So this is the first chapter of what I intend to be a three part story. Nothing too complicated or deep. Just a short, nice little story I've had in the recesses of my mind for the better part of a year or more. Hopefully it'll be a nice way to get me back into writing so I can carry on with my other fiction, and maybe a few more. Anyways, hope you like it.
As usual, I don't own Vegeta or any other DB characters. They're all Toriyama.
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Chapter 1: The Memory Remains
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A stream of rushing memories blasted through his mind's eye. Wave after wave of bad and good memories twisting together, meandering through his vision. His eyes sluggishly opened, interrupting the flow. Then the most prominent memory came through, even when his eyes were fully open and alert.
Before him stood the clown king himself, Kakarot. Seething hatred and deep-rooted frustration washed him over looking eye to eye with the only other full blood. Separating them were Kakarot's brat, the Lord of Lords; Shin, The champion buffoon who'd destroyed Cell and the ever-annoying ring announcer.
He heard his own voice, was vaguely aware of what it said, issuing Kakarot a warning, a challenge. When Kakarot had refused, as Vegeta knew he would, he slowly tensed his right arm, felt the awesome rippling new power flow through it as he directed his open palm at Kakarot.
At some point there was senseless banter on all sides, but that meant nothing. All that mattered was Kakarot's imminent defeat. It would be glorious! In his newly powered transformation Vegeta's simple blast easily over-powered Kakarot in his normal state. All he could do was cross his arms over his face for protection and simply move aside.
Probably hundreds of people died as a result.
Vegeta continued smirking. More banter. To respond to Kakarot's question he turned his right arm to his side and remodelled more of the Arena, at that point not really noticing, or caring, how close the blast had been to Bulma. As he had expected, Kakarot got back to his feet quickly and powered up to meet his challenge.
Vegeta had expected perhaps Gohan or Shin to step in but he never expected Kakarot to direct his own blast at the Lord or Lords. He let out an amused laugh and continued to direct his smirk at Kakarot.
The fight had been glorious. Vegeta meeting Kakarot blow for blow and systematically raising his level above and beyond, delving in to new realms of power. After that, things dropped back down to mediocrity. His power remained but his urge to fight lessened.
The situation worsened with his pathetic actions at heroism and self-sacrifice. A second pathetic end for the warrior Super-Saiyan.
And then all the glory and pride he'd felt at the beginning of the battle was totally demolished as Kakarot unveiled his Super-Saiyan 3 form. Vegeta had felt cheated at the time. At some point during fusion he felt he understood and then later he begrudgingly admitted defeat to Kakarot's power.
The biggest shame came when he remembered the people he'd cut down in the confinement of the arena and how close he'd come to killing Bulma. That was unforgivable.
And now here he was in the present, not really sure of his surroundings. He remembered taking one of Bulma's one-man space pods and exiling himself to a cold sleep as he travelled to an unknown destination, not even bothering to change the tattered clothes he wore from his final skirmish with Buu. He remembered dreaming, and the prominent vision of his fight with Kakarot but knew from years of experience that dreaming never came in the confinement of space-induced sleep.
Which meant he must not be in the pod anymore. Impossible. If something had attacked him the system would have woken him with enough time to take counter-active measures.
So what was going on?
As he asked himself that question, his fumbling thoughts lost their hold and he was suddenly totally aware of himself again.
His eyes darted open, immediately taking in his environment. He was in cold, dead space. Yet still, he was completely alive, not exploding as the air trapped in his body forced its way out to the inert outside. Then he looked down.
Where his blue vested jumpsuit had once been now was a brand new midnight black one. No scuff marks, no tears, totally perfect and sculpted to his body like a second skin. Wear his tattered white gloves had once been now was sick and dull grey coloured ones, again totally new. His boots were the same pallid grey colour of the gloves, missing the gold tips he remembered on his white pair.
Slowly, he began to move. He brought his hands up in front of his face, clenching his right fist he felt new surges of power; Raw power that came from some unknown source. A power very similar to his own, but far more fruitful.
And then he was aware of a sensation in the back of his mind. Like an entity or presence picking through his brain. Then, totally out of his control, the string of memories played through his mind again. Then again.
As he began to understand what this presence was showing him he looked again at his powerful fist. Several seconds passed.
Then he smirked to himself. A great smirk that stretched the features of his face, displaying his perfectly white teeth, the Yang to the dark Yin of space.
And then he erupted with speed, travelling toward the direction of the backwater mud ball he knew as Earth. He kept laughing to himself as he sped faster and faster through the cosmos, drawing ever closer to his goal. The inevitable rematch.
But this would be so much more! This would be the end.
The Dark Prince was back, and this time he was here to stay …
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