All that I am

     It truly upset Momiji to know that this stranger, honest to God, didn’t have any friends. And judging by his second statement, it sounded like he wanted a couple, at least. 

♔ — Zanza hadn’t really thought about what he looked for in a friend. Did he even have friends back at home? They were at closest disciples, minus Alvis, but he was stuck with him out of necessity. Alvis was like his personal computer of sorts.

“A god…?” Quite the proclamation. But it is not was seemed intriguing - but rather this individuals cruel impulses. “A doji only obeys his master.” He’d start. “But what use does a god have for one…” A smirk slipped onto the robots features. “Correct?”

Back on Bionis, he had three loyal in his circle-- Dickson, Lorithia, and Alvis. He wondered shortly what they were doing in spite of his absence. Did the whole world stop in its tracks? Was a clone of him there instead? Or did it run as usual, but with no one in his place? No matter, he decided that a new disciple could prove useful.

“What is it that you can do for me,’doji’?” — ♔

“Looks are not everything.”

Even as the stranger spoke, his position remained unchanged. There was no reason for the god to be scared-- he was god. He was power. Besides, this man didn’t look nor talk imposingly. If the blond's voice did not reveal his annoyance, then his face certainly did.

“You are a waste of my time and are in my way.”  — ♔

Approaching the nearest civilian, one he assumed to be of this city, the man held it out to them, inquiry ready, ❝ Can you tell me who this belongs to? ❞

“Yes I can. But at what price? Why should I tell you?” — ♔

♔ — Zanza shifted his gaze away from the younger one, his mouth a slight frown. How he wished he had his powers back and how he wished he had any friends. The naiivity the other spoke was like salt in a hidden wound buried deep.

The stranger’s words catch him by surprise, though, reminding him all too much of what happened years ago. He was never the type to follow someone blindly, regardless of the circumstance. This fact, unfortunately, led to a betrayal, which in turn brought on a massacre and a plan gone awry. Then came the running, so much running, but no matter how far he got it was never far enough. It never would have been, either. His fate was sealed the moment he failed to complete his goal. And so he died in that alley, before he even got a chance to finish what he started.

He will not make the same mistake twice.

Too caught up in his thoughts, the teen fails to notice the incoming attack until it’s too late. He only has the time to brace for impact, stumbling back a few steps before he can catch himself. The blow leaves him short of breath and a little lightheaded, but he can’t be bothered to care, instead grasping for the hilt of the wooden sword he was given upon his arrival.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to turn your back on your opponent?”

The sentence is punctuated by a sharp woosh of air, his sword swinging towards the so-called God’s head. Being made out of wood doesn’t give it much of an edge, but it’s still one hell of a blunt object.

“Gahh--”

His nose still bled, although much lighter than before, the blood covering most of the lower half of his face. It even stained his otherwise perfectly white teeth. There would most certainly be what could be described as a large goose egg on his temple from the impact. Zanza was playing risky; this new position left him even more vulnerable than the last. Not even the large, oddly shaped (although wooden) Monado could compensate.

He was relying to much on his preceding form and its power. An attack like previous would have easily broken the place of impact. Best yet, these pathetic excuses of attacks would have given him not even a scratch.  He could not wait to rank up; although it would most certainly be sealed, he needed his actual Monado back so that he was once again invulnerable to most attacks. He would have his soul back. 

“You are a pest. I will make you subservient or you will die in the process.” — ♔

                                      Fund Zanza for God

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Now that I have obtained citizen status here in Citta Alveare, I can post this. My self, my memories, my achievements… all that I am is fading. I hold no power in this city as I did in my universe. I must fix this unsatisfactory predicament; I need to rebuild my empire. To help me, give me money as tribute. It will not only show your loyalty to me and my cause but help me with further actions. Those who fail to provide if they have the means will be punished. However, those who do provide will garner a reward.

Do not question me.

                                                               -Your one and only god, Zanza

                                                                                    Posted 5:34 PM on May 1

Melia Antiqua     just now

Zanza    just now

    Rarely was Law careless enough to get drunk in a public place. Being unaware of one’s surroundings was one of the most dangerous thing and inhibitions existed for a reason. Whatever happened last night, it must have been pretty damn big for a few reasons, one indicator being the very fact that he’d been so intoxicated in the first place. He couldn’t recall a single event of the evening. Another was an interesting piece of memorabilia tattooed on his ass.

Yes. On his ass.

     The tattoo in question was one of another man’s face. Platinum blond hair, a smug expression, and the most disturbing pair of off-center eyes he’d ever seen in his life. Not even one of his patients with their eyes pointing in entirely different directions matched the discomfort Law experienced from looking down at his own ass. Hive City was big, busy, and constantly on the move. No wonder he hadn’t ever seen this person or the useless tattoo artist that fucked the eyes up. It was one thing to have a tattoo of a stranger on his rear end, but it was another entirely for it to be a shitty one. 

     He walked at the pace of a predator stalking its wounded prey as he made his way down one of the many streets of the first district, glaring steely cold hatred at every face in search of one that matched the royal fuckup on his butt. Not blond enough, too rough in the face, wrong color of eyes, a woman, er… 

    Was he sure that person in the tattoo wasn’t a woman? They looked like they could go either way with a bit of makeup and he had just reason to believe the artist behind it all wasn’t the best to begin with. 

     Just as he woke up in a shock and tried to remove it himself to no avail, a similar shock struck him as he rounded the corner. There, walking his way, was a young man that looked identical to the image hidden underneath black spotted denim. 

Earlier today, he had woken up with not only a throbbing headache, that of which was relatively foreign and a nuisance, but a throbbing asscheek as well. By bending backwards, he could make out that there was a face on the right side of his rear, but other than that, he required the assistance of a mirror. That was just where he had come from, a (rather dilapidated) public bathroom, where he scrutinized the shameful thing on his perfectly sculpted ass.

The god would have to find out who committed such heresy and make them suffer in the most unthinkable ways. Yes, they would feel his wrath, the wrath of a god-- after he got the tattoo removed of course. If only he had his powers of foresight, he would have known who this stranger was, or would have even prevented this sacrilege in the first place. 

Hands tightly clenched, as he strutted down the sidewalk bustling with people, Zanza stopped dead in his tracks; before him stood a man he knew all too well, or rather, his face. That sharp jawline, that black hair and matching goatee, that god forsaken hat-- it couldn’t be mistaken. Right down to the golden hoops that lined the other’s ears. Zanza gritted his teeth.

“You-- Speak. Now.”  — ♔