Gohan's heart was racing as he powered his way towards the power source that now belonged to Daimou. He grit his teeth as the wind spit debris into his face, causing small stinging sensations. The closer he drew towards Daimou, the more the ki would pulsate and hinder his flight, as if Daimou knew he was not his father and would not accept any other challenger. Using all his willpower, he blasted his way through the ki until he was directly behind the demon himself.

Daimou glanced unintrestedly over his shoulder at the panting young warrior before him. He turned his face away again; if it wasn't Son, he didn't care.

"Daimou!" Gohan yelled, trying to make himself sound braver than he actually was.
"I have a proposal for you."
Daimou's ears twitched, signaling to Gohan that he had the bastards attention.
"You will not fight my father you will fight me, Son Gohan, instead."
"What makes you think I would want to fight my enemy's whelp?" came the namekijin's stoic reply.
"My father has been dead twice now, do you really want an undead man to fight? Or do you want a real challange in fighting his son, whom has never tasted death?"

There was a silence between them. To Gohan, it felt like he had stood there for hours, staring at the back that had once belonged to Piccolo. His heart lurched in it's confines at the mention of his love's name. He had never told Piccolo how he felt about him, and now it could be too late. The thought made Gohan's guts ache.

While lost in his thoughts, Gohan was slow to realize that a green arm had reached out and snatched hold of his throat. The talons dug into the top layer of skin, allowing small drops of blood to ooze outward. Even at arm's length, Gohan could see that malice in the demon's eyes. Daimou bared his fangs for Gohan to see.
"Whelp," he said
"You've got yourself a deal. I'll find you when I'm ready to fight."
With that, Daimou released his captive's throat and flew off.

Gohan breathed deeply for a few moments, calming his adreniline-charged system. He had only one idea as to who could defeat a demon, especially one of Daimou's power and influence. He flew towards Kami's Lookout, and toward Dende.


Meanwhile, inside Piccolo's mind:

Piccolo was bound to the wall in ki restraints. They bound tightly across his arms and legs, and every so often they would emit electrical shocks. The volts would vary depending on howDaimou felt at the moment. ToPiccolo, itwas asmall price to payfor keeping Gohan safe.

"What do you think about that, whelp?" Daimou's voice pentrated his thoughts of escape.
"Son's little brat has offered to fight in his father's place. Isn't that just precious?" He began to sadistically laugh.

Piccolo strained toward him viciously.
"Don't you lay a finger on him you sadistic freak!" he hissed between his bared fangs.
"Or what?" Daimou asked, pushing his face into his son's.

"We had a deal." Piccolo growled.
"Demon's rarely keep their deals."

"I'm gonna kill you."
"I'm already dead."

Another round of thousand-volt charges jolted through Piccolo's inner system. As small cries of pain passed through his clenched and aching jaws, Daimou laughed. He couldn't wait for the whelp to see what he had in store for the other brat.


Dende clutched hard at his guardian's staff, a trait he had unconciously acquired in the pass few years. He had watched how Gohan and Piccolo had yearned for each other, and how much it had tore them apart to bury their feelings within themselves. And now, all he knew was, Gohan was going to have to be the one to either bring Piccolo back, or destroy both Piccolo and his sire.