Hungry Like the Wolf

by Turles 8/30/2012, 3:30 pm

Guard Duty

Easy Quest

Requirement: Third-Class Saiyan

Reward: 1,000 zeni

Looks like one of the guards is sick. King Vegeta needs someone to replace him for the day. You! You don’t have any missions today, do you? Now you do. Get to the throne room and stand in the empty post. If any intruders need escorted out, you know what to do.

--

Hungry Like The Wolf - A Kingly Interlude to The Tale of Turles

Turles was jerked awake by the sound of blaring alarms, ringing throughout the royal palace. He still couldn’t believe he was stuck doing such trivial work; guarding a warrior king. Did he honestly need protection? He was supposed to be one of the strongest, if not the strongest Saiyan alive. In honesty, he wasn’t really sure what the Royal Guard was for. He could feel the Saiyan’s strength from here, in the antechamber.

Why would he need protection? No, Turles knew the truth. He wasn’t seeking protection. He was seeking solace, solitude and isolation from the world beyond his gates. Had he grown disenchanted from his people? The former pirate couldn’t quite tell. He did know however, that being a ruler was stressful. He’d noticed this during his days of piracy, during the time when he had ruled the stars with his Crusher Corps.

Those had been the days; but now, there was no time to reminisce. He had to find out what this disturbance was before it got through to the King. There was no doubt that he had his own fair cache of enemies to worry about. Due to a rather old law, anyone could challenge him for his throne at just about any time. Of course, that meant you had to get through the Royal Guard to do so.

Turles hadn’t been a guard for very long, but he knew the rules. Nobody was supposed to get through to King Vegeta while he was alive. It was true, yes, that he wasn’t on very friendly terms with the King, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t protect the man. He may have been a less than savory personality, but there was nothing Turles hated more than shoddy work. He’d experienced the work of amateurs while on the King’s Flag Ship while on Trexia.

They’d been so ill equipped to deal with the threat of nuclear annihilation and piracy that he’d been forced to deal with these threats himself, alongside another Saiyan who Turles knew to be somewhat powerful. Of course, Zorn wasn’t as powerful as Turles was, but he was still a fierce warrior in his own right. Warriors like that were the fighters Turles loved to encounter during his travels; warriors who were ferocious and well equipped.

However, as his boots plodded along carpeted flooring, he doubted this warrior was anything for him to really worry about. Often times, it was someone who fancied themselves a dare devil. He’d seen it before. Men creeping aboard his ship just to prove that they could, worrying not about the creatures that stalked it’s decks in the dead of night. The thought forced a grin to grace his features that lasted until he reached the balcony.

Before him, stood a handful of what looked like a ragtag assassination crew. To the inexperienced warrior, they might’ve looked threatening, dangerous even. To him, they looked like weaklings. They had tripped the alarms coming up, and gotten tracked on their way. Judging by the blood and burn marks on their leader’s hands, he had probably managed to incapacitate a few royal guards on their way. Typical; the leader was generally the most powerful warrior in the crew. That was simply to be expected.

That didn’t mean he liked the way it worked. A good leader was able to instill fear in his crew whether or not he was stronger than they were. Turles had been weaker than a majority of these guards when he’d entered their number, just after the attack on the ship. He was, however, much more skilled in various other areas of expertise. While the leader of their little group pulled a lesser warrior up, over the balcony wall, Turles leaned against the door frame. It was as if they were ants, and he was a young boy with a magnifying glass.

”Are you done yet?”, he yawned and placed a hand over his mouth, struggling to stifle his boredom. The machinations of such weak people was nowhere near as exciting as he’d have liked it to be. Oh, they were pretty strong physically and perhaps spiritually, but they were just as weak minded as the ants would have been. They were not interesting or even remotely challenging game to pick apart. Even as the leader turned, Turles showed no fear.

“Get him, before he alerts the rest!”, a command that was issued with admirable speed. Had they been more competent and not alerted him what seemed like an eternity ago, they might’ve caught him off guard. He, admittedly, had been dozing off not ten minutes ago. Completely unworried, Turles watched as the first warrior out of the three charged him. This was going to be immensely satisfying. He’d get to relieve the boredom that was duty as a Royal Guard!

He slid backwards casually as the man’s fist smashed into the door frame where he had been resting but an instant prior. Smoke and debris went flying out into the carpeted hallway as Turles dropped into his combat stance, analyzing his opponent. The first one had a wild and uncontrollable fighting style, while the second and third were more practiced. He could see why this guy was the point man. He was expendable enough to be a distraction.

“Gah!”, the man cried as he struck again, bothered by Turles insistence to survive. Oho, he was making enemies already. How precious they were, how foolish. They figured themselves important enough to pursue him as he stood, arms wide open, waiting for their attack. Did they not see that he was preparing to trump them? It was almost amusing. A bemused expression crossed his face as the first warrior stepped in to his guard, arm falling towards his head like a club.

Turles’ left hand shot up with astonishing speed, halting the blow by the wrist before spinning forward past it. Energy swirled to life around his free hand, which quickly closed around the second, smaller hostile’s face. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils while he released a point blank pulse of his own power, which manifested in an eerie black glow and smokey discharge. Without much to-do, the man’s body fell backwards from the warrior’s hand, landing with a dull thud on the carpet.

”Heheh. That’s right!”, the Pirate’s voice rose above the sirens and chaos as he buried his boot in the third man’s chest, forcing his body backwards through the doorway and onto his ass. Ki flared to life in his hand once more as he turned, bringing his wrist up to block the first man’s blow. He knew that this guy would probably not just strike once.

A firm strike connected with his wristguard, sending his feet sliding backward on the carpet several inches. Still appearing only mildly entertained, Turles merely tilted his wrist and released a second, more powerful discharge of energy. This one took the form of a powerful wave, which slammed into his enemy’s battle armor and sent him careening down the hall, his impact against the far wall accompanied only by a powerful explosion. Heat and wind flew down the walls in the wake of his demise, washing over the willing warrior with a feeling akin to satisfaction.

Now, he turned back to the two remaining fighters, the leader and who must’ve been his second in command. They were whispering back and forth, feverishly, as if they were working out a plan. Quick to point out their flaw, Turles spoke with a tone he’d used all his life; his words could look down on them far more than his eyes could.

”Oh, working out a plan are we? Good luck, really.”

Oh, the wonders of condescension and their effect upon a man’s morale. He watched as they turned, immediately, to face him. The traces of anger were apparent upon their faces, tugging at their minds and heartstrings as Turles spoke down to them. It was clear from the looks on their faces that they had already acquired a distaste for him. It was understandable. After all, he had managed to destroy their allies with ease and precision. All he had to do now was dispatch these two, or wait until the rest of the guard came as his back up. He didn’t care which path they chose.

”Funny. I thought you were here to meet with King Vegeta, not sit there and stare at little ol’ me. Are you stupid, or just struck by my grace?”, his words were interrupted by a maniacal chuckle every so often, as if he couldn’t contain himself. It was, begrudgingly, true. He was enjoying the fact that he had such an effect on these men and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, these little ants were providing him with entertainment.

Suddenly, the second in command burst forward across the balcony flooring, his stance all but present. He was going to bum rush Turles and try to utilize his anger as some form of protection. The Saiyan genuinely hoped his enemy would realize the folly of his assault, but it didn’t seem likely. The majority of his people weren’t the most intelligent type. It really wouldn’t have shocked him if he were of a different species entirely.

He didn’t bother dropping into his stance as the man flew into his guard. His right hand shot out like a bolt of lightning into the nose of his enemy, bouncing off in a recoil-heavy crack. A thunderlike boom resounded as Turles’ boot then made contact with the lieutenant’s knee, forcing it to bend the complete wrong way from the way nature had originally intended. His grin widened as the man suddenly dropped low in pain. Things were going exactly as he’d planned. Or, so he thought.

“Maro!”, the leader called from the end of the balcony, as energy flared to life around the man’s hands, Turles watched. His boot sank swiftly into the downed warrior’s gut, swiftly and continuously. Black light burst into existence around his wrist guard, spiraling and snaking down the length of his forearm until it reached his palm, where it expanded with a sickening crack. If their disillusioned leader wanted to play such a game, Turles would let him play.

The black energy stretched until it filled the confines of his palm, the white surface of the orb rippling with a form of lethal ki. Gently, as if he were afraid he’d break a bone, the warrior brought both hands together in the area in front of his waist; he held it there as his enemy’s blast charged. He would wait. He didn’t mind, provided it gave him some competition to work with. So far, this fight had been vastly overwhelming.

The glowing light in his enemy’s hand was discharged with a mighty roar, forcing him backward against the marble-esque tile. Turles’ own blast now leveled directly at his opponent’s rather formidable looking wave. He knew that it would eat him alive if he would only let it; but he was not intending to allow it to complete such a morbid task. This guy was definitely more powerful than him physically, but energy was Turles’ domain. He would not allow someone to rule his world.

The black wave erupted as the bright red blast made contact with Turles’ ball of energy. Almost immediately, it consumed his opponent’s blast as if a starving predator in search of food. In this instance, Turles was the Alpha Male. The man whose demise was imminent was clearly a beta, a false leader, a rising star in the world of false prophets. He would meet his end with the appropriate swiftness of a man of his intelligence.

”Bad idea!”, Turles shouted as his blast overcame his opponent’s defenses, forcing him backward off of the balcony and into the dead of the desert night. If he survived the blast, he’d be killed by the fall. If he survived the fall, he’d be killed by the clean up squads. It was, truly, a job well done on his part. There was little chance that his opponent would survive for longer than it took for the blast to dissipate into the air around him.

WC: 2,073