About a week has passed since the fight with Phoenix. As she said, she had been staying with Radichio at Draft's place, since the two of them live with each other. In the cozy, welcoming atmosphere of Draft's house, the trio of Radichio, Phoenix, and Draft found themselves making the most of their time together. The past week had been filled with laughter, camaraderie, and a sense of newfound friendship.
In the backyard, Radichio and Phoenix often engaged in friendly sparring matches. Their bouts were intense, showcasing their incredible power and skill, but they were also filled with mutual respect. They pushed each other to their limits, knowing that it was through such challenges that they could continue to grow stronger.
Draft, always the enthusiastic host, would cheer them on from the sidelines. He had set up a makeshift arena in the spacious backyard, complete with soft training mats and a beautiful view of the surrounding landscape. It was the perfect place for Radichio and Phoenix to test their abilities without holding back.
After their training sessions, the trio would relax in the cozy living room. Draft had a collection of board games, and they would spend hours engaged in friendly competition. Whether it was a game of Dinosaur Island, Too Many Bones, or Magic: The Gathering, they relished the chance to unwind and have fun together.
Phoenix, with her insatiable curiosity, would often ask Radichio and Draft about their adventures and experiences as two of the Grand Battlers. She was eager to learn more about their world and the challenges they faced, and they were more than happy to share their stories with her. Radichio explained all of their adventures, from when they first landed on Earth to before they met Phoenix. She was amazed that the Grand Battlers had faced such incredible foes, and admired Radichio more because of it.
Draft, always the culinary expert, would prepare delicious meals for his guests. He took pride in introducing Phoenix to Earth's diverse cuisine, from homemade pizza to exotic dishes from around the world. They would dine together, sharing stories and laughter over plates of food.
In the evenings, they would gather in the backyard, sitting around a crackling bonfire. The stars above would twinkle brightly, and Draft would strum his guitar, filling the night air with soulful melodies. It was a serene and magical moment, a time for reflection and relaxation.
As the days passed, Radichio, Phoenix, and Draft formed a tight-knit bond. They had become more than friends; they were like a family, supporting and uplifting each other. It was a testament to the power of friendship and the ability to find joy even in the midst of challenging battles.
Their time together at Draft's house was filled with fun, laughter, and a deep sense of connection. It was a reminder that, no matter the challenges they faced, they could always find happiness in the company of those they cared about most.
While his friends were having fun and enjoying their lives, the same could not be said for Baezel. At his home, he had been unlike his usual self for the entire week. He was unable to cook without his hands shaking as he held his tools. He stayed up for hours at night, unable to sleep. Even in the shower, he couldn't properly bathe without shaking. While he was training in the yard, he couldn't do it properly. Every punch, kick, ki blast and kiai that he threw at his ki constructs of himself were plagued with fear of something. He entered the house once more, and walked into the dining area, where he slumped into a chair and put his head down, groaning.
Dana, who had been in the dining area, paying their taxes, looked up at her husband. She could feel the worry emanating from Baezel, as though he had those dark-colored swirls that could be seen emanating from evil characters in Dragon Ball. She was worried about him; he was acting off for the whole week. She then stood up from her chair and walked over to Baezel, trying to comfort him.
"Baezel, you've been acting really paranoid recently. I could see it in the way you've been acting; it's like you're...shaking, as you do things. What's wrong?" Dana asked him. "You can tell me, I won't judge you for it."
He sighed, as he put his head up. His hands were on his cheeks and both elbows were on the table. And yes, they were still shaky. "It's just...I - I don't know. I don't know why I'm so w - worried! Damn it, now I'm stuttering..." Baezel uttered. "Y - you're a spiritual person, right?"
"Yes, why?" she asked.
"Well...this may sound a bit odd coming from a guy like me, but have you ever gotten the feeling that a deity is giving you an omen for something? As though a god is trying to tell you, Hey! Listen up! Something bad is going to happen to you, and you must be ready to face it! You know, th - that feeling," he replied. Baezel didn't understand it, and couldn't explain it himself, but he felt as though something horrifying was about to rise up from the shadows and tear everything that he's worked hard to protect, into blood-stained shreds. Like a vengeful spirit was about to come back to haunt him, any day now. It was wracking at his nerves, he felt like all of this worrying would drive him CRAZY!
As Baezel confided in Dana about his unnerving premonition, little did he know that his fears were not unfounded. In the depths of Hell, where the air was suffused with malevolence, Pepkorn had been watching, waiting, and plotting. He had been biding his time, planning the ultimate revenge against the Grand Battlers. His main target was Baezel, however. It was not known to him whether or not Gangal would still be loyal after all this time. He had always preferred Gangal over Baezel; he was always more obedient to what Pepkorn told him, while Baezel was more of the rebellious type, the "fuck you, I won't do what'cha tell me" kind of guy.
In the dull-colored area of torturous geographical features that was Earth's Hell, the attention of the villains forced to stay there was dominated by an old CRT television that had an uncanny connection to the mortal realm. For a while, the signal had been disrupted by the cataclysmic shockwaves caused by Baezel and Phoenix's monumental clash. Planets trembled, stars flickered, and even the ethereal ties between Hell and the living world had been momentarily severed. But now, the transmission was back, the video was crystal clear. For a 480p device, anyway. They were lucky they didn't get a 480i television; otherwise it would just be a 240p signal with double the lines.
"Aw, look at them enjoying their lives like nothing bad will happen," Pepkorn smugly said. He then widened his eyes, when he saw Baezel walking around like he saw a ghost. He chuckled at such a sight. "Would ya look at that? The mighty Baezel, terrified like a little child. That, combined with his friends enjoying life, will make it all the more enjoyable when I kill them all...but before any killing goes on, I need to formulate a plan. So far, my options are...find the Tree of Godly Might, become a Super Saiyan God, or delve into that Soul Ascendance thing...not sure which one to go with."
"Well, you're definitely not finding five Saiyans down here, buddy. At least, none that are strong enough," Baezel Yami said. "You've got me, Gangal, and Nori. 3 is less than 5. Unless Baezel decides to snap the necks of his two children and throw them down into Hell, you aren't getting god ki anytime soon."
"No need to remind me," Pepkorn replied, irritated. "That leaves me with two options...stacking up on fruit, and the ritual. Now, let's figure out how to get that Soul Ascendance ritual going." He opened up the book he got from the Bibliotheca Inferni and tried to find the page he bookmarked. Luckily, he did, on page 184. This is the entry that the book had on the ritual.
In the dark annals of forbidden sorcery, a sinister path is laid bare to those willing to sacrifice all for boundless power. The ancient rite known as the Soul Ascendance is a dire invocation, ensnaring the essence of the deceased to fuel the insatiable lust for supremacy. Beware, for its mastery comes at the ultimate cost—the forfeiture of one's own soul.
To embark upon this treacherous journey, one must convene a coven of the departed, their halos aglow with the pallid light of the afterlife. The number matters not, yet the strength they bear in death shall determine the potency of the ascension. In solemn unity, the living conductor must recite the Chant of Unbinding, a liturgy of ancestral release that beckons the dormant spirits to relinquish their ethereal essence.
"O souls, eternal slumber's chains undone,
By twilight's glow, your power freely spun.
Release your life's eternal ember's gleam,
Surrender all to my nefarious dream."
Within a sanctum shrouded in darkness, the gathered spirits form a sinister vortex, channeling their spectral might into the living conduit. The energy flows as an unholy river, drawn from the realm of the departed. As the souls' essence is drawn forth, the living conductor must partake of this malevolent stream. With each draught, the living vessel absorbs the fallen's strength, growing ever more powerful.
When the threshold of power is attained, the ritual reaches its climax. The living conductor, now surging with the energies of the departed, undergoes a malefic transformation—the awakening of the Supervillain state. In this profane state, the skin assumes a lustrous hue, akin to gleaming metal, while the eyes blaze with a purple inferno. Hair turns a bright white hue, and the aura becomes a maelstrom of black and white, punctuated by arcs of sinister purple lightning.
But heed this dire warning, for the strength gained through the Soul Ascendance is a double-edged sword. The stolen life force of the departed comes at the expense of the living conductor's own essence. The toll exacted is the gradual erosion of one's life, a descent into inevitable oblivion. Thus, one must weigh the pursuit of limitless power against the inexorable cost it exacts—a destiny of ultimate annihilation. The path of the Soul Ascendance is treacherous and fraught with peril, yet to those consumed by unrelenting ambition, it offers the allure of unrivaled might, at the direst of costs.
Upon reading the text out loud to his fellow inhabitants of Hell, he closed the book shut and put it down. From what he understood, this ritual could only work if he got revived. But how was he going to get himself revived...? The thought remained in his mind, as he thought of how to restore himself to the world of the living. He knew of the Dragon Balls, thanks to watching Baezel and from his own experience on Earth. But had it been too long since he died? He couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that he needed to be revived, and he would do so once he felt that his plan was ready to execute.
"So, what exactly is your grand plan going to look like?" Nori inquired. "This shit better be worth the power of our souls."
"It's a bit rough on the edges, but this is what I've got outlined so far...
Step one. I'll need to return to the mortal realm. We all know about the Dragon Balls and their ability to grant wishes. I'll find a planet with Dragon Balls, most likely Earth. If Earth isn't available right now, then I'll go somewhere else. I will use them to wish for my revival, and return to the living world."
Zendoria raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "And what's to stop those Grand Battlers from stopping you when you're revived?"
Pepkorn smirked. "That's where the real plan comes into play. Once I've been revived and return to Hell to meet up with you four, we move to step two. I'll perform a powerful and ancient ritual known as Soul Ascendance, as you heard me narrate it to you all."
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I will harness the raw power of your souls, companions. Baezel Yami, Zendoria, Gangal, Dr. Erbito and Nori, your souls will be drained to fuel my ascent to unparalleled strength. Within a fortnight, or 2 weeks, you'll fade from existence, while I get to live on, free from this shithole."
Nori's expression twisted into a scowl. "Excuse me? So you're asking us to sacrifice our very existence for short-term power? Why should we agree with what you're rambling about?"
Pepkorn's eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of determination and malevolence. "Because, it's the only way to ensure my victory! It'd be especially hypocritical if you objected to it, Nori. And remember, it's not for my sake, but for the eradication of Baezel and his wretched allies. I couldn't give less of a damn about any of you clowns."
Gangal, the least hostile of the group towards Baezel, hesitated. "I don't know if I can support this. Baezel isn't as bad as he used to be; I'd know. I don't have the same disdain for him anymore."
Pepkorn's tone turned menacing, and he leaned in closer to Gangal. "Listen here, 'son'. If you tolerate being dead, then you'll follow through with it. Got it?"
Gangal nodded in a cold sweat, as Pepkorn went back to the tree where he formulated his plan. The area fell into an uneasy silence as the weight of the decision hung heavy in the air. The quad of villains (a quad is a group of four) were torn between their continued existence in the afterlife, and the dubious promises of Pepkorn's plan.