(A/N): Hey everyone! I'm like... Back and stuff! Been away for a long, long time. Before I get back to "Still Meant to Be" I wanna get this out. Get me back in the swing of writing things. Enjoy this. Because I'm working really effin' hard on it.

The battlefield rumbled without pause, the ground was blackened and scorched in places throughout the cracked, broken terrain. There was a battle taking place, a struggle that none of the warriors that came to face it had ever faced before. They had been all but defeated, barely alive, save for one. The one still fought on while the others were unconscious, or just watched as that was all they could do.

One of the warriors awoke from his coma, groaning and grunting as he pushed himself painfully into a stand. His green, grooved arms were heavily damaged, with open wounds that poured forth his purple blood. Whether the wounds hurt or not, he didn't show it as he looked over the battlefield, his stoic gaze shifting slowly over the torn landscape. His pointed ears flickered as he listened to the booming sounds of battle around him, though he paid it no heed for the time being, trying to piece together what had happened. His eyes widened, his stoic expression now gone as he began to recall what had happened:

He had been sitting on the grounds of the palace that was located on a hemisphere which floated high above the earth. It was all tiled, save for the planters that large, exotic trees grew out from. The fortress was home to the current guardian of earth, and had been home to the previous guardians from generations ago. The warrior lived here now; it felt more like home since he had merged bodies with the most recent guardian, Kami.

The old man was of the same race as the warrior; same green skin, same pointed ears, and the same antennae that sprouted from his forehead; they were namekians. The warrior's namesake and father, Piccolo, had originally been one with Kami before the guardian forced him out, for that half of himself was of pure evil, a corrupt demon. The demon had perished, and left behind only his son. While he was born to carry out his evil father's mission, he ended up siding with good, and when the earth was threatened by foes much greater than he could defeat, he did what he once had thought to be sinful. He merged with Kami. His only reason had been to gain great power in which he would defeat the new foes, but with that power came Kami's knowledge, and whether Piccolo knew it or not, the old guardians goodly nature came with as well. So, indeed, the palace was in fact his home, even when it once was a place was most foul to him. Now, however, it was the place this whole mess began.

He was meditating, as he usually did when he sat out on the palace grounds. So peaceful it was to sit on the tiled floor, no sound but the wind, the trees creaking in the breeze, as well as his white cape whipping behind him. He wore the cape that draped over weighted shoulder-guards that he had once used for training, but now were just there for show, as they now felt weightless to him. Upon his head was set another piece of weighted gear, a white turban with some, large purple orb that rested within the white material. As with his shoulder gear, it too felt weightless to him. It felt especially weightless now that he was meditating, in fact, it was as if he had erased his presence save for his mind. He was in a state of seemingly unbreakable peace. He was quickly torn from that peace, however, when he heard a loud explosion from behind him.

He turned, remaining seated for the moment as he took in the sight before him. The whole top of the palace was gone, replaced by flame and embers as it seemed the roof had just blown of cleanly. From the entrance of the building came Dende, a young namekian who had become earth's newest guardian, and Popo, the servant of the guardians. They looked panicked as they rushed toward Piccolo. The namekian stood, Dende and Popo promptly rushed behind the warrior's flowing cape.

Piccolo kept his eyes locked on the palace and its immediate surroundings as he spoke to the two behind him, "What did this?"

Dende trembled, "Two men… They just appeared here and asked about Kami. When I told them he was gone, they-" He was cut off when a large, crimson beam of energy exploded from inside the palace.

Piccolo barely had time to show his surprise as he roared out and sent his arm out, palm open, catching the blast with a grunt. It continued to hammer into his hand until the beam ended, leaving the namekian's hand smoking, yet seemingly unharmed besides that. The warrior glared, peering at the smoking entrance to the palace as he could just see two figures silhouetted against the smoke. One of the figures laughed.

"Kami is gone, so who is this fool?" the figure asked, obviously addressing Piccolo.

The warrior namekian took a step forward, "My name is Piccolo, and now may I ask what is yours?" He was answered by a crimson blast of energy. The glowing projectile was quickly knocked away by a swift backhand from the namekian warrior. He growled, "Trust me, fools. You do not want to mess with me!"

Both figures stepped from the smoke then, their pale faces showed that they were not amused. The shorter of the two wore silver garb that covered his thin frame. The long sleeved shirt he wore was done up by golden colored buttons, while his legs were covered by baggy pants the same silver color as his top. His feet were adorned by white boots, seemingly leather, with matching bracers that adorned his wrists, leaving his hands bare. His red-orange hair was short and neatly trimmed, and his eyes matched, being of a blood red. His companion, however, was the most impressive, by far. He was handsome, his skin the same pale color as the other. His eyes were of an intense blue, an icy, yet alluring stare that bore into those who glanced into them. His hair was red-orange, just like the other, but it was longer and neater by far. It was the hair of a royal warrior, and Piccolo took note of this. His outfit consisted of golden plate armor that covered his bare torso, a torso that was rippling with impressive muscles. The armor was decorated with strange symbols; obviously it was a different language, a language most foreign to the planet earth. On his waist was a black leather belt, with a large golden buckle that had the same writing on it. The belt held up the same type of baggy pants that the other had on, only it was decorated with golden writing. On his feet were golden plated boots, and on his hands were the matching gauntlets. And then, flowing freely from his shoulders and down his back was a white cape, outlined in a golden trim. Indeed, this man was of royal background.

The muscled man looked toward Piccolo sternly, his mouth pulled into a tight grimace. "I am Kureiji." It was the same voice from before, "I seek Kami, the guardian of this planet." He pointed to the young namekian behind Piccolo, "And that is not he."

Piccolo smirked, "It's not." The warrior jabbed a thumb into his own chest, "Kami is here. I am the union of he and my former persona, Piccolo. Though I have kept the name, I am far different."

Kureiji's face twisted with rage, "Then the young one. He is the new guardian of this planet?"

Piccolo quickly changed the subject, not wanting to put Dende in needless danger, he decided to ask a question, "What is your true purpose here?"

Kureiji calmed a bit, a wicked smile coming to his face, "I seek out all gods in the galaxies."

Piccolo's brow rose curiously, "Why is that?"

"Simple; I wish them gone so that I may rule over the four galaxies: North, south, east and west!" The muscled man cackled.

Piccolo scoffed, "You're insane."

Kureiji's laugh ended abruptly, instead he now snarled, "Fool! You have not seen what I have seen! You know not my destiny! If you get in the way, you shall perish like the rest of them!"

Piccolo's ears flickered agitatedly, "'the rest of them?'" he asked.

"The gods I have ended, of course." He said simply, without emotion.

The namekian bared his fangs, "You're an insane monster." He threw an arm forward, his hand out, palm open, his other hand coming in to grasp over his wrist. He roared out as a large blast of red-yellow energy escaped the palm of his hand, rocketing toward Kureiji and his companion. The blast was met by the companions own crimson blast, resulting in a shockwave that sent the trees ripping from their place in the planters.

Piccolo's blast continued as he looked over his shoulder, growling as he continued to pour forth energy into the blast. "Dende… Popo! Get away from the lookout now! Get to somewhere safe." With that, he turned his attention fully on the struggle at hand.

As they were instructed, Dende took Popo and escaped the lookout to find a place to hide on earth, which ended up making Kureiji more than a little angry.

The brute roared out in anger and he pushed his companion aside, "Useless boy!" he screamed, the smaller man's beam ending, leaving Piccolo's beam to overpower it and slam right into Kureiji's now outstretched palms. To the namekian's surprise, the burly man seemed to be easily holding his own against the blast, and then to Piccolo's horror, the man sent a horribly corrupt looking black ball of energy into the green man's energy blast. The namekian ended his beam and dodged to the side, but Kureiji only laughed as his hands clenched into fists. The black ball quickly shrunk into nothing, seeming to just disappear from sight. But not even a second later, the air exploded, and the hemisphere known as the Lookout was blasted to bits. Piccolo fell into blackness, at least for a little while.

The namekian shook his head, back to the present. After the initial explosion of the Lookout, his memories of the events following were a haze. He looked around at the battlefield again, trying to hear past the incessant rumbling, trying to hear for anyone. Nothing, the rumbling was almost deafening, and with his enhanced hearing he wouldn't be able to hear anything else. Thoughts began nagging at him. Who else had been here fighting? Was anyone still alive? And then it hit him hard; where was Gohan? He knew that the boy he had once trained would be around, especially if a fight such as this was going on. Piccolo, once the demon that Kami had cast out, had come to care for Gohan as if the boy were his own son, and so his mind was almost panicked. Again he scanned the area, this time noticing a pile of rubble that seemed to have once been the walls of a tall building. The rubble shifted and toppled over as a form appeared in a cloud of dust, the figure was revealed to Piccolo. It was someone he knew, but it wasn't Gohan. The blue, almost skin tight outfit the man wore was in tatters, his white gloves now dirty and scuffed badly. His black, flame crested hair filled with dirt and debris. His skin was cut, bruised and bleeding. Piccolo wasn't surprised that the man had survived, not even surprised that the man either didn't notice his wounds, or just didn't care. He wasn't surprised, because this man was Vegeta.