Broly's Trial

Guardian's Trial

Medium Quest

Requirement: Must have completed Guardian of Earth.

Reward: 3,000 zeni

Kami has agreed to train you, but first you must complete a trial. He takes you deep within the bowels of the lookout into a dark dank chamber. Within the chamber there are four torches. He tells you to light. Upon lightning them you will be pulled into the Astral Realm to face the spirit in battle. Each spirit has a different strength and weakness. Defeat the four and prove yourself to Kami.
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The entire place was like a black abyss, endless and continually dark in all aspects. There was nothing close to a light at the end of the tunnel, and for a normal man that may have been worrying. Broly however, was no normal man. His heart was darker than the darkest night, and his mind was clear of any possible fears. He did not feel such an emotion; it was pointless, and served only as a precursor to death. He had seen many men feel fear in his time, and yet none of them had survived their encounter with him, a fact which spoke volumes both about Broly's might, and the value of fear. He could only imagine what he'd have done when inflicted with such a troublesome sensation, would he feel the tell-tale tingle of the spine? The jolts that could rock the body into doing any number of things in an attempt to escape? He snorted, forcing his breath's echo to rock throughout the chamber.

He was far beneath Kami's Look Out, doing some task or another for the old fool. He was supposed to be lighting four torches, and yet he had been wandering for what felt like days without results. Exactly how large was this place, exactly? From the outside, it appeared to be small enough, but once you were inside it was like a different place entirely. While the top half was sunny and friendly, this place was the exact opposite. This was blackness eternal, an eternal spring of darkness spreading throughout the room. He was, as hard as it must have been to imagine, the only light in the place. His hand was risen just above his head, glowing with emerald light that was to illuminate his path for him; though, his arms were starting to hurt.

His stride was rhythmic, constant. He had to maintain a solid pace, otherwise he would have lost his mind in this hell hole long ago. The pure silence was the true kicker; there was nothing except the fizzle of his energy, and that bothered him. It was exactly like he was floating in space, as opposed to walking somewhere in the skies of Planet Earth. It was unnerving. He didn't quite grasp how anyone could have possibly stood it, especially someone like that old green slug. The black genie, he could grasp that. He was as black as this void was, and it was likely his original home. It would certainly explain the soulless eyes, the dully happy expression. The bastard creeped him out more than anything else here.

Yawning, Broly found himself bored. There was little to do but walk and think, while focusing on keeping his energy alight. If he ran out of ki, then he would have been unable to light the torches he was carrying. There were four of them, each across his back. According to the slug, he was supposed to replace the old ones, and light them so that the world could continue to turn. Broly hadn't understood then how these torches were supposed to keep the world on it's axis, but he didn't care. Whatever got him into the older creature's secrets faster was good enough for him. This bastard was of a completely different mold than Old Man Crane, being of the benevolent type. Was that what had allowed him to see the Darkness that lay inside Broly?

Maybe that was why he'd been sent here. The old one had noticed that Broly was the shadow created by the light, and the larger that light grew, the stronger it's shadow would become. The more opponents Broly had against him, the more strength he would acquire in order to destroy them. He didn't care how many of them marched against him, he would simply tear them down every time they rose up. That was why he didn't mind striding through this place; it was a way to gather that strength. According to that green bastard, he had a method for acquiring a great strength in a short amount of time. He had called it, “The Pendulum Room”. It was there, he claimed, that Broly's strength lay. It would reveal his true character, his true potential and power. It was for that reason that Broly was so eager to get the hell in there.

He could only wonder what lay in wait for him there. A great terror, or a peaceful planet, full of secrets? Regardless, he would discover that which was to make him powerful. He didn't care what he had to do to get it, he would make sure it was acquired. Then he would return to the boy's mansion, and contemplate what to do next. That was what he had spent the rest of his day doing, until his arrival on the Look Out. Ryouji was off doing something or another, Ace was probably stealing something from an orphanage, so he'd been alone in the spacey home. He had his own room there, but it was pretty spartan, upon consideration. But that wasn't something he minded; he enjoyed his accommodations that way.

He didn't understand why the humans were so flamboyant in nature. He had never been able to smell his hair before his arrival on the planet Earth. It smelled of grapes now, grapes and some form of wild berries he had as of yet been unable to discern. That was because of a product called “Shampoo”, used to clean his hair. Upon suggestion by the youth, he had begun taking showers regularly. Previously, he hadn't cared about bathing, simply doing it whenever he felt like it. Now, it had become a habit. His teeth were naturally healthy, so he had managed to avoid becoming a slave to the tooth brush. His skin was also the cleanest it had ever been, and probably the warmest as well. Earth's varied climate made it so he often felt as though he didn't belong there. His body heat was too hot for the damn place, not that it mattered too much. It wasn't as if he could change that.

He had almost missed the sudden materialization of a stairway. As unlikely as it may have sounded, the warrior was too busy considering the changes Earth had brought him when he'd almost tripped over the first, marble step. Like the tiles above, the stairs were a pure white. Unlike the stairs above, they weren't covered in scratches. On the contrary, they were flawless, as though no one had ever stepped on them before. Cautiously planting a boot upon the first stair, Broly tramped up them simply to prove he didn't care for their state, as if to say he had not grown softer. Everything else about him was contradictory to that statement, namely the soft hair and smooth skin. Sure, his hands were still calloused, but that was because of his work in beating the shit out of things.

At the top of the steps, lay a single slot for a torch. It appeared that they weren't all together, something that meant little else but hassle for him. It meant he'd have to go further to light these damn torches, and god help that old bastard if he had to go a separate way to the second one. Scowling as he ascended to the top of the stair case, he went to grab the first torch from his back. Where the original had been, there lay nothing but ash and embers, a sign that it had burned out recently. Perhaps it had been extinguished just before his arrival, and that old bastard was forcing him to do something menial. So help him if that was the case; Broly did not mind acquiring yet another gold medal in Competitive Bitch Toss.

Placing the torch in it's holster, he slowly brought his energized hand to the wood. They met, and flame was instantly birthed from nothingness. The fire crackled and danced in the darkness, almost hesitantly revealing more of the chamber to Broly. Around the stair case lay a tiled floor, made of similar material. In the distance, there stood a single figure. It looked vaguely humanoid, but obscured by haze of an unknown variety. Whatever it was that brought this figure to him was mysterious in nature, but he didn't give a damn. If it wanted to put out that torch he'd just lit, it could kiss his ass. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the haze began to spread. It quickly passed over the flooring, rising up toward Broly at the top of the stair case in rapid fashion.

Things began to change, as he felt his body go limp for the briefest second. Now it looked as though the entire chamber had changed shape. It was now filled with light, proving a stark contrast to the place he'd just been inhabiting. The figure on the horizon line drew closer, and Broly let it approach. It would, unless it wanted to die a painful death, be providing him with an explanation as to what exactly was going on. He was not a man to be screwing with, after all. Still scowling as it came within scrutinizing distance, the warrior felt his body tense. Whatever it was, it had an impressive swagger about it. As though it fuckin' owned the place.

Lowering his energized hand, Broly waited as it walked within striking distance of him. It clearly had balls. Or rather, she certainly had balls. That was what it looked like anyway; raven hair atop slender shoulders, with astral golden eyes staring out from underneath the mop of shaggy hair. The features themselves were indiscernible, being covered by a shadowy black, swirling mass. This woman was some sort of representation, if he had to guess. But he could only guess, and nothing more until she would speak. Calmly staring her down, the warrior waited as patiently as he could. It wasn't as if he had to rush. Making that old bastard wait would only make him happier.

“Broly. What brings you to these torches? What purpose have you?”

The woman's voice was...Different, to say the least. It sounded as though she was joined by a chorus of souls, each of them with their own convictions and personalities. A chorus of thousands, all speaking harmonically to the Legendary Warrior. Appearing resolute and unnerved, Broly responded in classic Broly fashion. ”What right have you to question me, woman? My right is to belong here.”

“The souls of the damned say different, child. They say you usurped their rights, and that you have no claim of your own to this place.”

”Are you their slave? Are you too weak-willed to have your own thoughts?”

“I am their embodiment, their forum for expression. Together, we will not let you leave this place.”

”You had better leave woman, before I grow agitated.”, he didn't care what the hell she was. She was bothering him. All he had come here to do was ignite those damned torches, not to fight his way through a gauntlet of those he had murdered. It was their fault for letting him kill them, for being so weak and powerless in the face of true might. He could only imagine the rights they thought they held, the power they thought they possessed in numbers. He had fought off armies before, and an army concentrated did not bother him any more than an army spread thin. He would destroy them if he must, to proceed.

“You will not leave, hell-spawn!”, and with those words, the woman struck forth. Her blow was like the strike of lightning, leaving dark particles in it's wake as it came curving toward Broly's head. The warrior lifted his energized hand, gripping her wrist before her fist could make contact. Her astral voice screamed, forcing cracks into the ceiling as her rage rose. It was clear that she was becoming frustrated with the warrior, but Broly didn't really care. He knew what kind of things rage brought upon a warrior other than himself. For him, rage meant power. Rage meant a state of pure, juggernaut like bliss. For them? It meant sloppiness. His thoughts so far were proving true.

The woman's other hand spawned a black and purple ball of crackling energy, as it came in toward Broly's face in replacement of her other hand. To him, she looked slower than hell. Never having wiped that scowl from his features, Broly pulled the bitch downward. Her hand lost it's focus, missing his face by inches as her body was pulled off balance, toward Broly's rising knee. It slammed into her murky features, forcing her to recoil as Broly let go of her. She wasn't even worth his time; the stupid whore. He plunged deep into her buxom with his energized hand, sending tendrils of darkness up across his arm.

A normal man would have been unnerved by her blood curdling scream, disturbed by the chorus of souls that were being murdered all over again. Broly couldn't have cared less, honestly. He watched as the roof above them seemed to crack and fracture, shattering into glass-like shards which began to rain down on top of them as her body began to vanish. The scream hung in the air longer than the illusion did, echoing through the slowly darkening room. It was clear to him that he was returning to the stair case he had been on before the woman appeared, and that the room was returning to it's darkened state. It became a satiny black almost as quickly as it had become a blinding white, easing the warrior's mind, so that he could once again proceed.

Not that she had effected him negatively. She hadn't startled him, nor had she distracted him from the purpose he was down there for. He was simply put off by the fact that the old codger had failed to mention such a thing; was he hoping to change Broly through this trial? The Saiyan could only describe such a tactic as naive, weak and pathetic overall. What kind of master failed to value his pupil for what he was? Now, that brought a fanged smile across Broly's features. Was Kami unable to appreciate a murderer for what he was? How human of him. He could already imagine the discussion that awaited him upon return to the top of the look out, and it was almost enough to make him laugh. Silly bastard.

Checking to make sure the other torches were still on his back, Broly proceeded onward. With his arrival back into the darkened chamber, a new pathway had emerged. Instead of the stairway, this was a platform for him to walk across. Though it looked relatively narrow, he didn't have any worries. Even if he fell off, he could still fly onward. It wasn't as though this place could possibly deter him; he already knew it's secret, it's big trick, it's ploy. If Kami had thought he would either change or become discouraged, he had been terribly wrong. If anything, it made him even more determined. If he could prove that old slug wrong, it would make the task's completion relatively satisfying. It hadn't been before, but now this task was about personal gratification.

Besides, it wasn't as though he had something better to do. Clenching his fists as he proceeded over the walkway, Broly considered what else lay in store for him here. If every torch was like the first, and produced some sort of phantom, then what phantom or phantoms were to come next? He had three more torches to place, three more flames to light. What could lie in his past that he had to fear? Or was it to be his future? He knew this was no Christmas Story; he had no ghost of past, no ghost of future or present. He wasn't so petty that he had come to regret his actions, and he doubted he would have a change of heart in the future. It just wasn't in his nature.

Not that it was really in any being's nature to enjoy change, but Broly was especially resistant to such a thing. This world was new enough, he did not need a new perspective to deal with. Such a thing would prove distracting in the end, bothersome and cumbersome in it's entirety. Only fools changed paths halfway through, and only boys had the time to turn around. He was in the middle of the road, too far lost in his goal to return to any other path now. It was almost comforting, had he needed the comfort to exist. He didn't need to justify his actions. It was his right to destroy, as he was the pinnacle of that which they wished to be. No one could honestly claim they'd have done different, in his place. If they could, they weren't telling the truth.

Broly did have to wonder though; had he been born an insect like the rest, what would his life have turned out to be? Would he have been swept away in the tide of strength that he'd have considered the rest of the world? Or was it truly a burden only he could bear? Oh yes, power was a burden and a blessing. Those who didn't understand it wanted to destroy him, and even if they did understand him, he still wanted to destroy them. He had yet to find a being he wanted to spare in the long run. There were warriors whom he would regret losing, but not because he missed them. Anyone Broly missed was missed because he could no longer do battle with them; no longer fight someone who had proven formidable and interesting to him. It was for that reason he did not miss his father, he didn't miss his mother or any brothers. They hadn't interested him in the slightest.

He had been lost in thought once more when the platform came to an end, revealing two slots for possible torches. They were arm's length apart, meaning he could ignite them both if he used both hands. Withdrawing one torch from his back, he placed it in the holster on the right first. Briefly, he wondered if he wanted to deal with two of those irritating phantoms at once; would they be hostile? It soon occurred to him however, that it didn't really matter. He would deal with them however he saw fit. If he didn't feel like it, they wouldn't even be able to reach him. It wasn't as though he couldn't blast them apart from a distance, especially if they were all as weak as the woman.

Placing the other torch, he positioned himself in the middle. He filled his free hand with ki energy as both arms were lifted into the air, a precursor to his next action. Both palms touched the head of the torches, igniting them with a brilliant orange fire, that seemed to burn more brightly than it did burn heatedly. What phantoms would he face this time around? Some kind of spectre who he had yet to face in his daily existence? It was his curiosity more than anything else that had begun to overwhelm him as the room once more began to change. It shifted from a dark chamber to the middle of space, a place he was relatively acquainted with. What were they trying to show him now?

Beneath him, a world lay in flames. It was a dark orange naturally, signaling the presence of many deserts on the planet. It's twilight-like color was dotted by blues and cerulean colors, also suggesting that there was life there. Why wouldn't life exist on a planet with lakes? Perhaps it was a planet under siege? The fire was blazing rapidly across the landscape, tearing away at the lights suggesting cities and the like. It was enough to make his brow furrow; what could that have been? He was above the planet, so he knew it wasn't him. Yet he could see blasts of energy rising from areas yet to be touched by the flames, areas being purged of all life by overwhelming strength. Behind his back, a new phantom began to arise from the darkness. This one, less dangerous than the last.

It strode up to stand next to him calmly, matching, if not exceeding his height. He didn't bother turning his head, settling for the explanation the newer, gruff (yet still astral) voice offered him. He watched as the fire ravaged the planet below, destroying all in it's wake and all before it. Whatever was causing it, he assumed this figure was to illuminate him to it. If a warrior like this existed that they could be so easily tearing through a place, he would find them and destroy them. Not because he wanted to save this place, but because he wanted to experience such a might for himself. Power was not to be hoarded away from a warrior like Broly; it was to meet him head on or suffer annihilation. Possibly both, knowing the warrior at hand.

“You see the Saiyan Homeland below. The original planet Vegeta, destroyed in the throes of a warrior's passion for might.”

”Why am I being shown the past, phantom?”

“It's not just your past, that should concern you child...”, the second time he'd been called Child today. Exactly how old were those people that they could call him a child? He was a man now; he had not been a child since leaving Planet Vegeta at birth. He had not been a child since he'd first killed a man, since he'd realized his insanity and forgone his innocence. In a way, he had never been such a thing. Calling him a child was insinuating that he didn't understand how things worked, how the universe continued to expand and how it gave him more to remove from existence.

“It is my past. You assume that you're the only one with strength, the only one who could be capable of cleansing scum from the universe. You happen to forget yourself, forget that your own power is damn well capable of tearing you apart. There is such a thing as too strong, Broly.”

Broly silenced the phantom with a swipe of his energized hand, hoping to disperse the illusion as quickly as possible. The man spoke gibberish, foolish speak. There was no such thing as too strong; only those who failed to use their power correctly could be torn apart by it. That was why he was safe, why he was different. It was the reason that he was able to do all that he was able to do, and that was pure fact. Clenching his fists, he was disappointed to see that the planet still remain below. Why was this illusion harder to eliminate than the other one? What was it about it that made it so damn troublesome? He had easily dealt with the first, but this was just a blatant attempt to rock his world, an attempt he would not let succeed.

“I wasn't able to control my power, in the end. It tore myself, and everything I cared about apart. You can't stop it, Broly. You have to stop yourself.”

Broly turned to face the phantom with fierce eyes, as the planet below suddenly detonated with an ear-piercing scream and rumble. It sounded like a thousand thunderheads were booming below him, all of them being rocked by thunder at the same time. He didn't let the intimidation tactic get to him, as he examined this phantom. His hair was spiked and scruffy, his face covered in what looked like a beard. He was obviously Saiyan, despite the facial hair. It was uncommon for Saiyans to grow beards like that, so obvious in their features that even when blacked out, it was apparent. Breathing calmly, the warrior finally replied with his words. What else could he do? His fist had failed to disperse this phantom, and it had been covered in his energy.

”What do you think you are, old man? Who do you think you are to speak of true power?”, words practically dripping with malice. It was obvious that Broly regarded this old fucker with distaste. He didn't like it when people decided to suddenly rock his foundations, and he especially didn't like it when he couldn't just kill them to get them out of his way. What was it about this asshole that was so persistent, so seemingly unstoppable? He didn't even want to try being rid of him with his strength again; it was as though it felt pointless to do so, regardless of whether or not it would work. It was enough to make his blood boil, but so were a lot of things.

“I'm of the same stock. In a way, you could say I'm the legend behind your story. The truth behind your myth; I am the Super Saiyan.”

He said it so casually, as if it were an every day thing. Narrowing his eyes with displeasure, Broly stood stock still for a moment. That was what he'd been brought down here for? To hear some old man spout off nonsense, and ominous words? How stupid. He would make sure to get his point across to the slug the next time they spoke, to illustrate that he didn't have time for such obvious bull shit. Did he think that Broly was stupid? That much was clear. Snorting in response, Broly worded his reply with as much hatred as he could manage. He would need to ask Ryouji a favor as well; perhaps some new vocabulary to express his displeasure in. That would have made this meeting so much more convenient.

”Old man, even if you are telling the truth, your torch has been passed. You're a phantom; a shadow of your former self, a semblance of what was once a towering pillar. I am the only Legendary Warrior in the universe, and I am much more potent at what I do than you could ever have been. You have no idea of that with which you fuck, old one.”

The old man scoffed, and had been about to speak again when Broly strode through him, obviously giving little care for the fact that he was a figure that he was supposed to respect. He had little patience for this, anymore. It had worn thin with the first phantom, and now his tank of it was running on little other than fumes. He didn't know why he was being subjected to such an event, but it was little other than annoying. He could hardly believe the old bastard had thought this would work; did he think him a fool? Whatever his reasoning was, it would not stand for long. Broly did not waste his time on tasks like this, regardless of whether or not he had better to do.

As he strode forward, his surroundings melted back into the familiar black chamber he had grown used to. The heat of the emerging, freshly crackling flames did little to sate the cold, tugging feeling he was feeling in his gut. This was one that he couldn't escape with external aid, meaning that even if the flames had been hot enough to heat his body, that they would not be able to help him. Whatever was causing this was a result of that old man's meddling...Meaning that he could also go to rest in hell, whenever Broly felt like getting around to sending him there permanently. He'd never have met that old gruff voice, if it hadn't have been for the Namek, whom he was equally pissed off at, if not more pissed off at.

The chamber was brighter now; he could see a ceiling of clouds above him. The place was seriously large enough to have it's own clouds? Or were those the clouds drifting through from outside? He couldn't be sure, so he gave it no more thought, merely continuing onward. His mood, which had already been somewhat dour, was now ruined completely. Broly was beginning to realize exactly how stupid old people were; once he reached an age like that, he would not waste his time lecturing the youthful warriors. He would spend his time making sure they never reached his age, and utilizing the power he wouldn't be blowing his own ass up with. He wasn't inept; he could control himself a little already, and with that boy's help, he would only grow more proficient.

He would make sure to tear through the training that was to be his reward as a result, in order to prove to Kami that his little tricks were not effecting him. He would make sure to decimate the program as if he'd been born to, regardless of what was presented to him. Hell, that old man could come at him himself if he pleased, he would take pleasure in destroying him. However, something made him doubt that Kami would sully his hands with a fighter like Broly. He probably knew that if Broly won, he would kill the old slug for the sake of it. After all; he didn't need that old bastard both training others to deal with him, and subjecting others to the bull shit of his look out.

Once he reached the edge of the platform, a second stair case was materializing. This would be the last thing he'd need to deal with, thank the gods. If he'd honestly been subjected to more of that crack pot's trials, he would have thrown up. It wasn't that it was just sickening, it was sickening, disgusting, and above all, pointless in nature. For what reason would he create a trial of this nature? Hell, who had been the poor fool who had ignited the torches in the first place? Whoever he was, Broly could shockingly sympathize with him. That poor bastard must have been worse off than he was; he doubted that the old coot had been as wily back then. He probably threw the guy in the middle of the place, and told him to do something.

Broly reached the top of the staircase after a few moments' climb, his mind weary. He did not enjoy this trial, to say the least. It had been bothersome, irritating, infuriating, and pissy. Unsheathing the final torch, the warrior put it in it's holster without a second thought. He didn't care what phantom came at him this time, he would eliminate it as he had the first. The second...He had been a different story, but Broly would not let himself be subject to the ramblings of an insane soul twice in a row. He would fucking destroy any phantoms that thought they were going to be screwing with him, and he wouldn't take any substitutes. However, as he ignited the flame, nothing seemed to happen. There was no environmental meltdown, there was no shift in the ceiling. All that emerged was the dancing flames, snapping above the silence. Pushing a firm breath from his lungs, Broly returned his hand to his waist, de-energizing it. He would rather walk back in the dark, if he really had to walk back. He didn't want to be in the dark with his thoughts anyway. Of course, the only thought still on his mind was a simple one, a brief question to end the trial he had been set out to complete.

”Why the hell does he make me walk back?”

WC: 5,301