A long dead enemy sat in the shadows in the very bowels of hell. He chuckled as he witnessed the son of Son Goku balling his eyes out. He sat back contently on his own throne, personally crafted by the very demons of hell. His talons lightly scratched the material as his 'high' wore off.
Yes, suffering had always been a 'high' for him. A gratifying rush. But, just like a drug, the feeling wore off or grew too dull. He had watched the suffering of these two beings for years now, and he knew he would soon have to act. For the rush of watching their suffering was growing dull.
He stood up from the shadows. His green hands clenched into fists. He popped a few joints in his taut, green neck. He ran his talons up a pink muscle absently.
Piccolo Daimou was ready for action.
He snorted in anger as the vision of his whelp returned to him. He was distgusted to see his procreation kneeling in such disgrace, and crying for a lost love. Daimou had wanted to vomit.
Daimou had died the better part of twenty-five years ago, but he had never stopped waiting for the day when Son Goku would join him in the afterlife. To make sure he got a front row seat, Daimou had stolen viewing crystals from the kais. He'd hung these gigantic crystals in his 'ruling room', as he called it.
What he saw did not please him in the least. When his whelp trained the brat. When the whelp died for the brat. When the whelp gave upevil.
Over the years Daimou's rage turned to planning. He knew that he could never simply wait for the whelp to die in order to punish him. No, he had to think upa better plan than that. So, for years, he waited for his muse to strike. And strike it did.
Daimou watched the little demons of Hell when he was bored. Watching them torment the souls of the damned gave him a pleasure bordering on ecstacy. In watching the demons Daimou got his idea. He saw how the weakened souls of humans on earth were routinely possessed. He watched the demons slip into their weakened bodys and wreak havoc throughout the land.
In this idea, Daimou channeled the viewing crystals to the two figures witched caused him the most rage; The Whelp, and The Brat. He channeled the viewing crystals to not only see their bodies, but their minds and souls as well. Whenever he watched them, he shook with anticipation at the thought of one of them possessed.
Daimou had thought over the aspect of their possession for some time, ad he had come to a brilliant conclusion. Instead of simply sending a demon or two to take care of the possession, he'd decided that the job was far too delicate for a mere demon to handle.
No. This job would take the Demon King.
"It is time." He whispered eerily to himself.
He slowly walked over to his throne. Some time before he'd rested a large, wooden box on the armrest of his throne.
The box was the size of a gigantic candy box, rectangular in shape, and black in color.
Daimou slowly opened the box to reveal a large daggar.
The daggar had a long, black, hollowsheath and was roped in a rough material. At the endof the sheath there was a glass-looking heart. Not a mushy, Valentine's Day heart. A realistic-looking heart. The blade of the daggar wasn't particularily long, but it was sharper than the sharpest man-made razorblade that could ever be found.
Daimou smiled. Using the blade he sliced through the shoulder of his gi, letting it hang down likea toga. Placing both hands on the long, black sheath, Daimou aimed the blade at his heart. Gritting his teeth, he plunged it in.
Daimou stifled a scream as the blade plunged all the way into his black heart. He felt the daggar grow heavier as the sheath filled. Soon, the translucent heart at the top filled completely.
Daimou extracted the daggar quickly and completely. Taking note of the gaping stab wound in his chest, Daimou quickly regenerated, lest he be weakened and forced to put off his plans. He turned his attention back towards the daggar. The translucient heart had filled, but not with violet blood, but with blackness. The blackness of his very soul.
Daimou clutched the daggar tighter in his iron-clad grip. What seemed to be a frightening smile pervaded over his face. He began to laugh heartily, the bone-chilling sounds reverberating down the halls of his 'ruling chamber'. He materialized a new gi quickly.
"Cymbol! Get your lazy ass in here now!" Daimou growled to the darkness.
Cymbol hesitantly stepped forth, worried that his sire was in another one of his moods.
Daimou smirked over his shoulder to his lizard-son.
"Worry not. You just have to help me on a small job." Daimou assured him.
Cymbol's enormous tail swayed back and forth inapparent satisfaction.
The two effortlessly walked pass the oni towards the secret passage out, slipped around King Yemma, and began to head towards earth.
Daimou smiled. He'd have his vengence one way or another.