Hiya! Welcome to my new random attempt at fanfiction... This one's been in the works for awhile, but I just now got the guts to make a chapter for it. Sad, huh? Well, anyhow, this is a Piccolo/Gohan, mostly... This first chapter is a bit confusing. It's supposed to be. It will all be explained later, but a teensy bit of info is this: the first 2 sections are from 2 different POV (guess, guess!) and the 3rd is from yet another POV, but 17 years later. It's probably rather easy to tell... Let your imagination wander... Cookie to whoever guesses correctly! So I guess I'll get started! Let's roll... Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or its affiliations or Akira Toriyama or Funimation... If I did I'd give Funi one big kick in the rear.
Chapter 1: Dokusou
The final match at the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai never occurred. It was I that refused. This was to be the final chance for my revenge. I insisted that we each take a year to better ourselves. Then would be my final, climatic victory.
A year later, I did it.
It took six hours, but I did it.
I killed Son Goku.
Her throat was constricted, as if squeezed by some outward force. She could feel the slight twinge of surprised leg muscles from her sudden sprint from the others to her... her...
It's over.
A shiver swept across her body, an icy nothingness creeping along her skin and gouging at her flesh.
It's... It's over...
She could hear him laughing- and she could feel the other, the one who rested across her lap, rested but did not breath. He's just resting, a tinny voice croaked in the back of her mind. Just resting, then he'll get up, there's no way he could be gone, there's no way he could be dead...
Silence.
"Ah..."
Mud was soaking into her dress, mud and something darker from the object that weighed upon her thighs... the object that was just starting to become as frigid as the black rain which poured from the heavens. The warmth was flowing through her fingers and she almost thought that if she clenched them it would stay, he would wake up, the rest would be over and there wouldn't be a monster at her back and dark crimson splattering her lap and they'd be at home and Gohan would be laughing and-
Her fists clenched, but cold rain just swept across them, squeezed from the ebony hair that had been caught within her grasp. No warmth. Nothing left.
"No," she croaked.
"Yes."
The monster was behind her- she could hear his whisper, and feel his presence, shadowed and cold like the sodden dirt beneath her. "It's over, princess. Where's your hero now? I've won. I win." He was laughing, voice strained from fatigue. "I win! I defeated the indomitable Son Goku. Ironic, isn't it?"
Her shoulders snapped together as a sudden sob racked her body. All she wanted was the warmth back. The warmth was getting away, slipping away, if she didn't get it back then it would all be over and-
It's over.
His feet were on the ground; he did not know how long or far he had flown. Already his mind was whirling to decide the next move, the next shift of the chess piece...
It was as though someone had tilted the board, propelling the myriad of ivory and ebony pieces to the floor, when he finally realized just where he was standing.
Greenery refused to grow; indeed, where a glorious mountain had once stood in a cloak of emerald, a jagged and naked rockface rested. Only now, over a decade later, did timorous plants choose to creep up the mountainside. His feet already crushed the life from a few precious, fragile pioneers. He took no notice.
The space before him, on the very edge of the gaping orifice that had once been a mountain, was still touched with the black of a fire that had long since sputtered and died. The skeleton frame of glass and timber had given way so many years before, collapsed to the merciless earth with a screech and a groan.
He knew this place. He knew it, and he could not move...
And so he stared at the conflagration of the past. Nostrils flared, pupils dilated. The pungent scent of smoke and ash choked his lungs and brought tears to his eyes; unbearable heat tore at his skin; and flames danced before him in their deadly, voracious waltz. A scream, the scream of burning wood and shattering glass and... a woman... And over it all, malicious laughter, hurtful cachinnation that drowned out the smell and the sound and the feel...
He screamed and he dropped. Yielding helplessly to the heavy weight, the soft stalks of grass bent and finally snapped as fingers dug deep into the soil beneath. The blaze had sprung from his vision and into his chest- it kindled there, smoldering with a deep pain he hadn't known he possessed.
Too much, too much, this is just too much... I can't...
He did this.
He wouldn't.
He did...
I can't believe this, he... he...
The imaginary holocaust had vanished as quickly as it had come. A fresh breeze, burdened by the scents of flora and perhaps a taint of the sodium-thick ocean, was resting a steady arm on each shoulder. His fingers were moist with soil and dew. All that was before him was a naked, jagged rockface.
Still, his subconscious screamed at him in sorrow.
The wind brought him news of a person, a child, at his back. He was on his feet. Seeking repose from the turmoil within, he noted that his breathing was louder than usual; it came in short huffs, as though he were on the road to hyperventilating. Not quite there yet. He ran a hand through untidy hair and, most likely, spread dirt there from his grimy fingers.
Acute hearing picked up the rustle of clothing as the child shifted his position, obviously uncomfortable or uncertain. Finally he spoke, but his tone was not uncertain or cautious- it was steady, strong, and assured. "I remember things, sometimes."
There was an echo, in the background, his mind inserting some recent memory.
"So are there other secrets, kid?"
"Sometimes... I don't know where from... It just comes out of nowhere, and it's like I'm in a different world..."
"Something else you've been keeping from me?"
"Is that what just happened to you?"
"Get the hell away from me."
His reply was rasping, rough. "...I remember..."
The child was walking forward, ignoring his hoarse response and pressing all the more. "Do you remember this place? I've remembered it before. But it doesn't look the same... There was a mountain here before..."
He closed his eyes. "That's impossible. There is nothing here."
"I remember a child. A child and a beautiful woman..." The man found his eyes upon the boy, a sudden wild frenzy burning in his stomach. The young human seemed oblivious to this, lips tugging in a phantom smile. Dark eyes shifted to match his own; his cheeks were pulled up with a broad grin. "Food."
Something had fallen into place.
His slight calm dropped, mind shifting from the eye of the storm and into the turmoil; his breath had quickened, probably hyperventilating now, but he didn't care. He was stumbling backwards. This was too much, too much, much too much for him...
And he stared at the young boy, shifting erratically, eyes darting from the child to the ruins to the direction of his master's ki and he felt like his head and heart were going to explode if he just realized what, what had been bothering him so much about this eleven-year-old kid.
His lips moved in a simple, single-syllable word.
With that, a pressure swamped all aspects of his being and he found silky darkness, tranquil respite.
"Do you remember?"
Finis
(By the way, the chapter title 'Dokusou' means 'running alone' in Japanese.)
Sooo... How was it? I know, I know, confusing as hell but hey, what's the point in explaining everything in the first chapter?
I don't expect this one to be nearly as long as Serendipity (now called Sabireru) or Kokuhaku, but it should be at least a few chapters. Each chapter will be a little long, though (unlike this one). I don't know when I'll be able to finish the next chapter, hopefully soon...
Next time!
"Do you see the mountainsides, sire?"
"Of course I see them, I am not blind," The alien spat with distaste, sharpened canines displaying themselves.
The human gulped. "The… The monster did that. He destroyed that mountain, too, one night a few weeks ago. We fear that he will come here next."
"I don't have time for this," Piccolo growled and took to the air.
I suppose this quick-edit thing isn't that bad, once you get past the irritating destruction of my little smiley-faces. Oh well. A small loss... And now I can use breaks! And fix spacing! If only I could get out of the habbit of smiley-faces and action-asteriks... Well, whatever. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!