The Road Less Traveled

The Road Less Traveled

Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z belongs to Akira Toriyama, not me, and I make no money from this fic at all.

Warnings: Yaoi, TWT, and basically oddness

            Piccolo was stood in front the diminutive god of Earth, and was very grateful there were no flies up there. For they'd surely be in his mouth by now.

            "You have to be kidding me. Tell me you are. Lie if you have to."

            "N-no," Dende said, clutching his staff to his chest. His eyes were huge as he backed away. "I'm just telling you what Enma-sama told me!"

            Piccolo closed his eyes, and told himself again that he was not supposed to kill the god of earth. He was not going to kill the god of earth. No, he wasn't supposed to; it wasn't his fault that the judge of the dead was a vindictive bastard.

            Piccolo took a deep breath and bared his teeth.

            "So, when's he going to get here?" Piccolo snarled, his fists clenched so tightly blood started to drip from his fingers.

            "Um, any minute now?" Dende winced, and hunched down. He didn't want to see Piccolo's face when he told him that- his face had been bad enough when he'd told him what Enma-sama had decreed already.

            There was dead silence for a moment… then the sound of nearly hysterical laughter.

            "Okay, okay," Piccolo finally said, after getting to his feet after rolling on the floor. Dende was looking at him like he'd lost his mind- and Piccolo thought he agreed.

            "I may not like how Enma-sama is doing it, but I see his point," Dende ventured carefully. "Cell was never given the chance to make a choice between good and evil. He never understood the difference. He never got the chance to feel love or compassion. He was like a kid that was told by his parent to do something. Therefore, there was not enough in his packet for Enma to keep him in hell indefinitely."

            "Yeah, yeah, I know the rational behind it. But I also know that Enma is making ME be the one to shepherd him because of that stupid comment Kami made all those years ago. I wish I could have killed him for that…"

            Dende looked back at Piccolo. "But he's part of you."

            "And there was never a better reason for suicide."

            Dende crossed his eyes. He admired and respected Piccolo- but sometimes the earth raised Namek was a pain to the posterior.

            "Well, I'm keeping him here. There's no other place to put him," Piccolo said, but Dende recognized the question, and nodded. Both of them stood there for a long moment, before a flow formed in front of them. It was hazy, then solidified, leaving an unconscious, green armored body there.

~*~*~*~

            He didn't know where he was.

            Then it occurred to him, he didn't know who was asking the first question.

            This was bad, because part of him was telling him that this was very, very important. Panic bubbled up inside him, and he was conscious of quelling it. He didn't know why he was doing so- but his pride did so automatically. He didn't even know where that pride was coming from- but it was there, shoring up his faltering mind, and he clung to it like he was drowning. He may have had no idea what was going on, but that didn't mean he had to bawl about it.

            He pushed the coverlet that had been laid over him down to his feet, noting absently that it was a rich, beautiful thing. For some reason the thought paths of appreciating beauty seemed-foreign. Like he'd never seen anything beautiful before. Then he blinked. That seemed odd, too.

            "Hello?" he croaked, listening to his own voice as it filled the waiting silence. Nothing answered him. He scanned the rest of his room, seeing a wash area, a steaming platter of food, and clothes. Again, he noted for all his lack of subjective memory, he seemed to have knowledge there to access, the kinds of information a person takes for granted in their everyday lives. But he had no idea where that knowledge came from. He felt like something was rattling around in the empty space.

            Sighing, he went over to the wash area, and started running the water in the tub instinctively, wishing something would make sense.

            Looking up into the mirror, the face he was foreign as well. Like it was being covered with something. He reached out to touch it, and came across something like armor. He frowned, feeling around the edges. It covered his forehead and ears, making him look like some kind of giant insect. Not that he remembered learning what an insect was, but he could see it clearly in his mind.

            Carefully he pulled the heavy headdress free, and looked at the thick, short black hair that was plastered to his head with sweat. It itched.

            For that matter, so did the rest of him.

            He noticed that he was completely covered in that armor, and that an unsavory smell was coming from it, and him. Frowning, he removed it, and looked down at himself.

            His skin was milky pale, with two purple streaks over his eyes. The irises themselves were amethyst, one minute seeming purple, the next blue, then pink. His naked body was muscular, and pale as his face, and he blushed, looking down further. He was male, part of him clinically noted, like he'd never seen that before.

 Grimacing at the grime he found, he looked at the various cloths and brushes, choosing one of the former, and some pleasant scented soap. His mind identified the smell…sandalwood.

            Other soaps of various types were there, and he sniffed them, finding what else was there. Lavender, rose, mint, oatmeal, musk, pine- all arrayed in front of him. Feeling that if he was going to face his doom, whatever that was, he'd do so better washed, he lathered some of the sandalwood soap on a cloth and sat on a small stool next to the tub, inside the smooth marble wash area, which sloped gently to a drain. There he scrubbed away the dirt and sweat, soaping his short mop of hair, and then dumped cold, bracing water over himself, shivering hard.

            Hopping up, he slid into the steaming water of the deep tub, hissing at little at the heat, which turned his muscles to jelly, and he closed his eyes in bliss, soaking in the glorious warmth.

            Blinking lazily, now that he felt decent, he noticed the food yet again, and that it was comfortably close to the tub. Now, who was he to argue with convenience?

            Reaching over, he looked at the tray- it was loaded with food: tempura of all kinds, soup, rice, sushi, pickled ginger, noodles, horseradish… his mind boggled at it all. It smelled wonderful. There were two pitchers next to it, and taking a tumbler, he sampled them- one containing fruit juice, the other milk.

            He popped a piece of the sushi in his mouth, and chewed thoughtful, savoring the delicate flavor of the dish…

            His mind wandered, still trying to come to some kind of conclusion about who he was and what had happened to him. One, he was not in any kind of pain. This didn't really have any bearing on weather or not he was a prisoner- some were treated quite well. Although, with the food, the bath and the clothes, at least he knew he was not going to be killed any time soon. That wouldn't make sense.

            He also guessed he was not going to be interrogated. He had no information to give; and it was only logical to assume that the people here may have had something to do with his loosing his memory in the first place. Of course, that was certain…

            He shrugged. He knew he wasn't in pain; that he couldn't remember anything about himself, and that he had yet to see whom his captors were… and that at least one of them was a damn fine cook.

            Blinking, he noticed that there was nothing left on his tray but some greasy tempura crumbs, and that the pitchers were dry. Sighing, and noticing that the water was also cooling, he got out and dried himself, trying to decide what to do about clothing. Oddly, something inside him screamed that his armor was the only thing he should wear, but it stank like a dead dog. Wrinkling his nose, he looked over at the loose robes and breeches of handsome blue. Pulling them on, he glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked nothing like he had when he'd woken up. He'd started combing out his short thick hair when the door to his chamber opened silently.

            He'd never have noticed his visitor if he hadn't been looking in the mirror at the time. He snapped his head around, and he dropped into a defensive stance, holding back the shock that he knew anything about that.

            The person staring back at him was green, wearing dark blue under a majestic white cloak and turban. His face was twisted with distaste, looking at him like he was some kind of wart.

            "Well, you're awake," the person said, crossing his arms.

            "I suppose you don't remember who I am- my name is Piccolo. That bastard judge of the dead Enma has decided that, or reasons only he could conceive of, that I am to be your guide back in this life."

            Seeing the shocked expression on Cell's face, Piccolo smirked. "Yes, you died. Your name is Cell, by the way. If you don't like that, tough. It's what I am going to call you, and what everyone else will call you as well. From what I've been told, you didn't get a chance to choose between good and evil. So, you were sent back. It's been a while since you died. You are on Kami's Lookout. It's Dende's, now. What will happen is that you are going to be given the chance to see the value of life, understand why it's supposed to be protected. At the end of a certain term, and they didn't tell me what it was, you are going to be given your memories back of your evil ways. From there, you will choose between the two. Don't get any ideas- you are still dead. This is the decision on weather you are going to heaven or hell, that's all. You will not get the chance to return to being mortal."

            The man, now knowing that he was called Cell, worked is jaw soundlessly.

            Piccolo turned around to leave.

            "Are you coming or not?" he asked, not looking at the person behind him.

            Shaking his head to clear it, Cell followed the green man out, wondering what the hell would happen to him now.

To be continued!