Warnings! Blood, torture, child abuse, sensitive subjects.

Disclaimer: Akira Toriyama own DBZ and all characters. This is a non-profit fanfiction just written for fun by a no-name author.

Chapter 11

So, he, Prince Vegeta decided to wait for death. It was not like he was planning to go without a fight, but he realized that he would need huge ambition and arrogance to go after the Shadow Demons and he none. A heavy guilt and fear ate at him and he could only sit with the two Irish humans and the German.

He had killed Frieza. He had killed his master…no his trainer, his tutor, his guardian with no guilt or remorse. He killed a being that he was exactly like and felt joy and triumph as he did it. What did that have to say for himself? How could he enjoy it so much as he killed someone just like him? It was like he wouldn't care if he died.

Vegeta sat with cards in stained, gloved hands as he thought over his crazed, busy thoughts. It just didn't matter if he died. Who would miss such a cold-blooded killer? Bulma could always find someone new…someone kinder and better and who cared for her more and cared for his own soul and life. Vegeta felt as if he shouldn't matter. Zacher made it clear that he was a useless killer, that he was so evil and disgusting as to kill a being that raised him and made him. He was no better and he felt that he perhaps deserved this fate.

But for the time, he was going to play cards.

Lucky blinked his large brown eyes and grinned as he laid down a good hand. "Now, yeh, see," he chuckled, "we've all been down here for a while. Our crimes have long since been committed, but alas, here we are."

Vegeta's dark eyes rose and he squinted at the blonde man. "What did you do to warrant such a long stay? I mean…you're only human," he said condescendingly.

The three men sighed and shook their heads as they stared at the arrogant saiyajin.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up and listen," Patrick snapped, his face growing as red as his hair. "Quit being so cocky and think for once, that you saiyajins are not the most cold-blooded killers around."

Vegeta's tight lips pressed together as he scowled at the loud boy and he growled lightly. "The Saiyajins weren't cold-blooded killers. Don't use me as an example for my race!"

His dark eyes widened at his own curt accusation and he slowly lowered his head. What was wrong with him? He had never separated himself from his own people. It felt like in this short journey he had learned so much about himself and it sickened him. Truths were revealed to him and he felt like something foul and cruel, not even saiyajin and even darker than Frieza.

The humans were also surprised by the usually arrogant, prideful prince. Down in Hell, they had always heard about the murderer of planets and millions of people, but also heard the ways of his pride and love for his deceased people. They could tell that it shocked him as much as it shocked them that he suddenly disowned himself from the other saiyajins, as if protecting their sacred strength.

"The Saiyajins were a feisty race, aye?" Lucky said. "Liked a good fight?"

Vegeta looked at his gloved hands on his lap and a small smile appeared on his face as he heard the Irish man's curiosity. Looking up he nodded and smirked.

"Yeah, but you tangle with us and nothing will be able to bring you back from the afterlife."

"Aye! This lad, this lad here!" Lucky chuckled as he shook Vegeta's shoulder.

Zacher shook his head at the rowdy people and returned his gaze back to his hand. "You never answered his question, Lucky," the sandy-haired man spoke quietly. "You vere about to prove zat humans can be just as bad und evil as any other race in the universe."

Lucky Frank's smile slowly dimmed and he nodded faintly. Looking intensely at his cards he took in a deep breath and then exhaled, his dark, blue checkered flannel raising and lowering with his large chest. His dark brown eyes looked at Vegeta and then back to his cards again.

"Now, yeh've got to understand that I was a young lad then, back in the twenties."

"You were twenty?" Vegeta asked.

"No. I mean back in 1920!" Lucky replied with a shake of the head. Vegeta felt his cheeks redden at his confusion. "I had grown up in good ole' Ireland with a beautiful mum, a hard-workin' dad, and three brothers, me bein' the second born. Well, anyway, I had yer normal childhood, playing with marbles, jumping the hop-scotch, and deliverin' me papers at the crack o' dawn."

Patrick yawned and fanned his face. "This going to take much longer?"

Lucky flicked the whiny child in the nose and went on with his story. "Well, as I got older, around the age o' twenty-five, me ma started to get sick. She got a nasty virus called Tuberculosis and needed medicine badly. But yeh see, we weren' the most wealthy family and me dad was already workin' the max a man could work. I tried to extra jobs, me brothers tried, as well, but it wasn' any use. We just didn' have enough money. So, I confronted the doctors and explained that if they gave us the medicine, we'd be able t' pay 'em back later on. Of course, they said no and went on to leave me ma dying."

"So, you killed the doctors out of revenge," Vegeta said with much boredom. "That isn't too bad to land you here for so long."

The Irish man's dark brown eyes pierced his and Vegeta felt a sudden sense of foreboding.

"No, me lad," he replied darkly. "Yeh see. Me ma was sufferin' and she didn' deserve it. The amount of blood she coughed up a day, her pain-wracked sobs as her throat and chest ached, and watching her deteriorate before me eyes was too much. I decided to follow the head doctor one night after he got done workin'. I found out where he lived. I found out he had two daughters and a pretty little wife, all o' them in perfect health, all o' them laughin' and rolling in their money."

Lucky picked up his beer and drank from the glass deeply, then wiped his long sleeve across his mouth. An eerie coldness crept across his face and he merely stared out into the dilapidated city for a moment before continuing.

"So, in all me anger, in all me jealousy and spite, I broke into his house at night. It was the 1920s…houses were not nearly secure as they are now, I imagine. So, I grabbed one of his kids…and took her from her house late that night. I'm not proud to admit it. But I was mad then...filled with vengeance. I...I ended up mailing a toe to the doctor. He knew who it belonged to."

Patrick cringed and let out an amused "Ooohhh." Both Zacher and Lucky glared at him and scowled.

Vegeta's heart began to pound in his chest. He was beginning to realize that Patrick had been right in saying that humans were perhaps just as grotesque and sick as many other creatures he'd met in his life. It amazed him that this simple human here, who was usually laughing and drinking, was capable of such…torture.

"So…did you get the help for your mother?"

Lucky's eyes turned to him and suddenly Vegeta could see right into the man's soul. He could see the desperate darkness that he must have felt as he mutilated the young girl. Shaking his head side to side, the Irish man frowned as he remembered his dark past.

"It was a small town and naturally there was a search. But I was able to move...my work to a cellar below the metal shop where no one knew to even look. But, yeh see, it didn' matter then, because me ma still wasn' helped. The doctor just sat at home, mopin' an' worrying, but taking my threat without seriousness obviously. He withdrew and helped no patients at all. So, every three or four days, I'd deliver something else. I'd wrap up a finger, another toe...but nothin'. So, I finally decided to finish the job. The last delivery was quite a bundle. I'm sure the dear ole' doctor was quite shocked when he opened his door t' find a heavy ball of white sheets, containing what was left of his daughter."

The city around suddenly became hauntingly quiet as Lucky's accented voice stopped. Vegeta gave a side-glance to the man, the card game suddenly forgotten. The human had tortured and mutilated someone's child in the hopes of saving his mother. Humans became desperate when they needed something, Vegeta thought to himself darkly. Like any living creature: want something bad enough and they'll go through anything to get it.

"So, your mother was never helped."

The blonde-haired man bit his lower lip and trembled slightly as a burning rage and sickly regret swept over him. His brown eyes watered slightly and he lowered his head as his shoulders shook.

"I had to murder a little girl an' ma was still ignored. I'd come home, bloody and shaken from the evil I had done, to find her witherin' away, her skin hanging off her bones like a wretched mummy. Her eyes were so dark, her pupils dilated and yet faded at the same moment. She was once so beautiful, but now was nothing but a living corpse because the people in me town were too selfish and stupid to do anything. And where had I been? Torturing an innocent out of thoughtless revenge

"So…mum died a few weeks later. No one cared, though. The town was up in arms over the death of the girl. I had believed that the wealthy doctor was not the one to be pitied and pampered. His tears had angered me. I never saw the defeated anguish on the man's face. I simply felt hatred. I believed he had just wanted money. Well, his daughter had ter die for it…and so did my mother did. Because o' all this, I felt nothin' but anger for the people who resided in town. My family had done so much for them. We delivered their papers, made metals and tools for 'em, shined their shoes, cleaned their streets, an' yet, they paid no notice when our family member died. No one even went to her funeral. So…I decided they all must pay."

Vegeta's eyes widened as Lucky unveiled the descriptions and details of how he destroyed the rest of the doctor's family. Over the span of three years the man did the same to the doctor's remaining loved ones. He then went on to the people he felt wronged him. He kidnapped the baker who wouldn't sell him stale bread for a penny. He tortured families for their lack of caring and coldness toward him and his brothers, father, and deceased mother.

"At twenty-eight, I was mad. The taste of blood and revenge was all I saw. People no longer moved to the town and families were movin' out by the dozen. It hardly began to matter anymore who I killed or why. I just wanted people dead. I wanted them to suffer and die, because ma had to. Me beautiful ma…her rotting corpse on the dusty ole' sofa, her eyes rolled back in her head. It wasn' supposed t' be that way. Not fer her. Little did I know, in me madness, that me youngest brother Tom had found out a year before that I was the killer. He confronted me one day after I staggered home at one in the mornin' bloody and dazed from a night of disemboweling the local milkman.

"" Frank," he'd said, his soft, hazel eyes lookin' into mine. He was on'y, what, sixteen then. "Why'd yeh do it, Frank? Why'd yeh kill all those people?"

"I looked at him, feeling nervous and scared for him and me. ""They let mum die, Tom. They didn' even care.""

"An' then he looked at me, so full of grief and anguish. ""She died three years ago, Frank. Yeh didn' need ter to this.""

"An' that's when I looked at his hand. In his left hand, hidden slightly behind his large overcoat he held a large blade from the kitchen. He thought he was goin' t' stop me. I took a step forward, intimidating him 'cuz I was much older an' stronger.

""Yeh'll be wantin' to put that away, Tommy,"" I said pointing at his hand. ""I'm family an' we look out fer each other.""

"His face kinda shriveled as tears of fear and anguish washed over him. He leapt at me, and God, I didn' want ter hurt him. I didn' want to hurt me own flesh an' blood. That's what I started killin' fer! I had to protect 'em, but if he was goin' to try an' stop me, he was goin' ter pay, too.

"So, I dodged the knife and kicked him hard in the back as he ran past me. We fought right there in the kitchen, him swinging the blade, me dodging, an' a look of pure madness and rage passed over me innocent brother's features. Without me preparing, he flung the six-inch knife straight at me. Oh…me little brother, he threw death at me and it pierced me heart. Me own family. The hilt o' the knife stuck out of my left lung, the old, slick blade embedded in my heart, I sank to me knees in horror. Me own brother. He was at me side even as I died, crying, praying, begging for forgiveness for both him an' me. An' I think he got it fer himself, 'cuz I never seen him down here. I thank the gods everyday. I commend him for stopping a madman. I am so glad that he stopped me from killing more."

The story ended there and Vegeta found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. In all his life, after all the horrible crimes he had committed and seen others do, this story amazed him. Sure, he heard stories from people on Frieza's base about the horrible and disgusting things they'd done to people. But they were basically evil, sick creatures to begin with. He did his own share of awful things, but he was a warped, confused, and evil being taught to do those things, as was everyone else involved with Frieza. But he had just heard a tale from a being that was born and raised in a home that wasn't evil, where he had the choice to do what he wanted…and he chose pain and torture. He CHOSE to do wrong…and it amazed him. The prince who had been tortured and brutally tormented his whole life sat before this human who only killed for three years and he was startled, stunned, amazed, scared, and so many more emotions he could barely understand.

Was Vegeta so naïve that he truly hadn't understood humankind and the choice of evil? It was stunning and he was intrigued as well as truly scared. This human was almost like…Frieza. He had the choice to be evil or good…and he chose his path. He had the freedom to choose and he decided to take the trip to hell. Vegeta hadn't that choice. He was taught to obey, follow orders, kill, destroy, or die. It was amazing that those who had freedom decided to hurt others. Humans truly were complex, astounding beings.

"My turn, my turn!" Patrick said giddily, clapping his hands and startling everyone.

Zacher rolled his eyes. "Oh ya, this is such a fun story," he said sarcastically. "No moral, no plot, no reason really. Truly a waste of life."

The redhead glared at the older man and gave him the finger. "This story kicks ass." He gazed at Vegeta with dark blue eyes and raised an eyebrow. "The name's Patrick, born 1892, died 1908. I was born in Ireland, too, but my parents wanted to get the fuck outta there so we caught a boat to New York and lived out our pleasant little lives in the good old U.S.A. Yay. But aside from that; my dad was a drunk, my mom a whore, and my little sister a bitch. So, good life, right. I started off simple…you know, killing bugs, mutilating my sister's dolls, drinking, smoking, gambling, all the good shit. As I got older…you know, like thirteen or fourteen I started fighting and just basically hurting people. So one day I decided to go rob a cheap little market store and of course, the loud mouth cashier all starts yelling to stop, stop, stop! But I run anyway with my money and shit and the cops are chasing and people are trying to the catch the dirty, poor boy and I'm laughing and of course I slip. Boom, I'm face-first in some woman's boobs; her hands on me and she starts screaming about how she caught the little rodent and stuff, so I brought my elbow back and drove it into her gut.

"She starts screaming and throwing up, which is nasty and the cops turn the corner and find me so I run up to this junky old building and run up the spiral steps and up to this room that's filled with, like, tar and shit. So, I remember hearing back in the medieval times or some shit how people would throw tar on others so I wheeled the barrow over and dumped it out the window, laughing and cheering as the black shit poured out over all those stupid people below. And of course, little do I know that the ledge that was supporting the tar barrel was loose and crappy. So, alas, out falls the huge metal basin thing, full of tar and crushed the woman and two cops killing all three instantly.

"Yep…so from then on I just started killing," Patrick said with a laugh. "I'd get in fights and break people's necks, get in fights and pull knives out, have my way with any women I wanted…yeah…but I didn't really care, because I was just a kid. And I guess I don't really care now. Looks like I'm still on my healing mission. Awesome, huh?"

The three at the table stared at the fast-talking boy and Vegeta crossed his arms, not impressed. "How'd you die?"

Patrick's smug smile disappeared and he muttered something. The saiyajin chuckled as Zacher and Lucky leaned forward, each grinning broadly.

"What vas that, Patrick. I couldn't hear."

"Ran from the cops after dropping a bag of bricks on some guy and got hit by…a horse."

The two humans laughed at the arrogant child, as he turned red in the face. Vegeta smirked and shook his head. Patrick glared at the smug prince and rolled his eyes.

"Well, who'd expect a horse-drawn carriage to be crossing the road at the time? I certainly wasn't!"

This made them laugh harder and Zacher slapped his palm on the table as he wiped a tear from his eye. The German straightened up in his chair, knowing that it was his turn to tell his tale and his face slowly grew calm and blank. Pulling out his smokes, he lit a cigarette and hummed lightly before glancing at Vegeta with a knowing smirk.

"Do, you know vhere ve are?"

The black-haired saiyajin's eyes narrowed. "In Hell."

The German chuckled and looked at his two friends who also shared in the mocking laughter. Vegeta growled angrily and glared.

"Yes, ve are in hell, but obviously this is a town of some sort. Ve are in a German town called Stadtlohn. It vas heavily bombed and almost destroyed during World War two."

Vegeta blinked and took in his surroundings again, seeing the cracked and crumbling buildings, once standing tall and proud, their architecture once curved and layered, now dismantled and destroyed. The desolate sky was gray and haunting, helping add to the depressing land of destruction.

"I fought in World War one. Are you familiar with the wars on Planet Earth?"

Vegeta nodded.

"I was a common foot soldier in the trenches. The vinter was so cold. So freezing. As we crouched in our trenches, our enemies across the land did the same."

Vegeta listened, intrigued. War and armies were things he could understand. This soft-spoken man did not seem like one who could take another's life in battle.

"We were basically just kids who were handed guns, helmets, and thrown out onto the battleground. We were taught that our enemies were huge and fierce and would stop at nothing to kill us. Essentially, we were convinced that our enemies were living...not human."

The ring of familiarity in his words chilled Vegeta and he could only stare at the man as he spoke smoothly. The saiyajin prince had never saw his victims as true living beings. They were merely annoyances that stood in his way.

"After months and months of freezing and starving in barren trenches, watching your friends getting shot to death or wrapped-up in barbed wire, you grew to hate the enemy you never really saw. Grenades were thrown, bullets rang out, and your comrades dropped dead next to you. Your enemies only became more fearsome.

"As my full year in the war drew closer, I returned fire, threw my own grenades...but I never fought an enemy face-to-face. But it finally happened. As the sun disappeared, our unit clashed with a small band of soldiers. I cannot even remember what language they spoke. French? English?" Zacher shook his head in concentration. "Doesn't really matter now. The adrenaline was high. It was amazing that I vent from freezing, exhausted, and numb to instantly energized. My brothers took out most of the soldiers. Their screams...I can still recall it. But at that time, I was afraid for these men, these enemies. They vere trying to kill us, but they would not win.

"As darkness fell, I watched as the small band of enemy soldiers were quickly cut down...however one shadow escaped. I had felt frustration then...and a flurry of excitement. My feet carried me forward and I chased the running soldier. I remember hearing him wheezing in the vinter cold. Perhaps he was injured. I couldn't tell.

"I tackled him and we both fell into a trench, our backs hitting the ice-cold ground. We wrestled, my voice growling like a hungry animal, his younger voice nearly whimpering. He was begging, but I did not understand his language. I remember grabbing a knife from his hands. It was his only weapon-his gun must have been stolen by my fellow soldiers. But it didn't matter. I outweighed my enemy. Strange. I had always envisioned my enemy as a monstrous beast. I pinned his torso down with my knee and lifted the knife high into the frigid air. How was it that I was winning so easily? As the moon lifted into the sky, I saw a quick reflection in the blade of the knife. It was my enemy's terrified face.

""Do it, Zacher! Kill the weak trash!""

"My fellow soldiers lined the edge of the trench, their guns resting lazily against their legs. They were bloodied and worn, but obviously in good moods. Our enemies must have all been utterly destroyed. So I turned back toward my victim. He was writhing weakly under me. He was bleeding from the previous attack at the hands of my allies.

""Kill him!" Another friend yelled. ""He vould do the same to you!"

"All eyes were on me. I shivered in the winter moonlight, as the younger man coward below me. This person...was a person. And we were in a war that had nothing to do with us-the boys all standing around, freezing in trenches! But I had been told to obey, so I did." Zacher stared into Vegeta's eyes darkly. "You see, my boy, once hatred takes control, once a person gets the taste of blood and death, they vant more and it doesn't matter who they get it from. I'm sure you know what I am talking about. Friends, family, loved ones. It doesn't matter who it is, but as long as you have hatred within you, you will just be a killing machine. And you realize you are no longer a boy, but something else...something not living."

Vegeta's thoughts went to Nappa as the German man explained this to him as if he was a child…but it was true.

"I refused to kill him. As I stood up to let him go, someone above us shot him in the head. It was instantaneous. There he had been, a living, crying human being...and then the light went out. My reaction was a flash of rage and I shot up at the soldier who had fired. His dead body sagged and fell into the trench. I had been fighting in that war for a year, killing...who knows how many. But it was from a distance, so it never really mattered to me. At that moment, when I saw the humanity in my enemy, I just understood...that he wanted to live. He just wanted to go home." Zacher gave a sickened laughed. "It was also odd how quickly I was able to kill a man I had shared a trench with for a year. For a few moments I had felt empathy for my enemy, but felt nothing as I killed an ally."

Zacher took a drink. "It became fairly chaotic then. My friends tried to calm down the other soldiers who aimed their guns at me, I screamed up at them, we all aimed our guns at different people. I'm not sure who fired first. I remember the first bullet that went into my shoulder stung terribly, but the one that struck my stomach was unbelievable. And I simply fired back."

"It was all so petty," Zacher laughed. "At that moment, we showed what we really were: Children. We were little boys given guns and told to kill. Unfortunately on that night, we all ended up killing each other."

Vegeta was trembling as the elderly, sandy-haired man finished his tale. He found his eyes glued to the face of this man…a man, who was so much in the same position he was in. The saiyajin prince, taken from his lavish life at five and forced to do unspeakable acts of evil could feel himself growing attached to the man before him who coolly drank his beer and smoked his cigarette. This human had been taken from a world of comfort and hurled into a situation where he was told to kill...without ever really being told why. Zacher had killed one of his allies without hesitation. It was too eerily similar to what he had done to Nappa.

Vegeta had never really stood up for good and he had never really wondered how difficult it could be. He felt that it wasn't needed. It wasn't even a thought in his head and now the questions were thrown at him. If a weak human with no powers to speak of could easily change his mind and defend a helpless person, then why was it so hard for him to change? This weak human was forced into the circumstances of murder and hatred, so why was it so easy for him to shake off?

Was the prince really so weak that he just flowed with the darkness within him, perhaps killing and murdering and becoming the sick, demented creature he was before? Just hours ago he had taken pleasure in ending the life of someone just like him and it ate him up inside. He didn't have to be like Frieza. There was still time to change! There was still an enemy out there worth fighting. There were still monsters doing unspeakable acts of evil and torturing beings that didn't necessarily deserve it. The Shadow Demons tried to kill Bulma to get to him. Well, that would not happen anymore. Like Zacher, he would stand up against these things no matter what the outcome was. He wasn't just going to sit by and let the horrid things destroy and conquer. Even if it was the last thing he could do, he was going to fight them. He was Frieza no more.

Vegeta stood quickly, startling all three humans as he slammed his gloved hands on the table. His fiery arrogance and burning rage to fight struck him so hard he almost powered up to super-saiyajin. The humans' hair blew back and Patrick's floppy gray hat disappeared in the distance.

"I understand now," The rave-haired saiyajin crowed. "I've been controlled by evil my whole life and I've never done anything to change that. I've whined and moaned, but it hasn't helped! I know I'll never be the crime-fighting, super-hero that you humans worship, but I know that I must do something to help stop the darkness creeping through the universe. I'm not going to be Frieza's little pet anymore! I am going to the planet of the Shadow Demons, and I will fight for others that have been hurt or taken by them!"

Running from the table, the short saiyajin sprinted toward the suburban neighborhood that sat a distance from the card table. His heart pounded and his eyes blazed with fire as he ran faster toward his destination…until he plowed face-first into the hard invisible barrier.

The three at the card table groaned and winced as the spiky-haired prince slowly fell back from the "wall" and landed on his back in the rocky dust.

"Um…as much as we feel fer yeh'," Lucky sighed. "Yeh still have to win the card game."

With a low growl and shaking fury, Vegeta trudged back to the table, his nose throbbing and his face burning with humiliation. He was extremely impatient and wanted nothing more than to move on so he could destroy the Shadow Demons, but he knew that he wasn't going anywhere with these stubborn humans. So, regaining his poker face, Vegeta sighed and picked up his cards, now knowing each of the humans much better. But a question still nagged him.

"I know that your crimes were bad," he said, "but why are you all here, in this sector of hell? Shouldn't you be in the first level?"

Patrick smirked and glanced at his two friends. "Well, normally yes. We all spent time up there, you know, for rehabilitation….but I guess the gods just really liked our spirit and sent us down here to work."

Vegeta continued to stare at his cards. "Work?"

"Ja das stimmt," Zacher complied. "I don't know if you saiyajins have superstitions, but believe it or not…some of the earth ones are true."

This caught Vegeta's attention and he looked up curiously.

Lucky laughed and scratched his nose with his thumb. "Aye…we're Grim Reapers."

His voice echoed around the collapsed city and Vegeta's sharp eyes shot to Zacher, Patrick, and then to Lucky.

"Grim Reapers? As in…black cloaks, giant scythes, and the touch of death?" He mused.

"Well, somewhat," Lucky replied with a smirk. "Earth is the only planet that we know of that has Grim Reapers. There are hundreds all over the place, but we are the on'y three around here. When we're called on, we go to earth, kiss our fingers, and give just the tiniest touch to the person who's goin' ter drop. Then the soul just comes out and appears at Yemma's desk and we come back here. Kinda boring, but it's better than bein' on level one with all the nightmarish happiness an' such."

Vegeta found himself laughing at the absurdity of it all. But it made sense. Normal humans didn't really have the powers these three had.

"Wouldn't the Shadow Demons be considered a race of Grim Reapers, too? I mean they collect people's souls…just in a much more violent manner."

The sharp prince didn't miss the somewhat nervous eye glance from the humans as they continued their card game. Zacher bit his lip and placed his cards down.

"They're not considered Grim Reapers….that is only an earthly creation. They are…different."

"Different how?" Vegeta snapped, knowing that they were hiding something.

"It doesn't matter!" Patrick said with a loud laugh. "Because I win!"

The redhead threw his cards on the table and stood up and did a victory dance. Vegeta glanced at the cards and then to his own and a small grin appeared slowly on his tan face.

"In your face!" Patrick crowed, pointing his finger in the smirking saiyajin's face. The boy immediately stopped his dance as he looked at the arrogant armored prince.

Vegeta gently laid his cards right above the wild child's and laced his hands together, unable to hide his amused smile.

"No…in your face."