Chapter 1: Respect
A forgotten warrior stood aimlessly, long after everyone had fled the scene of the cataclysmic battle that had occurred, feeling more at odds with himself than ever before. Everything went so fast, it was like a blur. He was still unable to piece it all together. The moment he saw his son impaled right through the sternum at the hands of Cell, a painfully agonizing feeling began to stir in the burrows of his chest, thrashing about more and more violently with each and every passing second. As he saw Mirai Trunks coughing out globs of blood, he stared wide-eyed, abhorred by the sight. A need began to blossom deep within, slowly, but surely embedding itself within the cold, icy heart of the Saiyan Prince. The need for revenge. The need for blood. The blood of the beast who'd killed his son, his blood, his... pride.
Yes, he was proud of his son! For one whole year, they'd trained in the same room. As always, he'd been aloof, reserved and distant. The boy meant nothing to him. He was a half-breed abomination as far as he was concerned. An accident that arose from one of several loathsome cohabitations with that insufferable blue-haired banshee... But that didn't stop Trunks. He did his utmost to be strong, spirited and worthy in his father's eyes... to be a true warrior, as was in his blood. And he did not disappoint.
Though, the Prince never showed it, he was impressed by his relentless drive and determination. The endless white void of the hyperbolic time-chamber was more gruesome than the fiery pits of hell, worse than any nightmare imaginable, to say the least. The moment you stepped off the central platform, you took on ten times your body's weight and as you moved further and further into the void, the gravity level increased correspondingly as did the air pressure, to the the point, where it felt as though the air around you was a liquid medium as viscous as water and if you went even further, it practically felt as if you were wading through a gigantic pool of honey. Add to that the decreasing quantity of oxygen that could made you feel as though you were practically in the lonely heart of the vast empty vacuum of space. And yet, the Prince didn't stop advancing. But every step he took forward, every advancement he made, Trunks moved with him. The boy never ceased, never gave up. At first, it amused him.
'The boy's good.' He thought with smug overconfidence. 'But there's no way he'll last much longer. A few more days of this and he'll be scurrying out the door, like a frightened kitten, with his tail between his legs.'
But he couldn't have been more wrong. Trunks didn't relent, didn't give in and didn't show weakness... He put on a stoic façade of indifference as he followed in his proud father's footsteps, telling the Prince, without words, one thing: 'Every drop of blood that flows through your veins, flows through mine as well. Your strength, courage, fortitude and tenacity are mine too, for I am your son!'
They'd train separately, as Vegeta had demanded, but that didn't stop the demi-Saiyan prodigy from scrutinizing every detail, as his father trained, soaking it all in, emulating it and making it his. This did not change the Prince's attitude though. He continued being his trademark taciturn self and kept his distance. Yes, the boy was a warrior, but he was only half-Saiyan. He would not reach his level, no matter how hard he tried. But when he saw Trunks break through that barrier and ascend beyond the powers of Super Saiyan, only a few weeks after he'd mastered the technique, he could not hide his awe... As he saw his muscles augment and a new scintillating golden aura flare around him, he felt his pride swell to whole new levels and knew then that this was his son... a true Saiyan Prince at heart. Trunks smirked at his gaping expression and knew then that every smidgeon of pain he felt, every burn, every scar, every laceration, all those sleepless nights and dreadfully agonizing days, where it took everything he had just to remain on his feet... It had all been worth it, because he could see right through his legendary father's teal eyes, something he'd never seen from him before: Acceptance.
Though they continued training their separate ways, they did spar from time to time and every instance they'd trade blows, it felt as though the very foundations of the Universe quaked. Vegeta could not have felt more reverence for the boy, if he tried. And now... now, he lay there dying, gurgling and choking on his own blood. He grit his teeth and let out a nasty snarl as he focused his smoldering gaze upon the bastard responsible: Cell! He would die for this!
A/N: This is going to be a short story. A couple chapters at the very most. I normally only publish completed stories, but this is an exception, because it's minor.
So what did you think? Please review... I'll update frequently, but the more reviews I get, the quicker I update!