On multiple stages, there were dancing women of various sizes and species. Red, white, blue, green, black, just name it. Some were non-human, but humanoid. Others were weird, the lower body of a snake and the upper body of a human.
The best part was how all of them had tits hanging nude. And fuck, they were fantastic tits, all shapes and types. He walked around the dancing stages, eyeing the women. There were also a few men dancing, sadly, and they had their cock out because surely nobody would give a fuck about seeing their chests.
He ignored them and only watched the women. He was still a man, so of course, he grew hard. But he wasn't irrational like before, where he'd have asked one of those women to come to the backrooms.
His goal was still to seek someone who could point him in the right direction, towards a Celestial.
"These are all gutter-trash scum-sucking degenerates, Marty. Don't think we'll find any intel on Celestials here," he muttered, finding nothing but a bunch of horny guys all around. "Best grab a ship and haul ass to a planet that doesn't smell like ball sweat."
To that, Marty wholeheartedly nodded.
"Ugh…"
As he passed a very human-like beauty dancing, he noticed an alien guy just standing near the stage and stroking himself out in the open, mouth open, eyes blown from whatever powder he'd smoked.
"Look at that. Never be like that, Marty. Even I ain't that fucked up."
"Huff."
"Nope, I know what I was. And I wasn't that. I got class, buddy. And a much bigger cock."
Right as he said that, the guy jerking off seemed to hear him. Skin red, a little scaly, the alien man turned and walked towards Marshall. The fucker didn't even bother to shove his cock back in his pants.
"You! What did you say to me?"
Marshall looked at the bastard, taller than him. "I didn't say shit to you. Just an observation, buddy. Now go back to your corner."
The alien tried to grab him by the collar of his fur-vest.
Marshall reacted by waving a slap towards the alien's face.
Boom!
He failed to remember that he wasn't the same old Marshall anymore. His strength had considerably increased. His body was as strong as that Aspirant, and that meant his strength was the same.
His slap smashed through the speed of sound with a boom. He didn't even make contact with the alien's face. Just the air from his palm was enough to obliterate the poor degenerate's entire skull.
The body remained standing. The skull just vanished, turned into a fine, bloody paste that splattered across the side over the dancing woman, the customers, much of the walls, and furniture.
"Did you see that, Marty? I didn't even try."
Violence was so normal to Marshall that what he did didn't even register in his head. A guy annoyed him; he killed that guy, and that was it. That was how he'd lived for so long. Habits aren't always directly linked to sanity, and it was something that wouldn't just vanish even with a 'fixed' brain.
Understandably, a riot broke out.
The dancing women screamed and ran for their lives. The patrons ran towards the exit. And not long after, armed men with guns of various sizes entered, all aimed at him. They, as well, had a yellow leaf patch on them.
But then he looked at the dead body of the headless man, still standing there somehow. He noticed a yellow patch on the arm of it.
"Ah, so they're all buddies."
Marshall hoped to talk to them.
"Shoot him!"
But someone shouted an order, and instantly the entire floor of the club descended into a constant flicker of blaster shots. All bolts struck Marshall, countless of them. But he stood still since they didn't even tickle him.
He reckoned they wouldn't have endless bullets, even if they were plasma weapons. And he was right. They slowly started to stop, the barrels of their guns turning hot and smoking, overheating. Some were insane and kept shooting until the guns exploded right in their hands, obliterating their fingers.
"Not a very bright bunch, are you?" Marshall muttered at the sight.
Then, he raised both his hands, two fingers pointing at the crowds as if he were holding guns.
"Last warning. Surrender to me. I didn't plan on starting my space adventure with bloodshed."
The fuckers laughed.
With a sigh, Marshall started blasting. Bolts of pure energy shot through his fingers. And unlike their guns, he could control the rate of fire and could keep it up forever. Moreover, his shots were made of primordial energies, far superior to anything else.
Flesh and steel, his shots melted through everything. In fact, it was just a beam of energy that he shot in bursts to make them seem like energy bolts. It was just more fun this way.
"Pew! Pew! Pew!" Marshall shouted, just enjoying himself.
He killed the first few rows of the crowds that had gathered. Dozens died instantly.
"We surrender!"
Just as his shots started to reach the back, they all threw away their guns and raised their arms.
"Don't shoot!"
"We give up!"
Marshall still shot a few more before stopping. Then finally, he admired the work of art he'd made. Almost two dozen dead bodies littered everywhere with clean holes in their bodies.
"What do you think about my aim, Marty? Ain't I like that Boob Fat of Star Whores? … Huh? Who's that again?"
Sadly, his memories of ancient times were still too jumbled and messy.
"Wrah."
"So-so? Man, you don't know shit about guns." Marshall grumbled and finally looked at the surrendered figures. He walked towards them and randomly pointed at a guy, a boy probably in his early twenties. Tall and strong, but scared at the moment. "You, come here."
Not that scared, it seemed. The boy stood up and marched like a good soldier. He was as tall as Marshall.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Stakar Ogord."
"Not your name, boy." Marshall tapped on Stakar's chest at the leaf symbol. "What is this? What does it mean?"
Stakar frowned, as if hearing heresy. "It's the Ravagers symbol."
"Ravagers? What's that?"
"We're a big crime syndicate," Stakar said, pride in his voice. "We're divided into almost a hundred factions called clans. And… you just killed the leader of my clan."
Marshall hummed, rubbing his beard, thinking. "How many clans are on the planet right now?"
"A few, ten, maybe twenty. I can't tell."
Marshall nodded strongly to that. He understood that finding the Celestials wasn't going to be easy. They already knew that he was hunting them, and this time, they knew he could kill them. They had every reason to hide and bide their time.
So, he needed a lot of eyes and years.
"Then congratulations, you just got promoted to clan leader." Marshall patted Stakar's shoulder. "Now take me to other clans. I'm taking over. From now on, all Ravager clans are mine."
"..."
Stakar stood there, frozen, as if he'd heard the most absurd thing.
Marshall didn't like that and pointed his finger at the kneeling crowd again. Although he aimed randomly, Stakar reacted by jumping in front of his aim. So, Marshall eyed who he'd aimed at, and sure enough, it was a woman with dark, messy hair.
"Oh? You sweet on her? Alright, I won't kill her; every cock deserves a tight, greedy pussy, like a perfect key to a special lock… Fuck me, who is she? Looks like my sweetheart Hela. Pure goth vibes. Thoughts, Marty?"
Marty, rubbing his T-Rex hands, nodded in approval. Yes, the goth resemblance was there.
Stakar was at a loss for words. The sighs were there. The man before him was insane. But that only made things more dangerous. More dangerous than a lunatic was a powerful lunatic.
"I'll take you to the other clans. I'll do that."
"Good boy." Marshall ruffled Stakar's hair. "Let's go then. We got lots of clans to conquer. How do we contact those not on the planet? Ah, you know what, don't answer. Daddy's just gonna mind-fuck the info out of every leader's gray matter personally, it's more fun that way."
"..."
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