For the second time that afternoon (or morning, or night, none of them could tell anymore), Yamcha let loose a low whistle meant to signify his being impressed with something. He had good enough reason, however, as the four of them—wayward martial artists brought together in a fight for their own survival—now stood before the Serpent Road, its winding and lumbering greatness capturing the image of the horizon; it was a formidable sight even to those as powerful as the four of them considered themselves to be. In a way, its majesty was meant to foreshadow the presence of the great God at the road's end, the Kaio of the North.

"So, Goku beat this thing, huh?" Tenshinhan smiled a little, thinking of his rival-turned-friend back on Earth.

"Yeah, twice!" Chiaoutzu piped in.

"Well, in that case, I know we can do it," said Yamcha, which caused Tenshinhan and Chiaoutzu to each give him a confident nod in turn.

Piccolo snorted from behind them, rather pointedly.

Yamcha turned his head, his smile turning into frown of indignation. "What's the joke, Piccolo? You know you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Kami."

The green-skinned warrior raised a ridged brow toward Yamcha, his face darkening with a glower that he wore whenever he felt he was dealing with an inferior being. "The joke is listening to you three stand around and compare yourselves to Son Goku. You know they say that actions speak louder than words." A smirk touched the Namekian's lips once the reprimand had departed them.

Yamcha was about to snap something back when Tenshinhan cut in.

"You're right, Piccolo. Let's stop gawking and get going." Tenshinhan's three eyes regarded the tall demon with a quiet warrior's respect, a respect that the triclops was not sure Piccolo felt in return. Before anyone else could say anything, Tenshinhan turned and started onto the road, and the other three quietly followed him.

(Some few hours/days later…)

Standing on the stone road, with each end stretching out into puffy yellow obscurity, without the warmth of the sun or the touch of the wind against them, the four warrior journeymen began to understand—gradually, with each monotonous step—just what it meant to truly be dead. They did not need to eat or sleep, they did not experience the inner-sensations that came with possessing a physical body, they did not recognize change within themselves at all; such a state left it very difficult to measure time, to measure how long anything had been going on, or how long they had been doing anything. So, naturally, it became impossible to tell how long they had been walking on the Serpent Road, or how far they had gone, or how far they needed to go.

Piccolo was content, however, as content as he had been since he had arrived in the afterlife some… well, some time ago. The tedium of the journey had silenced Tenshinhan, Chiaoutzu, and Yamcha, roughly in that order, and he could walk ahead of them swiftly and almost pretend that they weren't behind him. Better still, however, was that he had nothing immediate to focus on: as far as he knew they weren't even making any progress, and sometimes, when one has a lot to think about, a sense of motionlessness is the best catalyst for organizing one's feelings. And so Piccolo tried to do precisely that. Stasis as a basis for change—that is about as ironic as a demon giving his life for a boy's.

The Namekian closed his eyes and extended his senses. He knew that he wouldn't fall if he could mentally perceive a change in the road, and he trusted his own instincts enough to allow himself a sort of walking meditation.

What I did had consequences, obviously… immediate ones, yes, but perhaps consequences that have not yet surfaced. Was it my destiny to die for that boy, or to invest anything in him at all, for that matter? Perhaps I have strayed from my path…

… but what is my path? It is in my blood to kill Son Goku. It is my birthright, my destiny, my father's dying wish. But death is not permanent, and I do not feel satisfied. I cannot be satisfied with these hollow memories, these hollow ideals, this hollow fate.

Piccolo felt a deep sense of loss inside of him that made him visibly quiver for just a moment. It was just enough to shake his mental focus, though he did not take notice, his sensibilities too shrouded and deafened by the wide and heavy impact of the pinprick realizations that blended into one another and hit him all at once.

I have no purpose now. I was created as a mere afterthought, a desperate extension, a trump card… I have seen my destiny to its bitter end. I have nothing now but the repercussions of my actions, this meandering afterlife.

He felt his whole being heavy and heaving with the weight of the next thought, spirit cracking beneath it as it came.

I am a meaningless picture of erased life, a picture clothed only in consequences, in things bygone and yet-to-come…

Suddenly Yamcha's voice broke through Piccolo's silent soliloquy.

"—Look out, Piccolo!"

Piccolo's eyes snapped open and he found the road curving sharply to the right in front of him, so that another step would send him over its edge and down to the depths of hell below. He tried to stop himself, but could not; he tripped over the edge, letting out a sharp cry as the vicious row of spikes at the road's perimeter bit into the lower part of his leg, drawing purple blood out as if a small fountain were letting it go. Piccolo's mind panicked and up from his belly surfaced a small, resigned sensation of relief, relief that he would now no longer have to worry over his own fate.

But such relief did not come. Tenshinhan, Yamcha, and Chiaoutzu caught hold of Piccolo around the cape and shoulder pads, grunting with effort for a moment before pulling him hard back onto the road; he fell backward onto them and they all four toppled over.

A moment of silence passed, the famous quartet of martial artists laying in a haphazard bundle on the road in the middle of nowhere.

"Not a word," Piccolo growled, voice spiraling upward into a blanket of clouds.

(Some few more hours or days later…)

"Look! There it is down there!"

"Alright!"

"We finally made it…"

Chiaoutzu, Yamcha and Tenshinhan all stood at the tip of the Serpent Road, where moments earlier, just as Son Goku had, they had all been scratching their heads in bewilderment at where they were supposed to go next. It had been a long and arduous journey whose duration not one of them could recount, and all of the walking and occasional talking had instilled in each warrior a powerful longing to get back to some sort of combat, even if it was simply participating in sparring matches against one another. Particularly Tenshinhan wanted to try his hand against Piccolo, whose power and fighting prowess seemed the only likely challenge at the time. Of course, he would never say that to Chiaoutzu or Yamcha.

It seemed Tenshinhan would not have to wait very long, for at precisely the next moment there came up from behind them a fury of green limbs and a surge of ki made poignant by the feeling of focused power and brooding darkness. Yamcha turned toward the commotion, his face twisting from excitement to horror as one of Piccolo's hard bony elbows connected with the center of his forehead, sending him flying right off of the end of the Serpent Road with a pained yelp. Yamcha tried to steady himself in mid-fall, but suddenly he dropped like a sack of bricks toward the small green planet below them.

No one had time to remark upon the strange gravitational occurrence, however, as the swish of a great white cape accompanied by another yelp of surprise and pain sent Chiaoutzu off of the edge of the road, white face reddened by a fairly recognizable fist-shaped dent in the side of his head. The little prince flailed his limbs for a moment before falling toward the planet just as Yamcha had, calling Tenshinhan's name in warning as he fell.

Piccolo then stood before Tenshinhan at the edge of the road, arms folded over his chest, a satisfied smirk playing over his typically scowling face.

"It's your turn now. I'm gonna give you three black eyes."

"Not if I can help it."

Tenshinhan, trying to take his foe by surprise, quickly dropped to the ground, attempting to take Piccolo's balance with a hard two-legged sweep. Piccolo simply hopped the legs as if he were playing jump-rope, however, and a few moments later delivered a staggering kick to Tenshinhan's jaw, who was all but defenseless. The triclops skidded off of the edge of the road and tumbled wildly toward the planet below.

Piccolo smiled wildly, feeling better than he had in a long time. Without wasting much time in celebration of the small triumph (and perhaps revenge) against his three death-mates, the Namekian stepped gracefully off of the road, and fell toward the planet. Suddenly, though, he felt himself being pulled downward out of control. Before he had much time to react he was crashing into the surface of the planet with a resounding thud.

His ears buzzed a little, though he felt certain he heard voices…

"Dodonpa!"

"Wolf Fang Fist!"

"Kikou Ho!"

Then a new voice came.

"Everyone CUT IT OUT! RIGHT NOW!"

Suddenly there was silence, and hushed anticipatory breath. Piccolo groaned and began to get to his feet, vision focusing on the three Z-Senshi, who all seemed to be looking toward a small building that seemed to be one of the little planet's only landmarks (besides, they would find later, a tree, and an old antique car).

"That's better. So… I trust you're the warriors who died fighting the Saiyans on Earth. Veeeery noble thing you did. I am the North Kaio and this is my home. I hope you like it because you'll be spending a lot of time here!"

Chapter 3 should be up soon, which is where I may begin to deviate a little from the storyline. Well, not deviate... merely illuminate. Hope you enjoy. Please read/review.