the ninja.
As the assassins closed in around him, Basu got to his feet, staggering like a fat drunk. Without a sword, he would have to fight them barehanded. The blue-hooded assassin whipped around him, crossing the yellow-hooded assassin who whipped around to the other side. They were spinning their swords like batons.
It was Purple Hood who struck first. He went for a decapitation strike, aiming for his neck, but Basu bent his body all the way back in order to dodge it. As his head leaned back, Basu’s belly swung forward, slamming into the assassin’s chest, knocking him ten feet off the ground. When Purple Hood fell, he landed on his feet unfazed and charged back into action.
Blue Hood spit glowing green sludge on the back of Basu’s head. Like acid, the radioactive spit melted through his hair, burning his flesh. Green smoke billowed out of the wound. Basu charged head-first into Yellow Hood, hoping to knock the assassin down and wipe the toxic sludge off on him at the same time. But just as he made impact, the yellow-hooded assassin’s skin turned a white color and became as hard as stone.
When Basu’s head slammed into Yellow Hood’s rock flesh, blood sprayed from his forehead and he tottered backward, his vision spinning, his rolls of fat flopping and jiggling as he staggered. He wasn’t sure if his dizziness was due to concussion or because his heart was becoming tighter and tighter inside of his chest.
Blue Hood slashed Basu across the back as he was falling. Then smoke exploded in front of him as Red Hood appeared, slashing Basu across the chest. The four assassins surrounded him, taking turns striking, slashing into his hundreds of pounds of blubber. They didn’t go for his head or heart, just for his rolls of fat, as if they were toying with him, making a game of it.
Oki watched from the crow man’s clutches as gash after gash appeared on Basu’s body. The boy looked up at Crow, who was watching with wide-eyed pleasure, licking the edges of his black beak with his pink human tongue, savoring the demise of his old friend.
As he was being sliced to shreds, Basu felt the fishy yellow discharge oozing out of his rectum into his pants. That was the final straw. He finally felt utterly hopelessly pathetic. He thought about how much of a wreck he had become, how much of a grotesque pile of shit he was.
While staggering between the assassins, Basu grunted at himself. He wondered if he was just kidding himself when he thought he could still be a great ninja after gaining over five hundred excess pounds. Being that freakishly obese was a serious handicap for a human being. Of course he couldn’t take on the likes of the Gomen Corporation. He didn’t have the stamina or the agility of a ninja anymore. He was nothing but a blob with a sword.
But as Red Hood stuck him in the ass with his sword, Basu snapped out of it. He stopped feeling sorry for himself. He wasn’t an overweight pile of shit. He was Basu. He was seven hundred pounds of total destruction. Nobody could defeat Basu. Not Crow, not anyone.
Once Basu became morbidly obese, he decided to turn his weakness into a strength. He understood putting seven hundred pounds behind an attack was an incredibly powerful blow. He understood that he could kill a man just by landing on top of him. There were things he could do that no other ninja could do. He refused to give up and die. He would not let the assassins defeat him, nor Crow, nor his lack of stamina or his pounding heart. He would not give up. He was ninja. He was Basu.
At that moment, the four assassins dove forward to deal their final blows, but the morbidly obese ninja leapt high into the air. As their swords clacked together, the assassins looked up at the man-blimp in the air above them. Three of the assassins dodged out of the way as Basu came tumbling back toward the earth.
The fourth assassin, Yellow Hood, didn’t notice Basu’s enormous body falling on him until the last second.
As the assassins closed in around him, Basu got to his feet, staggering like a fat drunk. Without a sword, he would have to fight them barehanded. The blue-hooded assassin whipped around him, crossing the yellow-hooded assassin who whipped around to the other side. They were spinning their swords like batons.
It was Purple Hood who struck first. He went for a decapitation strike, aiming for his neck, but Basu bent his body all the way back in order to dodge it. As his head leaned back, Basu’s belly swung forward, slamming into the assassin’s chest, knocking him ten feet off the ground. When Purple Hood fell, he landed on his feet unfazed and charged back into action.
Blue Hood spit glowing green sludge on the back of Basu’s head. Like acid, the radioactive spit melted through his hair, burning his flesh. Green smoke billowed out of the wound. Basu charged head-first into Yellow Hood, hoping to knock the assassin down and wipe the toxic sludge off on him at the same time. But just as he made impact, the yellow-hooded assassin’s skin turned a white color and became as hard as stone.
When Basu’s head slammed into Yellow Hood’s rock flesh, blood sprayed from his forehead and he tottered backward, his vision spinning, his rolls of fat flopping and jiggling as he staggered. He wasn’t sure if his dizziness was due to concussion or because his heart was becoming tighter and tighter inside of his chest.
Blue Hood slashed Basu across the back as he was falling. Then smoke exploded in front of him as Red Hood appeared, slashing Basu across the chest. The four assassins surrounded him, taking turns striking, slashing into his hundreds of pounds of blubber. They didn’t go for his head or heart, just for his rolls of fat, as if they were toying with him, making a game of it.
Oki watched from the crow man’s clutches as gash after gash appeared on Basu’s body. The boy looked up at Crow, who was watching with wide-eyed pleasure, licking the edges of his black beak with his pink human tongue, savoring the demise of his old friend.
As he was being sliced to shreds, Basu felt the fishy yellow discharge oozing out of his rectum into his pants. That was the final straw. He finally felt utterly hopelessly pathetic. He thought about how much of a wreck he had become, how much of a grotesque pile of shit he was.
While staggering between the assassins, Basu grunted at himself. He wondered if he was just kidding himself when he thought he could still be a great ninja after gaining over five hundred excess pounds. Being that freakishly obese was a serious handicap for a human being. Of course he couldn’t take on the likes of the Gomen Corporation. He didn’t have the stamina or the agility of a ninja anymore. He was nothing but a blob with a sword.
But as Red Hood stuck him in the ass with his sword, Basu snapped out of it. He stopped feeling sorry for himself. He wasn’t an overweight pile of shit. He was Basu. He was seven hundred pounds of total destruction. Nobody could defeat Basu. Not Crow, not anyone.
Once Basu became morbidly obese, he decided to turn his weakness into a strength. He understood putting seven hundred pounds behind an attack was an incredibly powerful blow. He understood that he could kill a man just by landing on top of him. There were things he could do that no other ninja could do. He refused to give up and die. He would not let the assassins defeat him, nor Crow, nor his lack of stamina or his pounding heart. He would not give up. He was ninja. He was Basu.
At that moment, the four assassins dove forward to deal their final blows, but the morbidly obese ninja leapt high into the air. As their swords clacked together, the assassins looked up at the man-blimp in the air above them. Three of the assassins dodged out of the way as Basu came tumbling back toward the earth.
The fourth assassin, Yellow Hood, didn’t notice Basu’s enormous body falling on him until the last second.
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