Mortal Foil [AT - SPLIT]

“Pfft, please, you’re not much of an opponent.” The Namekian scoffed, yet he wondered why exactly the suited hero-fraud only spoke as if there was a singular other person that was his family. At least the Doragon’s reaction to the threat was promising, so Onoma would accept it. That gunslinger seemed like they’d be interested in tracking the family down. “Hah, sure, I just want their blood, you can take their stuff.”

Pointing aggressively at the Doragon, Onoma smirked. “You’ll see, you little shit! Don’t worry about it!” Onoma cackled when he was asked an all too familiar question. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ was something he had been asked many times, and at this point he had only one thing to say in response, somehow with an even more wicked grin than before. “It doesn’t matter.” Just what that implied was unclear.

What did happen clear in this situation was the gap in strength at play between the lone Doragon and the ones that had decided to make a sick game out of tormenting him. Even though there was a brief moment of hope, the greed and hunger of Onoma’s Vitriolic Reproach technique overcame the last gasp of the fiercely boosted Mercury Cannon.

Breaking out into laughter once again while walking ominously towards the struggling hero, Onoma’s ghastly mirth matched that of his own technique up until the very end with the final explosion.

Then, there was silence. For a short moment, Onoma enjoyed the aftermath. “So that’s that.” The Namekian acknowledges Zenos with a nod, allowing the man to retreat as he wished without opposition. Surely, they would meet again some other time.

As for the other bounty hunter, Onoma could only really give something roughly like a half assed apologetic shrug as he idly kicked a shattered piece of the now obliterated armor. “Hm. Maybe I overdid it or.... He just didn’t know when to quit? Latter seems more likely.” At first it looked like that fancy suit was worthless now, but Onoma knew better having noticed something about it’s behaviour. “Suit’s still intact. I know what regeneration looks like, it just has no energy to succeed in doing it. Probably because he’s almost dead or whatever. Odds are you’ll need to straight up kill him for the whole getup, yyyyeah.” That was the easier way to do it probably, not that either of them were really shy about doing it, but maybe there was another way? Onoma had his doubts that the Doragon would tell them how it worked.

“I really don’t like this guy, as you said, he’s a moron. But, I’ll give him one thing, he stood his ground.” Onoma looked around, keeping an eye out for any dregs of undead at this point as he leaned over to get a look at the extent of the Doragon’s injuries. It was pretty awful, and it gave Onoma a sense of twisted accomplishment. Now how else could the Namekian torment this fellow? Ahhh, well it was easy! He could take him to a hospital and threaten the staff to tell the Doragon it was him that did it, adding to the embarrassment! Yes, a flawless plan!

“Ooh ooh, I’ll help. It’ll piss him off if he ends up learning we brought him there... Now then, where the fuck is the nearest hospital? Is it really on the other side of the planet? That’s dumb.” He commented. “Well whatever, probably won’t have zombies in it.” Onoma added, trying to hoist the Doragon’s rattled, broken, busted and bloodied body attempting to carry it away as he followed Bloodhound.

There was something funny about overhearing the debate outside while trying to wriggle through the rubble covertly. It was an interesting enough distraction that Onoma inadvertently slowed his own escape— it was like listening to an audio recording of an incredibly violent soap opera.

It became increasingly obvious (at least in Onoma’s opinion) that the guy with the pink hair was going mad with power. With the increasing level of madness and malice, could the man even call himself heroic? Or was he another hypocrite, a faker with an ulterior motive like the Doragon? This train of thought got Onoma to stop in place and return to his regular bipedal form.

Stuck in his trance, Onoma was brought back to reality when someone else spoke up. They mentioned Kami. Hmm. where had Onoma heard that before? Oh, right wasn’t it some lady called Janine? He didn’t entirely remember much, other than he didn’t like her silly floating sun fortress. Whatever, it wasn’t important, Onoma had then noticed that the woman had just ratted him out. He rolled his eyes and punted the nearby wall open. “Rattin’ a dude out like that when he’s just tryna leave? Laaame.” The Namekian stepped forward, retaliating defensively against the thin beams of ki with small kiai bursts. “You’ve got some guts, little cricket. You better watch yourself, cuz maybe I’ll spill ‘em too sometime!” He grinned maliciously at the funky looking insectoid fellow.

Since these people wanted to see Onoma suffer so much instead of focusing on Gavin who was still bleeding, the Namekian just figured why not. “Go ahead, then, get your revenge.” Onoma’s grin contorted into something beyond vicious. “Show me how good and virtuous you so-called heroes are.”

From what Onoma could see in the coming moments, he got exactly what he had expected. “Heh...” The strength of the pink haired man became intense, boiling the air around him and almost bending reality itself to his will, but the Namekian noticed how far overboard the man was going in the seconds it took for him to strike. “There it is.”

Onoma began to cackle wildly, it was hard to tell if he was going further off the deep end or if he was simply just entertained by it.

Ultimately the path between the two of them, the area around them, the buildings, the rubble, all of it was engulfed and ruined further by the destructive force that had been brought out.

Even after he was struck down in the blaze with his body buried deep under more rubble and charred to a crisp in a pool of his own burning blood, Onoma’s horrid laughter echoed throughout the city streets, perhaps it would even ring in people’s ears if they were unlucky enough...