The author of this work (generally accepted as and called a fanfic, and is referred to as such when mentioned further in this disclaimer) does not lay any claim to or on, intend to imply or initiate ownership of, or make any profits on or off of the franchise known as Dragon Ball (which is intended to cover the anime and manga versions, and covers Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, and Dragon Ball Absalon, as well as any games, saleable merchandises or books). The author merely wishes to write this fanfic as homage to the franchise, and for the author's own personal entertainment and that of others. No profit is being made off of the creation of this fanfic in any form, whether that be monetary, through the giving of valuable items (including, but not limited to, saleable items, vehicles, online currencies, stocks in any company, etc.), or secondarily through a bet or online stakes. The author holds no stocks in any of the companies affiliated with Dragon Ball and so will not gain any revenues from there. In short, no personal gain is being made off of the publication of this fanfic by the author. Now, for the love of all that is good and holy, please don't sue me.


Time flies by. People, places, even the very landscape of the world changes, heaving up new mountains. Time marches on. People age, places deteriorate, and the proud mountain begins to erode. Time wears on. People, even the most powerful and righteous, sicken and die, having spent their allotted time in this realm, and so must pass on to the next to face their judgment; places crumble and fall, having no defenses against the ravages of time; and the mighty, proud, obstinate mountain must fall too, ground to the very dust that people must go to by the forces of the world that birthed it, the grumbling water and the indifferent wind tearing it down.

And yet, despite the seeming futility of such a thing, the cycle begins again. People are born, places become remade and built, and the land throws up new formations. It is a cycle that cannot be stopped, should not be stopped. For if it is, what would life be?

It is worthy of note to mention that of these people, many do not have any appreciation for the sanctity of the very cycle that birthed them. This "dishonor roll" can count the likes of such villains as King Piccolo, Lord Frieza, the Red Ribbon Army, and Bibidi, Babidi, and evil Majin Buu among their ranks, and many more. But Newton's laws hold true even for events that one would not think they would apply to; for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. In some cases, the law is even bent by no small margin, but it still stands that every evil force has a good countering force that will neutralize it.

For a great many years, the Saiyan known as Goku had protected the universe. After dealing with the self-proclaimed Lord Frieza, he had even formed a camaraderie with his two former enemies, Piccolo Damaio and Vegeta, the "Prince of all Saiyans," as the latter was so fond of reminding everyone. These three, along with their friends, had become known as the Z-Fighters, and few could even hope to match their strength or willpower.

But time wears on all. Saiyans, despite their longevity, were susceptible to time just as any other is. Tien Shinhan died an old, yet happy man, his friend Chiaotzu following him soon afterwards. Krillin passed away as an afro-wielding monk, a smile on his face as his oldest friend, Goku, held him. Vegeta, though he hated to show emotion, broke inside as his wife succumbed to the ravages of time, and was never the same afterwards. Goku endured similar heartbreak with his own wife, Chi-Chi. Piccolo, though, being a Namekian, aged at an enormously slower pace than any of the other Z-Fighters did, and spent much of his time on the Lookout with his fellow Namekian Dende, the Guardian of Earth. As the two Saiyans watched their allies pass, they began to wonder what might befall the Earth, even the universe once they passed on as well. Their bloodline would not last forever, after all, and the dilution of the Saiyan blood, though having worked well for the first set of half-breed Saiyans (Trunks and Gohan), the dilution would eventually work down to a level incapable of being used. So they summoned the mighty Shenron to ask for his help, asking that, should the universe ever fall under threat again after such a point, that their powers be given to one that could use it effectively and fairly to defend this plane of existence from evil.

Such a time came far too soon. Only three years after the death of the last Super Saiyan, a shadowy threat began to spread. And Shenron, it seemed, may have interpreted the wish too literally…


"Please! I-I don't know anything, sir! Please, you must believe me! I don't know anyth-AAAAUGH!" The squat alien's protests of innocence were cut off by his screams of pain and then his death by slow decapitation. His killer, having taken the deceased's neck and shoulders and separated the two by pulling, dropped the head, screams still frozen on its face, and the fat body, blue blood dripping from both. Thin lips smiled cruelly. "I trust at least one of you will be a bit more…cooperative, no?" The lips parted in a whooping laugh. "If not, I can always just pull it out of you!" he cried, pointing to the now-exsanguinated corpse. The laughter stopped abruptly. A pale, bony finger pointed at the next in line, a bright light beading at the end. Flashing, it suddenly expanded as the person in line shivered in fear and then there was pain-


Aaron woke up gasping for breath in the nurse's office yet again, his hair wet – again. Strange nightmare, he thought. But his thoughts were cut off by a grating voice. "So we're awake now, are we, Mr. Lee? Five week's detention, now get to class." Aaron swore under his breath. "Mr. Bellinson, why am I being given detention this time again?" Being such a regular in the nurse's office would make most principals think that perhaps something was up, but not this one, no sir. Ezra Bellinson was a man possessed of considerable girth, little hair and even less moral worth. No matter what condition Aaron entered the office in, he gave him detention. Why? Surely not because Aaron was a victim of bullies. No, quite a different reason. Ezra Bellinson had a son, Ezra Jr., and Aaron was one of his favorite torture toys. Swirlies were his favorite way to torture him. Without proof, the principal never accepted accusations of bullying. "According to a report made out by Henry Fargo, you walked up to Ezra Bellinson, Jr., and punched him in a 'highly sensitive area.' Punching him again, you slipped on a banana peel and into the girls' bathroom, where you were found with your head in the toilet. This statement was backed up by three other witnesses, Mr. Lee. Seeing as you have a track record - " Aaron cut the principal off. "Your son dragged me in there and gave me a swirlie and you know it. And so will the whole school in about…one minute? Screw you and your detention, I don't deserve to pay for being bullied. I took video this time." Spluttering angrily, the principal swore. "You are EXPELLED, Mr. Lee for making unfounded accusations against another student! How dare you - " Aaron got up from the bed and swiped the projector remote. "There's my proof, and good luck with expelling me now." Sitting back in a chair, Aaron watched as the principal's eyes bugged out while watching his so-called angelic spawn give Aaron a swirlie instead of the morning announcements. When it was finished, he turned to Aaron making gulping noises like a dying carp. Then his face went so red Aaron wondered if he was going to have an aneurysm. He stormed out of the office so fast and slammed the door so hard it flew off of its hinges.

Aaron smirked.

Less than two minutes later, screams were heard from down the hall as the principal dragged his errant son down the hall towards the nurse's office. Throwing him inside, the principal picked the door up and put the door back up. He started screaming long before anyone could hear him.

Aaron walked out of school that day much happier.

Until he got to the corner of his neighborhood, where a bruised but very angry Ezra Jr. was waiting for him with a baseball bat.


"Mrs. Lee, I'm going to be frank. Your son has four broken ribs, a pierced lung, both of his tibias, femurs, and arms are broken, and he has a severe concussion, not to mention the skin he's lost. Honestly? He's lucky to be alive, though I don't know how long that will last. I'm sorry, but he may not make it. Why he was laying in the middle of the street, we may likely never know." The doctor looked at the chart again. "And it seems like this isn't the first time something like this has happened. You may want to look into getting him committed, Mrs. Lee, if these are suicide attempts, until we get to the bottom of this." Aaron's mother shook her head, never even lifting her head from in the tissue where it was buried. "Someone did this to him. He's never been depressed..."


This is not a darkfic, people. However, I don't quite know how to write this so it works right, so please give me your suggestions! Pick a name for the villain! (Hint: It is going to be an Arcosian, so make it a good one! Kooler is dead, so he's not a choice.