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 Bimson "El Murderisto"
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For M.U.G.E.N 1.0
(c) 2025 ToonPimp

This version updated: 04 Aug 2025

Stefan is a character that works with M.U.G.E.N. or IKEMEN Go

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Stefan, the gruff blue housecat, scratched his back on the damp bricks of a Brooklyn alley, moonlight tracing sharp rays across his fur. Eight lives down, one to go — and every breath only served to remind the rust and ash stirring around him. His claws twitched; a cat sharp enough to gut a rat or vault roofs, but worn out from running and fighting ghosts of his past.

His whole body brimmed in heat. A fire always there — right there, under his skin, pulsing hardest where it always mattered most. His cock wasn’t just thick; it glowed like a steel rod left too long in the forge. And his nuts felt like they were carrying tiny sun cores. It didn’t make sense, but when did anything?

Teleporters, dream-walkers, transformers, morphers — some Furry always had something. Nobody asked why. Everyone just kept grinding, same as him.

Half a year of cowering after burning through eight lives felt more like living in a coffin with the lid half-open. He’d promised himself no more fights, no more cash grabs, no more chasing death. Then that damn flyer hit him right in the face — "Fight Palace Tournament — Long Island. Prize: $5,000,000." Slid under a greasy trash can lid, no doubt by some pimply teen paid in vaping pens and flavored smoke.

His alley 'neighbor', a mangy auburn feline, Haraldo, sauntered over from his shade. He seemed a tad distraught, but out of it. "Ya die or ya get out, Stef. Sometimes there's no other way. I ain't got powas. My brotha did though. I saw him chewed right through tha bone, for a raptor's meal. Lotta good that was."

His bank account: $37. His gut feeling: even worse than ShenLong's inferno. 

The ferry over was cramped with every kind of hybrid and freak imagineable, but nobody could complain about the price after all. Someone bragged about slicing hickory in a past life, someone else claimed they fucked a ghost in a bodega freezer. None of it shocked Stefan anymore. When he had a flame-thrower between his legs, nothing really could.

The vibes of the Palace atrium hit him like lungfuls of freon. Bright lights, swirling haze of cheap perfume, and the musky buzz of half-checked aggression. That’s when he found her.

A fine, fine dame of amphibian, tactile detail. The blue in eyes to match the lived soul of his furcoat. Green, slender, shapely in odds and ends. Housed in "'da man's" attire: high-ride tan shorts and a lightly unbuttoned vest--wonders that couldn't be fully contained, with large green areolas. A true professional.

He swaggered closer, flame visibly coiling at the tip of his cock like a living tongue.
"Heya, girlie. How's my chances wit' ya? 1 ta 5, 0 bein' nada, 5 bein' we pound 'da hay?" She looked up from her stupor in minor disapproval. "Depends. Lucky for you, at least you don't have barbs. Just highly questionable integrity."

"Ouch! Fuckit, aw man! Cold-ass bitch tellin' it like it is! But yo, see dis?" he caterwauled. "Ain’t no costume trick, sweetheart. Dis shit real. Hot enough ta’ melt a motherfuckin’ manhole cover."

She glanced at him, eyes quick, flinching somewhat but barely perceivable.
"Yeah. So, you’re ... what. A cat with a flaming dick??" she said, exasperated.

"Ya damn right. And a cat wit' Nine lives — I mean, well... now just one. Cats didn’t come wit’ no warranty," he snorted, licking a fang.

She didn’t flinch when his cock sparked or when he flexed his claws. Instead, she studied him in quick, silent beats.
"You really talk loud for someone on their last life," she perked.

"Shit, girl, I been loud since birth. No point bein’ quiet when ya rockit harder anyway. An' I'm always quiet durin' my ninja shit."

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Ninja," she said, voice startled. "You?" She paused, as if about to say more, then shut it down. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. What's your name, so I can avoid you later?"

Stefan snorted again, laughs rumbling. Another "heartburn."
"Suit yaself, frog princess. Can’t say I blame ya's. Bunch’a these motherfuckers act like they somethin’ real cosmic-like. I just know how ta’ roast ass till it’s medium rare."

She feigned a smirk. Just looked at him with that unreadable blue stare, then turned slightly to watch the brackets light up overhead. "Stef. Stefan, gal."

For a moment, they both stood there, newcomers and outsiders in the same breath — him all heat and swagger, her all cool detachment and hidden wounds.

"I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Stef. Michelle Floran." She raised her hand into a clasp and channeled her energies, now chirping in her fist. "This power here, it's real personal. I call it Waver." She unclenched and the light settled. "None of us here know why we have these talents or looks I bet."
She sighed, staring toward the harsh lights, and back to Earth. "I'm not sure if we'll ever find the reasons. But at least we can protect ourselves with them."

They stood basking in each others' halfhearted interest for a few moments. "You mentioned you took to ninja things. And I take it you control your power with that. So, how did your clan react?" He was puzzled. "Hm? ?"

"You know, when you had to leave. Or what made you have to leave." Stefan clued for a few beats pause. "Goil, whoeva said you can leave? 8 lives is all a rush."

Michelle recalled the words of her sister, Lysii. Back before hoods snatched her in the middle of the night, where she was never seen again after. Undoubtedly hateful and apathetic humanities of scientific advancement disguised as a swamp roundup. Her only regret was getting there too late.

"I suppose you really can't leave, Stef. Maybe humans fear all this, so, being that you're probably a long way from home -- my best advice is to watch the shadows. People want to feel special like us, and they're relentless."

Stefan admired her beyond her beauty for at least a minute. Maybe a new record. "You're one of a kind, doll. I wouldn't let anyone otha' tell ya otherwise."

The arena lights flared, each fighter’s name booming across the atrium. Stefan’s fur prickled as adrenaline surged. Thirty-seven bucks wouldn’t keep him alive tomorrow — but fighting? Fighting was living, even if it killed him for good.

He stepped forward, his cock dripping tiny sparks onto the marble floor, steam rising like incense. The air smelled of acrid metals and cheap booze.

"Aight! Let’s fuckin’ do dis!" he roared, his voice echoing above the pounding music. "Bring out da bitches and da brutes! Dis cat gon’ barbecue every last one of ya!"

And from the edge of his delirium, he imagined Michelle watching him — not impressed, not disgusted, but almost… curious. As if, for just a second, she wanted to see whether he’d really burn bright, or ignite into dust.
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::MOVES LEGEND::
<-: Back
/: Down-Back
|: Down
: Down-Forward
->: Forward

-> \ | / <- or similar directions must be rotated smoothly if
you see no commas between them.

OTG= Off The Ground attack

Doubletap forward (->) to dash.

Stefan can spring off walls with a kick
button. If no kick button is pressed,
he'll bounce off the wall harmlessly.
Perform walljump by jumping at the wall,
and hitting back (<-) the moment you get
there.

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A: Light Flex
B: Hard Flex [OTG]
X: Light Punch
Y: Hard Claw
C: Inferno Penis
->+Y (standing/near P2): Tripleslap Vault-Slam (patent pending).
X (while dashing): Final Crash