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Somewhere that could be anywhere, in a café that could be at any place in the world, it’s a perfectly normal day. Well, perhaps some unruly visitors, hailing from a space between life and death, space and nothingness, horror and terror, could’ve slipped through – but they have all gathered in their own corner, seemingly not out to bother the other customers. This time.
Still, they make for an odd ensemble. And they all know that very well.
“It’s starting to get odd with these invitations,” Jugglus Juggler, overdressed as ever (dressed just right, in his own opinion), says, waving the card in front of his face. “Morning, evening, afternoon – now midday?”
On his right, Fukuide Kei – more covertly dressed, and looking relatively gloomy – sighs, typing out something on his phone. “They’ll be running out of times soon. There are only so many words.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” comes a voice from opposite the table, “That’s why your prose reads as so uncreative lately.” The one always clad in both dark, yet also a striking amount of white, calling himself Kirisaki in this form, takes a sip from his coffee, giving off an air of unbotheredness.
Kei spares him a glance, one marked by some degree of ferocity – “But you’re reading it.”
“I suppose he is so bored that he’s had to default to your coffee table books,” Juggler says, sipping on his drink and making a strange face. “This is sweeter than usual.”
“What did you call my–” Kei’s interrupted by his phone vibrating, and there, suddenly he’s off to talk to Taguchi-san – from what Ignis’ understood, it's his boss? Manager? Either way, Kei's entire demeanour changes the second the man calls, in a way that is desperate and yet really funny to witness.
“At least they are getting creative,” he says, crossing his arms, though the various ornaments on his coat get a little in the way. Not that Ignis isn’t used to it. “Midday, mahjong – an exquisite alliteration, wouldn’t you say?”
Kirisaki's cup hits the table – someone’s not taking that well. “Do you know what an alliteration is?” There is no glare to accompany these words, merely a snarky tone. Controlled irritation, masked by venom from the tongue.
But all the duochrome-man gets is a shrug for his comment, Ignis taking the criticism in stride. He feels a smile spread on his face, easy as ever; “It works, does it not? Or is your imagination giving out now?”
“In one of the Earthling languages it certainly does,” Juggler says, still examining his invitation card, “mahiru, majaan. There you are, wannabe-poet.” Ignis, snickering, sends him an appreciative nod. One he gets no answer to.
Kirisaki rolls his eyes, taking up the cup once more. “And what do you know,” he mumbles under his breath.
It's always like this, with the four of them. They just never can have an easy conversation – but that's part of the thrill, for Ignis. Not that he doesn't enjoy the company of those he's come to know on Earth, but there still comes a time where he longs for a break from unbreakable positivity and “smile, smile”. Those guys simply aren't as fun to tease. Or rather, sometimes Ignis is simply looking for a different kind of challenge.
Looking at Kei returning to his seat, a somewhat stressed expression on his face, Ignis takes to gesturing at their little round. “Either way, we’re here to do other things, aren’t we?” He folds his hands together, leaning back in his chair. “There's this mahjong set. And there's four of us, so it's a perfect fit!”
Juggler furrows his eyebrows, “Too perfect.” Kei, typing on his phone again, vaguely nods. Kirisaki is staring into his cup.
Ah, right, none of these people know how to have fun. Ignis wants to sigh. “Come on, it'll be a good change from just sitting and drinking coffee– I’ve always wanted to play mahjong with you guys!”
“I am busy,” Kei emphasises. His fingers start moving at a somewhat concerning pace.
“Busy? Busy with what exactly?” Juggler suddenly leans forward, snatching the phone right out of the other man’s hand. Let’s see…” He makes a face, jagged line, half-grin and half-grimace. “Aha, ego-searching again.”
While Kei frowns, opening his mouth to start spouting a defence, Ignis chuckles. Really, they’re all funny in ways no one else he knows could ever be. They have the courage to be macabre, for one. “Who could’ve guessed,” Kirisaki says, sighing – but there’s an edge of amusement to his expression.
“Part of my job is to maintain a–” Kei tries snatching the phone out of Juggler’s hand, but he’s rather unsuccessful “–good image, so– I–!” There, another attempt, but Juggler holds it just out of reach. Kei grumbles, propping himself up with both hands on the table. A deep exhale. “Just give it back.”
Such things, of course, only serve to animate the likes of these people even more. Suddenly Kirisaki’s right behind Juggler, having snatched the phone and holding it up high for all to see. His face is cut apart by an instant grin, shape of waning moons. There’s never a glimmer nor a shine to be seen in his eyes, but moments like these are some of the closest Ignis has seen him get. “Now, now, that wouldn’t be any fun, no?”
A huff from the initial instigator, half-formed laughter. “Playing for Kei’s phone? Sure.” And Juggler crosses one leg over the other, smirking, making a face that all but says that he’s in.
“I’ve heard that people play this game as a form of gambling,” Ignis comments. Specifically, he’s heard Himari complain about it – though thinking about it, that might’ve been a digital version of the game. Ignis wouldn’t consider himself particularly unlucky, but either way, with enough skill, the game’s got to be in his bag, right? He’s good with his fingers, and all that. No one in GUTS-Select can match him in a round of cards.
Though he doesn’t really care for Fukuide Kei’s phone – what would he do with it? Sell it? Steal the man’s identity? Post something embarrassing on his SNS accounts? Mhm, the last one does sound quite funny… And there’s nothing better to do, is there? If that’s how he gets his mahjong game, then that’s just fine. Make it a little treasure hunt! “Alright, I’m in, too,” Ignis announces, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. “It’s what I came for, anyways.”
“Then it’s set, isn’t it?” Kirisaki says, making a wide gesture, ever so dramatic. “We’ll all enter the betting pool over–”
“Hold on,” Kei interrupts – oh my, he looks quite irritated, with his face all scrunched up like that. “Why am I the only one who has to bet something?”
Kirisaki looks at everyone else. And then, he just shrugs. “Lucky you.”
Kei stares at the stacks of tiles in front of him. This is ridiculous. Ludicrous, even! The whole debacle with this stupid bet aside, he also ended up last in the turn order. Not that he knows enough about this game to know if that’s gonna be disadvantageous outright, but it’s got his mood down for sure.
“Fukuide,” someone says, “it’s your turn.” Ah, there’s Juggler sneering at him, as annoying as ever. All of them are annoying! Really, he has so many better things to do than play a idiotic game over– over some imprudent bet he was forced into!
He inhales. Exhales. “I know.” There, he goes and takes a tile – a four of dots. Not useful, glancing at his current hand – but Kei can’t let that show on his face. He’s played poker before, he knows how it goes.
“And then, pick one to discard–”
“I know!” Kei glares at Kirisaki this time. The guy’s got the gall to smirk at him, getting a rise out of being an annoyance – but no. He’s got to remain composed. He’s an award-winning author, he can do this. And worst comes to worst, surely, Belial-sama will help him out!
Kei clears his throat. And he takes the tile he’s just drawn, moving to put it into the middle. “There.”
“Pon,” Ignis exclaims, tone quite jovial, and snatches it right out of his hand. He puts it into his own hand, flipping two more tiles around to reveal that he’s now got the four of dots times three. “Tada–!”
“Lucky bastard,” Juggler mumbles. Kirisaki appears unbothered. Kei stares down at his own hand and frowns. There’s surely something to be made out of this, but… jumbled sentences don’t make a good novel. At least right now. But he’s just got to watch out! Ignis may be considering himself lucky right now, the first to complete a meld; however, come next round, surely, things will look different!
In the meantime, he’ll just keep drinking his coffee. Which tastes worse than usual, but as long as he can get the caffeine, it’ll do. A seasoned novelist knows how to make do with anything just to stay awake to finish a chapter before the deadline.
Tiles get drawn, tiles get discarded, tiles switch owners, but none of them find their way into Kei’s hand. Rather, it seems that the others keep stealing from him – how insulting. He did always think that they might be looking down on him. Just because he doesn’t transform on his own! It is likely that they just do not get what an honor it is to have Belial-sama hear his call from the depths of space, what a magnificent sight it is to see Belial-sama fight for him, his life saviour coming to his rescue once again…
Someone’s waving their hand in front of his face. “Space to Fukuide Kei? Are you too busy daydreaming about your oshi?” That’s Ignis’ voice, still way too cheerful for his liking. Does that bastard think he can win? That he can do anything?
Kei presses his lips together into a very decisive line and mumbles, “Mind your business.” (This time, he spares himself the rant over how Belial is not an ‘oshi’ or a hobby or anything like that. It always falls onto deaf ears.)
But it is indeed his turn once more, it seems. Kei looks at the middle of the board, at his fellow players, and then at his own hand. He’s now managed to assemble three red dragons just from drawing tiles (a feat he’s quite happy over – the shade of red really resembles the patterns on Belial-sama’s beautiful body), the only meld he’s managed to assemble so far. He does have two of the one myriad tile, as well as a three and four of bamboos, so if either another one myriad, a two or a five of bamboos showed up, that’d bring his plan to fruition, giving him three melds– even if he has to steal them! Well, most likely, he will have to steal them.
Kei exhales. He’s smart, he’s cunning, he’s an award-winning science-fiction author, he’s Belial-sama’s most loyal and trusted and chosen devotee. And then he reaches out, drawing his tile for the round. He reveals it to himself, and…
“This is useless,” he says and tosses the one of bamboos right back into the middle. He closes his eyes, massaging his temples. Really, Kei would love to be anywhere else… he’d even rather work on his manuscript than play with such terrible company.
“Agari,” a voice way too calm for his liking says, and Kei’s eyes flutter back open.
So much for his plans. Please save me, Belial-sama, he thinks, staring at Kirisaki’s grinning face.
It’s easy. This is all way too easy.
He should’ve expected better of these people – or not, actually. They’re doing just as terribly as he’d thought they would. Which, of course, only serves Tregear’s amusement. There’s nothing better than this – a game of chance, illusion of success, joy on his opponents’ faces while they think they’re still safe, fully unaware that he's pulling all the strings. A most carefully operated orchestra.
Mhm. Perhaps some music would do this game good.
He raises his hand, calling the waitress over. “What may I do for you?” She asks, her voice hushed. She must wish to not disturb their game – not that anything she could do would be able to do so. That’s just a puny human, after all.
Either way. He leans over to whisper into her ear, “Get us some musical accompaniment. Something orchestral.”
The woman looks at him with slight confusion. Is she mocking him? Sure she is. Tregear clicks his tongue. And that gets her to slowly nod, “Understood.” He gives a smile, if a slightly irritated one.
Back to the game. If he wins this round, then the whole evening will be his. It’s really as easy as that, the first two rounds weren’t even a challenge. Looking at his hand, he is just missing the eyes. But Tregear’s sure that the one of dots will find its way to him, there has only been one discarded so far… and with the music coming–!
“None of you stand a chance,” Tregear muses, smiling to himself. Usually, he’d keep his face controlled, but as is, there’s no way he won’t win, which means no reason to hide his glee, either. He reaches out, about to draw a tile, and it is exactly then that the music sets in.
A line of tuba sounds lead up to something that sounds… really silly, to be frank. Lots of metallic sounds follow, the tune of something flute-like overpowering any hint of a piano. Rarely ever has Tregear’s face turned to a frown faster.
This is not elegant at all! Not dramatic! Tregear feels like he’s being played for a fool; this is not what he wanted. Where are the strings? The beauty? It hurts his fine ears. “What sort of joke is this supposed to be!?” But the waitress has long disappeared, leaving him alone on this inadequately accompanied stage.
His companions, however, seem to be quite amused. “Circus music for the ostentatiously obnoxious clown,” Kei comments, propping up his chin on his hands, “how very fitting.” Tregear glares at him – what an unnecessary, and most of all incorrect statement! He may be a jester, but certainly not one to be made fun out of. That’s his part to play.
“Feels like one of those TV shows that– humans watch,” Juggler comments, his eyebrows drawing together on his face. Ah, is that a bead of sweat on his forehead? The spikey alien must be contending with his own inferiority right now. Serves him right; Tregear’s always annoyed by his snarky demeanour. How refreshing to see him like this.
Ignis, too, looks bemused by the whole situation, the corners of his mouth curling upwards and downwards and then upwards again. Perhaps, he too is realising the danger he is in. Surely, the treasure hunter must be having his eyes on the price; either he goes big or he goes home. If they were, say, playing poker instead, Tregear’s sure that Ignis would always be the highest bidder. He has that annoying kind of self-confidence, the belief that his endeavours will work out somehow.
Too bad that Tregear is going to crush all of their hopes. As easily as a bug with the misfortune of ending up under his heel.
… The ill-fitting score shall not stop him, either. The third game is basically his, already. Begone, annoyances!
A sharp glint twinkling within, Tregear’s eyes stick to the tiles that travel across the board, watching for the final piece his puzzle’s missing. Bamboo, numbers, dragons, directions – nothing of use there. The others can’t all be hoarding the dots, can they? Even among the few melds that are open on the board, there’s no three one of dots anywhere. And he’s sure that none of them are in the discard pile, there’s no way he would’ve missed them. So it’s just a matter of waiting, and being fast. The early bird catches the worm.
He drums his fingers on the edge of the table, growing a little impatient. The sunlight from outside is starting to sting – could they not have put any curtains? Bad taste, it draws a whole sigh from Tregear’s lips.
Juggler seems to be on a similar wavelength, looking somewhat tired. He, too, is a man of excitement, if Tregear remembers right – the snake enjoys watching the fall of empires, slithering around the stub of the tree it cut down with its very own sword, bolt of purple in the dark, extinguishing life faster than it can perceive the sparks on its skin. Now, that man is leaning forward, not particularly amused as he picks up a new tile.
But then, he freezes, something glimmering in his glare. “Well, well,” he says. His eyes meet Tregear’s as he flips around the new tile for him to see. “That’s the one you wanted, young man?”
Before he can say something, those lips curve into the shape of a crescent, annoying daring light ruining the beauty of pitch-black night. The tile goes onto Juggler’s hand, and his fingers flip open the rest of his tiles one by one, revealing a complete legal hand. “This round’s mine. then. Too bad, Kirisaki-kun.”
He breathes in. Breathes out. “That is a shame,” Tregear says, very slowly, putting weight onto each and every syllable. “I didn’t know the one discarded by the light could do it.”
“Look at yourself,” Juggler counters, smugness taking over his demeanor as he leans closer, “I thought the light wasn’t real? I thought it was all made up? Isn’t that what you always say, dear jester?”
Tregear glares at him – he shouldn’t dignify that with a response. He won’t.
Even with the throbbing starting to build up within his head, he’ll just win the next round instead.
Juggler massages his temples. His forehead’s starting to hurt – no, he’s had a headache ever since he stepped foot into the café today. Likely the fault of these other three bastards.
Or maybe he’s just off his game.
At least the annoying music from earlier has stopped. While Kirisaki’s aghast reaction had been amusing, the looping melody had quickly gone on all their nerves. As for their little gamble, it’s not looking too hot for him, either. Not that Juggler really wants to get his hands on Fukuide’s phone, but it’s a matter of pride. That goes for all of them, really. If you gamble with no plans to win, then what’s the point?
The thing is, that bastard Kirisaki's still on track to winning. Even if Juggler manages to get this round, it'll come to a draw. What will become of Kei's phone, then? Do they break it apart like a bar of sweet chocolate? His reaction to that is amusing in Juggler's head.
And Kirisaki's, too. The young man fancies himself the most competent game master out of all of them, so it'd be great to show him a different sight. Make that bastard fall from his high throne without any semblance of grace! Hah, yes, that could save this miserable day for sure. And thus, Juggler will have to try for another win.
The other three seem like they’re getting tired – eyebrows furrowing, eyelids drooping, the lines of their mouths less sharp than what he’s used to. Juggler, too, still can’t seem to get away from that damn stinging pain – what is he, one of Gai’s human friends? He can’t fall because of some random, inexplicable ache.
A hand reaches out for a tile, the eyes examine the result, neurons send signals and reason it to be useless, leading to the tile being flung into the middle pile. Clack, clack, clack, the rounds pass as does time, each sound getting heavier, nicking itself into his chest like the tick-tack of one annoying clock.
“Ugh,” Ignis says, a huff breaking the lulling silence. He’s done away with his coat a while ago, but even then, he daps at his neck with his sleeve, having broken out into a sweat. Seriously? Juggler clicks his tongue. Even Kei looks like he’s about to fall asleep, and Kirisaki’s making a very concentrated face that does not betray how much effort he is putting into maintaining that composure.
It’s not like the round is close to ending, either. Juggler doesn’t know about the others, but his own hand is rather modest at this point in time. If it simply could’ve been over after the first round – the things he does to cure his boredom.
“I see that the gentlemen are experiencing some difficulties,” a voice says – one Juggler thinks to be familiar, but he can’t place it. It’s starting to feel as if there was someone pounding onto his head with a dull hammer. He half-turns his head to see one of the waiters appear in his peripheral vision.
“I was under the impression that you thought you had mastered the game of Mahjong just after reading the rules, but it appears that I was mistaken.” The figure cracks a smile. “Its complexity must’ve overwhelmed you.” He sounds awfully pleased with himself.
“This is nothing,” Kei is quick to say, “against the Universe Chess I’ve observed Belial-sama play.”
“Even the dumb idiot the young man here is obsessed with would get it, I reckon,” Juggler comments, having a little chuckle as he glances at Kirisaki.
“Yes– Ah?” As expected, he gets a glare filled with poison in return. Not that it could harm Juggler, not in a million years, so he retains his smile. A little joy amongst these very vexing circumstances.
Ignis sighs and leans towards the waiter, ignoring all of them, “It’d be easier if my head wasn’t hurting – do you have tea?”
The waiter raises an eyebrow, and then bows his head, “One tea, coming up.” And as he leaves, he whispers, “Though that might kill you just faster.”
“I heard that,” Kirisaki says, bending over backwards across his chair and fixing the waiter with a glare. The guy stops immediately as if bound, almost comedical timing. Oh, is that fear talking?
“Wait,” Ignis says, looking down into his cup, at the waiter, at everyone else, and then at the waiter again. “Did you actually put poison into this?”
This is when a low chuckle is heard. One that erupts into laughter, shrill like shards of glass piling up, the shattering of a mask, its pathetic remnants trying to form something pretty. The waiter turns around, hand over his face, leaving only a gleeful grin to be seen. “That’s right! You’ve finally realised my masterful plan, my ingenious gambit–”
“That’s why the coffee was so–” Juggler pauses, staring at the guy. That voice, that laughter, the choice of words. “You!” He points with one finger. “It’s you! Alien Magma!”
The hand is lowered, revealing a face no longer human, and instead one all four of them know too well. “That’s right. Me!”
Juggler sighs. He turns around – none of the other three look particularly surprised. The most there is, is Ignis raising his eyebrows, “So you’ve finally betrayed us…?” Kei is crossing his arms, Kirisaki looks more unamused than ever. Yes, just as he thought. Well, he supposes they’re in unison on what to do next, too, then.
Alien Magma is somewhere between elation and dismay “Yes, yes, it was always my plan–” He’s gesturing, pointing at the other waitress appearing by his side (was the ridiculous music also part of said plan, one must wonder; if so, then it certainly worked really well, on Kirisaki at least), exchange of hushed voices. The waitress is then sent away, for god knows what reason – did they try to steal their personal items again?
He rolls his eyes and gets up, pushing the chair aside, its legs screeching across the floor. “I take it you wanted to fight?”
“That I did –“ silvery lips are trying their best to smile “– but the thing is just…” He glances at the floor, a flash of color on his cheeks. Seriously, embarrassment? Is he getting more pathetic with every time that they meet? “You guys were supposed to be dead. A whole hour ago, actually.”
“A whole– We haven’t been here for much longer,” Kirisaki remarks, frowning.
“If I had my phone, I could check,” Kei says through gritted teeth, “but since it’s in someone’s pocket dimension, our idea of time remains vague as is.”
“It’s all made up, anyways,” Kirisaki grumbles. “Some inane invention that corrupted most of our universe, a fool’s idea…” He keeps on mumbling, but Juggler’s not listening to all that.
“Well, we are all quite fine,” Ignis says, flashing an impressive smile for someone who’d just looked as if he had wandered across a star’s surface. “So I suppose your poison didn’t do its job! Lishurians are immune to certain things, you see.”
“Snakes take very well to poison,” Juggler remarks.
“It is all indifferent to one like a god,” Kirisaki says, a smile sneaking onto his face.
Kei’s eyes sparkle in the light, “Belial-sama…! You must’ve blessed me…!”
It is then that the waitress returns to whisper something into Alien Magma’s ear. His face promptly falls, leaving behind an expression of pure horror. “What do mean I mixed up the–“ He stops himself, clearing his throat. “Uh, so…”
“This is ridiculous,” Kei says, shooting up from his seat in a very characteristic fit of annoyance, “I have much better things to do than entertaining your little laughable endeavors.”
“Like not writing your manuscripts,” Juggler snarks.
Kirisaki, too, elevates himself, chin held up high, hands coming to cross behind his back. “I would applaud the persistence, but you are utterly unamusing company. Your pitiful attempt at vengeance does nothing for me.”
Ignis just shrugs. “What? All I wanted was an exquisite time, so…”
“Do you never have anything else to do?” Juggler asks, sighing. It does make him wonder why this guy is finally attempting to kill them again after already having failed once, knowing what kind of existences they are. The lone wolves of the universe! What’s the point in trying to measure up to such folk?
In response, Alien Magma shrugs. “No, actually. I’m bored to death.”
“That,” Ignis says, snapping his finger at the guy, “I can get behind.”
“No, you wouldn’t get it,” Magma exclaims, pressing his lips into a thin line, gaze cast downwards. He does actually seem quite serious, voice taking on a grave tone – something much different than the other random aliens that have tried to kill them the last two times. “The universe’s economy is cruel to ones such as me. It’s not like I can just walk onto Earth and make a name for myself by wrecking terror, there’s always some guy made out of light–“
“Ultraman,” all four of them say simultaneously, with varying degrees of displeasure.
“–That,” Magma continues. “Either way, this–“ he gestures at the café, “is all I have. Without it, I’m nothing. And without you…”
“Aw, are you trying to play kicked puppy?” Juggler cooes. “Laughable.” Even Gai’s better at it than this shiny bastard. Thinking about it, is his silver supposed to resemble Ultramen? What a shitty imitation, at best.
“Without you I won’t have a job anymore! I’d have no way to live!”
His desperate pleas bounce off against the walls, gliding through a stunned silence. Juggler crosses his arms, he’s not sure what to say. He’s used to being the one pursuing like this, not the other way around – a terrible feeling, truly. Maybe it'd be different if this was someone he respected, but– Magma is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Even Gai hot on his heels would be preferrable.
It is Kei who breaks the stalemate. “Well, I could do with one job less than I currently hold. So if you’d like to be a popular science fiction novelist–“
“No,” Magma says through clenched teeth, “I am destined for greater things.”
Despite having offered in the first place, Kei seems offended. “Hm! Then I cannot help you,” he says. “Belial-sama would not bless one such as you with his kindness either.”
Kirisaki, a devious grin forming on his face, takes a step forward, a finger going up to position itself below Magma’s chin. “You know, there’s an even faster way to put you out of your misery–“
The alien flinches away quite quickly, as most beings would. Juggler never wants to be this close to that fallen Ultraman – only to see notions of terror up close, perhaps. But Kirisaki takes pleasure in it, not moving a single step away, instead reaching out to prod the alien’s cheek.
Well, Juggler doesn’t really want to watch this much longer. Even the drawn-out rounds of mahjong were more interesting. “The entire universe is in shambles,” he sighs, boredom becoming evident in his voice. “But being its lone wolves, none of it concerns us. So you’re out of luck. Half of us aren’t exactly alive either.”
Magma furrows his eyebrows, looking really quite pained, still being prodded by Kirisaki. “How are you here, then?”
“There are certain attachments that unfortunately keep us chained to the fleetingness of existence. Terribly so.” Kirisaki frowns – Juggler knows what he means. Really, all of them do, except Ignis, perhaps. Ah, and Kei’s probably rather happy to be able to have conscious thought about his oshi again.
Ignis stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, these guys still seem to have a job to do. Unlike you over there.”
“You–” Magma stops himself, resignation taking over his face. “So there’s only one way then, huh?”
Ignis is already playing with his blaster, or whatever it is. Kirisaki has his mask, Kei pulls out some kind of fan with hearts, glitter, garlands and his beloved Belial’s face on it, and Juggler – well, who’d he be without his dear Jashin Blade by his side?
“Let's go, everyone!” Ignis says gleefully, as if he was leading some kind of charge. This earns him some glares, not that he seems to mind. Such is the instinct of those more on the side of the light than not, quite annoyingly so. Juggler was always against adding another member.
Magma sighs, pulling out his sword, or whatever it is. “You guys are seriously gonna put me out of my job.”
“So? Whom does that make the winner?”
The four bastards are debating over Magma’s head, no longer paying him any heed. His defeat had been as swift as ever, even with the (less than expected) side effects of the poisoned drinks, and they even spared his life for some incomprehensible reason. Someone’s got their foot on his back, the heel uncomfortably digging into the skin. To be honest, getting to lay down is making him realise how much every single of his limbs hurts. If he could only take a break…
“It should be me! I dealt the finishing blow, and exquisitely so!”
“I won two rounds. By the rules of the game, it ought to be me.”
“Who fucking cares about the rules–”
“You could also just give me my phone back.”
“No way,” three voices say simultaneously. Wow, they’re really serious about this… Magma cannot imagine worrying about such things. He has never had the time, having to think about how to preserve his livelihood instead. Being an epitome of evil must be easy in comparison.
“Surely none of you have ever had to write a job application,” he grumbles, words getting sucked up by the ground. But someone must’ve heard it, because he gets a kick to the side, making him groan in pain.
“Factually incorrect. Try to get into the Space Science Technology Bureau first.”
“And I didn’t become a famous novelist from nothing!”
Maybe Magma really should reconsider his life choices. Should he go really try to take over Earth instead of... this?
There’s a bit of shuffling above his head, some kind of scuffle – huh, maybe if he’s lucky, these guys will simply take out each other. Ah, but then he cannot claim the glory for himself – should he lie, then? Is that what you ought to do? Not that Magma’s above that, not at all, but–
“Then I’ll just take it. It’s already in my pocket, anyways. Spares you the trouble!”
“You bastard– I need to– The new volume of the Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy–”
“As if you’ve been working on that!”
“At least I’m doing something meaningful instead of playing mourning jester or stalking some hero!”
“Well, if none of you can agree, then I’ll simply–” There’s more shuffling, the swish of someone’s coat; “Ah, no, that’s your poetry collection, I don’t need to see that again!”
“Give it back!”
Maguma’s head is starting to hurt. Did he sip some of his own coffee by accident? No, then he’d already be dead, most likely. Maybe he’ll just try to fall asleep to all this noise, and worry about everything else later. Perhaps he should follow the others in his species and try to subjugate humanity with… vicious coffee, or something…
Peeking up at the four about to transform and fight again, yes – invading Earth and dying to an Ultraman seems peaceful in comparison.
Fukuide Kei – New Work Soon! @KeiFukuideOff
I am today taking to this platform to convey an important feeling I have held for a long time to my dear fans.
14:04 / Today / 15.6K views
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Fukuide Kei – New Work Soon! @KeiFukuideOff
you know that guy belial? my one and only, my inspiration, my life my oshi? he sucks. i have ALWAYS hated him. his eyes look stupid, firstly, why are they so glowy? And his body is a mere duochrome! Black and red isn’t as elegant as black and white. he can’t even do anything without hiring some desperate alien first, huh? and what a questionable choice for a personal servant… He lost to Ultraman, and one of the most annoying of the bunch, too. That really says enough. Fuck him.
14:05 / Today / 103.9K views
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Fukuide Kei – New Work Soon! @KeiFukuideOff
Good day, everyone. From the bottom of my heart, I would like to apologise for my earlier conduct and words. [4 images attached].
14:58 / Today / 39.8K views
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