|諸行無常||Extragalactic Containment Protocol|
|是生滅法||To Kill a God-Emperor|
|生滅滅已||Memories of a Bloodless Thrall|
|寂滅為楽||Destroyer of Universes|
|The One with Several No Good Rotten Space Vermin|
Sometime in Age 433…
There once was a space alien who looked quite a bit like a space fox, but he walked like a cunt and he had a tail that was furry and grey. He was a very handsome furry damn.
The planet he was on was pretty fucking hype too. It had some cunty floating trees that looked more like when ur dildos melt after you put them in the microwave for just a tad over two minutes. Because there wasn’t enough time to name this planet Telex, it had been named Scrote by its first leader, the Girth-King Tesutè, whose long and prosperous reign had ended abruptly after his majesty himself had endured a forty-three hour libidinous mauling by a wild pack of family space fowl, and that’s all anyone ever said about that.
Scrote’s name was lost to time, and undoubtedly would be unknown to this rather tall and rather lanky and rather fox-faced fox man who possessed but a single tangible tail. He looked quite sterile with the single tail, and it was an unsightly sight, looking upon him wearing only basic ascetic robes in the style of the mystical-bullshit-believing worshipers of the Wiyu religion, a staple disillusionment of Inari culture, the species this brilliant and remarkably grotesque space fox does allegedly hail from.
It is at this point the fox man’s name which is Okinaro is introduced in a seamless and clever way a little later into the text than it needed to be. He had come to this remote and very ancient planet precisely because it housed no native population of sentient beings. Such planets were quite excellent and fetched loads more on the open market than planets plagued by the thriving infection of near-intelligence. Okinaro himself, being a wild and untamed ejaculatory rascal, sometimes known as Yako-Okinaro for his misdeeds, had few notions of buying and selling planets. He owned almost no possessions, and owning a planet was something he certainly never saw himself doing.
As Okinaro hovered above a sky-flowing geiser of liquid methane, he thought of how much he loved females of his species and how much he just simply wanted to make more Inari with them, and how great that would be, and nothing else mattered. Such thoughts came easy to Wiyu acolyte who had been exiled from his homeworld many a moon ago.
Young though he was, Okinaro had little patience for space bullshit.
“You must understand, you must, you must!” pouted the lecherous-looking man with mud-painted purple robes, regal to be sure, and a crown of pale gold. He was rather portly, of generous horizontal proportion, and his chins were as numerous as the arcing swirls of his overabundant mustache curls. The man was a king, veritably, and as the sly space fox knew, kings were no good rotten heathen filth that deserved to be thrown in a kettle of boiling piss.
“You there I say–you there…!” muttered the ruinous hulk of a man, his uneven hunchback shoulders becoming clear as he came trodding up the game path towards the hill Okinaro had been meditating on. “You there furry! Furry beast! Furry man, are you a furry?!” he asked Okinaro with venom.
“Just so.” Such a sharp reply was dubious, but the Inari was in no mood. For you see, in these days, randomly running up to someone and shouting at them in an annoying and self-aggrandizing manner led almost always to skirmishes, even amongst as passive and peace-loving a Wiyu monk as Okinaro, the Unshriven. He was obligated, if not compelled, to be utterly offended to the point of wanting to kill anyone who hurt his feelings, and such was the logical conclusion of any well-meaning intelligent hominid.
“I have crashed my space mobile,” his majesty enunciated gravely, grunting into his many chins, bless his ruby red nips, “and I require your assistance, Master Furry. Post haste, furry, with me!”
“Who’s there?” the Inari yawned, opening one lazy eye, the brightest green flecked with gold.
“Hello?! Who am I…?! I said, who am I? Why, who are you, son? You’re a furry, a damn furry beast, a rodent, little beady-eye-lookin’ vermin from that there forest yonder, crawlin’ with parasites, infested with them up to and includin’ a tapeworm clingin’ to yer piss bladder young fella. Easy now furry mongrel feral animal needin a dirtnap asap, and I do declare, what a hideous sight that thing was, what a member, fiery red–oh surely, on my mother’s pristine porcelain anklets, on my grand uncle’s well-trimmed pubes–and knotted like a beast of the forest, oh heavens me. You’re a foul vermin, pollutin these parts with yer heathen loins, and you’ll burn to a crisp once we’re done repairin’ my ship… oh, laddie, don’t think that’ll get you off free of charge, huehuehue. You’re gonna be dead either way.”
“I really like this planet’s muhawi-koun spice tentacle kabobs. They are sumptuous.”
“Oh, boy, the he–”
Okinaro punched him one time in the chins, and his fist went through all of the king, his majesty’s, chins. And it was really gross and smelled quite a bit of how it smells like when you punch your way through some fat guy’s several chins and proceed to splatter yourself in his blood and guts and tissue and organ matter and that is very raw and very unpleasant and I don’t recommend many of you try this, but at least some of you should since you can take it and you already know who you are so I need say nothing else.
when evening came streaked in a blood-cloven sky, river rushing through fur
In the town of Quhm, Scrote, there lived precisely one hundred twenty-three bipeds. Being the only town of Scrote, Quhm was a busy place. The primary occupation of the townspeople was whoredom, with sixty-seven people taking up that profession nightly. Another thirty-eight were gamblers, and hell, even the whores were gamblers, and the gamblers whores, and everyone liked to fuck, get fucked, go again, and also engage in copulation afterwards with some reasonable-looking aliens.
There were only a few bars and shops aside from the resident quarters in Quhm. The rent was cheap, but so were the prospects. Anyone who didn’t own a ship or have a sure way out was already fucked.
Okinaro, the Unshriven had come to Quhm three days prior. This place was rotten except for its food, and that was the only reason he had stayed. As the outpost served mostly as a port for passing space pirates and smugglers, even the locals were mildly unsavory, the kind Okinaro wished would all join hands and teleport into a supernova, but it was unreasonable to assume all of them could see the light.
He had once had a home with other fox-looking people, many of whom he found sexually appealing, but now Okinaro was merely talking to a sand-cloaked little weasel named Manko, and he wasn’t feeling it man, like this little bitch was cheating him good in their game of space gambling, and Okinaro knew there was no way he could lose this bad for real. Everything was pretend bullshit.
“You’re a damn liar, goodbye,” Okinaro told Manko before smashing him into a wall. Okinaro quickly fled before anyone could see that he killed a man, a real man, a man’s man, in broad daylight, in a broad’s eyesight, so he ran outside and was immediately accosted by a hooded pickpocket.
“Is there life after death? Whoosh, I am the night!” the pickpocket whispered in his ear as the blur of a blade being unsheathed flashed before Okinaro’s eyes.
“It’s always a good idea to attempt to steal from a man who has no money.” Okinaro twisted, dropped to the ground, spun on his heels, and kicked the man so hard that his legs ripped off and the rest of him went flying a little bit into the grey-orange air, dust-ridden and swarming with bugs, before landing in a ditch on the side of the road. He probably screamed and it probably took him quite a while to die, and you should think about that a lot and perhaps get off to it if you can, but that’s not to say that the pickpocket wasn’t a woman.
Okinaro was feeling a bit hungry at this time so he walked into town. He thought about his homeworld and all the very erotic and very sexually alluring bitch baby mama Inari who lived there to this very day. He very much desired to procreate with them (that goes without saying).
It was precisely at this moment, however, that Okinaro’s several nostrils filled with the sweet and tangy aroma of muhawi kabobs. It was not yet dark, and his belly was rumbling.
The Unshriven had been banished from his homeworld of Inan roughly one hundred years ago, and still he thought of them. Let it go, he told himself over and over again, wondering when he finally would. Chihako was often on his mind, too. He missed her more than most.
A lazy wind was blowing through the outpost when Okinaro found Gekk’s food stand tucked away in that same little corner it always was. His stand was adorned with neon yellow and pink lights in a gawdy display. Gekk himself was an immoderate person of significant girth, and to top it all off, he was a filthy Sobren ape. Okinaro had no opinion of the Sobren, as this was the only one he had ever met, but everyone else in town seemed to despise him, and nobody ever came to buy his food. Somebody once told Okinaro that Gekk was nursing a seven-and-a-half kilogram Zhgeji Eel in his bladder. The man got by on almost nothing. Most of them did. Okinaro did. But he was not like most of them.
These were the best kabobs he had ever ingested in interstellar space, and he would not be deprived of them tonight of all nights.
He paid Gekk without daring to speak to the man, as Okinaro was also deathly shy in front of aliens sometimes, such as this time. Space woolongs were exchanged, and the grey-furred Inari held a kabob in each hand. Warmth radiated down from the roasted and fruit-adorned tentacles, and he was reminded of her.
Let it go, he told himself. What’s done is done. One cannot changing the past. He hadn’t remembered the last thing she’d said to him as they’d done it, drunk on Nyarin space gin stolen from Master Nozari himself. He remembered neither her voice nor her eyes, only the sound of footsteps–growing urgent - and a bowl crashing to the floor, and the sight of the bubbling gin rushing between the Ijo Temple’s ancient stone tiles, which even then had stirred in Okinaro a great, cannibalistic feeling of emptiness.
He rounded the corner so that Gekk couldn’t watch him feasting upon the flesh of another being. Standing in the middle of the road, past a pallet of crates being unloaded by rusting lifter bots, were two men whom Okinaro’s eye was drawn to not only for their uniqueness of appearance (he had, most assuredly, never seen these two before), but for the unfathomable depths of power each of them possessed.
The shorter, skinnier one was hairless and purple, with tall ears, wearing an outfit with strange patterns on it. His tail was flicking back and forth in annoyance, though his hands were clasped behind his back in supreme elegance. Okinaro froze. His form is impeccable. There’s no opening to attack. He’s utterly aware of everything going on around him…
And the same could be said of his companion, a taller, more well-dressed humanoid with bright blue skin and tall white hair. He held a staff and had a high, flittery voice. “Hm, either way Lord Beerus, you will have to get on with it soon. You must get to work after this meal.”
“Alright Whis, whatever. I’ll destroy Mrov then. Afterwards I think I’ll sleep for, eh,” he yawned obnoxiously, “forty-five years.”
“As you wish, Lord Beerus.”
This was an excellent show, and they didn’t seem to mind him overhearing them (he was sure they knew he was listening in), so Okinaro took a voracious bite into the larger of two kabobs he was cradling.
Immediately thereafter, Okinaro spat the tentacle into the dust, retching hard. The two men, who had been talking in business-like tones, drew their attention to him, and they reached him before he noticed they had moved. Meanwhile, Okinaro’s tongue was burning. Not only had Gekk added a new spice since yesterday, but this tentacle was neither cooked all the way nor tasty in the slightest. It’s like rubber, Okinaro thought riotously, a blood-curdling rage rising into his ears until it was all of him.
“Oh my, that does smell quite good,” the blue man said, prodding in. “Would you mind telling me where you got that so that my companion and I may purchase several?”
“It’s raw!!” Okinaro snarled, looking up, tentacle fragments dripping from his maw like wet slabs of ice. “And he changed the sauce too… where’s the muwahi sauce?!” His voice rose and broke, and he was doing well to focus on this single emotion. “Where’s the muwahi sauce?!”
“Well, if you don’t mind,” Lord Beerus said, swooping in and grabbing the kabob in Okinaro’s other hand, “I’ll see if you’re right.” The purple man took a bite, and like Okinaro, his face contorted into a snarl. He quickly spat the half-chewed tentacle into the dirt. “Whis, the Inari was right. This is one of the worst kabob’s I’ve ever tasted!”
He threw it down the road, where it left a gash in the dirt on impact, and a fierce wind rose up, sending several of the lifter bots crashing sideways into buildings or dropping their crates-in-transport. “Now, now, Lord Beerus, don’t start getting a temper. We can go somewhere else for your supper.”
Let it go. “Hey–wait a minute. Are you two talking about destroying a planet?”
“So you overheard us,” the Whis man said vaguely. “It’s rude to eavesdrop on gods.”
“Gods?” Okinaro cocked his head, studying them. They were prime physical specimens, no doubt. Their tremendous power was beyond anything he had ever felt before. But there was something off about these two, something he had seen in the legendary nine-tailed Master Sharu-Kan’s form that was lacking before his eyes. Who would lie about such a thing, especially someone so strong? Is it not more likely that they are what they say they are? For some reason, a calm washed over the Unshriven. In all his years of exile, he had never felt so at peace as in the presence of these two.
“Careful now,” Lord Beerus said in a growl, “or I’ll destroy you too.”
“When you go about destroying planets, how do you make your choice?” Okinaro asked suddenly, before he had even registered what the man had said to him.
The purple god shrugged. “I have a hat that I pick the names of random planets out of.”
“A-are you serious?”
“Lord Beerus, it’s rude to deceive others. I thought you already knew that. Tell him the truth,” the blue man said sternly.
“I… just pick whichever planet’s on my mind.”
“Yeah.” Lord Beerus gave him a savage look in the evening light, and once again Okinaro believed he was about to die. What pushed him on, he did not know.
It was like with Chihako; his hands moved before his eyes, the words tumbled out of his snout, and it was as if he had no control over their contents and movements.
“Why destroy Mrov then? Do you know what that planet is–who lives there?”
Lord Beerus shrugged again. “The Mrovians, what of it?”
Okinaro had never visited Mrov, but he knew of the Mrovian Empire, just like anyone else in this region of space would. “They rule an entire interplanetary kingdom… you would be destroying a great civilization over nothing…”
“Civilizations come and go,” Whis replied sternly. “Why do you care so much?”
“Why not blow up this planet instead?” Okinaro replied haughtily. “Gekk’s tentacles aren’t as good as they used to be. I guess good cooks come and go, too. This place is rotten now.” He said it half in jest, half in furor over his ruined dinner.
“All because your favorite food is no longer being served?”
“Hmmm, what do you say, Lord Beerus?”
The man yawned again, slacking his jaw to the side. “Fine.”
His eyes flashed with purple vigor, energy coming so suddenly and so forcefully into being that Okinaro couldn’t react to it in time. He couldn’t sense this energy coming from the god, and for a moment he was confused. And then, the cracks in the street grew wider and the light overwhelmed them all.
The rejuvenation tank’s liquid was cold and watery, sloshing green before his vision. There was a man of a species Okinaro did not know with a long brown beak and old yellow eyes staring at him from beyond the tank’s glass window.
He was let out a moment later.
“Hello there,” the alien said in a raspy tone. “My name is Genshissa. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance… I have never seen anyone like you before! Please tell me your name and your species’ name, and all about your homeworld… if you can!” he beamed enthusiastically.
“How long have I been out?”
“We found you drifting through space four days ago–heh, I was surprised you could even survive in space! Haven’t seen many species like that before,” Genshissa laughed. “You’re pretty tough. I’m surprised at how much you could withstand and survive… the vacuum of space isn’t very forgiving, after all! We put you in the rejuvenation tank anyways, just to make sure. I’ve never seen a member of your species before, sir, so, I wasn’t sure if you were healthy or not! How are you feeling now?”
“Conscious.” Okinaro had opened only one big green eye, but now that the liquid had drained away, though it had soaked his summer coat, he stepped out into the crisp, artificial air. The room was small and cramped with three rejuvenation tanks stacked next to one another. There was a desk with tools and paperwork to the left, and above it, a window looked out over an arid, sun-baked desert. A few cages, tables, and several stacks of supplies dominated the other side of the room. “Where are we?”
“This is Planet Icer 05,” a young voice said, shooting forward from behind a crate just to Okinaro’s side. He was a small and blue creature, hairless, with a tail, and bluish skin. His armor was white and red, and his eyes were a bright blue. He had a long red cape trailing after his short figure as he walked. “Hello,” he said, bowing cordially. “My name is Icer.”
The doctor cleared his throat, indicating that Okinaro should bow. Instead, he said, “My name is Okinaro, the Unshriven. I am an Inari… male if you couldn’t tell. I was exiled from my homeworld, so that’s all I’m going to say about that.”
Genshissa’s face was flushed a deep purple. His beak was wrinkling up in excitement. “This is a most splendid find. Oh, Lord Icer, what do you think? Isn’t he a member of a quite remarkable new species? Now… can you tell me a bit about yourself, Mr. Okinaro?”
“Yeah,” Icer said, his boyish eyes lighting up with intrigue, “I bet you’re strong. You’re strong, aren’t you? Teach me everything you’ve learned!”
“There will be time for testing his power level later,” Genshissa said warmly. “For now, I’d more like to know, Mr. Okinaro, the Unshriven, do all members of your species have two tails?”
A flush spread over him, and he was kissing her again before she took that giant gulp of gin from the bowl. Master Nozari’s snarling visage came to him next–the man who had exiled Okinaro not only from the Ijo Temple, but from all of Inan. There was a bounty out for his death on the planet. He hadn’t been able to stay. Better that I was born a street urchin without parents to worry about disappointing, he reflected. But still, that haunting, snarling, hate-filled face of Master Nozari, where all the love had gone out, was preserved in his mind like a tumor.
Yako-Okinaro! Unshriven! Murderer! Their voices rose fiercely before his memories, chief amongst them Nozari with his low, rumbling disappointment that always cut the deepest.
Here now was a second tail, and he knew why. Nothingness, he thought, recalling the four tenants of Wiyu (harmony, wisdom, nothingness, and purity), not purity. Nozari was wrong. I am not dead yet. I guess that means one day I’ll have to visit Mrov.
Lord Beerus appeared over the surface of Mrov. Having detected his presence, Supreme Admiral Seigfon, aboard the Lance of Mrov, assembled several additional vessels to confront the hairless space feline, and a compromise was worked out. It goes as follows, so far as anyone knows:
“You know, I was going to destroy this planet if it wasn’t for this Inari I met back on Scrote.” Lord Beerus folded his arms to look very menacing and such. It was a terrifying sight for the good admiral to see the Destroyer of Worlds on Mrov. He was quite certain what would happen to him and everyone else were he to fail.
“What brings you here?”
“I am Beerus, the Destroyer,” the God of Destruction yawned, “and I spared your planet because of that Inari. I decided to blow up Scrote on his counsel instead of Mrov. However, in the process, all of the places to get food on Scrote were destroyed as well… so, you’re going to provide me with the greatest Mrovian feast in the history of your people.”
The Mrovians had long-known of this Destroyer, who destroyed planets on whims. They were prepared for the worst, but decided they would attempt to settle things peacefully. “So be it.” said the Mrovian. “And if I may ask, what is the name of the Inari who changed your mind?”
“Eh, I’ve forgotten,” Beerus tilted his head, his belly rumbling loudly. “So how about that feast? I don’t have all day.”
The Mrovian High Council, who had heard the conversation, began sending Mrovians to gather what fruit they could find.
It is stated by numerous apocryphal sources that Supreme Admiral Seigfon found five of Lord Beerus’ seven favorite Mrovian berries in the preparation for the feast, distinguishing himself as much as any Mrovian Supreme Admiral had on the battlefield before him, and he was by far the best one of all.
On the other hand, some scholars have argued that since Mrovians don’t eat anything, they couldn’t have possibly prepared a feast to Lord Beerus’ standards. If that were true, Mrov would be all exploded and stuff but it’s not so checkmate tien, if u dont believe even a supreme admiral can find some legit berries ur a right cunt.