Oh blah blah blah, piddle-y piddle-y blah! You're a horrible, horrible person, Mister Taco Cowabunga, a complete and utter monster! Well, not THAT horrible, considering we've got a big old pile of peoples around here that are like 10 pounds of total depravity in a 5 gallon bucket.
But here you are with your plucky underdog fighty-man routine that everybody's seen a bajillion times, and it's boring all the little boys and girls out there, and more importantly me, to death!
Well, further into undeath, technically. Because I'm kinda-sorta not quite fully alive. But that's besides the point! I feel so bad for you, Taco Paco, I really do, because here you are in DTW with two dragons, a fake viking that I think just renounced his fake vikingry, a poop-obsessed spider-monkey, an insane grandma, and a dirty, dirty hippie.
On the bright side you probably smell better than all the non-dragony wrestlers, not saturated in your own bodily mess, patchouli oil, or Eau de Old Person. So that's something you've got going for you!
But even though you stand out here a bit because you're not completely and totes a tremendous buttmeister, I don't think you can really get very far in the wacky world of professional wrestling being a plucky underdog fighty-man. Especially in Japan where everybody is a fighty-man, and plucky underdogs are a dime a dozen.
Which is better than the US, where you'd be served merchandise driven frankfurters called Plucky Underdogs with somebody's face and logo stamped onto the bun. Or Korea, where Plucky Underdog would also be served in the concession stand. Wink wink nudge nudge say no more.
You need to be unique! You need to be special! And not in the woohoo look at me I'm all "REEEE! Normies!" and unable to contain my destructive urges like certain short bus-riding members of DTW.
Remember to be nice to people riding the short bus, boys and girls, because they are probably crazy and their mental illness conceals vast resources of strength unavailable to perfectly sane peoples!
You need something to help you stand out amongst the hoards of folks just like you in puroresu that are also small, fighty-mens with fighting spirit and a never say die attitude and a tendency to get their booties kicked.
I mean you're not a trained wrestler, you're kind of a brawly-dude. You mostly like to hit people and the wrestling moves you do are simple ones. No endless trains of flippity-doos, complex knot-tying submission holds, or falling strikes with ridiculously long, drawn out, overly-dramatic wind ups, no siree!
So you're not going to set the world on fire doing cool moves. That's okay. I like the world being decidedly not on fire! You're good at taking a licking and keep on ticking and you do that annoying rawr-faced "I have used my fighting spirit to kick this can of pain down the road so that I will suffer it later, but now I am screaming and have my fists clenched and if this was an anime I would be glowing and making small rocks float" thing, which people love, don't get me wrong.
But that's something everybody does, Maserati. Well, over here in the Land of the Rising Scum and all.
So I'm going to help you!
And I'm going to help your girly pal too!
Because I know you get cranky when somebody threatens her. I can understand that, cause it's like I told you way back when, I don't want my favorite woman in the world to be sad and hurt, and if you'd done something to make Kalinda sad and hurt, I would do something to make YOU sad and hurt by making the lovely Miss Hanako sad and hurt.
So let's talk about that. Let's talk about Miss Cutie and being hurt.
This is not going to be pleasant, so if all the boys and girls would leave the room for a bit, that'd be great. We can play hide and seek. I'm going to turn around and count to fifteen, and when I turn around I want all the little boys and girls to be hiding somewhere else in the house where they can't see the TV, and then I'll come and find you.
I turn my back to the camera. You would expect that in order to do something all horrifying and creepy and unsettling and scary that I'd be drawing upon some sort of dark and malevolent source of power. Some sort of twisted reservoir of purest evil that's pooled in the gaping rent where a goodly portion of my soul used to be.
But I'm not. I'm not taking power out. I'm putting it back in. I'm not drawing upon the darkness to empower myself taking the teensiest tinsiest step towards twisting my mortal body into a monstrous form.
What I'm doing is in fact the exact opposite. I'm not turning on a garden hose to make me bloat and swell and fill with water. I'm turning the hose down so that the the water in the tank stops spinning and bubbling and swirling so that people can get a peek at the absolute monstrosity that I really am.
Most folks are people that power themselves up to attain a demonic strength.
I am a demon that powers myself down to be able to walk amongst men without causing absolute terror.
And them dropping dead in the streets with their life force sucked out.
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen! I growl, counting down.
It's nothing major, just a little shift to my throat towards having my vocal chords in the draconic arrangement they would be in were I to drop my disguise entirely. A little bit of a push out towards my face having a muzzle, which I kind of need to do in order to have room for my suddenly somewhat larger canine teeth without them pointing crookedly every which way like I'd grown up in the British dental care system.
Oh. And I've gotten rid of my eyes. They're silly things that exist just to dry out, gather dust, and the occasional annoying errant eyelash. I spent months as a bodiless specter without any physical parts whatsoever. So it's nice to get back to my roots and ditch some of the more uncomfortable ones.
Instead I have black voids with burning points of orange and purple flame where my eyes are supposed to be. When they draw on their power some demons eye color changes to solid black, representing the pure blackness of their soul.
I kind of lost most of mine, so when I do it there's nothing there but the wellspring of raw elemental energy innate to all members of dragonkind.
If I dumped my disguise entirely, I'd actually be more of a dragon, development wise, than the boss lady is. The dragonspawn ritual uses only the draconic parts of a dragon's bloodline. Think of dragons like watermelons. Kalinda is a watermelon on the vine that's going to grow to be great big, but slowly. While I'm a watermelon that's fully grown, but has my growth limited by the person-shaped plastic container I've been put in.
Kind of like those cubic watermelons that they grow over here in Japan that are more space efficient and stackable.
And then I turn around, grinning my widest grin. Which is absolutely unsettling wide, and filled with an absolutely unsettling number of teeth of absolutely unsettling size and sharpness.
I can fix all the problems we're having with one stroke, or bite, or chomp, or use of necromantic invocation, or ritualistic usage of my blood.
It'll just hurt for a little bit, just briefly, but very intensely, and then she never ever has to hurt again.
It's obviously the ideal solution!
You don't ever have to worry about anything bad happening to her for the rest of eternity!
Just a little dark magic and me ripping off a chunk of her soul, devouring it, and replacing that bit of soul with 100% pure organic free-range additive free all-natural unholy abomination.
You can continue to be your normal plucky underdog fighty-man self, and it can be her that makes you interesting!
The valiant warrior and his undead girlfriend! A love so strong and powerful it transcends the very veil of life and death!
Of course that kinda-sorta means that she's going to die. Just a little bit, and not for very long.
But it's not like she's going to be one of those poor quality rotters who un-live with the agony of all their bits decaying, their skin sloughing off and leaving all their nerves exposed, and unable to articulate anything more than her never-ceasing hunger for human brains.
Nooo!
I do GOOD work!
You want her to keep and maintain her perfect beauty forever and ever without the sorts of potentially ugly-fying alterations like fangs or desiccation?
No worries! I can make your pretty girly an impossibly beautiful Shade, of such loveliness that for any but her chosen man she'll have to conceal her ethereal form with a veil of wispy ectoplasmic fog, lest she drive men and women alike to uncontrollable lust.
The very idea of other people drooling over your ghostly hottie a deal killer? No biggie! I can make sure that she never touches another man but you until the end of time! Give her a nice, dark purple-black complexion and a touch that sucks the life out of anyone she so much as brushes up against as a Wraith.
Is that a no go and you want to bring your immortal lover around to get hugs and kisses from the family for the holidays? No problem! Physical form, fathomless beauty, no draining of innate life forces, and I'll even throw in a complete and utter lack of hungers for bits of the living. Just make sure racist Uncle Yoshi doesn't get into a shouting match with your Banshee babe at the dinner table, lest her shriek make somebody drop dead.
Heck, you're all up into the nightlife! Shun the daylight forever and get yourself a powerful kick-ass warrior woman with supernatural strength and agility, cool shapeshifting powers, and the ability to bewitch mere mortals with her gaze.
Or if the Twilight books gave you a stiffie. It's none of my business, but because I'm nice I'll lie and say it's because you want a soooooooper powerful undead girlfriend!
She'll have to find her own way to sparkle though. Some horrific transformations are beyond even my capabilities.
Just think about it, Kawamata. Just a momentary bit of owwie, and then an eternity of never having to worry about somebody hurting your favorite gal-pal in the whole wide world ever again!
Oh sure, wooden stakes, enchanted weapons forged of heirloom silver, a shotgun loaded with cold iron. Sure, that could do her some real damage. But honestly my man, if I was going to get shot in the face, stabbed in the heart, or having my head lopped off, I'd much rather have the potential option of coming back from it rather than being dead forever.
I'd totally recommend experiencing getting your head cut off at least once, by the way. It's just so relaxing to just lie there on the floor and not have to worry about your big ol body weighing you down.
So is being a ghost. You wouldn't believe how nice it is to exist without a physical form for awhile. Very calming when you don't have things like hormones and glands that keep your emotional states going. So zen. Such meditate. Wow.
I'm sure we can work something out, buddy! Why I think I might even be able to pull some strings and set up something for her to be one of those culturally appropriate hopping vampires if you want to be traditional.
Or if you have a furry fetish and want your gal to be bounding around in a bunny suit for the rest of her unnatural life.
Yiff! Yiff!
Looking forward to discussion the matter in person! Meeting you, eating her! It'll be lovely!
You won't regret it!
And then I put the barrier keeping my power contained back in place and everything snaps back to normal, creepy, clowny human in the blink of an eye, as if nothing ever happened in the first place.
I make sure to keep my eyelids closed, because the sight of eyeballs growing out of a ceaseless void of pure nothingness has managed to make people throw up before.
So ready or not, here I cooooome! I say with a cute giggle, and then skip forward to pick up the camera.
I'm not being observed, and thus can use my powers of movement freely and without limitation. There are rules in place that prevent me from moving using oogie-boogie methods if I'm being observed, though I can violate those if it's something amusing.
I'm sure the camera records a sight of something eye-hurting, brain-hurting, and soul-hurting as I open a rip in reality, making a momentary tunnel through another plane of existence and back out another rip into the proper world once more.
The last time I did this the thirty seconds it took me to travel were filmed as a rotting Ronald Reagan standing on a presidential set made of inflamed flesh, his skin flayed off, his body covered in wounds, wearing his own intestines as a neck tie, clots of black blood slowly dripping from his severed right arm as he speaks of devouring children.
I emerge back in the mundane world within a ventilation shaft in, judging from the multicolored light and loud music is a bar or a nightclub or something. I zoom the camera in, catching a glimpse of my opponent leaning over a bar, saying something amusing to my prey.
Hanako laughs, and Masatake smiles at her mirth.
I foooound yoooooou! Hehehe.
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