Chapter 14: Solace of Taulos
Piccolo's energy manifested itself as a raging tempest of wind. As his power began to climb the shrouding aura of his ki became visible in a tinge of blue, his strength wreaking destruction upon the tallest glimmering skyscraper. Tiny shards of ice combined immediately with gusts so powerful they could shred human skin, whiping up a great tornado that spiralled around him and cried out in the calls of two dissimilar pitches; the first a deep howl, the second a shrill whistle. It seemed like an external display of the cold, locked down emotions the namekian often exhibited, released into the world as a grand entrance for his incredible new power.
Beneath him the top ten floors of the already smoking building slowly crumbled into clouds of scattering dust. He hadn't just torn them apart; he'd literally broken them down to a molecular level by simply powering up. The lack of a surface didn't seem to bother him though. As the last patch of roof at his feet disappeared he lightly hovered in the air, his hand slowly reaching for the turban that sat atop his head.
Around him the blizzard raged on. Muscles expanded, the shining aura widened and Baby could've sworn Piccolo grew another two or three inches from his already dominating height. Even after the namekian had finished his power-up the razor sharp storm still continued.
Once his hand found the familiar white wrapping of his turban the battle began. Baby barely even managed to follow the movements of his arm before the massively weighted garment was sent spinning his way. Connecting to his chin with a force more powerful than any punch the parasite had ever experienced, the purple turban sent Baby crashing through ten streets of simultaneous buildings before it dropped to the ground in a crater, where it would stay until the battle was over.
Aching and humiliated with his arm still on fire, Baby limped out of the ruined building and onto the street some half a mile away. He patted the fire out as the tower erupted into flames behind him, creating a shockwave powerful enough to ruffle the lion's mane at the back of his scaly neck. Poultry, flashy explosions were little of his concern though; his eyes wildly scanned around the street for any signs of his namekian challenger.
Suddenly Piccolo landed half the length of the main road away from his adversary and began walking coolly towards him. Although the hurricane surrounding him had died down another odd phenomenon had instead taken its place. In a five metre radius the darkened street that spanned out from beneath his feet was instantly glazed over with a glistening sheen of ice. With every long, drawn out step he took towards Baby the ice followed him, stretching across the road one stride at a time.
After he rubbed his bleeding chin and healed the wound Baby took a moment to snigger; as dramatic and threatening as Piccolo's walk might be, if he carried on at that lingering pace it would take him a whole five minutes to cross the street. Little to Baby's knowledge though, Piccolo was not restricted by the range of normal men; he was about to learn that the hard way.
Once again his arm snapped out faster than a bolt of lightning. This time Baby saw the move, but he was still powerless to dodge its awesome speed as the namekian's thick, muscled arm suddenly stretched across fifty feet of open air. Before he could evade, the clawed green hand had already been clamped tightly around his arrogant running mouth, gripping him so tightly that Piccolo's nails drew blood from his cheeks before he retracted the arm, keeping a firm hold on the parasite as he did so.
Like whiplash of a stretched out bungee rope Baby found himself being dragged from his lower jaw across the street, meeting Piccolo's free hand right as it curled into a haymaker with enough force to shatter his whole new set of teeth. But Piccolo didn't stop there; time after time the namekian pounded Baby again and again having never released the clamp around his mouth, until bloody rivers ran deep across his face from every body part with a name. Once he was done the green man twisted around and kicked Baby straight through another row of skyscrapers which collapsed onto each other in a domino-effect.
Even that didn't seem to stop the Piccolo's rage; he was done playing around the moment this battle had even gotten started. Now that he was lighter, stronger and more pissed off than ever the time for words had come to an end. He started off down the path towards his downed opponent when a sudden burst of emerald light came streaming out of a man-sized hole where Baby had slammed through both walls of a nearby building.
Without thinking twice Piccolo took to the skies. Now that Baby had condensed his strength into one form attacking from all angles was impossible, yet his enemy was still swift and cunning enough to attack from his blindside. Piccolo darted right into a portion of the sky occupied by the parasite; the blast had been a simple diversion that allowed him to get the drop on his curious green foe and hammer him back down to the ground with a two-handed pummel.
Piccolo's fall was stopped by a cleaner bot of all things. The namekian slammed into the roof of the large, wheeled metal cuboid and crushed the five-tonne trash recycler like an empty can of soda, not to mention cracking the surrounding road like a sudden quake with the huge force of the impact. The moment he opened his eyes the Z-Fighter noticed Baby descending upon him, and so he rolled off the machine just in time to avoid having his skull crushed and kicked the parasite back into range some thirty feet across the street.
Now that he'd finally landed an attack Baby definitely looked much more pleased with himself, as if that one successful act confirmed to him that the battle could easily be won. It was only when Piccolo placed a hand on the back of his neck and loudly cracked it that Baby noticed he'd been fooled. Piccolo had let him land that attack, just to see what his opponent was made of.
"Is that really all you've got?" asked the fighter. The namekian didn't seem cruel or mocking in his words; it sounded like a genuine question – like he was legitimately disappointed.
Baby snarled and rushed forwards in blind anger, punching his way through the crushed cleaner bot with one hand and arching up the other as he flew. His brief grimace showed Piccolo that his once-square teeth had regenerated into sharp, almost vampiric fangs. His sloppy, rage-filled punch on the other hand showed Piccolo an easy opening that was too good to miss. He stopped the connection with a single hand before spinning Baby around into a simple yet effective hold.
"You won't be needing this arm."
In one powerful chop the namekian severed Baby's feathery forearm clean off from the shoulder down, hacking through muscle and bone like a sharpened hatchet and causing the parasite to squirm to the ground with a pitiful shriek of pain. Thick, silvery puss that smelled like wet paint oozed from the stump as Piccolo strode over. With his massive height the namekian positively dwarfed the cowering snake, his form casting a shadow over his foe. Using his one remaining hand Baby tried in vain to get back to his feet, only to find that the sudden shock of ice coating the floor caused him to slip back onto his knee with a bang.
"You think this is over?" said Baby, hissing in pain with his face scrunched up. "I've still got one good arm to kill you with!"
Suddenly the Frankenstein creation lurched back up to his feet. His arm swung round in a massive hook that was easily caught by Piccolo, who stood unblinking and unfazed. At this Baby grinned. In another vile discharge of silver fluid a second right arm sprung out of the painful stump of the parasite's shoulder.
An enormous, lobster-like grey pincer closed in on the namekian, thrown in a stabbing motion as soon as it appeared. Instead of resigning himself to being skewered through the chest though, Piccolo brought up his other arm and swatted the claw aside, as if he'd seen it coming a mile away.
Baby's feigned despair suddenly became sincere.
"You thought I didn't know you could regenerate?" Piccolo suddenly gripped both arms as tight as he could and ploughed a solid kick straight into Baby's stomach, watching in satisfaction as a wretch of stringy saliva flew from his opponent's mouth. "The teeth gave it away," he added.
"Well then try this!"
The next event was something even Piccolo couldn't predict. He heard the squelch of Baby's regeneration, though with no visible wounds in sight he had no idea where it came from. After a few moments his answer became clear, as the shelling of a large tail rose up from behind his foe, still coated in a thin film of slime as it writhed like a living being. At first the namekian was reminded of their old opponent Cell, though as the tail began to take shape he realised this was an entirely different breed of monster.
A dual-pronged scorpion's tail of enormous proportions rose up to a whole ten feet above the ground as a steel-hard shelling formed around the bonding muscle. Each stinger was curved, cruel and sharp; not to mention big enough to punch a hole straight through flesh if they struck true. Piccolo readied himself to dodge a stab from the two-headed stinger when something else happened. The ends began to glow with Baby's signature tone of lime green energy, gathering ki for a blast.
With another swift crack to Baby's shins the namekian released his hold and fled to the skies just in time to avoid a surge of energy from the tail that cracked the ice where he'd stood. Looking down he could see that Baby prepared himself for another regeneration right as two completely contrasting wings sprung from his back with another spurt of liquid that tainted the pure ice. One was thick, muscular and feathered in beautiful shades of white and brown, the other a thin, arched membrane like a bat wing.
In a single powerful flap Baby took to the skies. He approached more quickly now that his flight was accelerated by the heavy beating of wings; fast enough to force Piccolo into a lightning exchange that took them on a tour through the entire city. Punch after punch Piccolo and Baby hurled each other through reflective solar panels and reduced countless buildings into ash. The parasite used his new wings for attack and defence, and whilst his speed or power still didn't quite match up to that of the Z-Fighter, his movements were quickly accelerating as he got more and more used to his form.
The moment the pair broke Piccolo used his surroundings to his advantage. They'd parted in the midst of stalled traffic, so the namekian seized one of the hovering, stationary cars and hurled it Baby's way before kicking another like a football. One after another the metallic motors crashed into Baby, who used his eagle-looking wing to swipe one aside and blasted another into smoke with a quick burst from his new tail. It was a decent block, but Piccolo could work with smoke.
As a black cloud billowed into Baby's face Piccolo streamed through it, connecting a savage flying kick to the jaw and following up with a triple-punch combination. Two slammed hard into Baby's stomach, though before the third could reach his face two more arms sprouted from beneath the parasite's armpits and snapped up to deflect the attack.
Being forced into another blitz was a nightmare for Piccolo. With four arms, two legs, two wings and a formidable looking tail Baby had nine points of attack from which to attack his enemy instead of the usual four. He could simply thrash about and be immune to any damage; his nine limbs would protect him no matter the situation.
Darting back from a sudden lunge of the scorpion's tail backed Piccolo up into a wall, allowing the arm of some hairy bestial creature to barrel his way. The tactful Z-Fighter ducked under the blow, ignoring the collateral damage of a building collapsing behind him and diverting all his attention to landing a solid punch with an opportunity that would have been an opening in any normal battle.
Instead his fist was only trapped between a wing and a third arm, and his attack reversed against him as Baby flung him into the sky. The parasite closed in for another attack and again traded blows with Piccolo. Once the namekian had finally become accustomed to the nine-limbed freak Baby decided to take it a step further and sprout a set of twisted, demonic horns that managed to graze the namekian's shoulder at their initial surprise.
Not one decent blow had been landed since Baby's wings had appeared. In terms of raw power Piccolo remained leagues ahead, though the sheer inconvenience and awkwardness of fighting Baby's new form meant that to get anywhere near him was nigh-impossible. Once the two finally parted again the namekian used the time on his hands to think rationally. If only he had some way to bypass Baby's form and create an opening for him to unleash his full power.
He had to turn Baby's patchwork creation with its ten modes of attack into a weakness. The Demon King's power was now at his disposal; with his complete form Baby wouldn't stand a chance against a single high-powered blast if only Piccolo had the time to charge it or an opening to use it. It was in thinking of the Demon King though that Piccolo's answer finally arrived. He thought back to his last encounter with his father and the tactics he'd employed to win before Hyperion arrived to bail him out.
It had been a long time since he'd used the technique himself, but with the rushing punch of Baby now heading towards him Piccolo saw no other option. He focused his energy and then parted it into equal segments, forcefully tearing his body apart.
"Multi-Form!"
Baby heard Piccolo mutter something to himself before his well-timed strike hit nothing but air. He was permitted a few seconds of confusion before the strange technique presented itself. Five Piccolos suddenly ambsuhed him from every angle, bludgeoning him with precise strikes and smacking him around like a bloody piñata. Ten points of attack was formidable indeed, though five namekians had a grand total of twenty.
Now that both his power and amount of available limbs dwarfed Baby's the battle was all but over, and Piccolo cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. After countless synchronised blasts had been thrown his way Baby bounced from clone to clone, passed around like a soccer ball, only with fists instead of kicks. At last the fifth Piccolo brought up his foot and kneed Baby into the sky before the others streamed back into him.
With Piccolo back as one being he intercepted Baby's sky-rising flight and hammered him back down to ground level, where he crashed through all three layers of Taulos's traffic before finally cratering upon the street. Stunned and clinging to the cusp of consciousness, Baby stared up with a single eye through the carnage he'd wrought upon the street, finding to his horror that Piccolo hovered some thousand metres above him, a golden glow already visible in his palms.
Full mobility might return to his arms, legs, wings or tail in a minute or so, yet Baby knew he didn't have a minute to spare. Up above, the frosty typhoon from Piccolo's blizzard had restarted again as the familiar attack in his hands was tainted with streaks of black that ran around its border, signifying the energy from that terrifying presence he'd felt earlier. After ten seconds or so the attack was primed; Piccolo crossed his hands over his head in a vague x-shape before throwing the beam down without a moment's hesitation.
"Demonic Masenko!"
The events that followed the explosion Piccolo remembered only through a haze. Lightheaded and disorientated, he recalled fleeing his titanic golden-black explosion that set the sky alight. He darted from building to building, stepping off each one right as they crumbled to ash. High-speed flight was beyond him in his fatigue, but he could still run and jump to escape the explosion.
Piccolo must've crossed half the planet before the blast finally simmered down to allow him a few moments of respite. Behind him was a blackened wasteland, a graveyard of collapsed towers and ruined cars like the nuclear fallout of an atomic bomb, only on a much larger scale. Nothing stirred beyond the wreckage; particles of shadowy dust flowed to the surface like snow, but there was nothing alive to be felt anywhere except for the steady pulse of the namekian's own power level.
The blood of close to a trillion innocents was on his hands. No; Piccolo reminded himself of his error the moment the thought crossed his mind. Baby was responsible for all those lives. Alpha had called him the Dragon of Sloth, and Piccolo supposed it made sense in an obscure kind of way. He had an army at his disposal and countless resources that made training unnecessary. In fact the only time he ever had to exert himself was at the very end.
His abomination of a form was irreversible; there was nothing he could've done to save the lives of the people of Taulos. If anything Piccolo had been merciful in granting them safe passage to the afterlife. Pan was another story though.
The namekian couldn't help but keep replay that same scene over and over in his head, wondering whether or not he could've done something to save her – something that might spare her the horrifying pain that came from being killed. He went through different scenarios and thought through different techniques, each of which resulted in her death every time. After hours of walking he finally reached the Capsule Five, still tired from his victory.
The doors opened up for him as he staggered up the ramp, welcoming him with that same irritating female voice whilst he poured himself a glass of water and made his way over to the living room, collapsing on the blue sofa. For five minutes he sat there catching his breath. His maximum power now used up so much strength that it never ceased to exhaust him, even when used in short bursts. He'd meant to save it for Alpha; Baby had proven himself worthy of it the moment he transformed though.
Nothing would have pleased Piccolo more than to simply lay there and rest for hours, but to do so would just be delaying the inevitable. He had to get the real battle out of the way before he cut himself a break – he owed it to his friends.
"Call," he suddenly announced. "Capsule One and Capsule Three."
Suddenly the plasma screen whirred to life; the screen was split in half down the middle, depicting two different still photos. One was of a smiling Goku, the other an old picture taken right before their first trip to Namek of Gohan and Krillin stood side by side.
"Confirm?" asked the computer.
Piccolo waited a few seconds as his eyes lingered over the pictures. They looked so happy now, but he couldn't help but wonder how they'd look in a few minutes. "Confirm," he said at last.
Right away the two photos were replaced by symmetrical green icons that vibrated. The wait couldn't have been shorter – Piccolo wasn't even at the end of his deep, preparing breath when Goku answered the phone, followed immediately after by Gohan and Krillin. Pan's father and grandfather both looked agitated; clearly Goku had already contacted his son to give him a rundown of the situation.
"Piccolo? What happened?" asked their fearless leader. "I felt Hyperion heading towards your planet, is he alright? Where's Pan?"
After another deep sigh Piccolo answered the eager, anxious looks of his comrades. "Hyperion's heading after you. If he catches up he might be able to help you out against Alpha when he arrives. . . But Pan's dead – Baby killed her. It's my fault and I'm sorry."
Piccolo's quick delivery was followed by the longest two seconds of his life as the shock of the two saiyans became apparent. As Gohan buried his head in his hands Goku nodded in quietly controlled anger. Unfortunately that anger wasn't controlled for very long; he paced around the room before the solid wall acted as the displacement object for his rage. He slammed a fist into it with a loud bang, and when he turned back to the screen he didn't seem to notice that his hair had turned gold.
He cursed, "Damn it Piccolo! How could you let this happen?"
"Pan. . . No. . ." Gohan continued to mutter to himself, as though he couldn't quite believe his child was gone.
"You said you'd protect her!" yelled Goku.
Piccolo said nothing in reply, he only dipped his head in shame and stared at the floor – it was easier than looking at Goku or Gohan.
"Hang on a second Goku," Krillin intervened. "This isn't Piccolo's fault you know, I'm sure he did everything he c-"
"Krillin!" screamed the namekian. The short, bald man recoiled as Piccolo sent a glare his way. Piccolo knew that whether this was his fault or not wasn't the issue here – it was always easier to blame someone living than someone dead. They would forgive him in time, but for now the namekian was content with them blaming him as a punishment for his failure.
"But there's Hyperion's road! If Raditz and the others managed to cross it then I'm sure Pan could be brought back as well!" said Krillin.
Piccolo admired the man for taking his side over two of his best friends who also just happened to be two of the most powerful forces in the known universe, but even so he shook his head in reply. "That's not the point and you know it Krillin. You've been killed more times than anyone."
"Rub it in," Krillin pouted.
"You know as well as I do that it's not exactly a pleasant experience. Someone her age shouldn't have to go through something like that."
Krillin finally understood; Piccolo was right – a nineteen year old girl whose combat experience was rather limited should've been spared the fate of an early death. He didn't want to point it out to the others, but another disturbing thought hit him. Vegeta and the others might've made it back in just six months, but all of them were seasoned, veteran warriors who each had the strength, speed and stamina of at least a Super Saiyan 4. If she flew by herself, then how long would it take for a fighter like Pan?
Piccolo went back to keeping his head lowered as Krillin finally nodded in understanding. For the next five minutes he was subjected to the teary response of Gohan and the angry comments of his saiyan father. The usually passive and cheery Goku seemed like he wanted to revive Baby if only to kill him a third time, something he'd only seen a few times.
At long last Piccolo excused himself and disengaged the call; those five minutes had felt more like five days to him, longer than any battle he'd ever fought with the Demon King, and at the end of it all he felt twice as beaten up.
Millions of miles through deep space away, a lone saiyan woke up to the sound of his alarm, buzzing incessantly in his ear like an angry housewife. Raditz flipped it off, and without even giving himself an extra five minutes on the 'snooze' option he rolled out of bed through sheer willpower. Two hours sleep had been customary for the saiyan since he took off two days ago, but he knew it was necessary if he wanted to rival the power of the others.
His brother and Prince, Goku and Vegeta, were both adept at the Super Saiyan 5; his tutor Piccolo's strength had multiplied tenfold and his nephew Gohan seemed to have unlimited reserves of power yet to be tapped into. On top of that the youngest two, Trunks and Goten, could fuse to become another formidable Super Saiyan 5. Even though he occupied a healthy middle ground in terms of power, Raditz's insecurities about his own energy had increased once he saw what the others could do, and how powerful the Shadow Dragons were.
Bulma had told him that he'd reach the Four Star in a day or two; he'd used that time to train like a madman now that he was in one place, but it still wasn't enough. His eyelids felt weighted with tonne-heavy dumbbells; his stamina began to reach its limits, and yet as hard as he tried the Super Saiyan 5 still seemed lightyears away - an unrealistic fool's goal. Even so, that never stopped him from his routine programme that consisted of thousands of push-ups and sit-ups. After spending hours fixed to the bar performing those same boring exercises over and over again he'd flip back down to the floor and work on his martial arts.
He punched and kicked until his arms could no longer move, stringing together swift combinations in the triple digits that he'd never even dreamed of before being restored to life. The ship was great; it absorbed even the most powerful blasts he could dish out and the gravity machine was great for pushing his body to the maximum, but it wasn't perfect. With the Kaio-Ken as his signature move Raditz liked to spend most of his time in the air, using all the space in the sky to his advantage. Being enclosed in such a small space naturally meant that practicing in that style proved difficult.
By the time he was done the jet black gi he wore had darkened by two shades underneath the arms and around his chest. He fell on his back, bruising it on the triple-titanium layered floor upon impact. In his state of total wipe-out the saiyan was unable to move even a finger, so when the phone began to ring it was all he could manage to mutter "Answer," as loud as he could.
Fortunately it worked; half a dozen voices echoed around the ship's upstairs speakers; Raditz tried to identify them as he lay on his back, head spinning and limbs aching.
"Raditz? Where are you?" said a voice – Raditz figured it was Goten's, confused as to why he didn't stand in front of the monitor on the lower deck.
"I'm upstairs," said the saiyan. "I kinda burned myself out with the Super Kaio-Ken so moving might take a while. There must be microphones for me to speak up here too."
Bardock laughed. "Probably, but don't push it too far son. You'll be fighting soon, remember?"
"Yeah I know – I've still got twenty hours or so to get some rest though. Anyway I don't hear Goku and Gohan."
Raditz's ears were right; Goku and Pan from Capsule One along with Gohan and Krillin from Capsule Three hadn't picked up their calls, and with Tien still missing the number of Z-Fighters had been drastically crippled. Only seven of them remained in the conference call – it should've been at least a dozen. Vegeta was gone already; Novus too. No longer did their conversation reek of camaraderie, banter and youthful excitement, it was strictly business without Goku.
"They're busy, just leave them be," said Piccolo. Something behind his mentor's tone told Raditz that the namekian was hiding something, yet in his current state he was far too exhausted to pursue it any further.
"I take it you beat the Seven Star then?" chimed Uub, his voice still frayed from his encounter with his nemesis. For once Raditz was glad he couldn't see the young man's face; he must've still been pale as a ghost.
"I did. It wasn't without sacrifice though," lamented Piccolo. "He wiped out everyone on the planet to get to me."
"It's a heavy price, but you defeated a Shadow Dragon. Three down, four to go." Bardock sounded more troubled than any at the very mention of a mass genocide, having tried in vain to stop that of his own. "Which was it?"
"Baby," said Piccolo.
"I know that name," offered King Vegeta. "He was the Tuffle creation you fought a few years ago, wasn't he?"
"Yes. He tried to get vengeance for his planet – if he knew you were alive I know he'd want the first swing at you."
The King gulped as Trunks decided to get back down to business. "So we can assume the One Star is Alpha. That just leaves three left that should be enemies from our past."
"We know one of them is a Vicis," recalled Goten beside him, thinking back to the brief conversation he'd had with a startled Tien.
"Alright so that leaves two," Trunks corrected himself.
"Yeah, and no one gets a medal for working out which two," said Piccolo bitterly. "Gohan needs to watch his back. You too Raditz; whichever one you get, neither will be a walk in the park."
But Raditz was only half listening – he was too dazed and out of reach to join up the dots and work out which two potential foes he could be squaring off against, after all he'd been dead almost their entire career – there was no one he could face who might hold a grudge against him.
Even if he wasn't in the middle of recovering from one of the most trying days in his last few years he probably wouldn't have cared much anyway. Raditz was always more of an 'in the now' kind of saiyan, taking things as they came without much afterthought. There was no sense getting himself wound up over an enemy who he knew only by reputation.
"Hyperion's returned as well," he heard Piccolo say. "He put me back in this world for good, then he set off after Goku towards the One Star."
That got Raditz's attention. He blinked back into reality and craned his neck with an awful pain so that he could see the radar fixed to the control panel. Sure enough, the One Star was there – he hadn't just imagined Piccolo's words. If Hyperion was back then so to must be Novus. Raditz smiled at the idea of seeing one of his best friends again, and only wished that Goku or Vegeta were also able to chat.
Vegeta. . . Where was the Prince of all Saiyans? If he sustained some kind of serious injury then he would've died from it by now, and yet the King still insisted that he could feel the Prince's energy signal. Was he just trying to make his way back in some ship? Or was he somehow waiting for the last moment, when all seemed hopeless for someone in battle so that he could fly in with dramatic flair and save the day. Whatever the case, Raditz knew that he'd feel much better with Vegeta watching his back.
Lights spun overhead. Faster than his eyes could follow the infinite void of space whirled above him. Unable to blink, unable to move, the man simply led there amidst the eternity, thinking about how long he'd been like this as blinking stars from every colour beyond the rainbow flickered from his prison. The universe had stopped still; by now the concept of time had slipped away from him. How long was it now? A few hours? Or a few years?
Try as he might even his eyes would not move. Looking down to check whether or not he still existed was completely prohibited, making him paranoid that he'd somehow died when no one was looking. He thought of home as his eyes raced past another nebula; of Planet Earth where his wife and son awaited his safe return. Eventually, after all that time floating through the darkness a single light appeared – an open doorway, glowing with a beautiful white light.
Drifting towards it felt like embarking on the staircase to heaven. Even if the light was so intense that it damaged his eyes he was past the point of caring that he could no longer squint. Whether it took him hours or days to reach it he could not say, but all he knew was that he had to reach that door. All feeling had gone from him – he'd been robbed of warmth or life or breath for so long, and this entrance had to be the next frontier.
He stood by his wishes when he finally drifted like a carefree cloud through the open doorway, though he'd come to regret them after a short time.
After a fall the Prince of all Saiyans landed hard on his front to a solid floor, bruising his chest and smacking his chin. Warmth flooded his fingertips, life was given back to his muscles and his breath suddenly returned in one great gasp. His chest throbbed, and after noticing that, he never thought he'd be so happy to experience the sensation of pain again.
"Broly!" he remembered, scrambling to his feet. A thousand images had suddenly been bored into his mind like an injection of recent memories. He recalled fighting the Legendary Super Saiyan, and then with a sigh of relief remembered how he'd killed the brute with his last act.
It was only then that Vegeta took the time to take note of his current situation, whatever the hell it was. He stood in the middle of a bleached-white landscape, a featureless void as far as the eye could see with no indicator of where the floor or the roof began. He'd been here before only once, and he wasn't the first in recent history to do so either. Another few saiyans and a certain namekian had visited this place.
It was the arena of his mind – the marble white stretch of nothingness that was the battleground for the very first Super Saiyan 5 transformation. In remembering this Vegeta turned around and dropped into a combat stance; expecting an attack from any angle, his eyes rushed across the void, until finally he realised that no one else was here.
After a while he began to wish that the same colossal great ape he'd fought before would show its ugly face, for this desolate stretch of land was the coldest, most unforgiving and remotest place he'd ever encountered. Vegeta had always been a lone wolf – he'd spent whole years in the Room of Spirit and Time by himself, but this was different. Back in there he could always see the door, and he had that nifty hourglass to show him exactly how much time he had left.
In here there was nothing, no visible exit and an environment that guaranteed that same feeling of not knowing how much time had passed returned. He paced around for a time trying to think of a way out before his mind skipped to training; he figured he might as well make some use of his stationary position, but it was little use – he couldn't power up and he couldn't even fly.
Every now and again something would catch his attention; he was so desperate to see someone else that his mind began to make things up free of his own volition. A scurrying mouse would turn out to be him absently twitching his boot, and other things would catch his attention for a moment like the sides of his hair, the rips in his outfit or the scar than ran around his right forearm where Chronus had severed it three years ago.
That kind of boredom would have driven a lesser man insane in here, but not Vegeta. He clung to his memories, grasping what he had left: Trunks and Bulma; even the reminder of Kakarot kept him alive, but it still wasn't long before the horrible, torturous reality began to finally sink in.
In here, he was completely alone.
.
Author's Notes: Sooo much cold imagery! I swear I must've spent this last fortnight in a coolbox because my latest chapters have all been about frost and cold. Quite a bit to talk about here I suppose, starting off with the main issue Piccolo. That strange ice/blizzard form he now has is just something I thought of a couple of weeks ago – I figured that since the Super Saiyan form often involves lightning and sometimes fire, then someone like Piccolo could easily use ice, since it kinda goes with his personality.
That fight was pretty short but it went on for three chapters I guess, and I liked the ending. That was actually all made up on the fly – I went into the chapter with just the idea that Piccolo would win with no specific details, but the battle really seemed characterised for him, like how he notices things that other people wouldn't and uses strategy gained from recent experience. Even aside from that, he's one of the most powerful Z-Fighters in AF at the moment. I'd say only Goku and Vegeta could take him in a fight, so he's back in top form, something he never really managed in the last saga.
And speaking of Vegeta! What the hell is going on with him! Honestly I wanted to wait much longer before I gave you any information on his whereabouts, but then I just decided to give you a little snippet here, just as insurance so you know he's alive (Can't take King Vegeta's word for anything can we?).
So three more old villains to go. The next contender is good old Raditz! Who will be his opponent? And will he survive? Or will he meet the same fate as Pan? FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL A- Hang on I just noticed something! All these first three villains have began with the letter B. I mean think about it, there was Broly, Buu, and then Baby. So in light of that I have decided to make the One Star dragon not Alpha, the namekian sea crab OR the Para Para Bros. It's General Blue!
And before you ask, yes, this joke will continue until Goku fights Alpha. And yes, I know it's stupid, just let me have my fun.