The Wretched Part I - Chapter 3 - NCDavis
Grunts intermingled with flashes of light greeted Bulla as she landed near a clearing in Longback Woods. At that moment, she was pleased to remember Dad hadn't thought her completely hopeless. He'd taught her to fly. Okay, she'd pestered him to do it since Trunks would tease her only to hover out of reach, but today it bolstered her. Tailless or not, she was still a Saiyan.
She crept closer, softly crouching behind a thick oak tree to watch. She'd overheard Trunks telling Mom that he and Dad would be field-tripping here today, their shortcut way of saying training would take place in the great outdoors. Longback was far enough away from the city that two mighty beings could let loose some serious wattage without drawing attention, and they were taking full advantage of it. The ground was pockmarked from energy blasts; a few trees on the far side lay splintered in twos and threes. Her father charged towards Trunks, who disappeared and reappeared behind Dad with a wicked elbow to the neck. Catching himself on his hands, Dad rolled through the blow to his feet, pitching a fistful of grass and soil into Trunks' face. With his arms crossed to protect his body, Trunks couldn't keep the debris from hitting his eyes. Or Dad's fist from following right behind the dirt. Trunks hit the ground on his back and stayed there courtesy of Dad's foot pinned to his chest. Game over.
Her father yelled over his shoulder, "I hope you brought a med kit with you." Humor laced his voice. "Your brother's going to need it."
Figured he'd known she was there. She made her way to the two of them. "Sorry, no med kit."
Trunks was still wiping and blinking dirt from his eyes and blood from his nose. "All's fair, shmall's fair, that was low even for war."
Dad replied, "You were prepared for a blast. Good. You weren't prepared for something as simple as dirt in the eyes. Not good. Anticipation requires awareness of all your enemy's movements. Never--"
"Ignore what seems insignificant. The little things turn the tide in big wars." Trunk sat up as Dad moved his foot. "And always be aware of your environment. Not simply terrain, but its composition as well. It may be of use to you in your battle."
"Hmph. If you're listening so well, you should put it into practice."
"I try. It's just, sometimes, I wonder if practice can really make it all click. Maybe it does take real danger to make it gel."
"Perhaps, but I trust you won't need to put your theory to the test."
Trunks got to his feet. "Hiya Squirt. I don't need a med kit, just one of these." Bulla squealed as he rummaged through her jacket pockets till he pulled out what he wanted. "What is it with girls always having tissues."
"Good for you we do."
He tipped his head back, pressing it to his nose. "So, what brings you out here?"
"I just wanted to watch."
He looked straight at her then, like he didn't believe her. "That's a first, outside of a tournament anyway. Sure you're okay?" She shrugged. He placed a hand on her head, slightly ruffling her hair. The concerned comfort in his gaze reminded her, even though he could be a pain, he was still her brother in every good way that it meant. And like a good brother, he broke contact before she got blubbery thinking about it.
A tinny electric beep chirped nearby from Trunks' discarded jacket. "Great. From the battlefield to the boardroom." He shut off the alarm. " Or maybe they're one and the same."
Bulla smiled. "You can take 'em."
"Thanks, Squirt." He bowed towards Dad. "Permission to leave the field, Father." At first Bulla thought it was sarcastic Trunks as usual, but his carriage was military perfect, his request sincere. It was a side of him she'd never seen before. Dad nodded his consent, and her big brother lifted off into the late-afternoon sky.
"Why did you come."
She hadn't felt her father come up that close behind her. "Gee, Dad, enough with the super sneaky warrior stuff." He didn't return her comic salvo, just stared at her, waiting. Bulla had learned something over the past few weeks. A lot of her sass was bravado, a barrier to keep daunting thoughts at bay. But she couldn't run from them anymore, or from what 'd been going down at home. "Tell me what's happening to me."
That made him look away. "I don't know."
"But you have a good guess?"
He said nothing, staring off for a long while until he sighed and sat down on the grass, motioning for her to follow suit. "When a Saiyan reaches puberty, the change triggers in him what we called the Challenge. It basically revs his warrior's drive into an acute place, leading him ultimately to face his father in battle."
"It's not training? They fight each other for real?"
He nodded. "The battle itself completes the rite. It's the one time in a Saiyan's life he's expected to lose. He would have, after all, fought a far more seasoned Saiyan. He learns from the experience yet proves his worth as a man. The rare times a boy wins, it's noted as possible evidence a family's line may be evolving into a higher class."
She quickly made mental notes. Her father rarely flat out told you something; you had to piece together the information from what he did say. "So that's what happened at dinner? I challenged you? Can girls do that?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And I thought you said--"
"None of the other half-Saiyan children have issued a Challenge, let alone would I have thought a half-Saiyan born without a tail would be able to, but I'm learning more and more there may be much I do not know about one such as you. Yes, I believe you Challenged me, and triggered my warrior's response. And yes, females also Challenge a parent. Usually the mother answers, but since your mother is human, I don't believe she's programmed to react physically as I do."
She swore he hesitated before he said "Challenged," but she had bigger things to worry about. "So," she fought to tremble under control, "I'm supposed to fight you?"
"Mm-hm."
"But you'd cream me. I get the losing bit, but I can't fight."
She barely saw him move before she felt her arm locked behind her, his other arm jammed beneath her chin, the pressure forcing her to her feet. "Dad!"
"I'm not your father; I am your opponent."
"But--" I am your opponent. It's what he used to say in their lessons. He hadn't taught her how to attack, but he had shown her how to defend. She back-kicked him in the knee, grabbed the arm under her chin as his grip loosened and hip-tossed him to the ground, barring his arm with her foot planted in his armpit.
He chuckled. Only her dad could get tossed to the ground and find it funny. "Good. You do remember." He curved out of the arm bar, sweeping her legs from behind. She hit hard on her butt. "Ow. Da-ad."
"'Dad' nothing. You wanted me to train you to fight."
"I think it was the hormones talking."
"Do you wish to tame the anger inside you, or for it to tame you."
And there it was, her choice, plain and simple. As if it were really a choice at all. "If you think going through with the ritual is the way to go, then, I guess we train."
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The day rushed by with those words, through homework and dinner, where Mom looked like she had a million reasons why this was a crazy idea but kept each one to herself. Bulla now stood in front of her father in his training room, clad in shorts and a tee, her trainers laced up tight, fists at the ready and absolutely clueless.
Her dad cocked his head. "Put those away. You're not ready for hand-to-hand combat."
"But I thought we were going to train?"
"And we are. But the true strength of a warrior isn't in his--" She coughed. "Her body. It's in the mind. Skill. Focus. Control. You need to learn those first before you start throwing punches. Relax. For now."
"O-kay."
"Prepare to fly." She levitated off the ground, but he shook his head. "No, don't take off. Prepare. What do you do first?"
She landed thinking of an answer. "I think it?"
"We don't have time for games," he barked. "What do you do first?"
"I focus my energy to my feet," she squeaked. "I focus on pushing off."
"Do it now. Focus the energy, but don't push away with it, just hold it there."
He was so in full warrior mode. She took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tingling along the soles of her feet--
"Wrong. Again."
Huh? Sure enough, she'd floated a few inches off the floor and didn't realize it. Setting down, she tried again. And again. And again, quickly realizing she'd only been taught part of the mechanics. Gathering the energy was easy. Controlling it enough to make simple moves about was easy. Holding it still was something else. "Maybe a break?"
"Not until you can hold it for a ten-count. Again."
So the evening wore on. She made it to six then shot off so hard barely stopped herself before she slammed into the far wall. Her whole body ached, her head fluxed between pounding and spiking pain. "I can't take anymore, please? I swear I'll pick up tomorrow." She started to walk away when a force shoved and pinned her down.
"We're in the field of training. Never walk away from me unless you are dismissed."
Panic and fatigue mingled in her, a force struggling against the bonds. "Let me up."
"Do you understand?"
She pushed harder, the pressure building. "Let me up."
"Do. You. Understand."
"Let me UP!" It blew like a gasket, a wave shattering his hold and flinging him across the room. The wave rolled on, leaving her an open wound, light-blind, mere breath crashing inside her skull, sensing nothing and everything ... a bird outside fluttering frantic with a broken wing ... lust, her brother, his date ... worry, her mother, a mother farther away ... laughter, tears, myriad of pain and joy in corners of the town, no farther, too far, she couldn't go too far ... fear. Her father. She latched onto him, grounded herself with him. Father, his father, the image flashed before her. A spitting image of her own, but bearded. Sparring, so long ago, so young.
You're in my mind.
And her father in hers. His thought ringing clear and strong.
Focus, Princess. Calm down.
Calm. She gathered herself in, pulled back into the shell. Tears spilled down her face. It hurt to be so small again.
"Bulla, answer me! Bulla!" She came to with his shaking her. She wasn't unconscious, yet she was. She had been. "Daddy?" She looked into his relieved eyes a second before being crushed to him in his hug, his laboring breath an odd lullaby to her remnant fears. Trapped once more in flesh and blood, her mind could barely process what had just happened, so pushed much of it just out of reach of understanding. And she was so tired. She felt her body lifted in her father's arms, carried into her room and being laid down upon her bed. But one thought she'd brushed by stayed with her and she needed to know, so she forced her woozy mind to work a bit longer and opened her sleepy eyes. "Y'father."
"My father."
"Is that reason you not king? You s'pposed to beat 'im?"
His grip tightened on the quilt he tucked around her. "You have your mother's uncanny perception. There's a different ritual of challenge from eldest son to the reigning monarch for that role, but no, I never defeated my father in either Challenge because he was killed before I came of age. I never had the honor of facing him in my rite of passage. I have no right to his title."
"Thas so sad, Daddy. You be good king."
She thought she heard his breath catch. "Sleep, my daughter. We'll speak in the morning."
"I scared, Dad-dy."
As sleep finally claimed her, she barely heard him whisper, "So am I."
The characters herein are property of Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Note: Thanks for all your reviews and encouragement so far! TW is challenging because focusing on a character like Bulla is almost like creating a character from scratch. She has one line in the last episode of DBZ, and though there is more in DBGT, I have issues with the direction some characters took in the sequel, which is why this story isn't set in its framework. Anyway, it makes your enjoyment of the story even more rewarding for me.
