Shattered World
A Dragon Ball Vignette
by Torankusu Senshi
This was hard. No matter how many times the young demi-saiyajin came to out to view his world, it was a depressing and lonely sight.
Trunks' hair blew up with the gusts of air. He floated in midair, the fierce winds blowing his clothing from side to side. He was a good few hundred feet up in the cold night sky, and was currently above the conglomeration of death and rubble that marked the city of one of the old Capitols. Of which exactly, Trunks did not remember. He had never had much use for education during his childhood, the only things his mother had taught him about were scientific innovations and about the reign of the Jinzounignen. The damned cyborgs, who had, during the course of their 17 year reign of terror, killed 98.7% of the Earth's human population.
98.7%. Out of all the billions of people that had populated this world when Trunks was merely a child, a mere few hundred thousand remained. There was not one whole city left anywhere on the planet. Entire ecosystems had been destroyed, species wiped out. The weather patterns on the planet were erratic and nightmarish, all of the ki that had been thrown around during what was being referred to simply as "The Cyborg War", had had a devastating effect on the planet. Entire days passed by without sunshine. All over the planet, there were mirror bright bowls that used to be dirt, the fusion of sand of into glass during all the explosions of the War had been the cause of that . Technology was practically nonexistent outside the Capsule Corporation building where he and his mother resided. The once great and proud human race had been reduced to scavengers, living in small, shoddy villages. When they were in need of any material besides food, the villagers of any given place usually sent out the young males in trips to the "Wastes." The Wastes were the once great cities of Chikyuu, now reduced to charred and crumbling rubble, with dead bodies covering them. A perfect example of such was right below Trunks.
Slowly, he felt himself drawn downward towards the ground. He followed his instincts, as any true warrior did. He touched down on the ground, and began walking, quiet as Death, through the city. It was a route he was not at all unfamiliar with, indeed, he traveled this path most every day. As always, he found himself ending up at a certain spot, a spot where the remains of an intersection used to be. Trunks did not know this city of rubble better than any other on the planet. Normally, it would have no special meaning to him, he had grown up with this kind of scenery. But, this was the city where IT had happened. And he stood at the spot where HE had died.
Son Gohan had been murdered at this spot.
Murdered in cold blood. He had fought so hard, all his life. And, even when his greatest friends passed away, he continued to fight. For 14 years he had battled the nightmare that was the Jinzounignen. For 14 years, he had failed again and again to save the lives of people who were counting on him. Trunks knew Gohan had always put up a brave front, in order to do honor to his father's memory, but he had obsessed over it. During rare occasions when Gohan was sleeping over his and his mother's house, Trunks had always snuck up to Gohan's guest room. He could hear the sobs coming from it, sobs of despair and lost hope. Every night, Trunks knew, Gohan had cried himself to sleep, even when he reached adulthood. It was one of the greatest injustices Trunks had ever known, that the soul of such a gentle and compassionate man, whose only desire in life was to become a scholar, and keep his loving family, would be put through that. That gentle child had been put through hell, had watched his friends die. Instead of being a scholar, he had become an avenger, and he hadn't wanted it.
But, Gohan's worries had ended on that night three years ago, when Juuhachigou and Juunanagou had killed him. Tired of playing with the fate and emotions of the young warrior, they had killed him, simply because they hadn't anything better to do then slaughter billions.
And so, Gohan had left the task of defeating the jinzounignen to Trunks. Trunks wasn't ready, this he knew. No matter how angry he was, how full of righteous fury he was at the slow decimation of his homeworld, and the murder of the only man that had ever been a father, brother, teacher, and friend to him, he knew we couldn't yet take on the Jinzounignen. Not even with the world shaking power of the Super Saiyajin. The Jinzounginen were true monsters, while Trunks was certain their power had to have some kind of limit to it, that limit was far, far beyond him. He had done his best against the monstrosities, and had been defeated soundly, almost killed. He couldn't risk doing that again, he was after all, the only warrior left. If he died, then no one would be able to carry on anymore, and what little was left of this planet would join the rest of it, in the heavens.
Which brought Trunks to the point of this.....was it worth it?
The entire human race was back to primordial living, civilization was beyond them. Even if he DID manage to succeed in this new undertaking, what would it matter? There was no fate, no destiny here, anymore. Merely a shattered planet. Shattered by it's own devices, by the creations of a madman. Did Trunks have the right to change this planet's destiny?
Did he have the right to change the past?
His mother believed this was the right thing. By traveling back in time, he would create a new dimension, one where things would happen differently. It all depended on if she was right about Son Gokuu. If she was, then things.........would be so, unbelievably better. Gohan would be a scholar, and not an avenger. His father, the proud and great prince of the saiyajins, would be able to continue living. That world would be a paradise that the grim-sighted Trunks had never even imagined.
Unfortunately, such would not be the case with this world. This world was destined to remain like this. The warriors and people dead would stay dead. Even if, against all chances, Trunks managed to find a weakness with the Jinzounignen back in the past, and returned to destroy them here, then it would still be like this. The human race and this planet would never fully recover from what had been done to them.
Trunks knelt by the spot where Gohan had lay, those three years ago. As they often did, tears began streaming down his face. The tears of an innocent youth forced to a life of war, of loss, and of anguish. the tears of a youth who would never know a normal friendship, would never play with his friends along a beachside innocently. Trunks had grown up far, far too fast. And, he didn't know if he had the strength to go on. It didnt matter what happened to this place anymore, it was beyond repair. Beyond any help he could give it. And the other world, well, what did it matter? He would have to return to this hellhole, anyway.
And then, something hit him.
Gohan had fought. No matter what had happened, who had died, or how many times the Jinzounignen had humiliated him, he had fought with all his spirit, strength, and heart. To his death he had fought, and left that responsibility to Trunks. Whether or not the young warrior wanted it. He was the only one that could do it, anymore. The only one with enough strength to fight on, and to avenge the death of this world. Trunks had to do this, if nothing but to simply honor the memory of the warrior, Son Gohan. He reached up a sleeve to brush away tears, looking up from the accursed spot.
And he saw a little girl.
She was leaning out from behind a building, looking at him as if he were one of the murderers themselves. She was of dark complexion, and was clutching a ragged looking doll in one hand. The tears streaming down her face were much like his own. She however, did not posess the look of weathered pains over her face like Trunks, but rather, a small, fearful expression. Had Trunks been able to view the scene, it would have broke his heart into more fragments than it was in, already. Then, the little girl was gone, rushed back through the corner. She had so little ki, Trunks couldn't even tell where she had gone.
Trunks stood, slowly. Maybe the inhabitants of this world were doomed. The time for a savior was beyond them, they could only have an avenger. But if he could create the paradise where this terror had not happened, where that little girl and himself had not suffered so, it was worth it. Worth it to go, so that others would not suffer like he and his world had. Trunks rose, looking into the sky. Slowly, blue flames of ki overhwlemed him, and he launched into the air, speeding like a man posessed back to Capsule Coporation.
Time to fight the good fight.
Hope.
A Dragon Ball Vignette
by Torankusu Senshi
This was hard. No matter how many times the young demi-saiyajin came to out to view his world, it was a depressing and lonely sight.
Trunks' hair blew up with the gusts of air. He floated in midair, the fierce winds blowing his clothing from side to side. He was a good few hundred feet up in the cold night sky, and was currently above the conglomeration of death and rubble that marked the city of one of the old Capitols. Of which exactly, Trunks did not remember. He had never had much use for education during his childhood, the only things his mother had taught him about were scientific innovations and about the reign of the Jinzounignen. The damned cyborgs, who had, during the course of their 17 year reign of terror, killed 98.7% of the Earth's human population.
98.7%. Out of all the billions of people that had populated this world when Trunks was merely a child, a mere few hundred thousand remained. There was not one whole city left anywhere on the planet. Entire ecosystems had been destroyed, species wiped out. The weather patterns on the planet were erratic and nightmarish, all of the ki that had been thrown around during what was being referred to simply as "The Cyborg War", had had a devastating effect on the planet. Entire days passed by without sunshine. All over the planet, there were mirror bright bowls that used to be dirt, the fusion of sand of into glass during all the explosions of the War had been the cause of that . Technology was practically nonexistent outside the Capsule Corporation building where he and his mother resided. The once great and proud human race had been reduced to scavengers, living in small, shoddy villages. When they were in need of any material besides food, the villagers of any given place usually sent out the young males in trips to the "Wastes." The Wastes were the once great cities of Chikyuu, now reduced to charred and crumbling rubble, with dead bodies covering them. A perfect example of such was right below Trunks.
Slowly, he felt himself drawn downward towards the ground. He followed his instincts, as any true warrior did. He touched down on the ground, and began walking, quiet as Death, through the city. It was a route he was not at all unfamiliar with, indeed, he traveled this path most every day. As always, he found himself ending up at a certain spot, a spot where the remains of an intersection used to be. Trunks did not know this city of rubble better than any other on the planet. Normally, it would have no special meaning to him, he had grown up with this kind of scenery. But, this was the city where IT had happened. And he stood at the spot where HE had died.
Son Gohan had been murdered at this spot.
Murdered in cold blood. He had fought so hard, all his life. And, even when his greatest friends passed away, he continued to fight. For 14 years he had battled the nightmare that was the Jinzounignen. For 14 years, he had failed again and again to save the lives of people who were counting on him. Trunks knew Gohan had always put up a brave front, in order to do honor to his father's memory, but he had obsessed over it. During rare occasions when Gohan was sleeping over his and his mother's house, Trunks had always snuck up to Gohan's guest room. He could hear the sobs coming from it, sobs of despair and lost hope. Every night, Trunks knew, Gohan had cried himself to sleep, even when he reached adulthood. It was one of the greatest injustices Trunks had ever known, that the soul of such a gentle and compassionate man, whose only desire in life was to become a scholar, and keep his loving family, would be put through that. That gentle child had been put through hell, had watched his friends die. Instead of being a scholar, he had become an avenger, and he hadn't wanted it.
But, Gohan's worries had ended on that night three years ago, when Juuhachigou and Juunanagou had killed him. Tired of playing with the fate and emotions of the young warrior, they had killed him, simply because they hadn't anything better to do then slaughter billions.
And so, Gohan had left the task of defeating the jinzounignen to Trunks. Trunks wasn't ready, this he knew. No matter how angry he was, how full of righteous fury he was at the slow decimation of his homeworld, and the murder of the only man that had ever been a father, brother, teacher, and friend to him, he knew we couldn't yet take on the Jinzounignen. Not even with the world shaking power of the Super Saiyajin. The Jinzounginen were true monsters, while Trunks was certain their power had to have some kind of limit to it, that limit was far, far beyond him. He had done his best against the monstrosities, and had been defeated soundly, almost killed. He couldn't risk doing that again, he was after all, the only warrior left. If he died, then no one would be able to carry on anymore, and what little was left of this planet would join the rest of it, in the heavens.
Which brought Trunks to the point of this.....was it worth it?
The entire human race was back to primordial living, civilization was beyond them. Even if he DID manage to succeed in this new undertaking, what would it matter? There was no fate, no destiny here, anymore. Merely a shattered planet. Shattered by it's own devices, by the creations of a madman. Did Trunks have the right to change this planet's destiny?
Did he have the right to change the past?
His mother believed this was the right thing. By traveling back in time, he would create a new dimension, one where things would happen differently. It all depended on if she was right about Son Gokuu. If she was, then things.........would be so, unbelievably better. Gohan would be a scholar, and not an avenger. His father, the proud and great prince of the saiyajins, would be able to continue living. That world would be a paradise that the grim-sighted Trunks had never even imagined.
Unfortunately, such would not be the case with this world. This world was destined to remain like this. The warriors and people dead would stay dead. Even if, against all chances, Trunks managed to find a weakness with the Jinzounignen back in the past, and returned to destroy them here, then it would still be like this. The human race and this planet would never fully recover from what had been done to them.
Trunks knelt by the spot where Gohan had lay, those three years ago. As they often did, tears began streaming down his face. The tears of an innocent youth forced to a life of war, of loss, and of anguish. the tears of a youth who would never know a normal friendship, would never play with his friends along a beachside innocently. Trunks had grown up far, far too fast. And, he didn't know if he had the strength to go on. It didnt matter what happened to this place anymore, it was beyond repair. Beyond any help he could give it. And the other world, well, what did it matter? He would have to return to this hellhole, anyway.
And then, something hit him.
Gohan had fought. No matter what had happened, who had died, or how many times the Jinzounignen had humiliated him, he had fought with all his spirit, strength, and heart. To his death he had fought, and left that responsibility to Trunks. Whether or not the young warrior wanted it. He was the only one that could do it, anymore. The only one with enough strength to fight on, and to avenge the death of this world. Trunks had to do this, if nothing but to simply honor the memory of the warrior, Son Gohan. He reached up a sleeve to brush away tears, looking up from the accursed spot.
And he saw a little girl.
She was leaning out from behind a building, looking at him as if he were one of the murderers themselves. She was of dark complexion, and was clutching a ragged looking doll in one hand. The tears streaming down her face were much like his own. She however, did not posess the look of weathered pains over her face like Trunks, but rather, a small, fearful expression. Had Trunks been able to view the scene, it would have broke his heart into more fragments than it was in, already. Then, the little girl was gone, rushed back through the corner. She had so little ki, Trunks couldn't even tell where she had gone.
Trunks stood, slowly. Maybe the inhabitants of this world were doomed. The time for a savior was beyond them, they could only have an avenger. But if he could create the paradise where this terror had not happened, where that little girl and himself had not suffered so, it was worth it. Worth it to go, so that others would not suffer like he and his world had. Trunks rose, looking into the sky. Slowly, blue flames of ki overhwlemed him, and he launched into the air, speeding like a man posessed back to Capsule Coporation.
Time to fight the good fight.
Hope.