The thirteenth episode of Deep of Muscle.
The following is a fan-translation of the Japanese content.
Summary
This episode explores the afterlife of chojin such as Brockenman and Wolfman, as seen from the eyes of the Graveyard Demons in the Chojin Graveyard.
Story
Chapter One
Part One
Prologue
The Chojin Graveyard is a prison for the souls of dead chojin.
There are those that arrive after grave injuries in battle, but others who arrive once they have lived out their natural lifespan. There are many reasons why their life expires, but all will come to this place in the farthest reaches of the earth as if in exile.
It is true that they have no bodies, due to the fact that they are dead, but their soul contains a multitude of memories that help shape their soul into the image of what they were when alive. This functions very much like their original body, while they are inside the Chojin Graveyard.
Still, it is almost impossible to return to the world of the living with those bodies . . .
First and foremost, this mysterious place exists locked away in another dimension. Nobody knows what the world is like outside the graveyard, and nobody can know what the world is like. There are very few people that can break out of the graveyard by force, and – of those that did just that – none returned to tell stories of the outside world.
The people within the graveyard believe that these souls simply disappear on leaving the graveyard, as they were merely intangible bodies held together by the memories of the soul, and so how can the soul exist outside of this extra-dimensional space . . . or so the rumour goes.
Truth be told, there is no easy way to return to the world of the living . . .
This works due to the Graveyard Demons, who supervise and maintain the graveyard. The deceased who come to these parts are forced to work on behalf of the demons, and – if they work hard and achieve results – they will be granted a “Life Ball” from the demons. If you collect four of these balls, you may use them to open a door that will lead to the world of the living, but without them the door will remain closed!
They say it is possible to collect all four balls within six months, but – for the sluggish or lazy – it can take as long as a hundred years to collect all four balls. The unfortunate chojin that come here accept the task of hard labour, as they seek to attain the balls, even though it is a shameful and demeaning job, but they will go through these hardships for the sake of reaching their goal.
This story is one about a Graveyard Demon.
It is from his eyes that we will see the lives of many famous, yet deceased, chojin. We will see what he thinks about the current state of the graveyard . . . you will be introduced to some of their sorrow, anguish, and personal philosophies.
Part Two
I’m a demon that lives in the graveyard.
I don’t really have a name, so you can just call me “Demon”.
I bet you think it’d be problematic not to have a name, but there’s no real problem in the least. You see our sole purpose for existence is to whip the dead, forcing them to perform manual labour, here in the graveyard. You know, now I mention it, I’m not even sure I was born. I’ve never seen my parents’ faces, and it’s not as though I have any siblings. If you pushed me to say, I’d confess the other demons here are almost like brothers to me.
I don’t know if I’m a chojin, a kaiju, or some complex creation made by a higher power. I don’t know, but something tells me that it’s not important, so I don’t exactly care. My only purpose is to make the people here engage in menial labour. That’s it. No more and no less. I am a Graveyard Demon.
Today, a newcomer is arriving from the surface world. It’s a chojin that died on the ring. It’s not really unusual to encounter such a person, but this man is different . . . he’s made a real name for himself on Earth as a Brutal Chojin, and even my fellow demons are scared of him.
Good grief, he’s on a rampage already! Let’s go check it out . . .
─── SCENE 01: Brockenman
“Hiyah! Red Rain of Berlin!”
“Gyaaah!”
I made my way over to the commotion, where several demons were surrounding one man, but they were having a lot of trouble controlling him. These were strong demons, but each and every one was being knocked down by the man’s hand, as he attacked at a blurring speed. There was a glimmer to the eyes of this man, who seemed to be in an excitable state. It wasn’t easy to get close to him, but we’re demons in the Chojin Graveyard. We’re not going to be afraid of a dead person.
“What’re you guys playing at?” I asked. “It’s pathetic that a group of demons can’t take down one dead guy! This guy couldn’t even win in a martial arts match. I’m sure ten of you can beat one man. Get to it!”
The demons at the scene acted as an advance unit, and – on hearing the rallying cry – charged at the rampaging man all at once, throwing themselves at him. After this wave of demons descended on him, the man spat and clawed and bit at them, until they gained control with a whole body restraint. They were finally able to subdue him.
“Guwah,” cried the man. “What the hell is this place? Who the fuck are you?”
The man they captured was named Brockenman. He was one of the three most dangerous Brutal Chojin in the world, and a terrifying creature shaped and formed by the Third Reich.
“Answer me! What is this weird-ass place? Isn’t this Japan? What is that on the monitor? Is that . . . is that my corpse?! What the hell?! I don’t understand what’s going on!”
The large monitor revealed the current state of events in the world above, and – on its surface – it showed the dead body of Brockenman, who had been ripped in half by his opponent. I replied in a very slow and calm voice to the distressed Brockenman:
“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you. Remain calm. You were taking part in the Chojin Olympics today, when your opponent – Ramenman – tore you in half by your torso using the Camel Clutch technique. This is the Chojin Graveyard. All deceased chojin come to our graveyard, and we are the demons who have been entrusted with the efficient running of this place. You are dead. You came here because you are dead. Do you understand?”
Brockenman bore an incredulous expression, but – as a top-notch chojin – he retained his intellect and judgement, thus was able to maintain his composure. He soon realised that this wasn’t an ordinary realm, and – slumping his shoulders in defeat – asked in a calm voice to me:
“Is there any way for me . . . to come back to life?”
I proceeded to tell him all about the basic rules here, such as the enforced labour, and how he can be revived by collecting four “Life Balls”.
Part Three
Brockenman listened intently with a humble expression, but – as soon as the story was over – stood and carefully adjusted his uniform, before he said:
“Right, so that’s how it is. In that case, I’m wasting time. Let’s get started.”
“Started? Start on what?”
“Isn’t it settled? Manual work, of course.”
Was he really so upfront about his intentions? Was it merely a tough guy act? He was not overcome with despair or defeat, but he also no longer showed signs of violence or empty rebellion. The fact he was so willing to just accept his position was almost anti-climatic. I said to him:
“Brockenman, I heard you were one of the most brutal chojin in the world . . .”
“Ah, and a Brutal Chojin shouldn’t be obedient?”
“No, they’re not . . . but it’s better for me when they are.”
“I understand. You’re a prison-guard in this world of the dead.” Brockenman softened his expression and smiled at my reaction. “A scoundrel that starts trouble over something as trivial as being made to work is nothing more than a dim-witted imp. They're not worth your respect.”
“I fully agree,” I replied. “I hope that we can get along.”
“The greatest evil in existence is that of ‘hypocrisy’; the act of pretending to have morals or principals that one does not possess. If the masses fail to understand that much, the goodness of the gods will always be beyond their comprehension.”
“That is also true. Still, let me ask you one thing that I’m failing to grasp. Can something like ‘goodness’ really exist in the world, or is belief in goodness just a form of hypocrisy in itself?”
“Fufufu, maybe,” laughed Brockenman. “That’s beyond my area of expertise, though; I’m only a Brutal chojin, what would I know?”
That was the last thing he said, before he quickly joined the line of workers in the distance.
“Hey, let me tell you something,” I yelled. “If you think going back to the world of the living is going to be easy, you’re dead wrong!”
Brockenman did not react to my loud shout behind him, but simply joined the other dead people in their meaningless tasks. He took a hold of a wooden handle, one of many attached to a large rotating device beyond his comprehension, and slowly began to help in pushing it on its circular path.
I had come across the most fascinating fellow. I was getting fed up of the tedious day-to-day events, but – for the first time in a long time – I had hope. I proceeded to return to my task of whipping the labourers into submission.
── To be continued
Chapter Two
Part One
Time has moved quickly; it’s been six months since then . . .
Brockenman has continually worked hard every single day since his arrival, without once having caused any major problems. There were many half-assed, unimportant chojin that abandoned their chores and labour, and some even tried to start an uprising against the demons, but Brockenman never once gave into temptation, and – with great determination – continued to push the logs day after day.
He was famous for being a Brutal Chojin while alive, but he showed no signs of resistance and seemed happy to resign himself to his fate, and – because of this – the gossip behind his back never ceased to stop. They would say things about him like:
‘Brockenman has grown old and fat.’
‘He’s lost all ambition; he’s just a shell of his former self.’
‘He’s a chojin that’s become a loyal lapdog to in the graveyard.’
‘Since they lost the war, the Nazis are just a shadow of their past selves.’
Even if he heard such malicious gossip, Brockenman never let the pressure get to him, and just silently pushed at his logs. One day, once the rumours had died down, Brockenman took a break from his menial labours, and I had an opportunity to talk to him for the first time in a long time. I said:
“You’re full of energy today, Brockenman.”
“And you have too much time on your hands.”
“Ah, well, you’ve been so resolved that there’s been a sharp decrease in the amount that I need to actually use my whip. It’s something I’d never have imagined when we first met, not with how violent you acted.”
“Hmph,” said Brockenman. “In the post-war period, we Germans revitalised a barren and desolate wasteland of a country into a world-leading economic and industrialised power, all in a short time; so don’t ever underestimate our serious and earnest nature. Once we put our minds to something, we yield to no one. Once we come to a decision, we obstinately follow through no matter what. This Germanic spirit is at the heart of the Brocken Clan! Thanks to that, I already have three Life Balls, and that means I only need one more . . . just one . . .”
Brockenman took three bright and beautiful balls out from his chest pocket. It was incredibly rare to collect three balls in just over half-a-year, and the sheer speed he achieved this was incredible. It would only take one more Life Ball to return to the world of the living, and – by the looks of things – that would hardly take long for him to accomplish. For that reason alone, while he was temporarily in the graveyard, he was willing to ruin his ego, succumb to ‘hypocrisy’, and become a faithful lapdog in the graveyard.
This was the same man that declared such hypocrisy to be the ‘greatest evil’, so what the hell were his true intentions and how terrifying must they be . . .? I’ve been curious about that ever since the first day we spoke, and every day the question burned all the more to see him work so hard. As if he could somehow read my mind, he whispered to me:
“It’s my son . . .”
“What?”
“Brocken Jr.,” said Brockenman. “He is the only thing worthwhile I have on Earth. You want to know why I’m content to play dead? You want to know why I meekly submit to you sons of bitches? Do you really want to hear why I’m doing this?”
“Well, you say ‘playing dead’, but you are pretty damned dead . . . anyhow, so that’s the real reason why you’re so unfathomably attached to the world of the living?”
“Yes, that’s right. My biological son, Brocken Jr., is also my beloved pupil . . . if I’m to be honest, his talents and abilities far exceed my own. Not to sound like a doting parent, but even I felt this almost terror at the extent of his tremendous raw power. He is – by far – the strongest person ever born to the Brocken Clan, in its entire history . . . I can hardly tell if he’s a gift from God or a curse from Satan. If I can just continue to provide him a special education, he’ll have the power to hold the world in his hands!”
“But you died before you could achieve your goal.”
“Exactly! That’s why I must return to the world of the living, no matter what, because he’s still just a greenhorn. Not only that, but there are secrets of the Brocken Clan that he has yet to learn, all stemming as far back as the Holy Roman Empire. Once he has learned everything -?” Brockenman chuckled. “Fufufu, he will defeat all of the world’s greatest chojin, one after another, starting with the Robin Clan, our eternal rivals that reside within England.
“If that happens, we can then establish our leadership and bring forth a new cosmopolitan. It shall be a united world where everyone can live in peace, transcending the boundaries of race and religion, and nothing like the delusions of which Hitler dreamed or the lies that Hitler espoused. A unified nation . . . we’d call it the ‘Fourth German Reich’, which would no longer be a pipedream! That is my goal! Fufufu!”
Brockenman said this with the bright eyes of a madman. Did he realise he was still dead? Was the heart of this Brutal Chojin somehow still alive?
“World domination, huh?” I asked. “That's a lot of work. Well, we demons don't know much about earthly things, and frankly, we don't care. As long as you're working hard here, I'll give you the final Life Ball that you’ll have earned. That's all I have to say on the matter.”
“You won’t try to stop me?”
“It’s nothing to do with me; I’m just a nameless demon, no more or less.”
“Huh,” said Brockenman. “I kind of expected you to say that. You’re not like the other demons here; there’s something about you that sets you apart from the rest.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Tch, no. I’m going back to work, anyway. I need to get the last Life Ball soon.”
With that said, Brockenman returned to his job of pushing at the logs. I watched him leave, but his words played over and over in my mind:
“I’m different from the other demons?”
Part Two
Time marched onward . . . Brockenman continued to work hard, and – finally – the day came in which he was awarded his fourth Life Ball. I handed him his final Life Ball, and said to him:
“Congratulations. You’re officially free from the Chojin Graveyard. You’re all good to get started on your world domination or whatever.”
“Thank you, but it’s a little late for that. Soon, I’ll be . . .”
The second that Brockenman said those words, his body began to grow transparent in nature. This surprised me more than anything. I knew the reason, though. There were two potential paths for a chojin to take once they collected all four Life Balls.
“Oh my,” I cried. “You’re taking that path!”
Normally, a chojin who collect all four Life Balls will return right away to the world of the living, and would open the door to the world with absolute joy, happy to return. To be frank, it was the honest opinion of us demons that this was the worst possible choice, only leading to the path of endless, futile struggle. That is due to the fact that those who leave the Graveyard will inevitably return to the Graveyard, and this begins an endless cycle of departure and arrival, as they seek to leave again.
On the other hand, those who completely abandon their material attachments to that world will find themselves purified, and break the never-ending cycle of death and rebirth, as they escaped the worst of the nine circles of hell once they collect all four balls. In other words, one can break free from the cycle and reach the gates of heaven. Now, before my very eyes, it seemed Brockenman was trying to leave for heaven. I could only gaze in absolute wonderment at this inexplicable impossibility.
“Why are you doing this, Brockenman?” I asked. “You told me so much about your desire to return to the world of the living . . .”
Brockenman pointed to the monitors high above, which showed the state of the living world. From Brockenman’s mind, a series of images flitted onto the screen in a rapid succession. In the first, Brocken Jr. challenged Ramenman to a battle in an attempt to avenge his father, but lost, and Ramenman told him: ‘Forget about your father and you shall become stronger.’ After that, Brocken Jr. and Ramenman were reconciled, and Brocken Jr. acted as Ramenman’s pupil and trained beneath him.
Brocken Jr. is reborn as a Justice Chojin, who finally attains self-reliance, and thereafter fights with his comrades against the Devil Chojin in a series of battles. He wins against Mr Khamen and the Ninja, and steadily his career record flourishes with consecutive wins . . . once he wins against the Ninja, Brocken Jr. turns to Robin Mask and asks him the following question:
“Hey, Robin! Have I finally become a fully-fledged Justice Chojin?!”
“You are a truly splendid Justice Chojin . . .!”
At the end of Robin’s words, the video on the monitor concluded.
“Yesterday,” said Brockenman, “I thought I’d check the current state of affairs in the world of the living, before I made my return. It seems that I’m not needed any more. Since I died, my son has found a new mentor of good standing and is blessed with many friends. He’s found his own path in life. If I go to him now, I’ll only bring chaos to his life. Maybe we dead should stay dead and not return to life . . .”
“But what about the secrets of the Brocken Clan?”
“Ah, well, now my son has obtained the power of ‘friendship’, he has no use for my secrets. It is time that he starts his own Brocken Clan traditions, and builds a new future for our family.”
“Brocken . . .”
“Oh, I don’t want to waste the four Life Balls that I worked so hard to collect. It’s why I have one final request to make of you: I want you to keep them safe for me.”
“Who? Me?”
“That’s right,” said Brockenman. “If ever some awful calamity befalls Brocken Jr., I’d be grateful if you used these Life Balls on his behalf. I know it’s a strange request to make of a demon like you, I hope it’s not a problem?”
“I understand,” I replied. “This is the last wish of a dead man that finally gets to go to heaven. It’s an exceptional set of circumstances; of course, I agree.”
“Thank you, my friend . . .”
“Your friend . . .”
A blissful expression adorned Brockenman’s face, as he disappeared into a beautiful and warm light.
It was the first time I had ever been called ‘friend’. My heart beat a little faster . . .
── To be continued
Chapter Three
Part One
A little time had passed since Brockenman ascended to heaven.
One day, the Chojin Graveyard was awash with excitement over a famous chojin that was due to arrive in our realm. Just like Brockenman, this chojin had also been killed in a fight on the ring . . .
─── SCENE 02: Teapackman
“Whoa. The Olympics is meant to be a peaceful festival, so how the heck did I get murdered?!”
This chojin was holding a tea-pack that was saturated with water, and he swung it around with enough strength to hit at my fellow demons. He bore a huge teacup for a head, and represented Sri Lanka in the Olympics. He was called ‘Teapackman’. Just like with Brockenman, the demons swarmed him en masse and proceeded to restrict his movements. It took some time to calm him down, but – finally – I was able to approach him. I held a magazine in my hands, and refrained from reading to explain about the nature of the Chojin Graveyard. Teapackman said to me:
“So that’s it. I’m dead . . .”
“Well, to put it simply . . . yes.”
“But I still can’t shake it. Every time I think about it, I become furious! What the fuck is wrong with that Warsman bastard that I had to fight today?! He slashed at my chest with his iron claws; there was no reason to kill me like that. It was being broadcast on television! Children were watching!”
“Yeah, I guess . . .”
“And then, to top it all off, he rips my head from my lifeless body and drinks all the tea from my decapitated head, like an absolute barbarian! Is he from a tribe of head-hunters?”
“Huh, damn . . .”
“The biggest humiliation is what came afterwards! Warsman left behind some of my black tea, so that heartless bastard at the end drank what was left. It was that asshole commentator: Tazahama! I will never forgive that man!”
“Oh, that sucks . . .”
Teapackman talked on and on and on in his agitated state, and it bored me half-to-death, as I repeatedly made empty interjections in an effort to make it seem I was paying attention. Teapackman eventually grew frustrated and took his endless anger out on me.
“Oi, can you tell me what I just said?” Teapackman spat. “Did you listen properly to what I was saying? I was speaking to you earnestly from my heart! Are you really just going to read a trivial, old magazine?!”
That was when he snatched at my magazine.
Snap! I could have sworn that I heard a blood vessel burst. I’d finally reached the end of my limits, and took out my spiked club that was my most treasured item, as I delivered a violent counter-attack! My anger burned like a flame inside me, as I brutally beat Teapackman to within an inch of his life (so to speak). Crack! Pow! Smack!
“Gyaah,” cried Teapackman. “Wait a second, what’s wrong with you all of a sudden?!”
“Huh?! It’s about time you shut up! You’ve only just died, so I expected you to be lively, but the way you’re hammering on is just too much; it’s driving me crazy! If you hate Warsman so much, collect the four Life Balls and use them to go back to life, that way you can pick a fight with him in a rematch or something!”
Boom! Crack!
“Arrrgh,” screamed Teapackman. “Okay, you’re right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
That’s how Teapackman ended up beaten to a pulp on his first day. We confiscated his most treasured weapon, his tea-pack, and no longer did he have the energy to stand up against us.
“Shit, this is all that Warsman’s fault,” he would mutter. “That demon is right, though; I have to find a way to be resurrected so that I can get my revenge on him! Four balls . . . I just have to get four balls . . . when that happens -? Hahaha, I’ll show that Warsman!”
Since then, Teapackman became a lot quieter and worked a lot harder at his manual labours. He pushed at the log without a single complaint. The work was a lot harder than he expected, and everyone involved was so exhausted that they never had the energy to listen to him. The loneliness and isolation was more than a chatterbox like Teapackman could bear to endure, and he didn’t dare talk to us demons unless he got his ass handed to him.
“Oh, I just want - . . . I just want one person to talk to,” he’d say. “Just someone for company . . .”
A sudden idea seemed to flash into his mind. He needed to speak to someone who hated Warsman just as much as him, and wasn’t someone like that bound to turn up sooner or later? If Warsman killed someone else soon, there would be a new person in the Chojin Graveyard . . .! That was it! It was clear he would do his best to encourage the new arrival to be his new companion!
Part Two
A few days passed. It was the day of Warsman’s second match. Teapackman couldn’t tear his eyes away from the giant screen in the graveyard, as he watched Warsman fight against Pentagon.
“Alright,” he yelled. “Get him! Go for it! Go Warsman!”
Despite how Teapackman wanted a friend more than anything, he was now ironically rooting for Warsman in this battle. The match was going just as one would expect, Warsman’s brutal fighting style was more violent than ever! Pentagon had one wing torn off, with body sliced into pieces by the Bear Claw . . . bam, bam, bam! The gong rang out to signal the end of the match, and – on seeing Pentagon sink down onto the bloodstained ring – Teapackman started to dance with glee.
“He’s done it! This is it! Tomorrow I’ll finally have someone to talk to!”
The next day, Teapackman went about his forced labour with an air of excitement, but – no matter how long he waited – Pentagon never made an appearance. There was no sign of a new companion arriving for him. That was strange. Teapackman cautiously approached me and said:
“Err, excuse me, I wanted to ask you a question . . .”
“You again? Do you want something?”
“No, it’s just that I wondered whether Mr Pentagon was here today, considering he probably died in yesterday’s match and all . . .”
“Ah, he’s a friend of yours?” I smiled at his words of despair, and spat out: “It seems that they’ve managed to save his life up there; you must be so happy.”
“Fuck! Damn it!”
Without caring what people thought, Teapackman left screaming in tears.
***
A few days later, he got another chance. The semi-finals were being held, and Warsman was due to compete again. He was up against Ramenman, who had been severely injured in his previous match against Brocken Jr., and that left Warsman with a massive advantage! There was no doubt about it; this time he would certainly kill his opponent!
“Go! Kill him, Warsman!"
Teapackman rooted for the inevitable death with his usual ‘love-hate’ cheers, when Warsman’s Bear Claw gouged a hole through Ramenman’s skull, with a disastrous aftermath . . . it was awful for Ramenman to experience, but at least Teapackman would now have a friend -! Only . . .?
“Oh, it’s you,” I said to him. “That’s fortunate. I get to tell you now that Ramenman survived.”
“Gah, damn it all to hell!”
Teapackman returned to work screaming and crying . . .
***
It was at last time for the final match, and Warsman’s opponent would be Kinnikuman. Today would be an absolute safe bet! The best part is that Kinnikuman was a good guy, and he seemed incredibly easy to have a conversation with, not to mention he was the weakest opponent Warsman had ever faced! He should definitely be going down in this fight! Teapackman cried out:
“I’m lu-lu-lucky! This is it! This is it! Go get ‘em, Warsman! Please, please, please do whatever it takes to kill him, Warsman! Go, Warsman!”
If I were to be blunt, Teapackman’s mental state was right on the edge. He just couldn’t bear to live without someone to talk to any longer; it was impossible! He was on the verge of heartbreak. T-Pac Man continued to stare at the match as if in prayer, but after 36 minutes and 40 seconds . . . the result was . . .
“No way . . . that’s . . .”
“Good for you, Teapackman! You’ve been avenged by Kinnikuman!”
“Uwaaaaah!”
Teapackman started to blow bubbles from his head, and – hearing what I said – fainted.
***
A few days passed, and I started to wonder how long he would say in bed. Luckily, after a while he regained his senses and returned to participate in the forced labours of his personal hell, but – while his physical body was healed – his heart was still broken. Still, since that say he has worked silently in this gloomy graveyard, despite there being no one to talk to or keep him company. Until the day he collected all four Life Balls, this would go on forever.
Despite being lost to his despair, he continued to push at the logs. That is when something happened right behind him . . . he wasn’t sure how many weeks it had been, but a familiar sound echoed out in his ears . . . koho koho . . .
“Eh? That voice . . . it can’t be . . . it’s not . . . that voice is -?”
He turned around in amazement; he saw there a familiar, black, shadowy silhouette . . .
“Koho!”
“Wah!” Teapackman cried. “Am I dreaming? Is this a hallucination? You – You’re . . . Warsman?!”
It no longer mattered who they were, just so long as he had someone to which he could talk! Teapackman was so overcome with emotions, he ran straight for Warsman, and – tears streaming down his face – threw out his arms in an attempt to embrace him . . . pow, boom, bash!
“Koho!”
“GYAAAAH!”
Warsman had just been killed by Buffaloman’s Hurricane Mixer, as such it was a bad idea to lunge at him, regardless of the reason! In a second, Warsman rained down on the Chojin Graveyard a series of Bear Claw attacks that ripped open all in their path.
“Th-That . . .” Teapackman spluttered. “You . . . that was so mean . . .”
Teapackman collapsed, while Warsman maintained his stoic expression and kept his arms outstretched. I watched the whole ordeal unfold, and wrote down one simple observation in my diary:
‘I’ll never understand how someone can be willing to embrace the man that murdered them.’
── To be continued
Chapter Four
Part One
Fortunately, Teapackman was unharmed.
At any rate, he was already dead and it wasn’t as if he could die again. Plus, we demons – who guard the graveyard – have been gifted with secret and mystical techniques: if we hit an injured inhabitant with our iron clubs using all our strength, it will break apart the bodily image that comprises the soul and rebuild it into its original form, free from any injuries, no matter how damaged they were before.
That was the good thing about the graveyard, but also the bad thing about it, too. It means it’s possible to take advantage of this phenomenon to bring back the original body as many times as you wish, so that you can effectively inflict eternal torment on them . . . that’s why it’s rare many chojin who come here choose to revolt or start trouble with us demons during their stay here.
In rare circumstances, we encounter extremely stoic chojin that actually request this torture, so that they may train their minds and bodies in an ultimate act of discipline. So why don’t I tell you now about such a man . . .
───SCENE 03: “Wolfman”
“Dosukoi!”
He shouted that the second he appeared! This cheering chojin made his grand entrance into the Chojin Graveyard today. He is named Wolfman, and he's one of the greatest sumo wrestlers of all time, but he left the ring to become a mixed martial artist and focus on self-improvement. He's rumoured to be one of the best; there’s no one like him in a million years.
Just like the other newcomers to the Graveyard, who were first-time chojin here, he slammed and slapped at us demons, using a dizzying array of sumo techniques, and seemed immune to being thrown himself, as he flipped over various demons with strong sumo throws.
"Huh? Get off me,” yelled Wolfman. “I’ve no use for you small fries! Oi, you demon over there! If you’re the supervisor of this ‘stable’, I’m asking you to get your ass over here!”
I watched him carefully, as he called out loud to me, despite being only a short distance apart.
“Be reasonable,” I replied. “This isn’t a sumo ‘stable’; this is the Chojin Graveyard, where chojin come once they’ve died.”
“What the hell! So I really am dead? Shit, it must be that spring-chojin! His plan succeeded . . .”
In order to save Kinnikuman, Wolfman joined forces with Terryman, Robin Mask, Brocken Jr. and Warsman in a battle against the Seven Devil Chojin. The problem was that he faced against Springman, who was a chojin that was the embodiment of a spring, and succumbed to his killer Devil Slinky technique. It wrapped itself around Wolfman’s entire body, before slicing him into many pieces in a gruesome and ghastly manner.
“What happened to everyone else?” Wolfman asked. “What happened to Robin Mask and Terryman?”
“Terryman and Brocken Jr. survived,” I answered “Robin Mask and Warsman died, though, they’ll be arriving here soon enough . . . just like you came here.”
“What?! They were the cream of the crop and both fought in the Chojin Olympics, they have far more wins than losses; even I can’t lay claim to that!” At this unexpected turn of events, Wolfman clenched his fists and looked to the heavens. “I thought that the fights in the Chojin Olympics were the toughest in the universe, but now I see there’s so much more beyond what I believed!”
Then, after a few moments of silence, he suddenly shouted as if he had a flash of inspiration!
“Dosukoi!” Wolfman shouted. “I must train!"
How on earth he came to such a conclusion was beyond a demon like me, but chojin are marvellously mysterious creatures. I said to him in response: “No, no, no! What’s the point in training? Do you understand your current situation? You are dead, you know.”
“I don’t care if I’m dead or not,” said Wolfman with no hesitation. “It’s irrelevant! I still have my soul, and my soul is the essence of myself, and of this much I’m keenly aware. The most important thing to my soul is to train right away! I need a strong mind and body that won’t succumb to those overpowered Devil Chojin, and that’s all there is to it . . . do I really need a better reason than that?”
“Er, it’s hard to say, really. I honestly don’t know why you’d want to push your body to its limits, but the rules here in the Chojin Graveyard say that you’re supposed to spend every single day in various types of enforced manual labour. We demons are actually meant to stand guard over you, so that you don’t escape this purgatorial punishment. I honestly don’t know if you can count manual labour as ‘training’, but if labour makes you feel good then I’ve no objection to that. But – I’ll be honest – it is incredibly demanding, if that’s your sort of thing?”
I handed him a piece of paper, on which all the various forms of manual labour were listed in a strict schedule, and – as Wolfman cast his eye over the paper – he let loose a huge roar of laughter. He finally replied with a bright smile:
“This will be a great success! Thank you so much!”
Part Two
True to his word, Wolfman easily accomplished his forced labour and hellish tasks during his time in the Graveyard. He even completed them at a faster pace than many other chojin.
“Ha, in my youth, I had my sights set on becoming the highest rank in sumo,” said Wolfman. “I would often cough up blood during training, but it was nothing to the likes of me.”
He would be exhausted, and you only had to look across the graveyard to see that my fellow demons were often in a similar state of fatigue, but despite that . . . one day . . .
“Oi, Demons! Wake up! It’s me: Wolfman!”
He appeared at the demons’ quarters at the dead of night, long past 2 a.m., and it was so late that even the plants and trees would likely be asleep. As you would expect, everyone was fast asleep . . . at least, we were until the loud voice resounded across the building. I switched on a light and crept my way towards him from somewhere out back, and shouted out sleepily:
“What is wrong with you? What are you doing up at this hour? You should be sleeping ready for tomorrow . . . huh? W-W-What have you done to your body?!”
I was suddenly wide awake. Wolfman was covered in blood from head to toe, and some of his injuries were so great that they looked to be fatal in nature. Wolfman looked perfectly calm, as he said to me:
“This place is great! No matter how much you hurt yourself, you won't die because you're already dead! So I admit I might have overdone training a bit . . . dosukoi!”
“What’s so great about that, you fool?!” I screamed. “You – You have a hole in your belly!”
He kept a cool and calm expression, almost like he wasn’t in such dire straits! He toiled all day with his hellish manual labour, and then – after that – continued his masochistic and torturous intensive training all without a break. He flatly refused to acknowledge the wound in his stomach, but maybe that was because he was nothing like those other gutless, layabouts in this place.
“Hold on,” I shouted. “I’ll heal you now!”
I hurried away the second I said that, and grabbed my secret iron-club without hesitation. I gave a solid wallop to Wolfman, who was so badly injured that – were he alive – he would be on the verge of death. After I thwacked him on the head, the image of his body started to disappear before me . . . eventually, it reformed into his original and intact state.
“Whoa,” said Wolfman. “What did you do? That’s one heck of a technique!”
“It’s something meant to be for guys with awful attitudes,” I explained. “We have to beat those bastards half to death sometimes . . . can’t say I’ve ever had to use it on someone who’s beat himself before.”
On seeing this technique, a glimmer twinkled in his eyes. He made me an absurd suggestion: “I have an idea. Tomorrow, after my manual labour ends, you are going to come with me to all my extra training sessions. Each time I’m close to death, you can revive me!”
“Huh? You know I have no obligation to follow your orders, right?”
“No, No! You’ll do it, else I’ll come down here every night and pester you!”
I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, but I still could not – for the life of me – understand why he would make such a proposition. Did this man really want to train to the point of self-destruction every single day, and then why involve me . . .? Wolfman fixed me a look with both eyes, and confessed to me in a very unsure and timid voice:
“Um. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but just before I died – trapped in Springman’s Devil Slinky – I was so scared that I couldn’t move a single muscle. I couldn’t fight back. I just froze more and more, until I was sliced into pieces, but . . . if my heart hadn’t been so overcome with fear, and maybe if I’d remained calm, I could have moved my body and timed my escape. I – I could have overcome it!”
“Ah, you might have a point there,” I replied.
“Ugh! I was so scared that I couldn’t move; I couldn’t do anything! I’ll always regret that! I hate the fact that I was so weak! I need to get over my fear of death! That’s what I learned here. That’s why – from tomorrow – I need you to help me with my special training!”
Even though they didn’t understand the “why”, the other demons were soon roped into Wolfman’s special training regime. If you think about it, we demons often take a harsh approach to those who try to slack off during their stay here, but we never really have to apply force to people who seek to punish themselves. This was a strange situation for us to come to terms with, and – once Wolfman realised that – he was able to completely reverse the pecking order in the Chojin Graveyard. One day, after the end of his compulsory labour, Wolfman lead us demons in a dubious training session.
“Hey, Demons,” he yelled. “Today you’re going to beat with me with you pretend Devil Slinky! I want you to wrap this thick wire around my entire body . . . oi, you two! Pull as hard as you can, as if you mean to rip me apart! Don’t go easy on me!”
“I don’t like this,” said a demon. “I’ll end up tearing you to shreds!”
“Ah, shut up,” said Wolfman. I’ll do it!”
“Ugh, don’t do any more, Mr Wolf . . . how many more times do I need to watch the awful moment when your body is shredded into little pieces? I don’t want to see it again!”
“Enough! The second I’m cut up into chunks, just thwack me with your iron club and put me back together again! Come on! Do it! Do it now!”
“Okay, I get it . . . well, here it comes! One, two!”
BAM!
“Gyaaaaah!”
We demons wanted nothing more than to escape his hellish training, but day after day we kept on . . .
── To be continued
Chapter Five
Part One
Thus, every single day, the questionable gatherings between Wolfman and demons continued. A rumour began to circulates that Robin Mask, Warsman, and Wolfman had been granted a ‘special pardon’, so that they could return to Earth, despite having been killed by the Seven Devil Chojin and sent to our Chojin Graveyard. It seems that Buffaloman, the leader of the Seven Devil Chojin, had a change of heart and sacrificed his life in order to resurrect their lives.
In the Chojin Graveyard, it should only be possible to return to life after collecting four “Life Balls”, but – if by some miracle – a body is revived in the world of the living, a ‘special pardon’ is granted that will allow the spirit to inhabit its body once more.
“Dosukoi,” chirped Wolfman. “I don’t know why it’s happening, but looks like I’m heading back to Earth!”
“What, really?! That’s good news . . . great news . . . no, the best ever news!”
We demons were over the moon with this pleasant turn of events. It wasn’t just good news for Wolfman, but good news for us demons, too. That is because we would no longer have to endure this godforsaken training for reason totally beyond our comprehension! The hullabaloo of blessings seemed to mean an awful lot to the now emotional Wolfman. He said to us:
“Oh, you guys . . . you’ve only known me a short-time, but you’re happy on my behalf for my return . . .?”
“Of course we are,” I replied. “It’s only natural, isn’t it, Mr Wolfman?”
“Aww, guys, you’re all so nice. How can people ever claim the Chojin Graveyard is a form of hell? We might’ve only just started our special training, but I'm sad to leave so soon! . . . that’s no lie either, but . . . I'd like to thank you all for helping me with my training, even if it was only for a few short days. I'm in your debt, thank you again!”
“No, thank you!”
During our conversation, Wolfman gradually started to grow transparent, until he finally disappeared before he could even finish his final goodbyes to us demons. This was all the proof we needed that his soul had finally departed our realm and returned to Earth.
“Alright,” we cheered. “Hip-Hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray!”
We demons sang our cheers together and rejoiced. At last, the Chojin Graveyard was again at peace, and we cried tears of joy to know that our former dignity would be restored, as we dealt with the ‘average’ dead person that did not want to suffer more than was necessary. Only a few days later, however, an ear-piercing cry broke through our beloved silence:
“Dosukoi!”
It was a familiar voice in our Chojin Graveyard, and we all ran out of our quarters in surprise, only to see that we weren’t mistaken at all . . . it was that same man again. I chanced a quiet:
“Oh, you’re back early, Mr Wolf . . .”
“Oh, it’s you guys,” he replied. “It’s been a while. Well, I’ve been thinking about my time here; life has been good to me, and I’ve managed to return to a normal life. I was thinking about my time here when Kinnikuman – that idiot – died because of the Six Devil Knights. That’s when it was my time to shine! I was inspired by how Buffaloman gave me his life, and so – without hesitating – I thought it was my turn to give my life for him. It meant I died again, hahahaha!”
“Ah . . . well . . . that was very courageous of you . . . aha . . . haha . . . ha . . .”
In any case, he was back here now and there was nothing we could do about that. We demons only had one single request, however, which I was quick to vocalise: “No, no, no! Mr Wolfman, you were able to conquer your fear of death with your special training! There’s absolutely no reason for more special training . . .”
It seems our hopes were dashed, as he drowned out my words with his own: “Oh, my special training! Now I’m back, I can get started on that right away! Thank you! Gahahaha!”
We demons could only stand dumb in amazement .
* * *
From that day onward, Wolfman resumed his late-night ‘special training’, always after his forced labour and always with us demons beside him. He would scream out:
“More, more! I need to completely be unafraid of death! You need to come at me as if you plan on murdering me! Again; more, more! Like you mean it! If you screw this up, I’ll kill you instead! Dosukoi!”
Wolfman’s taunts and cries echoed around the Chojin Graveyard every night, and – even though he was beaten half-to-death by us demons night after night – he somehow gained the nickname: ‘Demon Killer’. If we tried to escape training early, fatigued or disgusted, he would chase them all the way to their beds while covered in blood. The frightening part was that he could not die again, no matter how much we hurt him or abused him. It is true that we couldn’t help but be impressed by his inability to back down, but . . . an annoyance by any other name is still an annoyance.
Part Two
It was the final straw for several young demons, and so they soon came to use veteran demons for a direct tête-à-tête.
“We can’t do this anymore,” one said. “That guy is too reckless. We don’t want anything to do with him! Is there any way to send him back to the world of the living? Isn’t he an extinguished member of the Justice Chojin world?”
“Well, to be frank,” I replied. “I wouldn’t say there’s no way . . .”
“Eh, is that right?! Please, you have to tell us how!”
I spoke slowly to him and carefully picked my words: “As you know, here in the Chojin Graveyard, anyone who collects four Life Balls can either return to the world of the living or ascend into heaven. Wolfman is obsessed with strength, and so – if he can collect the four balls quickly – he can return to Earth and fight new battles.”
“But no matter how hard he works, no one can do that in less than six months! It’s impossible; there’s absolutely no way we can endure six more months with that man!”
“Um, well, that’s why I thought I’d use these . . .”
I took out the four Life Balls from my chest pocket. I had kept them hidden for all this time, but these were the same ones that Brockenman earned before he obtained a chance for heaven, and he entrusted those to me as a memento of our ‘friendship’.
“A chojin gifted these to me,” I said. “One who once reached the gates of heaven.”
“Oh, there are four of them . . .”
“He said to me that in future, if his son was to face an insurmountable obstacle or an overwhelming crisis, then I was to use these balls to help that same son.”
“W-Well, who is that his son?”
“I'd like to keep that under wraps for now, but there is a book of prophecies in the chojin world, and that book states that there will be an unprecedented crisis on Earth and his son will be harmed beyond reason.”The younger demons looked stunned, but I continued: “Therefore, we demons shall exercise our special authority, and we will give Wolfman a special task. We will make sure he returns to life, so that he can support this son with all his might, and in exchange it gets him out of our hair.”
“Oh, that sounds perfect for someone who always wants to test his strength!”
“Then bring him here right away!”
The younger demons waved their hands and called Wolfman as loud as they could, all together, and left me all alone in the empty room, as I muttered to myself: “It’s time I fulfilled my promise to you, my dear friend . . . Brockenman.”
Wolfman soon arrived.
He beamed bright as he heard the terms of conditions and quickly agreed.
“Alright!” Wolfman cheered. “But I kind of feel bad for everyone else here. Aren’t I kind of getting special treatment by being given a chance to go to the world of the living?”
“No, this is a special mission,” I insisted. “It’s something that ordinary chojin would find impossible, so that’s why I’m asking you. You’re the only person that can do this; don’t forget that!”
“Well, fortunately for you, I actually know this son that you mention. He’s a really honest guy, and works like a horse. I’ll give him my support; you can rest easy with me on the case!”
“That’s a relief. I knew I could depend on you, Champ!”
“Ah, time for me to go, dosukoi!”
He offered his usual shout and returned to the living world with high spirits. Just between you and me, all the tears we demons shed were teas of absolute joy . . .
* * *
A few weeks later, the battle between the Justice Chojin and Devil Chojin had come to an end, but the remaining Devil Chojin on Earth were still plotting and scheming, as they tried to start a civil war among the Justice Chojin by sowing emotional discontent.
For the first time in 140 million years, the Universal Chojin Tag Tournament was about to take place, and Wolfman was firmly established on the entry list, which had been approved by the Chojin Committee. The tag-team that he formed – also approved by the Committee – was named the ‘Most Dangerous Combo’. It seemed, of course, that Wolfman had chosen the son of Brockenman as his partner: Brocken Jr.!
“Dosukoi,” said Wolfman. “It’s often said that Germany and Japan used to be allies! We’re both nations defeated in history, but who – by sheer miracle – rebuilt and came back better than ever! The indomitable Yamato Spirit and Germanic Soul will show the great powers why we’re victorious!”
“Oh, Wolfman,” I spoke to myself. “If he has a great man like you for his partner, it’s a huge reassurance.”
The tournament began. The new and miraculous Most Dangerous Combo existed solely with the support of us Graveyard Demons! This was the first step in their shared and glorious history. A few days later Wolfman’s distinctive cry echoed through the air: “Dosukoi!” Unfortunately, it did not cry out from the special ring at the foot of Mount Fuji, where the tag-team was taking place. So where the heck did his cry come from? Ah, well . . .
“Why the hell is he here again?! Are we to suffer forever?!”
The special training was going on again today in the Chojin Graveyard! Yes, Wolfman has returned again to the Chojin Graveyard, thanks to the Perfect Chojin named Kendaman and Screw Kid . . . he was unable to get through a single damned match. To the young demons, who were once again in tears, I made a simple response while keeping Brockenman close in my heart:
“The Chojin Graveyard truly is the worst circle of hell. It will continue until we demons die, too . . .”
── The End