Chapter 10
An inhuman growl rises and echoes throughout the house, swiftly transforming into a grunt of major discomfort. It carves through the iron curtain of silence that has deadened this habitation for the past day. A full cycle of the Sun has done nothing to impede the burgeoning of despair and depression. A day in which only one person seemed to be active, going about his business as per usual – or as usual as it ever gets around these parts. Shipping the meagre amount of possessions he has over to where he shall now have to call home as steward until the rightful owner returns from his travels beyond the veil was all he did, and all anyone did.
He rises forth from a sleepless and restless night who's fault lies entirely on the preferences of that whom the bed belongs to. A mattress like bricks tempered with reinforced steel draped with such a flimsy and worn out duvet that it took the sleeper half of the night trying to get comfortable before giving up and resigning himself over to the fact that a good night's rest will not be had by him. His back clicks loudly and uncaring as it tries to recover from what it had to endure.
Brushing back his shaggy thatch of pitch-dark hair out of his face, Yamcha opens his eyes to the second day after Vegeta's death and such a day that seems wholly fitting for the mood of the other residents. Cracking the calloused knuckles of his gnarled hands, he flings back the curtains to survey what the world has in store for him on this dreary day. Thick grey mists have drifted down from the mountains and hills, formed from the transpiration of the many deciduous trees in the forests growing up the foothills of said mountains. The basin of the lake has been altogether veiled by the blanket of moisture hanging heavy this morning, the Sun's rays bearing down on it but doing little to disturb the shrouding fog.
Turning back from the window, the reformed bandit rummages through his bag of clothes, living out of a suitcase as unpacking his belongings into this room seems too much of an invasion. Another one of his orange training gis will have to do. Tying the blue belt tight and making sure it is nice and secure, Yamcha leaves Vegeta's room and goes down the noiseless corridor. No sounds come from either Ayeka or Ryoko's rooms, neither door having been opened since it happened. Padding down the stairs, finally he hears some life in this dead house and the tempting aroma of food wafting towards his quivering nostrils.
Humming to herself and in a world of her own, Sasami carries on her household activities and duties seemingly oblivious to the affliction of bereavement that has stricken all the other females of the house. Setting up a small little breakfast for herself and for any others who have woken up at the same time as this early bird she continues to busy herself around the kitchen. A sincere smile as she turns to see Yamcha leaning in the doorway observing her cook such delicacies that grace his stomach far from as often as he would like. Hungry like the wolf, he goes over to the happy child and helps her with the last few steps of preparing food and carries over the dishes onto the table for her.
" Wow, this looks amazing Sasami. I'm sure glad you're around 'cos I truly am an awful cook and Puar can testify for that. I wouldn't want you working yourself too hard though, but it's a good job Bulma equipped this house with those nanobot things to do the other chores. I remember her when she was inventing these, that was back in the days when me and her were together and we had no idea what Saiyans were. Simple times." Yamcha and Sasami sit down and breakfast together, their moods not affected or dulled by the surrounding bleakness.
Two balls of fluff streak round the corner and dart around the table legs, one blue and the other brown. The two cat-like creatures engage in the playful antics of a game of chase, with Puar's ability to fly giving him a slight edge over the land based method of travel that Ryo-Ohki is forced to use unless she transforms into a spaceship – which thankfully she has not done yet. Darting back and forth in-between the chairs and legs of Yamcha and Sasami they merrily scamper around as the human and Juraian finish off their food before the critters tire of their antics and settle down.
" Hey Yamcha." The blue cat-like transformer hovers up next to his long time pal, floating over his shoulder as Ryo-Ohki bounds onto the table meowing loudly at a bowl on the table. Yamcha looks over at the bowl of orange root vegetables.
" Hey there Puar, glad to see you've made a friend. So … is this what you want Ryo-Ohki?" Lifting up one of the carrots from the bowl, the desert raider looks at the cabbit. The pleading eyes, pricked up ears and stare fixed on the vegetable dangling from his grasp is enough for him to deduce the will of Ryo-Ohki. Dropping the carrot onto the table in front of the overjoyed brown fur ball, watching as she pounces on the defenceless taproot viciously. Nothing is left of it, stalk and all has gone down the gullet of the content herbivore.
" I didn't know you and Trunks' mum were boyfriend and girlfriend, what went wrong?" Sasami's childish inquisitiveness is getting the better of her and Yamcha thinks how he has asked himself that same question so many times over the years. Scratching his messy hair, he turns casually to look to Puar for a little help to find him gone chasing Ryo-Ohki again. Taking a deep breath he says the first thing that pops into his head.
" Oh well y'know, it uh … well it was silly adult stuff." Totally winging it he is so relieved that Sasami actually bought that lame answer.
" Hmm, Ayeka talks about those quite a lot. Wonder what's so special about being a grown up." Sasami leaves him with that as she stands up having finished eating as her busybody self starts clearing up and getting ready to wash the pots and pans. Leaning back on his chair, Yamcha thinks to himself how he just dodged a bullet when the other child of the house silently steps into the room. Not announcing himself, Trunks sits down at the far end of the table and stares at the food set before him. His Saiyan appetite deserted him the same time his parents did.
" How you doing champ?" Acting as a semi-responsible guardian, Yamcha tries to initiate conversation with the withdrawn youth. Simply shrugging Trunks doesn't acknowledge him. Merely messing with the food on his plate, stirring it in endless circles, the kid ignores Yamcha.
" If you'd like we could pop into the training chamber for a nice little bit of sparring, aye? Come on, I know how much you Saiyans enjoy your fisticuffs so whaddya say?" Without a word Trunks abruptly stands and leaves the room, marching off having not touched any of his breakfast. Shaking his head Yamcha looks over at Sasami with a look on his face saying 'well I tried'.
" God he just won't let me in, can you believe he's still going to school even though I told him I'd let him bunk off? I lost my parents too at a young age … I know what he's going through. It's not something someone should have to deal with alone like I did, just me and the wolves of the desert … it was meeting Puar really that got me through." Watching the anthropomorphic being flying past the doorway, Yamcha opens himself up to his locked away past. The long years of sand and the life of a highwayman – harsh times where all he cared about was getting food to make it through and survive to the next day.
" Sasami be honest with me here, how do you think Trunks is doing?"
" Umm well, I don't know. I think he's managing because he knows that Vegeta will be wished back by the dragonballs and that he's gone to a better place." Yamcha can only hazard a weak attempt at a smile at that last statement, he can not correct her and break this misconception she has that damnation eternal was not the only thing waiting for him beyond the grave.
" Well, less than 30 days and then this nightmare will all be over. Give me a shout if either Ryoko or Ayeka come out of their rooms … they look as though they've been hit harder than Trunks from it." Sasami nods at him, agreeing to the favour he has asked of her as he stands up and ambles his way out of the kitchen. Pausing to check his bearings in the unfamiliar house he finds his way to the living room – embarrassingly only a few feet down the hallway. A sound stops him on his way to the training chamber.
Creaking open by a sliver, long, delicate hands pop around the door and gently push it fully open. Turning around to see who it is, Yamcha watches as the figure steps forth from the shadows of her pocket dimension. His jaw drops as this perfect figure of a woman steps in front of him. His eyes start at he feet and work their way up, absorbing every facet of her. Long slender legs that go all the way up balancing a gorgeous hourglass figure, pink locks flowing down past her slim waistline and those deep emerald eyes.
" Why hey there babe, I don't believe I've had the pleasure … .Wait, … Washu! Wh-What?! B-but how? Have you been in the hyperbolic time chamber or something?" Alarm bells are ringing in Yamcha's head, he might have just made a move on her accidentally and although it would be a good twist of fortune to steal one of Vegeta's women from him it would also be incredibly dangerous. Panicking and confused as to why her body is now that of a woman in her prime not some scrawny schoolgirl, he looks about for an escape route.
" Teehee, oh stop it you. My you know how to make a girl blush. Well since you asked so politely I guess I can tell you, I can alter my age on a whim but pray tell what exactly is a hyperbolic time chamber?" Giggling from the way he was checking her out she steps closer to him in an unabashed manner. Feeling very awkward and uncomfortable when the bandit is usually so confident around those of the opposite sex, his behaviour reverts to what it was when he was a teen afraid of girls. He does not know where to look with her just there so close to him.
" It, uh, was an inter-dimensional thingy room on Kami's lookout which we all trained in before the Cell games. A year in the room is only a day in the real world but unfortunately it was lost in the fight with Majin Buu. I was just about to go and have a look around and test out this wonderful training chamber I've heard so much about, you made it didn't you?" His flattery does not go amiss and she finds it so relieving for someone to actually notice her hard work and not threaten her life.
" Time dilation, hmm interesting. Wouldn't that cause accelerated ageing though?" Somehow Washu managed to say that without a hint of irony.
" Yep, got an added two years onto myself doing that, but what can you do? Maybe sometime I might start to need some of that age control myself but there's still life in this old dog yet." Leaving her now and ending the conversation, he walks towards the source of Vegeta's power, the room in which he uses to push his body to the limits. Two doors close as he enters the training room Washu creeps off back into her laboratory, switching on a set of monitors. Flicking through the clutter of background programmes she brings up the feeds from the monitoring equipment.
" Looks like I've found myself a nice new guinea pig to play with, hehe. … Well so far looks pretty normal, but with the company he keeps I bet he's got a few surprises up his sleeves." Mumbling to herself she observes his actions as he investigates this most curious room he has found himself in. Twirling one of the red tresses of her hair, her mind analyses every single nuance and motion he makes, performing such stupendous calculations as she tries to measure his power and strength to that of his predecessor.
" Hey, I bet with this thing I could overtake Krillin. I don't know much about stuff like this but I'd have to say Washu's done a pretty good job … nearly as pretty as herself." Yamcha obliviously says this not realising that Washu can overhear every single word he says whilst he pumps the 10 tonne weights for a few minutes before his eyes get distracted by the buttons on the main console. 50Gs seems a good starting point for a warm up as he punches in the commands and limbers up, stretching his arms and legs before continuing with exercising for another strenuous hour and then another.
The seconds continue to slowly tick by for Washu who believes she now has a 93% accurate estimate of what Yamcha is capable of from his activities. If she had seen strength, speed and stamina the likes of this a fortnight earlier then it would have shocked her but now it is belittled by the powerhouse that was Vegeta. Still he seems to be outclassing that of the many other warriors she has seen in her years in the final frontiers of space. Swivelling around with her long magenta hair whipping round, she goes off to check the progress on one of the hundreds of other research projects she has been simultaneously working on.
Rubbing the sheen of sweat dripping from his face on his forearm, the wolf warrior has reached his limit and exits the training chamber to rest his exhausted mind and body. Thankfully finding he has the living room to himself he wearily trudges to the sofa before flopping down into its comfortable cushions, relieving his feet of his weight as he carefully kicks them up on the table not wanting to knock over the photo of the happy family before death swept down to do his business. Telekinesis is the lazy man's greatest tool and with a flick of his hand the T.V bursts into life, the remote flies into his hand and the opening and closing of the fridge door can be heard coming from the kitchen. A cool can of beer gently slides into his second open palm. Both hands occupied, he opens it with his teeth before chugging down half of its contents in one large gulp.
As the refreshing alcoholic beverage quenches his thirst he begins his quest for a decent channel to watch whilst he relaxes and runs into one of the main problems of being such a high calibre fighter. With reflexes and his nervous system's speed honed to such a mind boggling degree he suffers from seeing most things at a slower pace than those of an average Joe, even when not powered up. The constant stream of the screen in front of him becoming just a bunch of images being flashed up one after another, not seamlessly blending into motion. Finally something interests him, a sports programme displaying the latest results.
He drains the last dregs of his beer and vaporises the can in his clenching fist. Turning off the T.V in frustration, his baseball team The Taitans have not managed to turn around their long running losing streak and yet again have made a mockery of themselves in front of everyone. Vacating his seat with the faint stench of charred metal following him he heads up the stairs to check on Ayeka and Ryoko. Maybe disturbing them is a bad idea, giving them some space and time would seem rational yet with nothing to do in this house with naught but Sasami and two animals for company he takes the risk of proceeding. Stood in-between both of their doors he listens to the all encompassing silence, more haunting then any of the most anguished wails of grief.
Not able to choose which he visits first he decides on the third option, both. He has spent enough time training with his rival Tien to have picked up a few tricks and so a multi-form of Yamcha splits him into two separate beings. Knocking on both doors simultaneously he receives the same echoing response of nothingness, a few minutes drag on and he has long since given up the hope that they will answer his rapping knuckles. Reforming back into a single organism he exhales a long sigh and heads back the way he came.
" Spending a month in a house full of beautiful women definitely sounded like my kind of fun. Who knew it could be so much of a hassle and chore, and it's just my luck that as always they have their hearts set on the prince of all Saiyans than Yamcha." Talking to himself he stirs up the bitter feelings he has always held. The seeds of resentment of how the man responsible for his own death and the loss of so many other lives was the one who stole from him the one most precious to him. He could only stand and watch as his chances for his dream of being a husband were washed down the gutter.
Feeling sorry for himself and in a self loathing kind-of mood he goes back to train, heading over to the control panel he did not fully investigate earlier to see a few controls that pique his interest. Intrigued, he presses an assortment of buttons labelled under simulation, each button named after something he clearly remembers from the recent past. The machine begins to hum and purr as it warms its cogs and turbines up, the super computers of its core booting up to obey the input commands.
Startled by the room around him fizzing into non existence he hovers in nothingness searching around him for the door leading back into normality that has been replaced by blackness. The world around him begins to fade back but this time it is not what he was expecting, an endless open expanse of water below him stretching on from horizon to horizon. A green ocean of a planet he has never visited has spawned 2 feet below him and it is not the only thing his button mashing has, the main console is still next to him floating in mid-air but he wants to see how this will turn out now.
Towering before him is a white devil. Horns, tail and the ability to wipe out planets because he can is Frieza in his second form. A bulk of white and purple staring maliciously down at the ragtag man inspecting what he can only hazard a guess at being a faithful reconstruction – having only seen Mecha-Frieza and King Cold it seems closer to the latter than the tyrannical son. A grin is exchanged as both feel confident before the other as the waters below them boil and froth, forced back away from the power growing and emanating from them in a dazzling light show.
So it begins. After over a decade of waiting Yamcha gets to test his mettle against the dreaded Lord Frieza, well if a little kid could do it so could he. The depths of the ocean open up beneath them as they become blazes of white, flashes of pure light darting this way and that. Fists become meteors tearing through the sky at faces and torsos, kicks slice through the air leaving vacuums in their wake and yet neither opponent has landed a blow past the other's defences. Block after block and dodge after dodge they continue slogging it out across the miles of open water evaporating in their wake. Yamcha's building confidence is crushed like his larynx when the flailing tail of the galactic oppressor latches around his throat, rendering him defenceless as he struggles to remove the force stopping him from breathing. He experiences the force of Frieza first hand.
Pummelling his stomach and midriff area mercilessly Frieza lands innumerable punches into the hardened abs of Yamcha, his muscles may be rock hard but his organs within are still as soft and squishy as when he was born and are not faring as well. Bashed and knocked around his kidneys rupture inside with a great tearing, yielding a howl of agony as the relentless assault continues. The front of his gi has been pulverised into atoms showing the raw wound of his bleeding gut staining his trousers a dark hue. The alien laughs pitilessly and manically, delighting in the pain derived from the onslaught.
The tail locked around him will not budge, every millisecond it stays on him is another one without his precious oxygen. Relinquishing his hold on the caudal appendage, he channels his might into an attack that has a higher probability of working than clawing at the thick trunk around his neck. Delivering a high kick to the proud chin wipes the smile clean off the ruler of the known universe, so too does the follow-through Kamehameha he unleashes into the surprised face. The tail quickly withdraws as Frieza grabs at his bleeding face disfigured from the blast, a black horn hanging loosely gives up the ghost and splashes into the tempest waters below.
Not wanting to waste a golden opportunity, with his foe distracted by the unexpected ki blast he returns the favour of the pain bestowed unto him. Through vision blurred from purple blood flowing into its eyes the despot gets but a glimpse of a shadow: of a rabid wolf pouncing on the frightened rabbit petrified in the spotlights of the burning shards of rubies that are the wolf's eyes. Inflamed with the fury of retribution, Yamcha exacts his payback with the longest and most complex Wolf Fang Fist he has ever attempted, each blow more reckless and savage than the last. Punches designed to maim and snap bone crash into the thick white chest plates of Frieza, cracking the purple segment embedded in the natural armour. More and more vindictive strikes rain down until purple mars most of the previously pristine white, plated skin of Frieza.
Slamming the open jaws of the wolf into the stomach of the ruler brings him to his knees and Yamcha dashes backwards to recuperate from the tiring attack. Staggered, stunned and angry at being injured by such a scruffy, low life wretch Frieza growls. Composure frayed from such an affront to his title as most powerful being Frieza quick draws his hand, flashing out a barrage of dozens of death beams at Yamcha's position. He ricochets them back with his palm except one, that last one was just too much for him to bear. It broke through the ki he had channelled into his hands and struck its mark true. Holding his arms out extended to deflect the fatal lasers only worsens the fact that one of the penetrating beams hit. Boring through the base of his palm and burrowing all the way through his forearm and upper arm before bursting through his incinerated shoulder blade the death beam shoots off into the distance.
Yamcha's vision dances in front of him as he fights off shock, a smoking hole scorched through his whole right arm. A feeble attempt to move his incapacitated limb nearly pushes him into unconsciousness, the wound having hardened on the inside into a solid cauterised tunnel, uncompromising in its rigid state. The three points of articulation rendered useless like the whole limb, he squints through the pain as Frieza still recovering from his earlier attack. The son of King Cold flies up higher and higher into the sky till the monster is a mote against the blue sky.
" You filthy swine! You dare to attack Lord Frieza! I will end you, now time to die!" Frieza summons forth a black and maroon crackling orb of terrible power above his head and one remaining spiked horn.
" Oh yeah! Well two can play at that game. Take this, Spirit ball!" Pitching aloft the curveball in an arcing motion he has practised for many years, just in his right not left arm which he is now forced to use instead, Yamcha retaliates. Focusing his will into the ki attack he has rarely had the opportunity to use, it tears straight on an intercept course for the planet destroyer rushing towards him. The concussive force as the two globes meet in the sky clears the whole stadium of water, the sea thrown into droplets glistening as the duo of new stars rage to push the other back. The tussle between blasts is not going in Yamcha's favour but he never planned on winning this by force alone, he has a plan.
Losing ground the spirit ball is being engulfed slowly by the larger more powerful ball of ki, he cannot hold his own against Frieza in this aspect. Cackles of assured victory drift on the gusting winds from the white lord proving to Yamcha only that his foe is assured enough that he is no longer paying full attention to the battle. With that the Z warrior takes the initiative and utilises the main feature of his technique that differs it from most others.
Spiralling off to the side, Yamcha waves his left hand sharply to the right and then upwards, directing his Spirit ball out of the path of the fireball and into open air. Swerving out of the way of the incoming attack moving in a linear motion, his Spirit ball rockets straight for Frieza in a zigzag response corresponding to Yamcha's gesticulating fingers. Flying straight and true in the final sprint, the baron of barbarity's eyes widen as he notices that overconfidence is a crippling weakness and that energy balls may be closer than they appear. Mercilessly Yamcha remotely controls his sui generis past all of the fancy footwork and aerial manoeuvres his foe tries to pull off and in for the kill.
The orb zips to and fro with each pass clobbering into Frieza's back, chest, shoulders and forehead, detonating with every impact. Angling away for a final descent the Spirit ball propels itself unto the enemy it has finished toying with, careening into Lord Frieza's ugly mug with the force to pound his highness in a straight cast route into the depths of the high seas. Tsunami sized waves fill up the gaping hole left by Frieza, swallowing him into the deep blue as serenity returns to the ocean. Beads of the fine mist of water drift back down as Yamcha hovers panting, drooping lower and closer to the swell placating back down to a millpond.
Grunting as smoke simmers from the passage running from hand to shoulder, Yamcha growls through clenched teeth as he cracks the cauterised inside of his arm. Curling his biceps towards him he watches blood freely gush from his stigmata and trickle down his near hollow arm. Spilling into the waters beneath him his blood leaves a trail of vivid red pooling behind his progress towards the main console. His progress hampered by the large amount of energy drained from him in such a close fight, he senses a disturbance and doubles his pace towards the console.
Bubbles rise in great columns turning the ocean once again into a seething mass, flashes of light illuminating a shape in the deep. Yamcha's ki sensing abilities tell him that he has not seen the last of Frieza and that his power is growing at a rate which surpasses any which the bandit could ever hope to overcome. Dashing the last few feet, he turns to see a long, elongated, xenomorphic head break the surface, rotating to face the one trying to escape. A pair of glimmering beams shoot from the dark eyes bursting out of the waves in the direction of Yamcha who's hand is now slamming down hard on the large red button marked 'OFF'.
" OK, I think I'm done here." Turning, he watches the lasers dissipate along with Frieza as metal walls and flooring replace the boundless arena. A doorway to the outside world beckons to him.
Tearing two strips from the hem of his gi he wraps a very crude bandage around his openly bleeding wounds, the pressure biting into his flesh but ceasing a bit of the flow of crimson oozing out. Testing out his damaged limb causes great aggravation within, he migrates out of the chamber. Emptiness greets him. Drips sprinkle the floor following Yamcha, a mixture of both blood, sweat but no tears pursuing his path up the creaking stairs to his temporary room. Along the mute corridor he walks, each step taking more effort then the last. Dragging his feet as he pushes the door open, the last dregs of energy spatter onto the floor. His body worn out, his knees turn to jelly and fail at supporting his torso. Tumbling into a face plant his thick skull cracks the floorboards. Passed out on the floor with not a living soul in earshot to hear his fall and no-one to care about him or his well being, darkness takes him.
A feathery pillow beneath his head, snuggly blankets tucked around him and fresh dressing around his treated cavity, Yamcha wakes with a pomegranate hair fluttering down onto his face and tickling his nose. Twitching his nose side to side to remove the irritant, he resorts to wafting at it with his hand, his right hand. Realising too late he expects bolts of pain to torture him but nothing comes. In the space of the anti-climax he looks at his palm to see freshly knitted flesh not a scorched pit. Sitting up Yamcha pushes the blanket off of him and springs to his feet, trying to work out how he ended up on the bed when he can clearly see the dent from where he passed out marking the wood. Flexing each finger of his healed hand then the wrist he grins at the miraculous recovery wondering if maybe Vegeta had a stock of Senzu beans around the house someone fed him. The how does not concern him as he stoops to pick up the lone hair from the floor where it drifted down to, it is the who that does.
Inspecting it he sniffs the follicle recognising the scent of the owner. Nodding to himself he lets it fall and with newfound energy goes for his most prized possession. The whetted blade of his Liuyedao, a weapon he has had with him since his first chance meeting with Goku and years before that as well. Unsheathing to meet the shining silver he runs its edge against his arm in the age old test to find that years of not seeing daylight has left it blunt and unable to leave a mark on his coarse hairs. Not having any tools or grindstone, the improviser opens the wide window and jumps out of the house, bending his knees into a roll to perfectly land his graceful descent. Rapping the hilt against the floor as he walks to the water's edge, he starts looking for a good shaped stone. A large, flat flint catches his eyes as he picks it out of the lake and grips his sword firmly before setting to work.
Stoning complete with a single pass of the whetstone on each side of the blade he launches the whittled down rock, skimming it the full length of the entire lake in a half a dozen bounces off of the water's surface. With a swipe of his sword a branch falls out of a tree, a branch 500 metres away followed by many others unlucky enough to be caught in the path of the random slash. Swordsmanship was always second to him after bare fist fighting and his skills in it have diminished further with it being such an impracticality now with the Liuyedao not being able to hold up if he used his full strength, in a fight it would shatter into fragments in the first cleaving motion he made. Passing the time, he hones his long lost abilities in the art of swordplay for fun and to while away the hours as there is nothing better to do in this wilderness retreat.
His activities outside continue well into the afternoon: stabbing, cutting, slicing and parrying he stands alone as he has gotten used to. Sasami did ask whether he wanted any food but he declined, not wanting to interrupt his fencing for his metabolism does not require the mountain of food that Vegeta's does. Shadows start to lengthen and the one under his aegis returns, touching down from his day at school. Trunks does not look at Yamcha, he simply slings his rucksack off of his shoulders and drags it into the house he is quickly disappearing into.
" Yo, Trunks!" Yamcha again attempts in vain to grasp the son that could have been his' attention. The bitter mood of Trunks' melancholy leaves him in no mood for this ragamuffin as his step does not falter in advance through the threshold.
" Hey, come on Trunks. I bet you've never had a proper swordfight with anyone before. You bring down your sword and we can play, how's that sound eh? A bit of sparring with Yamcha?"
" … Why? … Why would I want to do that? Give me one reason why? My father's right about you, you're weak and the weak aren't worth anybody's time. I surpassed you when I was still wearing nappies so what's the point in training with you?" A response is elicited from Trunks. Not what Yamcha was hoping for, taking offence at the sad but true words reminding him of his place, but it is progress. With Trunks talking and stopped in the doorway, Yamcha tries to coax more out of the grieving child.
" Well what have you got to lose then? If you're so sure you're going to win then bring it, … or are you chicken?" Several swear words would have followed this challenge if Yamcha had the time to speak, but in the time it takes for the instantly enraged Trunks to take up the gauntlet and charge him his mouth simply hangs. Not ready at all for this and completely unprepared for a battle against a Saiyan, Yamcha's sword is swept from his arm and it is all he can do to try and block the worst of the angry attacks befalling him. Disarmed and badly beaten and bruised, he is knocked to the ground again and again. Time after time after time he gets back up, not surrendering to the child he should be in control of, all it gets him though is another walloping. Struggling to his feet weakly, Yamcha looks into the cold eyes of the youth stood over him and a sense of foreboding washes over him when he sees the hue of the child's eyes begin to change.
Anchored in place he is ready to accept defeat as lavender hair turns blonde. Blue eyes staring straight through him, uncaring who he is just that he is there to act as an outlet for all the accumulated emotion built up in the small, young body. The earth beneath the grass cracking with each step of his tiny feet. A diminutive fist raises above the stood-on-end hair, a killing blow ready to put down the old dog. At its peak height the clenched hand stops before it falls and stays there.
The only other two humanoids up and about bar Trunks, blocking Trunks from his defeated victim. Having rushed out of the house as soon as they saw the two begin to duke it out, they have arrived just in the knick of time to prevent a second travesty from striking the household. The fight broken up, the juvenile stands there fist still in the air, just staring blankly in the direction of the downed man not seeing him or what could have come to pass. Purple hair falls down around his ears as he turns to continue on his way back into the house, forgetting about his little encounter. Sasami follows the powered down other of her age whilst Washu looks down at the battered bandit.
" Quite a sorry state you've gotten yourself into, tsk-tsk, what am I to do with you?" Washu offers her fair hand to help up Yamcha who's meaty hands look grotesque next to her manicured fingers. Gripping tightly she aids him up to his feet, wobbling and staggering she begins to lead him back inside. His heavy weight leaning on her for support bothering her and pulls her down.
" You OK? I've got medical equipment and supplies in my lab so let's go and get you patched up-"
" Like earlier? … D-don't think-" Yamcha coughs. " -don't think I didn't know it was you. Back to your place then?" A wry smile plays across his bleeding and bruised face below his swollen eyes and broken nose. She stops and looks at him playfully.
" Of course I knew you knew that it was me, what kind of genius would I be if I didn't? Thought you would have learnt your lesson though, twice in one day, I bet you only got in that fight so you could spend some more time with me didn't you?" They smile at each other as they walk through the doorway into her own private dimension. This being the first time Yamcha has seen the inside of this not so much a room more a world, he struggles to comprehend his surroundings through squinted eyes and a possible concussion. Gawking as he looks around this place of technological wonder, seeing such unimaginable marvels on his short tour towards her high tech surgery room.
Arriving at their destination she props Yamcha up against one of her desks as she busies herself setting up the room: flicking on monitors, gathering equipment, turning on machines and pressing a button that rotates one of the large vertical slabs in the middle of the room around its central axis so it lays horizontally at waist level. Directing him towards it he anxiously looks at the bulky rings of an unknown metal that apparently is where he has to place his limbs and head. Carefully easing himself down onto the slab, he shuffles his limbs into the correct position. Still eyeing the restraints by his neck uneasily as Washu sets to work repairing his punished body once again. Meticulously tinkering and healing each contusion and laceration, setting and fusing broken bones and regenerating damaged tissue the scientist deals with her patient quickly and in under a minute he's as good as new.
" Now if you'd just like to stay there for a few more minutes I'd like to run some harmless routine tests on you, you're the first human I've had a chance to experi- study. You should be honoured, getting to play at being my personal ambassador for the human race." Grinning she gives him no time to argue as she attaches electrodes and multitudes of other probes and measuring devices to his exposed skin.
" Uh, OK? Um what kind of tests?"
" Oh nothing special so stop worrying: basic biomedical profiling, brain mapping, inter-dimensional energy mapping, blood analysis and of course I'll be comparing all of these results with those I gathered from Vegeta. You don't mind if I use you to compare differences between that of your species and Saiyans?"
" Oh great, I've always wanted someone to prove beyond any doubt how much stronger and better he is than me"
" Lighten up, you're still the best specimen of your species for my research. You are in the top elite when it comes to raw power and don't have any mutations like a third eye or anything to skew my results. Why so serious all of a sudden? Whilst I splice these DNA samples tell me how you got those scars, none of my databanks have any information on them." Yamcha frowns, confused at the mention of her already having a large collection of data around his person and mulls it over in his mind. He has only told one other person the origin of these things disfiguring his face but he can not see the harm in opening up to her, it is no great secret.
" Promise you won't laugh, I didn't get these from any heroic battle or massive fight. I … I… well you see, you know Puar … well he really hates it when you try and give him a bath. As you can see it did not go too well for me and after that I left him to manage his own personal hygiene." Serious and deadpan he relates to her the tale that he normally litters with lies of bravado when picking up girls but she hears the truth. She hears the truth and bursts into a guffaw of giggles, betraying her promise not to laugh to him though he knew this was going to happen for the exact same thing happened when he revealed the story of his face to Bulma. He raises an eyebrow and questions her for a change, she is learning everything about him so it only seems fair.
" Yeah you laugh it up, at least it's good to see someone here smiling except Sasami. Now I suppose you know why I never tell anyone stuff about my past, just because I'm a warrior doesn't mean every single aspect of my life will be sung from atop high walls y'know. Just why aren't you moping around like Ryoko and Ayeka though? On the day you seemed pretty downbeat and I didn't see you at all yesterday so what's the deal?"
" I might be a scientist but I still have a heart, of course I was upset that he died. He didn't deserve that and I didn't get to finish collating data on his anatomy. More importantly though unlike those miserable saps I don't see the light shining out of his derriere, he's just another, challenging, test subject. A month without him, that time will blink past in an instant. Compared to how long I've lived that's next to nothing."
" I'm not gonna fall for that trap, I have a bit of experience under my belt and I know full well never to ask a beautiful young lady her age."
" Young? Ha, you truly have no idea do you. I suppose with a body like this you would never know that in terms of your Earth years I have passed well over my 20,000th year." She savours the look on his face. The sheer shock of such an astoundingly high number being her true age, she makes Roshi look like a new-born tot - surpassing all of Earth's recorded history with a twenty millennia past. Holding a scalpel in one hand she leans in close over the incredulous prone figure at her mercy.
" T-T-twenty thousand?! Wow that's a lo-" The cutting instrument lowers till it is pressed against his chest, glinting in the dim lighting maliciously. A bead of sweat forms and rolls down Yamcha's cheek as he stops what he is saying. " W-what I, uh, really meant to say was … t-that you look very good, no extremely beautiful for a woman of your age. Wait! No, no,no,no I-I didn't mean it like that, just … in general you are good looking. I mean I thought you were young enough to be my daughter or something y'know." Washu's eyes soften and she smiles at him as if she were only messing around. Standing back up she walks towards another of her desks full of equipment hidden from Yamcha's obscured view who is currently counting his blessings and not paying attention to what she is doing. Snap! She stretches on a pair of latex gloves and releases them so they spring back against her flesh making a loud sound.
" I have one teensy little favour to ask of you. You see, there was one sample that I couldn't obtain from Vegeta and I was just wondering if you'd help me out in that respect." Puzzled, he slowly nods at her, not too sure what he's getting himself into now.
" Well sure, OK, I'll help ya. What is it that you need me to do?"
" Oh nothing, just stay still and leave the rest to me … I'm the one qualified to perform this, hehe" Her emerald eyes gleaming as they dart across his body and then to a control panel materialising out of the ether, grinning wickedly she presses the lone button as an inanimate object springs to life. The restraints hanging loosely around Yamcha's prone form begin to shrink and stiffen causing a visage of abject horror to play across his face. Laughing manically at her cunningly laid trap springing into action she wrings her hands together, flexing her magic fingers as she cackles at the ceiling like the true mad scientist she is.
" Haha, you're all mine now and there isn't anything you can …. Where the hell did you go?!" Returning her gaze to the now empty obsidian slab alarm bells ring in her head, yet another has escaped from her fool proof shackles. She only took her eyes off of him for a split second and the restraints are still there and in one piece so …
" Hey what d'ya think you're playing at? The hell is with the bondage all of sudden?" He is stood right behind her, his reflexes saving him as he is now fully healed, she is cursing the way that she gave him the means to escape. Slowly turning around she meekly looks at him, the smile gone from her face.
" I was hoping you wouldn't do that. Can't we just pretend this never happened?"
" How about no? Why were you trying to restrain me? I gave you my consent to get this sample you wanted so you could have just taken it. Go ahead, get it over and done with, retrieve this sample of yours." Hounding her and not dropping the subject, her cheeks begin to blush and her eyes drop to her ruby coloured shoes.
" Umm, well I was after a very … particular sample and I thought you might refuse so I thought that what I did would be the best way to be certain I got it."
" Hell I don't care what the sample is. Come on is it blood, hair, skin … memories? I won't put up a fight over it, I gave you my word so spit it out already." Pestering her with further questions her skin turns a deeper shade than her hair as she timidly shakes her head trying to raise her eyes to look him in the face.
" No it's none of those things. It's …i-it's a sperm sample I was trying to collect." She looks him in the eye, deeply embarrassed and feeling very uncomfortable. Shifting under his gaze he doesn't break eye contact or bat an eyelid at what she says, just folds his arms.
" I've given samples like that before but never have I been forcibly tied down for it. I don't want to know if that's how they did it on your planet but things are different here, I'll be checking back later. See ya and thanks for the patch up." Vanishing from sight he disappears from Washu's realm leaving her still stood there. Disappointed by the turn of events, she slumps her shoulders and trudges off to clear away what she had gotten out in preparation.
The onset of dusk encroaches on the land, plummeting the household into the limbo state of twilight before falling into the black of night. Not a sound can be heard, Sasami has gone to sleep as it is approaching her bed time. Ayeka barely noticed her sister entering the room, the pleas of her sister to move away from the window she has been staring out of all day fall on deaf ears. From her viewpoint the princess can see Ryuoh her ship beside the lake, it is gathering moss now but all that is hidden from her now it is night-time and the world is shadow. Colours fade from her view as the sun descends behind the mountains but all colour has already departed from her world. Her hairs hangs unadorned and loose, her royal head crest laying abandoned by her bedside cabinet and a simple black kimono reflects her mood. An unblinking stare devoid of happiness or joy, her heart a Pandora's box of joylessness for amidst all the despair and dejection lies a faint sparkle of hope. That one hope that death for him is not permanent and that all she has to do is wait and wait for him she shall. A lonely vigil for heartbroken princess.
Ryoko's mood has not lifted either despite her best efforts to drown them away, drinking herself into a stupor by consuming every last drop of alcohol she bought with his money. No joy is to be found for her at the bottom of any of the many empty bottles scattered haphazardly across her room. The effects of the drinks is nothing to her, she can purify the toxins within her bloodstream with a thought, trying to reach a cold oblivion of numbness she fails as every time she nears it she hears his last words echoing in her mind. Why could he not hang on for just a little bit longer, not knowing the last word is torturing her as is the guilt she has settled upon her shoulders. Ryoko blames herself for his death, her actions caused him to act rashly and led to Grah pinning him down. But then Vegeta thanked her for it. Awash with conflict she balances on the brink of madness, holding on desperately for his return to her open arms.
Walking down the hallway from the room of the one that Ryoko and Ayeka's hearts painfully yearn for, Yamcha carries a small, sealed, opaque container. Jogging down the stairs with the item clutched in his hands he knocks on Washu's door, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for it to swing open of its own accord allowing him to enter her domain. Glancing around as he steps inside for the fair mademoiselle of intellect he spots her in a far off corner with her fingers whizzing over multiple keyboards. Traversing the distance at a speed which negates travel time he patiently waits behind Washu for her to finish what she is typing. Rotating round in her chair to face the vagabond, she is startled when a small object bounces onto her lap. Curious she picks up the jar and holds it up to her face inspecting it, shaking it gently she hears a faint sloshing sound coming from inside which only exaggerates her inquisitiveness.
" What've you brought me? Is it a gift of some sort?" Washu is still trying to deduce the contents of the container based on the audio clues from the sound it makes when agitated and is about to resort to opening the lid when Yamcha speaks up.
" It's what you asked for earlier, you know the sample of my-"
" What? You are actually freely giving this to me just like that?" Her hand has frozen in place on top of the lid, not wanting to open it now she has knowledge on its contents, her face reddening by the slapdash and carefree way in which he handed this 'gift' to her. Hesitantly placing the jar down on a nearby workbench, she turns to see Yamcha has turned around and back on his way out again.
" Wait, Yamcha!" She calls out to him and rushes off of her hovering cushion towards him before he can disappear. He stops when he hears her shout his name and looks back to find her stood beside him holding her hands behind her back. " Where do you think you're off to, I- I've got one little experiment I'd like to try out now." Washu smiles slightly as she sees the confusion rise up in his eyes again.
" Experiment? What kind 'cos it's getting late and I just gave you the - " She embraces him and kisses him gently on the lips, stopping him speaking. He looks down at her, a look of timid hope on her face and he smiles before returning the favour as they sink into one another with Washu getting a conclusive positive result from her experiment. Her fun can continue.
As Yamcha and Washu cure each other's loneliness something else occurs at the exact same time. A white booted man in a blue sleeveless jumpsuit stands with his arms crossed, impatiently waiting in this oversized reception. Streams of fire and desecration litter the long walkway leading up to the check-in station and a mountainous red ogre looks disapprovingly at the man stood before him. King Yemma proceeds to begin the judgement of Vegeta's soul.
" You've got some nerve showing up here like that. This isn't the check-in station for your place of death and … well, you certainly made an entrance. It's as if you want to be punished, you're only making it worse for yourself." The thundering tones of the bearded judge boom out, his normal routine of intimidation having no effect on the deceased Saiyan.
" Shut up fool, your threats are meaningless. How is it possibly to have a fate worse than eternal damnation in hell? Now before I do to you as I did to all those pathetic souls outside, tell me the way to where Bulma is." Raising an outstretched palm emanating a brilliant yellow light of pent up energy he shows these are not idle threats.
" You attacked innocent souls on the way here, blasted your way to the front of the queue, threaten my life and expect me to help you find paradise? Be off with you. I do not need to show you the way to the infernal realm." Yemma's answer greatly displeases Vegeta, a harsh snarl escaping from his clenched teeth as the ball of energy in his grasp grows in response and with relation to his anger.
" I will not be so close and have this taken from me. Let me see her now! Pray to your impotent managers you see sense or I'll tear this whole afterlife to pieces."
" Goodbye Vegeta. I had hoped you would change but you are too set in your ways. I hereby condemn you to hell." Yemma slams down his hammer, sentencing Vegeta.
Enraged beyond belief the prince releases the blast only to have it dissipate in the air. Like a wisp of smoke his hands and arms begin to vanish before his eyes, eyes that join the rest of his body taken from him. Left as a soul, blind and deaf to all, he is sent unto his fate. The pain of a thousand sons without fathers, parents forced to bury their own children, lovers separated by death, all their hurt caused by his actions finally has its retribution as he languishes in the Stygian abyss alone. The torture of his very soul begins.