The cybernetic soldiers twitched before their inevitable onslaught. Yamcha's experienced eye noted how quite a few of them twitched in a synchronized manner, moving at the same time. It was almost as if a masterful puppeteer was pulling the strings. Given his previous experience with Artificial Human No. One-Eight, it didn't take Yamcha too long to figure out that the Android was controlling his army of cybernetic puppets.

The present cybernetic soldiers outnumbered the Chayote Security staff by a large margin, but Mark Satan and a few other officers flung smoke bombs and began receiving heat and electromagnetic input-based readings in their shades. Yamcha took off to engage the Artificial Human himself. Throwing a wide kick to swat aside a handful of soldiers that got in the way and slamming a few more aside with a double ax handle swing slam, Yamcha collided with Artificial Human One-Eight.

Leaving out of the way of One-Eight's attack, Yamcha thrust his step in backhand jab into One-Eight's face, socking him proper and taking him off his feet. With his enemy distracted and flinched, Yamcha had the time to deliver a focused and well-balanced power blow to One-Eight's gut. The man that started his fighting career as a desert bandit then flipped over his front, stomping with his feet while leveling horizontally in front of his opponent and transitioning into a thrusting aerial dropkick.

The cybernetic soldiers, instead of making way and preventing casualties amongst them, all huddled together to form a living cushion pillow and stop their master's wild flight. It could have only been a direct order from the Artificial Human. Not that Yamcha cared too much either way. Enveloped in a vibrant, crimson glow, the martial artist took off in a dash toward his distanced opponent. The warriors collided with Yamcha's resonant headbutt at the Android's core. A bubble of popping, compressed air expanding outward sent both the human and artificial soldiers for a ride while thunderous crackles littered the flashy neon stadium.

Yamcha and One-Eight disappeared from sight, appearing in mid-air again as the human martial artist vaulted and rotated horizontally before delivering an overhead kick to rock his opponent. The two vanished again. Yamcha socked One-Eight with a flying downward palm strike and flinched his opponent, but not enough not to pursue him and vanish again. One-Eight blocked the thrust dropkick when the two reappeared once more, only for the two fighters to vanish. After a resonance of countless collisions, the two rolled back into their initial positions like two blazing cannonballs before Yamcha took a fighting pose and his opponent snickered confidently with his arms crossed.

The scarred martial artist closed his eyes, feeling tremendous pressure building up around him. When the telekinetic locks were about to snap the trap shut around him once more, Yamcha was just a blurry afterimage. Stepping in and thrusting his fist into One-Eight's gut and almost impaling his opponent on it as One-Eight staggered back, spitting up mechanical fluids with his eyes bulging out. Yamcha swept the leg before whirling gracefully with his palms shaping with his fingers bent inward, like that of a canine predator slashing at his opponent.

Yamcha and One-Eight became engulfed in a crimson whirlwind of energy, vibrant lines of blaze red, black, and white formed as Yamcha spun like a whirligig with brutal slashes using the tempered tips of his fingers that could carve complex paintings onto the face of diamond without breaking a sweat. Once the whirlwind of Yamcha's Wolf Gale Claw reached its peak, the martial artist slammed his opponent back down with a double ax handle slam, then vanished down and raised his arm.

The palm of Yamcha's right hand faced the open ceiling of the stadium while his left clutched over the wrist of the right. A powerful aura of surging Ki began forming around the martial artist as he concentrated all of his energy into his right hand and focused it into a large, hovering sphere of Ki. Stretching his left leg out and raising it like an ace pitcher, Yamcha supercharged his golden Ki to become brilliant white and surge even further into his golden Ki sphere to turn it bright white as well. "Super Spirit Ball!" he chanted out before hurling the sphere at his dazed opponent.

One-Eight put up his arms and prepared to take the Super Spirit Ball on. That was when Yamcha tilted his index and middle finger up to redirect the Spirit Ball to fling higher before descending back down. A human shield in the form of cybernetic soldiers flung themselves in the way of the Ki ball, taking the brunt of the hit for their master, while the Super Spirit Ball bounced around in between them on its way to their puppet master. One-Eight vanished and snapped right in front of the marginally smaller Ki sphere, catching it in mid-air as the Super Spirit Ball began spitting out blazing sparks from its sides while its size reduced further and further. All the way until it was nothing more but a flock of sparks that scattered away with the flick of One-Eight's right hand.

"Absorbing Ki too, huh?" Yamcha clenched his fists while a droplet of sweat ran down his forehead. "Lured me right into it when you touched me earlier, indecently, I might add, and didn't absorb any Ki from it."

"You're quite mischievous too, hick," One-Eight landed on the tip of his right foot toes while striking an elegant and flashy pose and licking his lips. "I wasn't ready to see you fighting with that previous amp of yours constantly active. It caught me unaware when you exploded with that stunning strength just like that..."

"So, you've noticed it..." Yamcha smirked with the left side of his face, even though he felt like cursing. He didn't learn to hide the fact that he was fighting with King Kai's Fist constantly active and amped up all the way to x 20 passively just for his opponent to call him out on it immediately.

"That power... That gorgeous yet dangerous, scolding red aura... It powers you up, but it stresses your body out too, doesn't it? In that way, it's a lot like a loan, you could say..." One-Eight chuckled to himself, looking quite ecstatic about his comparison. "Since I'll be choking you out of your assets, I'll be taking your loaned power too, I'm afraid. It'll hurt a fair deal to face the tallyman dry, in the nude and on the streets..."

"This is just King Kai's Fist X 20!" Yamcha tightened the polish in his fighting pose, preparing to continue going at it. "It used to be a great deal when we just begun mastering the technique, but since then we've faced so many ridiculous opponents that burning through our bodies became less and less of a hassle and more like a natural thing we had to do to survive."

One-Eight cackled to himself, leaning his back to an unnatural degree of curvature. Suddenly, the Artificial Human vanished and appeared right in front of Yamcha, slapping his hand upward and smacking the martial artist off into the stratosphere with a single hit. A clear gleam of artificial Ki aura burst around One-Eight as he took off like a speeding comet toward the target of his pursuit. The Android connected with a flying spinning kick in mid-air, driving all air from Yamcha's lungs with a single attack. The crafty commander hooked his leg and slipped under Yamcha's body, thrusting his knee into Yamcha's spine and blacking the martial artist out for a second.

When semblances of blurry vision once more returned to Yamcha, the brawler felt numbness in his entire body that made him wonder if he could even regain full control over his muscles again since all of his nerves felt like they died out and had to reset. The Artificial Human slithered like a snake around Yamcha's body, whipping his foot right into the fighter's face and kicking him back down toward the Ginger Town scenery below the two. Just when the clouds parted ways, and the battle began looking like it'd transition into the town, One-Eight snapped in behind Yamcha and whipped his leg to lash his opponent back toward his Muscle Tower.

Yamcha squirmed on the ground, clutching at his ribs and wincing. The martial artist wriggled and tried to put as much distance between himself and the Artificial Human, who it felt like would snap back onto the premises at just about any point and continue his ruthless beat down of the felled martial artist. This was exactly what happened as Yamcha once again felt a malady in his gut that alarmed him to something wicked being in the works.

Lacking the stamina and the feeling in his nerves to snap away from trouble with hi-speed movement, Yamcha cradled into a ball as the telekinetic grip once again locked down around him. With a confident strut, One-Eight approached him without a worry in the world or even a hint of rush behind his step and began trampling Yamcha into the dirt as he laughed maniacally to himself.

"Yes... Work, grind your gears, pathetic, loathsome duckling. Then, let me taste the delicious fruit of your labor for you..." One-Eight shrieked out in a high-pitched voice as he kicked and stomped Yamcha about like a rabid hooligan. With each stomp, the resulting crater in the stadium dome's floor became deeper and deeper as the entire floor fractured. "It is so human to work, to damage and sacrifice your pathetic bodies to get something. But then again, someone so ugly and pathetic and limited doesn't deserve those things they struggle to obtain in the first place. They're so much better in the hands of someone free, beautiful, and perfect, an Artificial Human such as me!"

"Mr... Satan!" Yamcha coughed out a wheeze, calling out for help from the Chayote Security officers who were hard at work fending off the steampunk-style cybernetic soldiers and what remained of the heavy machinery stored in this Muscle Tower.

"I'm kind of busy... Oh, right..." Mark Satan barked out in return before rolling aside from active combat to browse the inner pocket of his suit for another flashbang. Instead of wasting time to set it off and then wait the invaluable seconds until it activated, Mark Satan flung it into the air and then shot it mid-air, detonating it with a cerulean flash and a sharp sizzle.

"Someone, kill that bonobo!" One-Eight barked an order out to his simple-minded soldiers, all of whom dropped their immediate tasks to redirect their fire toward Mark Satan. Yamcha rolled on the ground on his back, like a tortoise, before kicking off with his feet and flinging toward Mark Satan, outracing the volleys of laser and plasma fire directed toward him and scooping him out of danger.

"Thanks, Mark Satan, I'll be counting on you to pull me out of trouble when that bastard catches me in his telekinesis," Yamcha nodded in gratitude after placing the confused what had happened shaggy man back down and turning his face back to the smug Artificial Human he had to deal with.

"You can absorb Ki all you like, let's see how you deal with this..." Yamcha leaned on his back foot while striking the pose, preparing for his signature Wolf Fang Fist attack.

"Please, this is an ancient technique. We've got way too many records on it..." One-Eight acted out a teasing yawn. "Not that we need that many, even if you connect with it, you'll hardly deal any damage that I can't compensate for by draining your Ki once you get close to me."

"Wolf Fang Fist!" Yamcha growled, lunging at his opponent. One-Eight tensed up his body and put up a block. Yamcha clawed and punched at the Artificial Human, who felt like an adamantine rod of iron stuck into the floor and utterly unmoving. Even with X 50 King Kai's Fist surging through Yamcha's body, One-Eight's staunch defenses were just too much.

The Android staggered back with just minor bruises on his face and tears on his coat. Even through his excellently executed block, the attack must've hurt a fair deal as One-Eight wore a nasty scowl on his face and his body remained in a stiff position while the Android maintained his cross-shaped block far longer than it was necessary.

"It seems like King Kai Fist X 50 is just about the only way I have to get a decisive advantage in terms of power..." Yamcha breathed out to put some relief on his taxed muscles before straightening his body out and placing his arms beside him. In a blink, the warrior once more ignited King Kai's Fist X 50 and charged at One-Eight.

"That's right, burn bright and burn hot, human..." One-Eight smirked before being overwhelmed by Yamcha's swooping glide from his location all the way up to One-Eight and his relentless flurry of blows. Yamcha was in a hurry to inflict as much damage as possible here, so he pulled absolutely no punches and attacked, keeping nothing back to supplement his defense.

A graceful high kick sent One-Eight sky-bound and smashing through a round panel of tempered glass that remained as of before then unsmashed. Enveloped in the King Kai's Fist aura, Yamcha careened toward his enemy, bending the space and distance between them with his speedy charge. The martial artist's elbow collided with the left temple of One-Eight, blinding him and stretching his neck out to struggle and keep his whited-out head still attached to the body.

Continuing his relentless beat down of the opponent, Yamcha stomped down, swiped with his hand, and rolled like a human cannonball, thrashing about in a manner similar to how his Spirit Ball assaulted his opponent while under Yamcha's control. If the martial artist wasn't able to attack his enemy with a Ki attack, he settled on simulating it with his entire body before throwing a dropkick and swatting One-Eight aside in an explosive finale of his combination of strikes matching the wallop of his Spirit Ball's detonation.

With his enemy swatted aside and crashing through the mountains of the wilderness to the north of Ginger Town, Yamcha blitzed back down and scanned the situation of the conflict between the Chayote Security and the cybernetic soldiers. It relieved him to see that while the Chayote Security officers were taking fire; it wasn't lethal to them and the worst it did was tarnish their uniforms and expose a shiny, magically enhanced, ivory-colored vest underneath. Feeling like this very battle could signal a tide of change in their guerilla warfare against the Artificial Humans, the officers pushed back against greater odds with an unwavering need for liberation. Yamcha's eyes widened when he saw a soldier kicking Mark Satan's plasma rifle away, only for the shaggy security officer to scramble back on his feet and beat down the cybernetic soldier with his bare hands.

"Huh... What do you know? I guess Mark Satan really was a martial artist at some point..." Yamcha snickered to himself before hopping back. A tight, cerulean blast detonated where the martial artist once stood.

"My, my... Those fighting instincts of yours are becoming a real hassle..." One-Eight cackled, looking impressed because Yamcha avoided his psychic grip yet again.

"I've trained plenty with a powerful psychic and faced a handful throughout my career as a martial artist. Plus, all psychic techniques have a fundamental weakness," Yamcha replied.

"A fundamental weakness?" One-Eight raised and turned his head from his opponent in mockery.

"That's right, the speed of your psychic attacks can only be as fast as your thought. A human can polish their body as much as possible. There is no limit to how fast one's body, instincts, and reaction can become. Thoughts, on the other hand, have a consistent speed. To an experienced martial artist, that speed feels rather sluggish, actually," Yamcha said.

"Sluggish, you say?" One-Eight's right eyebrow twitched as he clenched his right fist and pressed it to his chest. "How dare you compare my unmatched beauty and grace of my technique to something as dirty and lowly as a slug!?"

"Dude, it's just a manner of speech. For someone so above it all, you sure get tangled in complexes a lot," Yamcha teased his opponent before leaning on his back foot again.

"Oh, do shut up!" One-Eight shrieked out, extending his hands to the sides and lowering his center of gravity as low as he could, just like Commander Blue of the Blue Ribbon Army used to do. This Yamcha, however, differed greatly from the one facing the general-turned-commander on the beach of Kame Island.

Yamcha's image flickered with an immeasurable number of afterimages that threw the artificial psychic for a loop, as his mind couldn't stop wandering around the fighting stage to locate the actual target to mind control. Yamcha swept in with an elbow strike from the left side before backflipping and sliding back in mid-air to put some distance between the two. Clutching his fists tight, Yamcha ignited King Kai's Fist X 50 and entered a Wolf Fang Fist stance before shooting right at his opponent.

Just like before, One-Eight put his arms together to block the rampant flurry of blows. Yamcha swiped with his hands wildly, creating azure crescent slashes of Ki wherever his palm strikes struck the enemy and leaving shallow gashes all over One-Eight's body. Pressing on and pushing past the weary, past the pain and the demand from his muscles to stop swinging, Yamcha transitioned into a flurry of fists while his King Kai's Fist blazed on and became a massive blaze over the heads of the combating ground forces. With the King Kai's Fist aura becoming a star-like nova and drowning the stage in the light of a scarlet blaze and the searing scorch of Hot-Red joining in on Yamcha's power-up stack, the martial artist exploded with a barrage of strikes so rapid that they completely vanished from the trace.

Even if it only happened in his mind, signaling the collapse of a mental barrier, One-Eight's defenses shattered in the real world as well. His arms weighed down and the enigmatic Artificial Human began rattling at the beat of Yamcha's light-speed drums as his body twitched and jerked, caved, and bent from each one of the incalculable number blows. By the time Yamcha finished his combination, he literally couldn't swing another blow, and he collapsed on top of his opponent, snuffing out both his Hot-Red and his King Kai's Fist as he fell over his plummeting enemy and both combatants hit the ground almost at the same time with Yamcha flopping on top of One-Eight.

"That was my strongest Wolf Fang Fist... That had to have done it, right?" Yamcha panted, feeling like having fallen into a pond of scolding hot water as he rolled off of his opponent and huffed, lying face-up on the ground.

"Useless... Just like you. Such a useless thing would be better off killing itself, don't you think?" Yamcha felt the answer resonating inside of his mind, once again, compelling his mind to heed One-Eight's will. Problem was, the more Yamcha unsuccessfully struggled against the Android threat, the harder it will be to resist the urge to obey the brainwashing.