A solemn, stiff wind passed through the wasteland, heard only by the most isolated, time-worn souls. In the barren meadow just a stone's throw away, lay the vanishing body of the Earth's most valiant hero. Its form, as ephemeral as it was, was dissolving before everybody's eyes. The grassland, once vivacious and fertile, seemed duller—less exuberant than the arable pasture it once was.

If Piccolo was a believer in poetic justice, he would've asserted that this interesting phenomenon was the work of some deity who used the behavior of nature as a signal to his own thoughts on the lamentable nature of the day's events. Of course, Piccolo wasn't a disciple of such thought, so it really didn't apply.

Stoic as he was, he did have to admit that the passing of his archrival did impact him somewhat. He wouldn't let himself be grieved, like some of the man's closer friends and associates, but there was a distinct lack of closure that aggravated the demon. Perhaps his expectations were a bit dramatic or theatrical, but killing his rival on his own terms wasn't exactly what he envisioned his moment of glory was going to be. His victory seemed so… hollow and meaningless.

That was then and this was now, though. And the not-so-far future was looking bleak. Unless they could find a way to get significantly stronger in a very short amount of time, then their victory against Goku's "brother" only delayed the inevitable.

Although he didn't consider himself to be overly cynical or self-critical, Piccolo did have to ponder the possibility that he may not be able to get strong enough in time. If Raditz was really so much weaker than his friends, then was there anything that could be done? What could he do in case his best efforts were swept aside?

Deep down, Piccolo knew the answer to that question. After all, he wouldn't have gone to trouble of kidnapping his rival's progeny if he was even remotely doubtful of the boy's capabilities. In one, albeit nasty, headbutt, the boy had done more damage to their resilient foe than the combined onslaught of both himself and his nemesis combined. It would be stupid to not craft such a volatile gift into a game-changing weapon for the perilous days to come.

But this boy wasn't just some polished diamond sitting in the sand waiting to be adorned. It was going to take a lot of work getting such a brat into fighting shape, with time they didn't have much of to begin with. More importantly, the boy had to realize the true scale of what he had wandered himself into. One day, long before anybody could've conceived, the boy may have to take his father's mantle just to survive. Sad thing was that the brat just may not have realized it. And it was his job to make him.

Any doubts the demon king had about the devastating potential of his charge had melted away when he witnessed the kid's wrath for the second time. There was no mistaking things or any denial to hide under. This kid was something special—and unless Piccolo was content ruling a barren rock, he may, in time, have to be the linchpin to the Earth's survival.

Problem was, and it was immediately obvious to Piccolo, that the brat really wasn't getting it. Having no recollection of his power probably exacerbated the condition, but the kid clearly didn't understand the importance of his role in what he was trying to convey to him. But how could he? As always, the Namekian had an idea.

Meanwhile, the brat himself was gawking at the massive line of dirt he had uprooted. Clueless to his involvement in its creation, the boy couldn't quite grasp how such a massive track of earth could just appear out of nowhere. "Wowie, look at that!"

Maneuvering behind the kid, Piccolo smirked as the boy stared inquisitively at the extraordinary sight. Deciding that it was best to burst the kid's bubble, the demon began to speak, taking his self-elected charge by surprise. "You caused that, kid."

Turning towards the green demon like he had sprouted a second head, the boy's brow arched while his eyes slightly widened. "Really?" It was clear the brat would need more… persuading.

"Yes, you were the one who did that," stated Piccolo, his tone neutral and composed. A part of him was somewhat impressed by the kid's abilities, but he'd rather die than let that show. He had a reputation to uphold after all. "Power like that is rare, kid. Very useful, but only when the person is in control. That's why we are here: to shape this potential into something more."

The brat wasn't going to be making this easy. Instead of comprehending what his self-appointed teacher was saying, the kid looked confused and flustered, like the admission raised far more questions than answers. Something told the green demon that they were going to be talking for awhile.

"Why do you need me? After my dad, you're the strongest fighter on the planet—shouldn't you be able to do anything I could do?"

Taking a moment to deeply inhale and exhale, the Namekian crossed his arms across his chest and scowled. "And both your father and I were being beaten until you came out of nowhere and injured Goku's brother. Kid, whether you choose to believe me or not, you have talent that shouldn't be ignored, especially not now. The battles to come will be much more grueling, and we may need the extra help."

Gohan said nothing in reply.

This was going to be harder than he thought. The kid was even more dense than his father, if such a thing were possible. Deeply breathing, lest he start to yell, the demon began to think of another way to get at the boy. Being direct, his preferred approach, just wasn't cutting it.

"Boy, your father's dead, and there are even more powerful opponents coming—"

"My dad's dead?" blurted out Gohan, utterly taken aback by this relatively unassuming factoid. The boy's mouth hung agape comically, his eyes almost bugging out of his eye sockets.

`Of course, the boy was knocked out cold when the idiot died,' surmised Piccolo begrudgingly, having a hard time not growling at the undignified reaction to his archrival's untimely demise. He wasn't surprised, though. If all of the idiot's friends practically groveled at his grave, imagine what his crybaby son would do. Whatever the case, he had to thank fate that the boy hadn't stirred when his father was dying. That would've been an embarrassing waterworks display.

Upon closer inspection, though, the demon recognized an opportunity. Goku had an infectious personality, bordering on that of a cult of personality, between him and his friends. True, the earthlings weren't exactly slackers, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that most of them relied on Goku to beat the big enemies.

Goku's son would probably be even more trapped in that kind of mindset. The fact that he didn't have any fighting experience no doubt strengthened this faith. He probably didn't think he had to do anything, not as long as his father had a fighting chance.

Quickly and ever so swiftly, the cogs in Piccolo's head began to rapid fire. If he could find a way to establish a breach in faith between the son and his father, then the boy would be far less comfortable about his chances. Vulnerability produces fear and fear produces drive. `And drive is exactly what this brat needs.'

The groundwork of his methodology complete, the Namekian stood still and said nothing. Silence in general was a very good destabilizer; it created a palpable atmosphere of anxiety, which Piccolo was better at handling than his self-elected squire. Getting the boy off balance was the first step in his plan.

As assumed, the tension of the exchange affected Gohan far moreso than his self-appointed teacher. Gulping audibly, the boy looked up at Piccolo to see what his kidnapper was going to say. After almost half-a-minute of no response, the boy's hands began to squirm and wiggle around anxiously across his body.

Smirking offhandedly, the demon king almost had to snort when a small gale of wind blew through the pillared plain and caused his cape to billow hauntingly, adding to the already tense environment. Sensing that it was an opportune moment to bid adieu, Piccolo decided that he had put the boy through enough for now. "Yes, Goku is dead. Stabbed right through the heart."

Piccolo was very careful with his wording, as he always was. He spoke the truth, but it wouldn't have been very conducive to his endgame to admit that it was he who shot Goku through the chest. Sure, taking claim of something like that would probably motivate the brat and stir him into action, but not in a good way. Saying something like that would probably make training the boy unnecessarily complicated, and that was if he didn't burn the boy's bridges immediately.

"Oh," muttered Gohan glumly, his expression crestfallen upon hearing the confirmation of his father's death. Piccolo could somewhat sympathize, or at least empathize, with the boy. After all, he had pretty much started life in a conspicuously similar situation. Nevertheless, there were more important issues to attend to for him to soften up on the boy even a bit.

"How do you expect your father to save you if he's dead?" asked Piccolo snidely, keeping the question open for the boy to answer.

Visibly squinting, the boy pulled himself off the ground and rested his arms meekly over his waist as he thought of a response. "Um, wouldn't my daddy's friends bring him back with the Dragon Balls?"

Snorting out of habit, the Namekian almost wanted to curse at Gohan's response. He was almost hoping that the boy hadn't been told about the mystical relics. It would've made his job so much easier if the boy earnestly believed that his dad couldn't come back from the dead. Since he did, the demon had to find another way of convincing the child. "Did your dad forget to mention that it takes a year for the Dragon Balls to become active again? What makes you think the Saiyans will not have already arrived by then? Did he mention to you that the Dragon Balls can take years at a time to find? Do you think your dad's little buddies friends have the time to go on a mad goose chase with their lives on the line?"

Looking up crossly at the green demon, the boy put his hands on his chest and curled his lip. "He'll be there and I know he'll be there," he exclaimed, still confident in his dad's magical prowess for keeping the people he cared for safe and sound.

"How cute," scoffed Piccolo, his cape still billowing behind him ominously to accentuate his disgust. "That's brave words, kid. You willing to wager your life on that? Are you prepared to handle the consequences if you're wrong?"

Not comprehending the full scope of Piccolo's words, all Gohan could do was mutely lower his head and meekly scratch the back of his noggin in contemplation. He wasn't ready to handle a direct interrogation by one of the most scary figures he had ever heard of. "Uh… I don't know."

"Precisely, kid. You don't know," muttered the demon, his expression becoming more and more grim as time went on. The kid was becoming more reflective, more doubtful. `Good, now to finish off the job.'

"Let me reword that: are you willing to wager your home on this assumption? Are you prepared to brave the consequences if you're wrong?"

Clutching his head like he was crushing an apple, the boy looked to be on the verge of tears as the questioning got more heated and pressing. It was clear that the kid was having a bit of a crisis of confidence. "I… don't know."

`One more push and he should be set,' mused Piccolo, thinking that ending this affair quickly would be for the best. The seed had been sown in the boy and now it was just time to cover the seed with dirt. "I'll leave you to answer this question for yourself. Think long and hard about how willing you are to entrust your faith in a person who may not even show up."

"For the first six months, you'll be learning to simply survive by whatever means you can," stated Piccolo, moving onto other matters. Any more talk about Goku would now be beating a dead horse. He said his piece and now it was time to let it be. "By the end of the six months, you should be ready to learn how to fight."

And with that, Piccolo phased out of the wasteland, leaving Gohan to gather himself and embark on a whole new journey.


Back in time just before Gohan became acquainted to Piccolo.

Nothing is more exhilarating—scratch that, jarring—than having pond water splashed in your face while you slumber. Being the little boy he was, Gohan's natural response to this sudden discomfort was a bout of sobs. However, as the boy quickly discovered for himself, his mentor was not appreciative of his waterworks and lacked the ability or desire to tolerate it.

In almost a matter of seconds, the confrontation between the two became violent. Before Gohan knew it, Piccolo had a hold of his head and chucked him at the nearest landmass he could find. From there, thinking he was going to die young, the boy's consciousness faded away and his power arose.

After his momentary explosion of energy died down, the boy opened his eyes to the puzzling sight of a massive track of upturned earth staring him straight in the face. Eyes bulging funnily, he allowed the sight to monopolize his attention until Piccolo stole it back again.

Imagine the boy's shock when he came to learn that it was he who had caused what he was witnessing. Personally, the child had a hard time believing it. He certainly didn't recall ever doing something so destructive but he wasn't going to argue with the forever grumpy Piccolo about his doubts.

But it wasn't just that he had this awesome energy residing within him, it was also the reason that Piccolo had dragged him out into the middle of nowhere. Again, the boy really couldn't follow his mentor's train of thought. Why was the second strongest fighter on the planet, his father's mortal enemy, going to this kind of effort to recruit his rival's son? Since when was he something more than a normal boy?

That and besides, his dad could protect him from any wrongdoer that would come his way. Ultimately, the boy didn't feel there was any need for him to be there.

The next series of facts startled the boy, hobbled him even. For one, he was entirely unaware of the fact that this `power' Piccolo kept preaching about surfaced during the battle between his dad and that bully. Even more flooring was the statement that it was this power that altered the outcome of the battle significantly.

Goku's death proved to be even more of a tremor to the boy's system, one of which he couldn't keep to himself reluctantly. His dad was unbeatable, and no bad guy could ever hope to prevail over him. At least that was what he thought.

Pardoning his French, the boy found the entire idea of him wounding that tyrant silly. If his dad couldn't even lay a finger on the man, what could he do? The mere hint was enough to rile the boy a little. Why was Piccolo lying to him about his influence on the battle? What he was saying just couldn't be true! Why did he care so much about whatever he could do?

Nevertheless, the boy could admit to himself that what Piccolo was telling could be true. It did explain a couple things, like why he was even there in the first place. He doubted his dad would've consented to what was going on, provided he still was alive and kicking.

Bending down slightly to avoid eye contact with his kidnapper, the boy shed a few silent tears over the death of his dad. It was a hard pill to swallow, one that would take him more than one day to completely recover from. However, at least they could still revive him with the Dragon Balls! Surely, he'd be back before these tougher bullies would show up!

Enlightenment could be a drag. Piccolo did have a point about the limit the Dragon Balls had. If these bullies showed up within the year, then his father wouldn't be around to defend them. What then? Could they win without his father at the helm? Somehow, the boy found it hard to imagine anything bad happening without his dad having a say about it.

Piccolo wasn't convinced. Striking back right at the crux of the issue, the man tore back the defenses Gohan had used to shield himself from some of his doubts. How could his dad help him if he's dead, if he no longer has the power to save him?

Eventually, the boy could only say that he didn't know. And then Piccolo struck right back again with an even larger scope of focus. Like his dad, the larger focus of Piccolo's questioning hurt the boy harder than before. Putting things in planetary terms rung far more than personal terms. It was downright cruel to say that his trust could wind up killing off the entire planet! Yet, the boy could think of nothing to say but that he didn't know.

Then, surprisingly, Piccolo's stopped his questioning and said he had six months to figure out for himself whether his faith was reasonable. Before the boy could ask exactly what the demon meant with his wording, the man was gone with the wind, leaving him alone in the lonely wilderness. Whatever the green guy's motives were, they were probably very wicked!

Looking over his shoulder for a brief moment, the boy sighed as only a prairie wind passed by to welcome him to his new secluded home. Crouching down on the ground, the boy readjusted his pose so that it appeared that he was meditating.

Contrary to the opinion of many that knew Goku, the man did meditate on occasion. Most fighters did, even if the reason escaped Gohan at the time. There were the rare occasions that the man wasn't exactly feeling or acting like himself, and generally it was in these moments when he meditated. He knew this because he had asked his father why, and he had told him. At the time, the boy still didn't have a complete grasp of what his dad had meant, but now he felt he understood better. And now, in his time of need, the boy began to emulate him. Like father, like son, you could say.

Alone and detached from sights around him, the boy's mind became more and more fixated on one increasingly more likely thought: one that haunted him, one that was challenging his entire perspective on life as he knew it.

Just what if his father really wasn't strong enough to save him from this?

Yes, it seemed sacrilegious to say. It felt awful, like acid was poured straight on his heart. But in the end, Gohan really was having a hard time finding a scenario where he could dismiss it without a second thought. The more he hyperventilated on the possibility, the more he had to think it could be a probability.

Since the moment he could form words in his mouth, the boy had believed that his father could beat any villain, cure any wound and solve any problem. Perhaps it was natural for sons to have that view of their fathers, but Gohan practically idolized his. Therefore, the pain of thinking that maybe he was deceived accidentally stung twice as badly. He didn't want to believe it, but a part of him felt that there was no other conclusion he could make.

After all, if his father really could do the things he thought, would he actually be here in this mess?

If his dad actually had the power he thought he did, then why was he here, at the mercy of the man's greatest enemy? Let's be realistic here: he was kidnapped by the man's greatest rival, forced to endure an assault against his father's abilities and ultimately left alone to brave the elements without any clue about what to do. How was he going to find food? Shelter? Water? What would he do if he met something that would want to take a bite out of him?

Unless his daddy was much more neglecting and ambivalent than he gave him credit for, the boy couldn't figure out a reason for why his father would do something like this consciously. Ultimately, it came back down to one thing: the one Piccolo seemed to be hammering at.

And that was that his dad didn't have the power to change it.

Most children subtly learn that their parents are human; that they aren't always right and can be helpless at times as well. It occurs over years and oftentimes it's a process with many bumps along the way. Rarely is the realization as sudden or dramatic or distressing as how it was coming forth to Gohan. The implications were immense to say the least.

Was his daddy the hero that he and the world needed? If he was powerless to stop him from being kidnapped by Piccolo, then could he really be capable of fighting these bigger scoundrels coming up in the future? The more he thought about it, the more he began to have doubt fester in his heart. And it sucked.

But there was a problem with the conclusion that Goku may not be the hero. If Goku wasn't the hero the world needed, who was?

This question was paramount to Gohan. For most of his young life, he had been raised on the concept that as long as he was a good boy and did his homework, he'd be rewarded for his efforts handsomely in the future. And, more importantly, all states of wickedness would be vanquished by the valiant force of a hero.

Unsurprisingly, the boy had assumed that this hero was his daddy up until today, and now that his faith had been shaken, a vacuum had formed where his daddy's lofty place was once held. If his dad wasn't the hero he hoped for, then who was?

Almost immediately, the boy had difficulties even listing names that could even compare let alone replace his father. The boy had written off all of Goku's friends—none of them were his daddy's equal, therefore really didn't warrant consideration. As for Piccolo, the green guy was a complete wild card that Gohan had no trust whatsoever in.

As the boy struggled to find a figure that could displace his daddy, the boy became more and more glum when he couldn't place a name on anybody. Getting more and more frustrated, it took him some time to realize what Piccolo had been hinting at all along.

That it was his responsibility to be the hero.

This disclosure was almost as shocking and subverting as the possibility of his daddy not being the hero. From the day he could walk, his studies were meant to be his life's work. He barely even knew how to throw a punch for gosh sakes. This was too much. He had no idea what he was going to do!

Nevertheless, he had a year to figure it out and there was one thing that was for sure: there wasn't a spare moment he could waste; not even a measly little second. If he even had a chance to be the hero the Earth needed him to be, then, whatever he did, he couldn't screw around.

Finding his resolve, the kid picked himself up and marched out of the wasteland into the wilderness. Strangely enough, as the boy descended out of the valley, the dim clouds darkening the scene began to part and the entire valley became inundated with fiery yellow light.


And welcome to the inaugural chapter of Epiphany. After almost one-quarter of a million word with Cognitive Dissonance(my other story), some of my muses have been a little dissonant lately. And because I feel that CD isn't the type of story that can properly address these muses, I felt the need to write this. In any case, I hope reading this has brought a certain degree of satisfaction and I would love to hear what any of you have to say.

That's all for now.