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Chung Poe
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For M.U.G.E.N 1.0
(c) 2025 Toon Pimp

This version updated: 08 04 2025

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

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In a riverside hut, thatch sodden with mist, the air stank of blood and fever — 
Gavreck, once a towering Helvetii warlord, lay frail on a fur-strewn pallet, his torc lame upon his carpus. Across from him sat Chung Poe, a mole with dark fur and sly eyes, his calm warrior’s heart hiding a mischievous spark. Now a teal Asiatic dragon, small and fierce, he curled beside his friend, scales glinting in the torches, claws adread.
“Chung, my friend,” Gavreck rasped, a concern barely heard. “The island… Sewanhacky’s soil. It turned to ill. I wrought it.”

Chung’s dragon eyes widened, a fear taking hold. “What turned? What was it, Gavreck?" Chung saw the sadness in his partner, being very unlike his old self. But the message was crystal: that his time would end.

Death loomed in the hut’s shadows as tears welled. “A dark force,” Gavreck choked. “A cruel will bides its time — its triumph.” He coughed, weak. “Long past, I wrought a grievous wrong. I found you after I scarred this land, seeking hands for my halls. A sorrow I could not mend.”
The dragon leaned closer, scales brushing his face furs. “I forgive you, friend. But, please, tell me what happened.” The island’s unease had always gnawed away.

Gavreck’s eyes glazed. “A voice… in my heart. I heeded it overmuch. It drew me from my father’s limbo. I crushed their songs, their words, without blade… loosed power upon earth. Too late now. I bade only you enter our halls, for I knew.”

Chung’s claws arched, trembling his resolve. He’d heard whispers of a local deity, a stone-worshipped spirit, but never tied it to this man's conquest.
 
“What power?!” he asked, voice cracking.

“I dare not...” Gavreck strained, sidling, trying with all his might. “...F—Froggou. It called itself... "

"Froggou... " A name of the heavens, the rock to split it: herald of lives lost.

"Please, keep my role a secret, Chung. If not to those of the mud-brick. The Mining Kings must not know why I... was.” His coughs had to be at last gasp.

Chung nodded, heaving. “I swear. But why, Gavreck! It was a voice, you said?”
“I was young, foolish,” Gavreck sputtered. “I craved power. It… gave it to me. Unstoppable. It was I, I was the blade... but it changed the land. That... I see now." His coughs stilled. Chung's eyes pooled, drops trickling his scales.

"I'm sorry, friend... at least I could say, I was happy... to know... you.” His hand trembled, then fell still, friend's eyes blank in the moon glow.

Chung hung his head, a tear falling as he sniffed in the dark of stillness. Time pressed, his mastery to instinct so far—unwrought, unbelieved—kindling. Visions of a far-off fray, in golden sands and pointed huts, flickered dim. A fell will threatened Sewanhacky, born of a star’s scar, its kin scattered beyond his reach—perhaps in distant lands. To defeat it seems a doom too vast. Yet he bore a role, fated or no. 

He left the hut, sea air sharp in the dusk.
On the shore, waves lapped at stones; Chung pondered all of Gavreck’s thoughts. A malevolent force threatened the island. By implication, he may have a role to play in this destiny. He certainly couldn’t let it win. He trudged toward the Mining Kings’ stronghold, a mud brick domicile looming over the river, dry stones carved in spirals.

In his deepened focus, a guard stopped his way. "What is your business here?" the guard asked, eyeing him suspiciously. A sword of iron occupied one hand, a well-shined torc of bronze, the other, urging away all presence itself. 

"I need to speak with the Mining Kings," Chung replied, a pause to frozen air.

The guard narrowed his eyes. "And why should they speak with you?"

Chung, stopping himself, wondered if he would have another chance to convince anybody of the world's dangers. Certainly not with these 'Kings'.

"Because I know something about the darkness overtaking this island. Something that Gavreck, one of their own, revealed to me on his deathbed."

The guard’s eyes softened somewhat. “Wait here.” He vanished, then returned.

Chung waited with his tail twitching, wondering if he had made a mistake. But moments later, the guard gestured for him to follow. He was lead through torchlit corridors to a chamber of gold and gem-studded seats. A grand Hall, four seats of all sides.

The lead King, grizzled and wary, spoke. "What is this about a dark force?"

Chung realized he was standing in front of the leader of the Mining Kings, now the second most powerful man on the island — in riches.

Chung’s scales bristled. “My Lord and brothers, there is an ancient enemy living among us, taking many forms, an omen. Gavreck could hardly name it, but it was a star. The sky that split Earth. His fears endure, as he left this world.”

A King scoffed. “The locals’ stone god? We did mine with Gavreck. The local island still worship those remains. They deified the star! But... we plainly never found it ourselves.”

Another nodded. “Our surveys found nothing, and we look over things deeply. There is no single sign of what you speak, dragon.”

"How do you even know it to exist?" the first King inquired.

Chung’s patience thinned, his claws glowing slightly crimson. “Gavreck led you here, by raft, canoe, to do the unspeakable! Was it his mind alone? The locals worship it still, and you know it's true. In their eyes! The earth-wound holds power, unnatural, dark. The evil that you think is in me. Without saying it, would you wish to test me in the truth of my own form?!”

Murmurs rippled across the hall like wind over dry leaves. The eldest King’s expression hardened. “Does this really concern us? We're done now, serpent.”

Chung’s voice dropped, each word precise and cutting. “His folly will ripple through time. He unearthed a power—intelligence older than men or beasts. The land now bears its scar. If you continue to dig, you will not find treasure. You will awaken it, and only more.”

The youngest of the Kings shifted nervously, eyes beamed. “There is no proof!” he shrugged.

Chung’s glow scraped low, melting stone into blackened sparks. “The dying words of the man who conquered these shores — HE is your proof, and SO am I!” He narrowed his eyes. “I will ensure the record keepers etch this moment into your lineage. Every generation of Kings will see my name. You will remember this warning. I see fights in lands you cannot hope to reach.”

The eldest King rose to his feet, anger flickering within his brow. “You would presume to threaten us?”

“No,” Chung replied coldly. “I presume to outlive you. Welcome your new Earth.”

His words hung, and the Mining Kings fell silent. They saw it then in him. Chung Poe was no ordinary dragon. Time might have very well bended to his will.

And so, the bargain was sealed: they would continue their work, but his name would endure, a reminder to future Kings of the dragon who warned them and the costs of their greed.

Years bled into decades, then centuries. The island’s power shifted hands, new halls rose and fell. But the sands of Sewanhacky still whisper his name.

In a clearing veiled by trees, far from the halls of men, Chung Poe waited.

The clearing was natural—an open copse surrounded by trees, their shadows interwoven like a tapestry over the uneven sand below. The wind carried a strange calm, but it didn’t mask the tension that coiled between the warriors gathered here. This wasn’t the Palace—just a dirty, forgotten corner of the island, where battles were fought away from prying eyes. The Sabbbaal all made sure of that.

For those who knew, this sand was sacred in its own way. It had been the ground of reckonings for generations—silent disputes, lessons for fools, and trials of might.

Chung Poe stood at the edge of the clearing, his presence as immovable as the trees. He blended with the quiet, his posture deceptively relaxed, as though he belonged more to the land than to the moment. The Sabbbaal never proclaimed him as one of their own, but they respected him. Whether they feared him was a different matter.

Mordran kicked a rock as he entered the copse, the crunch of his boots on the sand louder than it needed to be. The man had a knack for making himself heard, even here where silence held weight. Around him, a handful of Furry warriors, silent onlookers, watched with guarded eyes. Nobody spoke—these fights rarely needed introductions.

“This is the great Chung Poe?” Mordran’s voice carried as he rolled his shoulders, his confidence spilling over like oil. “Quiet as a corpse already, I see.”

He was human—unremarkably human, except for the pride that bled from his every step. For weeks now, he’d been picking fights. Furries, warriors of skill and power, didn’t take him seriously at first. He was just a man, after all. Yet here he was, standing with the Sabbbaal’s sands underfoot, issuing a challenge.

What gave him that right? His fists, maybe. His hubris, certainly. But more than that—he wanted to be seen, to claim a space where humans didn’t belong.

Chung Poe gave him nothing — no word, not a shift, nor a tell at all.

Mordran moved first, as he always did. The man was faster than most gave him credit for—a flurry of punches that churned the sand beneath his feet. Chung Poe didn’t move. He waited. Each blow fell inches short, the air whistling in protest.

The silence made it worse.

“Come on! Fight me! Or are you just waiting for me to get tired?” Mordran barked, sweat already glistening at his brow. His fists were calloused from training, but they might as well have been paper against Chung Poe. The Furries watching didn’t jeer or shout—they’d seen this before. They’d seen what happened to those who mistook Chung Poe’s stillness for hesitation.

Finally, Mordran made a mistake. He lunged too far, his stance sloppy with frustration. In one movement, Chung Poe was there, the space between them vanishing like a ripple in water.

A single palm to the chest. That was all.

The sound of the impact was dull—more of a thud than a crack—but it stole the air from Mordran’s lungs. He staggered back, clutching his ribs, choking on the silence that followed.

Chung Poe straightened, his expression unchanging. “Leave.” It was the only word he spoke, and it struck with the weight of stone.

But Mordran wasn’t done. He spat into the sand, teeth red with blood. “Coward. You think one hit makes you something? I’ll wipe that smug face off your—”

He didn’t finish.

Chung Poe’s next strike was faster than sight. His form warped—a step, a flicker of fire, and then claws. Mordran’s cry was cut short as Chung Poe’s clawed hand traced across his torso, a slash only witnessed in the end. Poison fire glowed faintly at the tips of Chung Poe’s claws, burning hot, a fatal threat for all.

Mordran collapsed onto his knees, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. His confidence—the arrogance that had carried him here—was gone.

Chung Poe turned away, shaking the venom from his claws. The glow faded. Around them, the Furry onlookers said nothing, their silence heavier than before. Mordran’s presence here had been tolerated—his end was inevitable, whether he knew it or not.

He had wanted to test his place, to test Chung Poe. Now there were no questions.

Mordran fell forward into the sand, his body trembling from the poison’s edge. Chung Poe didn’t look back as he left the clearing. To Poe, Mordran was neither enemy nor simple lesson — merely another pair of whitening eyes to remind the world it wouldn’t cradle poultry, sheep, or whims of purposeless pride.

The trees whispered as Chung Poe stepped forward, his outline shimmering with a phosphorescent glow that pulsed like a silent heartbeat. The watchers flinched as light crawled up his limbs, scaling into his spine and shoulders, until his shape twisted — lengthening, flexing, warping beyond any mortal anatomy.

He paused, turning his gaze back across the sand. His eyes lingered on the fallen shape, the crushed arrogance left in the dirt, and for a breath too long, he watched. There was no pity in him — only a hard glint that betrayed something deeper, a flicker of possession, as though the clearing itself was now his own.

He knew he would have to do better, for the flood on the far horizon was rising. If he faltered, there would be no one left to meet it. Only he remained, and in that quiet conviction, he found a quiet satisfaction that curled beneath the skin like fiery coals. In New Earth, anything can happen with men like himself.

Then, in a single bounding leap, he vanished up through the trees, his residual glow trailing behind like the world-eroding aftermath of comet's blaze.

When the silence settled again, only the faint echo of magicks lingered on the soil. The onlookers stared at the space he'd vacated, each feeling smaller than before — as if the clearing had been scorched in Mordran's gash. Something far older than kings, and older still than even the island's oldest stories.

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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

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TBA


space warp is the punch above the head
makron overpower is the mole sizer which has a rather more sudden speed than thought

fists of death hits maybe once or twice if lucky and seems to loop about 5 frames