Chapter 3

Vegeta strode angrily into his quarters, absentmindedly slamming the door behind him. He then quickly disrobed, grabbing an orange fruit on the way into the shower. He was covered in filth from Volrun, the smell of dirty slaves and pollution invading his senses.

It was as he was standing in the shower he heard a knock on his door. The Saiyan prince wrapped a towel around his waist, shook his hair up and walked to the door, opening it with a furious look on his face.

"Begging your pardon, sire," came the voice of a Saiyan slave who bowed as Vegeta appeared. "I was told to deliver this to you immediately." Vegeta frowned as the slave stepped aside, revealing a dirty, blue-haired woman with her head bowed, wrapped in a dirty sack-like blanket.

"What the hell is this," Vegeta growled, a small ki ball appearing in his right hand.

"It's the Buradean, sir. The one your father withdrew from the Volrun sales for you." Vegeta scowled harder.

"This? This is the pleasure slave?" Vegeta snarled. What a joke. The woman stank, that much was apparent. Her hair was matted together with dirt, mud covered every visible part of her. "I don't want it," Vegeta told him. "Dispose of it. Take it down to the soldier's quarters. I don't care. I don't want this filth in my chambers." As Vegeta turned to close his door, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"I would rather be used as a garrison whore than have to spend my time in the presence of a monster like you," the voice spat in a furious hissing whisper. Vegeta turned angrily around to face the woman. Her head still hung. Vegeta strode up to her.

"Do you know who you're speaking to?" he demanded. The head looked up and intense blue eyes burned back at him.

"Yes, I know exactly who I'm talking to, Prince Vegeta." She said his title with such loathing and disrespect it made the prince's blood boil. It was several moments before he found the memory associated with her face. The prince laughed, cold and empty as he made the connection. A malicious smirk crossed his face. Before she realized, the prince's hand was round her throat. He pushed her chin up with his thumb.

"Bulma. That was your name." Vegeta smirked again. "Tell me woman," he growled as he turned her head sideways, observing her. "Do the screams of your dying lover still haunt your dreams the way they grace mine?" The woman's eyes flashed in anger as she lashed out at the prince, trying, scrambling, desperate to hurt him in any way she could.

"You're a murderer," she choked out, "you're a sadist, you're foul." She spat at him, missing him narrowly. Vegeta glared at her as he held her by her throat, her own eyes glaring back at him in defiance. Vegeta turned to the slave.

"Leave," he snarled. "I'll dispose of this myself." Vegeta yanked Bulma in by her throat and slammed the door as he threw her down on the floor. She slid slightly before stopping and turning up to look at her captor. Vegeta smirked, then turned to return to his shower, knowing her weak Buradean body would not be strong enough to open his doors and escape.

Bulma looked up as a door opened. The face of the man who had haunted her dreams for a month appeared before her, the face of the man who had destroyed her world, her husband and her life. The Saiyan glared at her.

"Get in the shower," he snarled at her. "I won't have my concubines looking like that." Bulma glared.

"I am not your concubine," she whispered angrily. "I will not bow to you Prince, so you might as well kill me now and save yourself the trouble." With speed so quick she didn't even know he had moved, he had thrown her against the wall.

"You will bow," Vegeta growled, voice laced with such anger that the walls shook. "And you are my concubine. The days where you controlled your own destiny are long gone, whore." With a single quick movement Vegeta de-robed the woman in front of him. He smirked appreciatively. "You'll do. Unfortunate that you won't make it through the night by the time I'm finished with you."

It was an odd sensation as Vegeta looked at her face and saw anger. Her eyes were completely devoid of the fear he prided himself on instilling in his slaves, or anyone who came near him for that matter. Vegeta ignored it and shoved her toward the bathroom.

"You will fear me," Vegeta growled as he disappeared into his bedroom.

Vegeta grabbed the hand of the person next to him, his heart pounding.

"Run!" he called. "Quick!" They were running so slowly. His legs wouldn't move quickly enough. Whatever they were running from, it was going to catch them.

But actually, he wasn't too worried. No one could best him, even if they were caught.

The prince burst into his room, overtaken by an unnatural bout of laughter, shared with the person whose hand he still held as he collapsed on his bed.

Vegeta woke with a start, a cold film on his head. He wiped it away quickly, looking around the darkened room. The noisy Buradean concubine had finally gone to sleep. Feeling slightly unsettled by the recurring dream, the prince stood, storming over to the woman, who he awoke by grabbing her hair and pulling her into standing position. She screamed and her hand went to her head as she was unceremoniously awoken. Vegeta slammed her against the wall, yanking the nightshirt she was wearing up, and dropping his pants, forcing himself upon her as he pushed her against the wall.

The concubine remained silent, except her initial scream, for the duration of the abuse. It wasn't long before Vegeta, satisfied, loosened his hold on her and left, redressing, leaving her to slide down the wall and begin crying silently as the pain rattled her.

Vegeta returned to his bed without another word, and sank back into a thankfully dreamless sleep, ignoring the sobs coming from the corner of his room.

He left before dawn the next morning, she heard him go but pretended to be asleep. Sleep found her again once the room fell silent, but it was only hours later when she awoke properly, stiff and sore; a combination of sleeping curled on the floor like a dog and the unpleasant experience he had forced upon her when he woke during the night.

"Could have at least let me share the bed," she grumbled to herself, trying to be light hearted about a matter that was becoming quickly more and more serious. She stood, looking around the large, lavish room she had not had the opportunity to appreciate the night before. It was decorated with expensive decor the Buradeans would have appreciated, all in shades of red, black and gold. Bulma's heart throbbed at the thought of her Buradean family and lover, dead or sold at the hands of the Saiyans. Her father and grandparents; they would be dead. Her mother, well Bulma knew that realistically she was probably sharing Bulma's fate, maybe worse. Despite her protesting last night that she would rather be a garrison whore than a concubine to the man who had killed her fiancé, at least Bulma would only be used to satisfy the needs of one man; not repeatedly and unendingly as a garrison whore would.

Her thoughts then turned to her little brother and sister twins. Though no blood relation or even species relation, they had been born after her family had adopted her, and so they were her siblings in every other way. Her whole body shuddered and shivered as she thought of them being caged and separated at the Volrun sales, where they undoubtedly ended up. Tears fell down her face, she hadn't said goodbye to any of them. She would never see her father again, and it would be a rare happening that she ever chanced across any of the rest of her family.

And then there was Rainin. Her darling Rainin. Her world, her dream, her everything. Bulma walked absentmindedly towards the bathroom as she thought of the fate she had seen her fiancé suffer at the hands of her master. She had lay beside his dying body long after Vegeta had left, stroking his cheek gently and clasping his hand as he apologized for not being able to protect her, as he promised her he would find her again, though they both knew it would not be until she joined him in the next world. Bulma stepped into the shower and turned the hot water on, feeling marginally better as the dirt began to drain from her hair and body.

And then the slave traders had come. Saiyans, of course. The specialist clean up regiment; responsible for rounding up those suitable for slavery and killing those who weren't; the men, the old, the crippled and the sick. This was how Bulma knew her father was dead. They had dragged her, screaming and sobbing from Rainin in his last breaths. She had called for him, begged them as their hard calloused hands had dragged her. The last memory she had of him was of his broken, battered body lying abandoned and his eyes closing as she was forcefully taken from him.

Bulma washed the dirt and grime from her body, desperate to be rid of the scent and feel of Vegeta upon her body, working hard to suppress the bile rising in her stomach at the thought of his hand's and body against hers. Not strong enough, she fell to her knees and vomited, choking out the nonexistent contents of her stomach. Despite this, she retched for another half an hour, repulsed and disgusted.

After they had taken her from Rainin she had slumped into a stupor, unsure how she got from Buradea to Volrun. She had no memory of the sales, save random flashes of memory from brief moments of lucidity. She had not come out of her comatose state until she had heard that voice. His voice. The voice that had torn her world down and haunted her dreams; both sleeping and waking. Hearing his voice and then seeing that satanic face had brought her out of her mental recess and ignited a fire in her, a fury at him and at the cruelty of fate which had brought her to the bed of the man who had destroyed her life.

As she sat in the bottom of the shower, hot water running over her, Bulma hugged her knees into her chest, crying as another wave of reality assaulted her already bruised body and spirit.

"A resistance?" Vegeta laughed coldly. "Who could hope to form a resistance against the Saiyan Empire?" he questioned.

"For once I am inclined to agree with Vegeta," Kortinar spoke. "We have destroyed or gained control over all those who could threaten us. I am not naive enough to think there is not more enemies of the Saiyan Empire out there, but I do question how threatening this 'resistance' actually is, and how reliable the information is," Kortinar spoke lowly, an almost invisible sideways glare at Srinak as he said this.

"The information is reliable," Srinak growled back, though without much backbone in it.

"I will have my inquisitor look into it," King Vegeta spoke. The royal inquisitor was a Saiyan whose identity was known only to the Saiyan King of the time. He had eyes and ears everywhere, but no one knew his identity. When the throne changed hands the royal inquisitor was rewarded handsomely for his work, given extra riches as a severance pay of sorts, and the new king would appoint a new inquisitor, known only to him and so on. This decision seemed to satisfy everyone, except young Vegeta of course, who merely rolled his eyes. This did not go unnoticed by Bardock, the overly perceptive seer never missed a beat.

"Have you seen anything, Bardock?" asked King Vegeta of his advisor and prophecy minister. Bardock shook his head, a slightly worried look coming across his face as his brow furrowed.

"In recent times the future has become very murky to me. Things that were once clear are not so obvious anymore. "

"What does that mean?" Peris asked. Bardock frowned deeper.

"It means that there are many decisions to be made soon. And the choices are so varied and the opportunities for choice are so intermingled I cannot see which path our future lies down. Until some of these decisions are made, I will continue to stare into the murkiness."

The council fell silent at Bardock's words.

Slowly the conversation started up again, only to head towards conclusion and the council meeting was brought to an end.

"This time fights our battles with words when we should fight with fists," growled Vegeta as they stood from the table. Kortinar gave a Saiyan attempt at a smile.

"Leit, Vegeta. The old days; the days of the Great War; they were days a Saiyan could be proud to be alive." Kortinar nodded gently to himself and then excused himself from the prince's presence. Vegeta did not hear him, as the king chose that moment to call him over.

"Vegeta, follow me please. There is someone I wish you to meet."

"Father if this is another concubine I will have nothing to do with it, the filthy excuse for a bed slave you organized for me from Volrun is still contaminating my quarters with her filth as we speak, I am quite fine without another one."

"No, Vegeta," the king spoke as he and his son walked from the council room into the main entrance room, "something you will find much more intriguing." Vegeta raised an eyebrow. More intriguing than sex? That could only be training. "Vegeta, I would like you to meet Kakkarot." Like Bulma's face the night before, the name Kakkarot rung a bell somewhere in Vegeta's memory.

"Kakkarot Bardocksson?" Vegeta questioned.

"Leit," the king answered. In front of them stood a Saiyan, easily a foot or two taller than the king and his son, with black hair that honoured the Saiyan tradition of defying the laws of gravity. Kakkarot, Vegeta surmised, definitely looked like a warrior. But so did most Saiyans.

"Cantor Vegeta," Kakkarot murmured, sinking to one knee. Vegeta smirked. Well that was a good start.

"Rise warrior. I am to understand your son fought in the Dentoyoru?" Vegeta asked. Kakkarot nodded.

"Leit, prince. He did. My son fought well, it was his own power which destroyed him."

"You should be proud," Vegeta told him. The man named Kakkarot nodded.

"Of course I am, my prince, my only regret is that he did not live long enough to pledge his power and allegiance to your service." Vegeta heard the man's words, but was not entirely sure he believed him, like something else lay beneath them.

"Kakkarot has registered his interest in becoming your training partner," King Vegeta spoke up for the first time in a while. Vegeta scoffed.

"What makes you think you are worthy to train with me, Kakkarot?"

"I ask only a chance to prove myself to you, Prince. A test. Then if you approve, a training partnership."

Vegeta mused for a moment. Some incredible amount of power definitely lay in this man's genetics, potentially untapped, but definitely there if his son's performance was anything to go by. Vegeta had not been blind during the Battle Royale. He had seen the same performance the rest of the race had.

"Very well," Vegeta answered. "If you prove yourself worthy of my time, then and only then will we train together. Lord knows my strength increase is starting to plateau in the absence of a decent, strong training partner. Kakkarot nodded and sank to his knee again.

"Thank you, Prince. I won't disappoint. I await your summons." Vegeta nodded and turned, leaving the man and his father without a further word. He wasn't going to let himself get too worked up yet, but the idea of a training partner who might actually present a challenge was pleasing to the young prince.

Vegeta returned from training late that night, not looking forward to the task of destroying the horrible Buradean concubine when he got back. As much as he enjoyed killing for sport, he was sure that his quarters would be covered in her filthy smell by now. The fact that he had raped her had been eating at the prince all day, nothing to do with morals; he had raped many women and never troubled with it. What did trouble the prince was his slippage of personal standards; the fact that he had lowered himself to taking such a filthy creature. Sure; she was Saiyan enough in her physique, but she was also filthy and horrendously unattractive with her filthy hair all over her dirt covered face. And the smell. God. Vegeta was glad no one would ever know the Saiyan Prince had slipped to that level.

So it came as a surprise when he entered his quarters and found it smelling not of filthy Buradean dirt, but almost like a Saiyan woman; slightly different, but definitely a far cry from the aroma he had left. Confused, the Saiyan prince stepped inside, eyeing the room warily. He found no notable ki signatures in the room. There was definitely not a Saiyan in the room. The Saiyan entered his sleeping quarters and found, to his unending fury, the blue haired slave sleeping wrapped up in his bedsheet. Furious at the thought of her filth being spread everywhere, Vegeta stormed forward, wrenching the blanket away from the woman, revealing her naked body and sending her tumbling onto the floor. She tried desperately to cover herself as she was again rudely woken by the Saiyan Prince.

Vegeta stopped, frozen to the spot. The figure that had rolled out of the blankets was not at all what he had expected. The body was clean, attractive, but most surprisingly; white. He had assumed that beneath the inches of mud lay the caramel skin typical of the Buradeans. But this women – she would pass for Saiyan. Albeit a Saiyan that had never seen the sun, but her milky white skin was clearly not of Buradean descent. But nor was she Saiyan; with her blue hair and slim unmuscled body.

"Well what the hell am I supposed to wear?" she growled at him, "I wasn't putting that filthy sack back on now that I'm clean." She glared at him. "And stop staring," she snapped. Vegeta glared back.

"You are my property now, woman. And if I want to stare then I will stare as long as I want. He smacked her arm away from where it was covering her breasts. The Saiyan prince smirked appreciatively as she tried quickly to cover herself again.

"I told you last night, I am not your property," she spat at him. Vegeta smirked again, leaning forward and grabbing her by the wrist, yanking her into standing position so she stood naked before him, trying to twist away.

"What are you?" he demanded. Bulma glared back at him. "Answer me!" Vegeta growled. He squeezed tighter on her wrist and to his satisfaction, saw her wince.

"Break it if you like," she told him defiantly. I'll tell you nothing." An audible snap sounded in the quiet bedroom, followed by Bulma's scream.

"Now tell me," Vegeta whispered in a voice of deathly quiet, "or I'll snap the other one too."

"No," she whispered, her voice laced with malice even through the pain. Without a second thought, Vegeta snapped her other wrist. Bulma screamed again, and it was finally too much, she began to cry. The crying quickly gave way to retching noises as she collapsed to the ground, losing consciousness, then gaining it again just as quickly. Vegeta squatted down beside her, hand around her throat as he tilted her head back.

"You have many bones. I can keep going. Or you can answer me. There are no other options."

Finally overcome he heard her say, almost so quietly he couldn't hear it, 'human'.

'Human,' he thought. 'Earth.'

"Your planet was destroyed long ago. How are you alive?"

"I was," she winced and gave a slight choke, her eyes glazed over as though she may pass out again, "rescued by the Buradeans, they raised me." Vegeta stood, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He heard the woman sigh in relief as he stood.

"Oh I wouldn't be relieved, Bulma," he told her as she lay on the floor, a crumpled heap. "I came back here to kill you, a filthy stinking Buradean whore not worthy to look upon the Saiyan Prince. I would not degrade myself so. Instead I find this; something worthy of the great harem of Vegeta-sei. You would fetch a handsome price at the whore auctions." Her face looked up through the pain. "No," Vegeta smirked at her. "I'm not going to sell you. And I'm not going to kill you." Realization dawned on her face. Vegeta stepped forward, closing his hand around the top half of her arm and throwing her onto his bed, ignorning her screams of pain as she landed awkwardly on her broken wrists. "No, none of those things," Vegeta mused as he stripped down, Bulma trying to climb off the bed. He grabbed her and threw her back on the bed, climbing above her, pinning her below him. He leant down and whispered quietly in her ear as she shook quietly beneath him;

"I'm going to keep you."

"It is impossible," came the voice, high pitched and clearly worried. "The Saiyans are infallible!" A cold quiet laugh filled the dark room where no faces were visible.

"Infallible? No. They fell once, to the Buradeans remember? 'The Downfall' the Saiyans call it. And if the prince and king had been on the planet at the time I am sure it would have been a downfall from which there would be no recovery; the planet decimated, the royal bloodline extinguished. Where then would the Saiyan have turned? Without a leader they would fail. Leaderless they would disperse, with no direction all would revert to anarchy and they would resort to bickering amongst themselves, for at the heart of every Saiyan beast lies the desire to fight. And if there are no enemies who then will they fight?"

"This is your plan then, Leader? To destroy the royal bloodline and induce a spiral of self-destruction?"

"Yes. That is the plan."

"But how? Since the Downfall the Saiyans have become very stringent and protective. They will not make the same mistakes again."

There was a silence. More bodies could be heard, moving, breathing. Clearly the two men speaking were not the only ones in the room. Still there was no light, and still no faces could be seen.

"Everyone has their weaknesses. Even the Saiyans are not beyond fault. They fell once. They will fall again. We must learn how."

"My Leader, I may know a way," came another voice from the darkness.

"Come forward," spoke the one they called the 'Leader'.

"On my home planet I was a scholar, the most learned of all those on the planet and many of those surrounding it. My race live very long, Leader, and in my long lifetime I had read the entirety of our extensive library-"

"Speak!" the Leader growled. "I have no time for your life story. Tell me that which I wish to know or leave before I have you struck down."

"Yes sir, sorry milord. The thing is, during that reading I encountered an accurate description of the entire Saiyan history. The book is not supposed to exist off the home planet but-"

"This is your last warning!" the Leader bellowed, the whole room quaking with fear at his voice.

"Y-y-y-yes my Leader. The Saiyan history book told of a prophecy. A prophecy of the downfall of the Saiyans."

The room went quiet. The atmosphere was electric, everyone hanging onto the words of the newcomer as they waited in anticipation for their leader's response.

"What is this prophecy?" the Leader spoke, in a deadly quiet voice, riddled with authority and power. Who was he? How did he have this insane power and control over, and respect and fear of these people?

"The book did not say. They were careful never to publish it. Apart from this one mention in the Saiyan history book I never found anything that mentioned this prophecy."

There was silence again, everyone waiting with bated breath.

"If this is true... if this book exists and this prophecy is real..." The Leader stopped.

"You. Can you find me this book?"

"I don't know sir, the library was destroyed with my planet and –" a blast of orange energy filled the air and the voice of the man who had been talking gave a high pitched squeal.

"Next time I will not miss," the Leader warned. "No more life story. Can you get me this book?"

"I do not know, sir. Apart from on Vegeta-sei I do not know if any more copies exist. But I will try my best."

"If I did not require you to track down this book, I would have killed you by now for your repeated disobedience of my commands," the Leader growled. The man gave an odd noise that sounded like a small animal.

"Alright. That is one matter dealt with... look at... maybe...method ...the Saiyans."

The room and sound suddenly faltered, fading in and out like it was coming from a badly tuned transmitter.

Bardock awoke with a start, the images vivid in his head, breathing heavily. His mind was racing. What had he seen? Was it a dream? Was it real? It had seemed real. They had talked about the planet, the Saiyan Rakshi, the book of the planet's history which few non-Saiyans knew about and as far as Bardock was aware, no non-Saiyan had ever read. Calming his heart, Bardock decided he would go to the King about the dream first thing in the morning, for it was still only just on midnight. Trying to settle the uneasy feeling in his stomach, Bardock began to drift off to sleep.

When he awoke at daybreak he remembered nothing of the dream.