so whomever stumbles upon this lengthy tome please disregard all you have seen. However, because of the game I am attempting to quarry and the risk to my life, there must be some record of my battle with the damned. Therefore I have decided to chronicle my hunt for the most sinister of nocturnal prey; the cunning nosferatu. Since the Apocalypse, speculation has run rampant that a recent slew of midnight slayings is due in part to this ancient evil. I will soon leave my hometown of Belmondo, located directly in the heart of Forces, in search of these sinister beasts. For I am Solar Thorax, the greatest living vampire hunter.

- Although I've learned much from the novels of the late, great Anne Rice, they're taught me nothing about locating vampires. According to Rice, there's a correlation between homosexuals and night stalkers, so I've made the rounds at bars across the country in search of these vein draining demons. Unfortunately with my delicate features the proprietors of these establishments misconstrued my intentions. Their definition of vein draining is vastly different from my own. Still, these queer lotharios of easy virtue have become a goldmine of information and I'll continue to tap them until I'm limp from exhaustion. I vow to keep a solemn watch for those vicious bloodsuckers in every dingy bathroom stall and poorly lit alleyway across New America. My next destination is Gay Man's Land.

- Gay Man's Land has proven to be a dead end. With a black stain on my heart and a chapped penis in my pants, I return to my hometown to rethink my strategy.

- Turns out there was a festering den of iniquity called Castlevania about a mile down the road from my hometown of Belmondo. I've also been told its master is an ancient vampire by the the name of Dracula. It sounds promising so I will investigate on the morrow.

Excerpts from the journal of vampire hunter Solar Thorax, excavated from the ruins of Castlevania in 2136.

[Rice]

Did somebody say rice?

[Vinny]

Man, I sure hope this doesn't involve reverse time travel.

[Seru]

Time travel isn't my thing.

Though it's still going to be ridiculous and convoluted, so stay tuned!

[Seru]

- As I write this I'm currently imprisoned in the bowels of this foul castle. I only have my own cunning to blame because the person that utterly bested me was myself. The events that lead to my capture are difficult to recount. I will do my best to cover them in the most stringent detail.

- I entered the castle and killed some zombies. Then some skeletons. Then some mermen. Then some medusa heads. Then I found a knife in a candlestick.

- A few hours later I entered the castle keep, the lair of my auspicious host. With the waning moon to guide me I quickly dashed up a flight of endless stairs and burst into the throne room, though I was met with an empty chair and an even emptier wine glass. Suddenly something dashed over my head, some form of levitating skeleton in a fluttering robe. This floating terror let out a terrifying cackle that caused my innards to knot. Brandishing a monstrous scythe, this unknown phantom stretched out his fleshless finger in my direction and asked me my purpose. I plainly told him that I'm the finest vampire hunter to ever grace this earth and he should direct me toward this so called Lord of Chaos. Truth be told I had never heard of this Dracula character. When one speaks of European madmen I automatically think of Adolf Hitler crushing the Jews in his steam powered Robo-Suit or Moloch Arschloch dousing the entire population of Germany in molten gold. This reaper, who called himself "Death", explained to me that the Apocalypse had caused the castle to prematurely resurrect in New America without a master. No worthy candidates had stepped forward so Castlevania was moored in the material realm until it had a new owner. Then with another hideous cackle he said the vampire Dracula no longer existed. Forlorned, I decided destroying the castle would have to suffice. After all, zombies and skeletons are just as bad. Plus this whole set of circumstances seemed to be bordering on the verge of awful fan-fiction. A conclusion was necessary.

- Death was unimpressed with my declaration and a battle ensued. The phantasmal creature was quickly worn down by my graceful attacks and soon resorted to all forms of ancient cowardice and trickery, chief among them was a well placed trapdoor which caused this stalwart vampire hunter to plummet into an unending sea of blackness. I awoke to find myself in a candlelit chamber and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness a great stone sculpture began to take form. The sculpture eventually split in two and opened to reveal an enormous mirror. And as I admired my own reflection the glass itself came to life! Standing before me was the most beautiful and horrifying sight I've ever been witness to. Myself. Death appeared once again to explain my situation.

"Your time on this earth is at an end, for today you face this castle's most odious creation! A being of pure concentrated devilry! BEHOLD, DOPPELGANGER 316!"

I could barely say a single word before my fiendish duplicate did the most unusual thing. It kicked me in the stomach, turned it's back to me, grabbed me by the head then quickly sat down, forcing my chin and neck to quickly crash into his unnatural yet well defined shoulder. Stunned, I lurched backward, my body losing all sensation. The last thing I remember was the doppelganger standing over me, flailing his neck and shoving both of his middle fingers into my face. I awoke in my cell hours later, my body still numb from this unusual attack. And I sit here still, biding my time.

Excerpts from the journal of vampire hunter Solar Thorax, excavated from the ruins of Castlevania in 2136.

[Mautty]

This is pretty great!

[Clotho]

Seru has a very creative style of writing.

The animation cuts on the fight scenes will not do, tho!

[Seru]

There's a reason for that.

There's always a reason.

[Seru]

The unfortunate life of Doppelganger 316

The information contained in this report about the subject's early life is awaiting confirmation. All data about this subject was gleaned from interviews with Agent Solar Thorax regarding his incarceration in Zone 6 (Castlevania).

Doppelganger 316 began it's life as a simple copy of Agent Solar Thorax and surprisingly defeated our top vampire hunter in under a minute. Research into the occult of professional wrestling suggests the number 316 endowed the subject with an unnatural talent for hand to hand combat. Like most Zone 6 doppelgangers, the subject was born from a marriage of the black arts and Aztec hocus pocusery. This particular subject was created from a mirror encased in a carving of the Aztec moon goddess Coyolxauhqui. The subject's survival shocked the Zone 6 denizens since no previous doppelganger had ever bested it's original.

Early life proved difficult for the subject. Suffering from severely limited mental faculties and a crippling personality crisis, the subject spent most of it's time claiming to be the original Solar Thorax and maiming anything within reach. This includes several of our own soldiers that were dispatched to retrieve Agent Thorax. Agent Thorax claims this behaviour persisted until the subject met it's original face to face, at which point the subject became irate and locked itself away in the castle's library. Several months passed before the subject emerged, now completely aware of the secrets behind it's origin and, according to Agent Thorax, emotionless yet eloquent. The subject claimed it was created to be an antithesis of Agent Thorax, a creature of balance, an "inverse being." The subject then dubbed itself Lunar Plexus and left Agent Thorax to ponder his fate.

Several months passed before the subject again made contact with Agent Thorax, this time appearing vastly different. No longer a living mirror of our agent, Lunar Plexus explained that the castle's denizens had spent several thousand hours augmenting the subject's body, creating a suitable shell to "appease fate". The subject was now nearly double Agent Thorax's height, twice Agent Thorax's weight and free from the burden of Agent Thorax's effeminate facial features. The subject claimed that since Agent Thorax's mission was to wipe out the scourge of humanity, fate dictates that Lunar Plexus is bound to do the opposite. This was to be the last contact between the subject and our agent. Since this ominous declaration there have been a number of vicious slayings in the towns bordering Castlevania. All victims had a sun carved into their chest and a moon carved into their stomach.

Due to the subject's relationship with one of our agents and the nature of it's origins, it is my recommendation that we pursue Lunar Plexus with our full strength. Because it's mental prowess and physical strength are unknown, Lunar Plexus should be considered a significant threat.

RISK RATING - A

Thank you for your time Your Holiness,

-Cardinal Infinite Leper

A report to the Neo-Pope of Vatican XX.

[Action Hank]

Someone's been reading Dune?

[Seru]

Someone barely knows Dune exists.

Blame it on ghosts.

[Action Hank]

okay!

[Seru]

If I'm going to rip something off I'll come out and say I'm ripping something off.

Though I never mentioned that Impious the Prick was originally based off of Voldo.

I substituted leather pants for the bondage gear, though.

[Seru]

My final Lunar Plexus promo will include a trip to the moon on the Big Whale.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Sounds like a winner.

[Seru]

Arkard is Drakra spelled backwards

For the town of Arkard a descent into night was always inexorably followed by a descent into madness. It was a story that was all too common in New America. The toll from the FTUW Apocalypse had proven too great, the government collapsed and the lawless streets became a haven for every deviant and delinquent that managed to survive the fabled death race. Gangs of youths prowled the night, pillaging, raping, murdering everything with the hint of a pulse. Arkard was currently entrenched in a full scale gang war. The Uber Arschlochs were attempting to expand their territory into the Masterson Skullfuckers' neighbourhood. For weeks the citizens of Arkard were serenaded with the endless sound of gunfire and screams, the insanity only subsiding with the rising sun. Still, the corpses that choked the streets told the tale. However, the particular tale I'm about to tell took place one week ago. I don't feel like I'm qualified to tell it but it would be a disservice to the deceased if I kept it to myself. May they rot in peace.

Saturdays were always the worst for the citizens of Arkard. It might have been out of habit but the Arschloch's always seemed to enjoy themselves more on weekends. I had joined them a month prior and had been officially promoted from rape doll to cock sucker. Unlike other girls I managed to live through phase one so they congratulated me by giving my pussy a rest for a few weeks. And at least when they slapped me now there was a modicum of respect. That night our leader seemed slightly more nervous than usual. What it would take to make a man like him nervous I'll never know. Or so I thought. I caught a few snippets from hurried whispers between him and his underlings and it sounded like the Masterson Skullfuckers had been completely wiped out earlier in the day. The only evidence that they ever existed were a couple hundred bloated corpses lying in the streets. It sounded like good news to me but everybody remained on edge. Then the second in command burst through the door, his face awash in panic.

"WE'RE THE ONLY ONES LEFT," he screamed, his cowardice overshadowing his usual false bravado. (I always took him for a chicken. He forced me to wear a blindfold when he fucked me.) The boss, who we all called Slogra, immediately told the Arschlochs to gather their weapons. Those were the last words he would ever utter. Seconds later a massive hand materialized from the shadows and engulfed his head. I've never heard a skull collapse before. I've heard every conceivable bone break but never the skull. It sounded like a nut cracking. Brains, bone and skin leaked out between the man's fingers, what was left of Slogra fell limp to the floor. Certainly not the first time I've seen him fall limp, but I was glad it would be the last. Gaibon, Slogra's number two, began whipping the man with a bike chain. I thought he was smacking him right in the face until the guy stepped forward and I saw Gaibon was barely hitting him below the chest. He grabbed Gaibon by the throat and, seemingly unaware of his own strength, broke Gaibon's neck. Unperturbed the man heaved Gaibon's body into the air and slammed it into the ground with devastating force. I've also heard a human hit the pavement from ten stories up, the rending slap of flesh meeting an immovable object. This was a thousand time worse. What followed can only be described and an internecion orgy. The Arschlochs attempted to bum rush Slogra and Gaibon's killer but he simply cut them down with a flurry of unusual attacks. At one point he grabbed a man by the legs, tucked the squealing coward's head between his giant feet, then leaned back until he bent the Arschloch's body into a C. The strain finally took its toll and his spine snapped, then the mystery man used the body to beat a few more of his attackers to death. It seemed to go on for hours though it only lasted 15 minutes. Finally the man grabbed the last remaining Arschloch by the head as he was scrambling for the door. He put the man in a rather odd position and performed a maneuver I can't quite describe. Death was instantaneous but judging by that final scream the pain must have felt like it would last a lifetime. Then it was just him and me. And I'm not ashamed to say I pissed myself.

I finally got my first decent look at him as he slowly walked toward me, chest heaving like some uncaged animal. He was nine feet tall if he was an inch, his head was practically scrapping the ceiling of the abandoned school the Arschlochs called home. His face was deceptively serious, a never changing expression you would expect to find on a statue. It looked like he had tried to change the structure of his face by shattering the bones and shaping it like putty. The results weren't half bad, though some might be put off by the unnatural whiteness of his skin. (Not me, it kind of turned me on.) His eyes were white as well, a single black pupil swimming in a sea of cream. His hair was medium length, slicked back with sweat. It was white on top and black on the sides, which I would have admired if I wasn't completely terrified. His clothing was just as unusual. I don't know where he came from but his body was draped in various bits of armour. His torso was encased in metal molded to resemble a muscular body. (I doubt he need it.) He had two huge metal shoulder pads with some type of animal skin dangling from the edges. In the centre of each was a massive spike carved from animal bone. He had a black bracer on each forearm and they were lined with white fur. He also boldly wore a pair of white leather pants and knee high metal boots that curved at the toe. As strange as he looked, you couldn't say he wasn't colour coordinated because he only wore black and white. Then he spoke, snapping me back to reality. His voice was almost melodious, otherworldly, it echoed in my head and, well, it got me a little wet.

"And what is your name young lady?"

It was almost cordial. I choked on my words and managed to squeak out a response.

"Hyle."

He looked me up and down, though it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

"It seems fortune doesn't favour you tonight. That must be distressing."

"I..."

And that's all I could say. Despite this, he seemed pleased with my reaction.

"For someone so fearful of death, you keep rather odd company."

It was a cruel jape, then I noticed the blood pooling around me. I guess it was a little funny. Still, I wasn't about to explain to him the benefits of belonging to a gang. It was practically a necessity in Arkard. A hundred cocks in my mouth was worth another day of life. I didn't expect somebody like him to understand. My only response was tears. He seemed less pleased by this.

"Boo hoo hoo. Reduced to tears after four sentences? I must be losing my touch."

He leaned down toward me, quite a feat for a man his size, and licked the tears off my face.

"Terror always reinvigorates me. Be it my own or from another. Though nothing terrifies me now. I could simply break down and cry."

I thought he was joking and laughed a little to keep him happy. I stopped when he shot me a withering look. Then he delicately ran a single finger down my cheek and held the tip of my chin in his hand. At that point I realized this man doesn't joke.

"And then I got a ticket. A golden ticket. And that terror returned. Except this time it tasted like bile. So, young lady, I must ask a favour of you."

I nodded emphatically. I wasn't about to refuse him anything.

"Tell the people what you witnessed here today. Tell them what happened to the town of Arkard. And tell them it was because of Lunar Plexus."

And with that he simply stood and began to leave. I was spared. But there was one thing he said that still bothered me. I quickly ran to catch him. However, when I stepped into the street the words caught in my throat. I couldn't count them all but I knew the entire population of Arkard was lying before me, rotting. Still, I needed an answer to my question.

"You said fortune doesn't favour me. Why? You let me live."

He turned toward me and betrayed the hint of a smile, but I knew whatever he said would be the truth.

"That's quite simple young lady. When I saw you I had a strong inclination to fuck your brains out. Perhaps you'll be more fortunate in the next life."

And with that he was gone.

An excerpt from the diary of former Uber Arschloch gang member "Hyle".

[Seru]

Via the magic of Soul Calibur III (And because I'm a huge gaywad), a rough look at Lunar Plexus and Solar Thorax!

Lunar Plexus!

Solar Thorax!

Lunar Plexus and Solar Thorax with a handy size comparison!

[Seru]

That giant belt automatically clinches a championship reign.

[Seru]

And look at that bulge.

His dick must be huge!

[Seru]

Master Exploder

It was about a month before I saw Lunar Plexus again, sprawled across a giant screen in the centre of Sacula, Monster. Apparently the golden ticket he alluded to was an invitation to participate in the newly formed Bloodsport thingy under some dude. It seemed he had gained a reputation even before I spread the news about the Arkard Massacre. He even gave a short interview, though it was clear that Lunar Plexus wanted no part of the limelight.

"Lunar Plexus, our audience has been clambering to know more about you. So tell us, what do you think about your opponent at Abhorrent Anathema?"

"My opponent?"

The interviewer seemed perplexed.

"Yes, the man you'll be facing on March 18th."

"Forgive me, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"Axelrod Waylyn. You don't even know your opponent's name?"

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes. Knowing a name provides me very little benefit. That knowledge is best suited for the craftsman carving Mr.Waylyn's epitaph."

The people around me began to laugh, almost forgetting the squalour surrounding them. FTUW had been their destroyer and now this subtle replacement was slowly becoming their saviour. A shame they didn't realize there wasn't a hint of sarcasm in Lunar Plexus' words. The interviewer certainly didn't misunderstand.

"I...I'm sorry. I know you're new here so I shouldn't assume..."

"Not at all, it was entirely my fault. I suppose if I'm going to indulge in such base activities I should pay closer attention to worthless trivialities."

"Base activities?"

"Speaking with you, for example. Or wrestling Mr.Waylyn on March 18th. Ha, wrestling. A pithy justification to allow such wanton destruction. Gloss over the immorality by claiming it to be a legitimate sporting contest. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Look, they just pay me to do interviews..."

"And you've done admirably. However, I assume it's time to give the gawking rabble across this fractured country a small sampling of my capabilities."

"Wait, what?"

"I believe the phrase is 'Kick ass and take names'. A bit uncouth but it'll do. Now I'm not sure the proper order so could you tell me your name please?"

"I'm...I'm Daniel Exploder. But I'm only..."

"Much obliged."

Before Exploder could finish his thought Lunar Plexus shoved two of his enormous digits up Daniel's nose. I assume Lunar Plexus wanted to lift Exploder into the air but the sheer size of his fingers caused Daniel's nostrils to split. The crowd around me soaked up his shrieks of agony.

"I'm terribly sorry Mr.Exploder, I didn't mean to cause you any undue anxiety. What I meant to do was this."

Lunar Plexus shoved the same two fingers under Exploder's chin and punctured the soft flesh beneath his tongue, hooking his lower jaw. Unfortunately when he tried to lift Exploder into the air he accidentally tore his jaw off. The crowd erupted.

"Oh my, I seem to be all thumbs today."

A look quickly flashed across Lunar Plexus' face, he appeared to have an epiphany. And just as quickly it was gone. The last thing Daniel Exploder saw was two giant thumbs descending toward his face. I'm not sure what it's like having your own eyeballs shoved into your brain, but I'm guessing it was less painful than the previous two minutes of Exploder's life. With that the feed was cut and the crowd dispersed.

Despite the agonizing end of Daniel Exploder the person I most felt sorry for was Lunar Plexus. He had the capability, the raw talent, to become a top competitor in his chosen profession. However, his promotion style left something to be desired. People thought he was a sarcastic dick but each word he said was meant to be as blunt as possible. Now he was a member of a thinly veiled version of the FTUW, where the most flamboyant act receives top billing. It was at that point I decided to hunt him down and offer my managerial services. After all, there's nothing more eye catching than having a dirty goth whore on your arm.

-Hyle