Thanks for the continued support! In celebration of Chapter 20 and a new stage of the story, I've got a new cover art courtesy of Kagari! If you're not familiar with her work, check out her Twitter ErrenVanDuine.
"I am handling it, papa."
"Several servant planets revolting doesn't sound like 'handling' it, son."
"It is nothing," Frieza said, his tail waving restlessly while his chair floated back and forth in an isolated room within his flagship. The floor was a canvas of spilled wine, clumps of shattered glass, and cup stems. A beleaguered servant with a round, yellow head stood idly in the back, trembling next to a glass pitcher.
"A few clumps of weaklings were emboldened by the Saiyans' attack, staged their own pitiful uprisings, and my officers are handling it. That's it."
"I don't want to know what your officers are doing about it," King Cold sternly replied over the scouter, "I want to know what you're doing about it."
Frieza bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes swelling with an unbefitting restlessness. He took a few moments to find his words. "Papa, you already see what I'm doing. The worst is already over and the Ginyu Force will be handing Vegeta over any min-"
A dramatic sigh from Cold cut Frieza off. "My child, my dear, precious child. How many times over the years have we had to have this conversation?"
With a resigned impatience, Frieza rubbed the shell encasing his head, regarding the incoming lecture with acrimony.
"After what happened with Kabnet, you had finally become more proactive like Cooler." Frieza closed his eyes. The deep breath he took couldn't stop him from pounding his fist on the edge of his chair. "But in the relative quiet since then, you've slipped back into your old habits. Expecting everything to be done for you. Alas, I can only blame myself for spoiling you so much in your youth!"
"I am not spoiled," Frieza growled. "I am operating the force exactly as you intended. What's the point of accumulating all of these resources if I don't utilize them?"
"A fair point. That being said, the resources aren't to be abused - sound judgment must also be applied. For instance; if you had just killed Gohan on the spot, none of this would have happened."
"If your other son hadn't pulled me away, none of this would have happened!" Frieza snapped. "Besides, that girl is attached to Gohan. She would have stirred up trouble herself."
"So? Just kill her, too."
Frieza buried his chin in his hand.
"See, that's your problem. You want every last useful person you come across to like you and serve you loyally. I mean, people like me, but that's just my natural charm and sense of humor!"
Fuck. Off, Frieza said in his thoughts.
"You try to turn on the charm like I do, but people see through it. It breeds uncertainty that threatens the very loyalty you lean on like a crutch. And that is why you're best off handling serious issues yourself."
"I have no problem keeping my subjects loyal save for the remains of those obstreperous apes that you brought into the fold and aligned with."
"And under me, it was a quite peaceful alliance, wasn't it?"
When Cold laughed at his ensuing silence, Frieza seriously contemplated blasting the window ahead of him to pieces.
"I'll take that as a 'yes.' But since that's over and done with, I expect it to be taken care of before it becomes a serious problem." The charm that Cold wore like a badge of honor faded from his voice, eliciting a brief twitch of the younger tyrant's right eye. "I don't like problems."
"I understand, Papa."
"But of course, son!" Cold replied with his usual mirth. "Ooh, before you go, turn on your video! It's been so long since the Frost Council has seen you!"
With decades' worth of frustration, Frieza groaned as he viewed his scouter's lens, where King Cold maneuvered his own scouter to show his face and a few dozen reptilian aliens of various age, color, and shapes behind him. Several of them waved with wide smiles.
Frieza removed his scouter, clicked a button, and held it up to his exasperated face.
"Oh, don't give me that sourpuss, Frieza; say hi to everybody!"
"Greetings," Frieza replied with a wave and an uncomfortably mechanical smile.
Cold panned his scouter over the various aliens, stopping when he reached a short, ederly man who resembled Frieza. "Say hi to Grandpa Chilled, too!"
"Nobody wants to see that little brat," the old lizard grumbled.
"Likewise," Frieza said through mashed teeth. He hated the sight of that crippled old coot.
"Always so COLD, father! That's my job!" King Cold remarked, to laughter in the background and a cringe from Frieza.
The scouter view switched perspectives, indicating Cold placed his back over his eye. "Well, that'll do. I do hope you heed my advice. Ciao!"
Frieza tightened his grip around the scouter the second his father's transmission ended. Before sparks could fly, another transmission came through.
"Lord Frieza!"
Recognizing the voice and unnerved by the anxiety coating it, Frieza loosened his hand and placed the scouter back over his eye. "Yes, Captain Ginyu?"
"A bit of bad news…"
This time, Frieza bit the inside of his cheek. He could practically hear his father's disparaging laughter in his head. "And just what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"
On the other line, Ginyu gathered himself with a deep breath. "Well, you see, we made it to Planet #86 and everything, and the Saiyans really were there. But, well…"
"Well what?!" Frieza snarled. Droplets of spit flung from his mouth. "Speak, Ginyu."
"They started blowing things up to distract us. Then Nappa and Raditz turned into apes. Now don't get me wrong, we handled those two eventually, but, well...Gohan and Vegeta…"
Every muscle in Frieza's face tightened. No...
"...They escaped, sir."
Frieza spun his chair around to face the loyal attendant with the type of scowl that made him want to be anywhere else in the universe. With a flick of his telekinetic powers, and a clench of his fist, Frieza popped his head like a yellow balloon. His colorful mixture of blood and brains made adequate confetti.
"How?" Frieza asked, stepping out of his chair. His foot stepped on a few chips of glass he'd left, but he didn't even notice.
"Well, sir-"
"HOW?!"
Frieza whipped his tail into the floor hard enough to dent it.
"We could detect Nappa and Raditz, but Gohan and Vegeta's power levels blipped off our scouters as soon as we landed. By the time we'd taken care of Nappa and Raditz, they were gone. I'm pretty sure they both know how to conceal their power levels, and that's how they escaped us."
With a vigorous swing of his foot, Frieza kicked the headless corpse into the door so hard, it fell from its frame. All he wanted to do was have Gohan killed for his disloyalty in a clean, inconspicuous manner. Arepa would stay in line, thinking Gohan had merely met his demise in a battle beyond his capability. The brat would have sulked for a bit and moved on. And the Saiyans wouldn't suspect a thing; if anything, Vegeta would have been vindicated. But no, it had to all turn into a spectacular mess. He'd told his father there was no sense in having resources if he couldn't use them - apparently, his resources were no good.
"Fine, whatever," Frieza said, looking down at that throbbing body and ignoring the frightened stares of passerby workers. "What has been done cannot be undone."
"What should we do next?"
"Nothing. I will figure out another way. Your crew will no longer be needed for this case."
"Understood, Lord Frieza."
After clicking his scouter off, Frieza looked up and pointed at the first worker he laid eyes on. "You."
"Yes, sir?" asked a frazzled long-haired man with pink skin.
"Figure out what pods left Planet Frieza #86 and find out where they're headed."
"Will do!" the worker said before rushing into a control room, fearful of the manic look in his ruler's eyes.
Deciding to take a more forthright approach, Frieza followed him into the room and gave every worker his watchful, wrathful eye. They worked with renewed vigor in his presence while he stewed over the cluster of failures on his plate.
"Lord Frieza, we've got a lead!" shouted the pink worker.
"Where?"
"They're headed for a planet far off in the north sector. Coordinates are 1984AT," he explained.
The north sector? As far as Frieza had remembered, the north sector had been a far-removed quadrant full of nothing but paltry frontier planets; nothing of any great value, really. But then, he did know Gohan came from a weak and peaceful world. Of course - they were running to Gohan's father for help.
"Very well," Frieza said, a voracious smirk on his face. "Reroute the ship-"
Before he could finish his instructions, the ship rocked back and forth. While Frieza just barely kept his balance, several of the workers fell over. He shrugged it off, figuring it for turbulence typical of interstellar flight.
That was, until an explosion went off down the hall.
Frieza sped out of the control room to find the source. He stepped inside a ravaged room and was greeted to a hole on the other side sucking away any and every soldier too weak to resist the vacuum of space. In the distance, he could see bodies - several, dressed in aqua-colored space suits and attached to cords.
With a fierce glare, Frieza effortlessly floated out of the same hole his less fortunate subjects flew from like litter. The attackers greeted him with blasts as soon he showed up, though they were mere toys that he swatted away. As he defended himself, he narrowed his vision onto the attackers. Beneath their helmets, he could make out their faces - humanoids, skin colored in light shades across the blue green spectrum with colorful hairstyles.
Before he could draw any conclusions on the familiar faces, another missile struck the flagship.
Though the ship withstood the blow, it was not without damage. Frieza backed away from the half-dozen space warriors but fired fatal beams through their glass helmets as he did so. A stream of foreign curses left his mouth as he raced back to the control room, where panicked workers ran back and forth.
"We're being assaulted!" Frieza shouted.
"I know, sir!" shouted that pink worker from before. "I just received word that the people of Planet Cytrus are waging assaults on several of our planets, too. They may be the attackers!"
"Planet Cytrus?" Frieza echoed. "That's Zarbon's home planet!" No wonder he recognized those faces. With a swing of his fist, Frieza shrieked loud enough to crack his workers' eardrums. That cunning witch, Kiyomi, must have been behind this.
Frieza looked out the window, but the source of that missile seemingly disappeared from view. Clearly, they were prepared.
"Find the nearest planet and retreat!" Frieza ordered. The workers frantically nodded. While the ship violently changed course, Frieza paced around the room with righteous fury. It pained him to admit it, but his father was right - it was high time he handled these problems himself.
But the Planet Cytrus uprising jumped in front of the Saiyans' escape. The immediate problems needed addressing. Besides, he was pretty sure two particularly powerful soldiers were in charge of the northernmost planets and could tend to the Saiyan problem in a timely fashion. They wouldn't fail, especially with their trump card. He flipped through his scouter for a few moments.
"Avo, Cado? I have a job for you two…"
Rocked by a thunderous crash he'd grown far too accustomed to over the years, Gohan awoke from his slumber. Gauging his internal clock, he estimated the trip had taken a couple of months thanks to the high-speed pods; not for the first time, Gohan wondered how long the original trip must have been. As he yawned, he stretched his limbs as much as his body would allow in the cramped space.
And then the door opened, letting in the bright light of the sun that hovered amongst a blue sky that Gohan recognized like he'd been there just the day before. He stepped outside, and hovered into the high atmosphere, feeling the breeze brush against his face; the same gust that waved the green blades of grass in the valley down below.
This was it: his home, as pristine as he'd remembered.
How was Gohan supposed to feel?
Happy?
Nostalgic?
Hopeful?
Regretful?
Relieved?
He couldn't put a pin in what he felt in the moment. Not helping matters was the field below. It was the spitting image of the valley Raditz had taken him to on that day. Amongst the grass, he could almost see a crying child clad in yellow, helpless in a taller, stronger man's grip.
Disgusted, Gohan curled his lips back. A vast field of his former inadequacy staring him in the face. A truly revolting sight.
"So this is Earth, huh?"
Gohan looked to his left, where Vegeta floated a few yards away.
"At least it looks nice enough," he observed with a snort. "Now, let's see where we can get a lead on those Dragon Balls. Do you know the Namekian who created them?"
Gohan didn't answer, still fixated on the field down below. In his head, the only thing he could hear were the obnoxious sounds of his four-year-old cries for help. He had been nothing but a useless brat unable to harness the power he sat on.
"Gohan."
But he was better now. He had been forced to do horrible things, been dealt immeasurable trauma, and came out of it all a true warrior. A Saiyan. A survivor. Few could push him around, and even those who could would have hell to pay.
"Gohan!"
He whipped his head back to Vegeta, who bemusedly gazed at him. With a sigh, he looked away in discomfort.
"Now's not the time for you to deal with your home sickness," Vegeta said. "We have a job to do."
"I'm fine," Gohan replied with a gruff inflection. Vegeta squinted, observing him greater scrutiny for a few moments before grunting and looking away. Taking his mind off of him, Gohan looked straight ahead and focused his senses, looking for a presence that felt both familiar and strong…
"I've found two big power levels."
...and evidently, Vegeta had been way ahead of him.
"They're both far away. One of them feels like you and Raditz."
Gohan's heart skipped a beat.
"That could only be Kakarot. The other feels strange, but strong. The Namekian, I presume."
Scanning his memories, Gohan struggled to recall the Namekian's name. It was something absurdly non-threatening that he vividly remembered giggling over, at least. Flute? Clarinet? Tony Soprano? Piano? Picasso, maybe? Actually, that one sounded right.
"Let's...split up," Gohan said with trepidation. "I'll go check out the closest one."
His father was the farther one.
"Since when did you call the shots?" Vegeta asked with a smirk.
Gohan looked up, blinking a few times before he found a smirk of his own.
"Since I became the stronger one."
Both of the Saiyans stared at each other for a few moments, competitive fire burning in both of their obsidian eyes. Even under their grave circumstances, their Saiyan nature remained as strong as ever. Their standoff lacked most of the animosity of that day on Frieza's base, however.
Vegeta broke the staring contest with a grunt, taking off into the high skies soon after. Gohan did the same.
A puffy, yellow cloud ripped through the Earth's blue skies at speeds that exceeded even the finest jets. It zipped past every startled bird or dinosaur that came its way in pursuit of a specific place; one that wasn't too far away anymore.
On top of the cloud? A simple man, sporting an orange gi and spiky, black hair that stood out like a palm tree. Most people knew him as Son Goku. As was typical of him, he wore a bright, goofy smile on his face while he rode his tried-and-true Flying Nimbus on route to Capsule Corporation. Sure, he could've flown there easily, but he found the Nimbus far more fun.
The last eight years had been a time of hardship, healing, and even death. But Goku had pushed through it all with his head held high. He was on the way to his oldest friend's house to celebrate another friend's great fortune.
When that big yellow dome came into clear view amongst the clouds, Goku laughed and hopped off the cloud, gleefully letting gravity do its job and briskly guide him down below. He hit the grass hard with his feet, startling many of the folks that had been standing around.
"Goku! Ya made it after all!"
It was Krillin, Goku's bald rival-turned-best-friend, clad in a spiffy black tuxedo and wearing a cologne that assaulted his sensitive nostrils. Behind him were rows of white chairs divided by a trail white flower pedals running down the middle. In front of the chairs, an altar surrounded by white pillars decorated with wreaths.
"Of course, buddy! I wouldn't miss this day for nothin'." Goku beamed. "I'm so happy for you!"
"Aww, it's nothing!" Krillin waved him off, laughing.
"Sure came dressed for the occasion," quipped Oolong and his gravelly voice. He, too, wore a tuxedo. Yamcha, Puar, and Roshi also stood among them, all laughing in similar attire.
"Actually, I'm kinda glad you came dressed like that," Krillin said. In one swift motion, he ripped off the entire suit, pants included, and revealed his own orange & blue Turtle uniform. Naturally, Yamcha did the same.
"That thing was so uncomfortable, anyway," Yamcha said, undoing his ponytail and letting his wild hair run free as well.
"Gettin' married in ya fightin' gear. What the hell did I expect?" Oolong said, guzzling a can of beer. "Hell, I'm surprised Goku here didn't try to invite Piccolo and make it a battle royale."
The circle of longtime friends laughed boisterously, Goku rubbing his spiky hair. "C'mon now, I'm not that crazy!"
"Well, we kinda have to thank Piccolo for this day, anyway," Yamcha said. "If he hadn't killed that kooky Dr. Whatzit, he would've finished turning Lazuli and her brother into literal killing machines."
"You say that like she can't kill everybody here not named Goku, anyway!" Oolong whined as he pointed the same hand holding his beer at Krillin. "I'm tellin' ya, you better not screw this thing up. Hell hath no fury!"
Krillin laughed him off, though his shiny head moistened. "Yeah, I know, I know!"
"And here I thought I would stand out for ignoring the dress code."
All eyes turned to the man wearing boots, jeans, and a tan sweatshirt with green sleeves. His black hair was cropped just above his shoulders while his eyes were the same shade as a crystal.
"'Sup, Lapis!" Yamcha greeted.
Lapis nodded with a polite smile. With his minor enhancements, his Ki had always been hard to keep track of. He smirked and turned towards Krillin. "Don't go pissing off my sister, now."
"Trust me, I won't screw this one up," Krillin assured.
Goku laughed and looked around, scanning the line of people being fielded by security and an usher in front of Capsule Corp's enormous backyard. The majority of guests were folks from the bride's rowdy family and miscreant friends. Many of them wore tattoos from head to toe with bizarre piercings patterning their ears and faces.
Heavily acquanting themselves at the punch table were two old female friends with different shades of long and decorated blue hair, but identical purple dresses. Goku hopped over, startling them both.
"Bulma, Launch! What's up?"
While Bulma scowled after spilling the wine from her glass onto her frilled, purple dress, Launch smiled. "Heya, Goku!"
Bulma wasn't as friendly. "Wearing your gi, really?" Her speech was slightly slurred.
"You okay, Bulma?" Goku asked, eyeing his old friend with concern.
Forcing a smile, Bulma shrugged him off. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm only three years from 40 with no shot at getting married any time soon. But what is time but an indefinite countdown to our inevitable, lonely deaths, right?"
"Um, right," Goku replied with a puzzled brow.
"She's been at it all afternoon," Launch said, keeping her voice low.
"I haven't been at anything," Bulma cut in, though her face was flush red. "And anyway, where's Chi-Chi? She was looking forward to this."
Goku shrugged. "Goten's got a fever. She didn't wanna leave his side, but she told me to go out and have fun."
"Aww, I hope the little guy's okay," Bulma said with a concerned smile.
"Nah, it's nothin'. He's a toughie!"
"Well, he should be, considering he's practically your clone," Bulma replied.
Goten - Goku's two-year-old, second son. After trying and failing for over a year to find Gohan in space, Goku had turned to the Dragon Balls as a last resort. When Shenron delivered the harsh news that Gohan couldn't be found anywhere in the universe, or even be wished back to life, Goku's spirit had shattered. He'd deemed himself a failure who couldn't protect his son, forced to accept the fact that he would most likely never see him again...whether he was alive or not.
But eventually, he picked up the pieces and had reached a stage of power that assured him he could handle any threat to his family. Eventually, he became comfortable with the idea of bringing another child into the world;. Though he could never truly fill the void his first son had left, he delivered joy to Goku and Chi-Chi in his own way.
It took a while, but Goku and Chi-Chi had learned how to live their lives again. Or second life, in Goku's case.
Goku looked back at Krillin, hoping nothing would disrupt his incoming happiness, either.
After everyone got in their seats, the ceremony commenced. Goku took a seat in the back, while Master Roshi stood in front of the altar. Puar and a short, blonde child stood (or floated, in Puar's case) across from him.
"Dammit, Goku, get over here!" Yamcha, the best man, yelled from the side of the altar. Lapis stood behind him. "You're one of the groomsmen, too!"
"Is he really a groomsman if he doesn't show up for a single rehearsal?" Master Roshi asked while the guests laughed.
Slapping himself for not remembering, Goku jumped up and joined Yamcha and Lapis. They marched to the altar to join Master Roshi, and Krillin soon followed. Goku laughed as his diminutive friend stood there with shudders. Goku himself hadn't had a real wedding; he just told Chi-Chi they oughta get married at the tournament, and that was that. But he doubted he would have ever been the jittering mess Krillin was; hell, he didn't even fully understand what the dang thing was back then.
Bulma, Launch, and a red-haired woman with tattoos all over her arms walked down the aisle and joined the men at the altar, taking the opposite side. With a mischievous smirk, Bulma removed the flower from the strap of her dress and waved it beneath Launch's nostrils.
She sneezed. Her hair flickered to blonde and her eyes heated up into a glare. Seemingly defying physics, the new blonde Launch pulled a machine gun from her dress, raised it in the air, and let off a few rounds of bullets to the alarm, and humor, of the guests.
"Awright, who wants to see my girl get married?!" Launch yelled. After a roar of cheers, she pointed her gun to the seats. Those cheers became murmurs. "And who has the most expensive jewelry?!"
When Krillin and Yamcha scowled at Bulma, she just shrugged. "What? Lazuli prefers this version of her."
After Bulma shooed Lanch's guns away, her blonde, unaging mother played the keys for "Here Comes the Bride" on an organ. Krillin anxiously bit down on his bottom lip, his face growing redder and redder as his bride made her way down the aisle with her father, a modestly-dressed man with short black hair namd Onyx. With her blonde hair cut like her brother's, and similarly enrapturing blue eyes, she was stunning in her white dress. She smiled nervously as her father let her go.
As Lazuli stood across from Krillin, Roshi cleared his throat.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this monk and this pseudo-cyborg in holy matrimony." Everyone, Lazuli and Krillin included, laughed at Roshi's spiel. "Now, Krillin, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live in Kame House in holy matrimony; to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and health, forsaking all others, and drilling a peephole in your bedroom, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I...hey, wait a minute!"
Roshi and the guests chuckled uproariously, though Lazuli looked about five seconds away from murdering the old lecher in cold blood.
"Do you vow to do everything but the last part?"
Krillin looked Lazuli in her eyes, the most assured expression of his life on his face.
"I do."
"And Lazuli, do you vow to...uh, all that stuff?"
Lazuli rolled her eyes at Roshi, and then looked back at Krillin.
"I…"
Goku yelled, startling everyone. A second later, all those in the ceremony who could sense Ki felt it as well, including Krillin. The same eyes that were glued to his bride-to-be had darted to the sky. Lazuli glared at him, but more out of frustration with the circumstances; she knew something was happening.
"Do you guys feel that?!" Goku asked, his fingers trembling as he stared solemnly into the clouds. "I...I've never felt a power this strong!"
"Is it Piccolo again?" Lapis asked.
Goku shook his head; there was something about the Ki signature that unnerved all of his senses. His heart thumped at a drummer boy's pace. "No, it's not him. I don't like how this feels at all."
With narrowed eyes, Goku could make out a figure rapidly approaching. A seventh sense told him that whatever it was, he was its target.
The figure finally stopped just a few feet away from the ceremony, hovering above the befuddled spectators with his arms folded. The mysterious warrior's appearance made Goku's eyes disproportionately bubble up. The armor - it was white & gold instead of black & brown, but he would never forget that design for as long as he lived. His hair, the darkest shade of brown, stood up like a flame; his eyes were somehow even more molten.
Krillin had nearly fallen over while his more powerful wife urgently stepped marched ahead. Her brother did the same. Yamcha darted over to Bulma and the girls to shield them from the clear threat.
For the second time in Goku's life, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Every single aspect of the man above reminded him too much of Raditz. The only thing missing was a tail.
"Greetings, Kakarot."
All eyes fell on Goku, who could only watch the warrior with his jaw agape. "K-Kakarot…?!"
"Raditz wasn't lying when he said you looked like your father," he said, almost admirably. When Goku buckled away, he laughed. "Oh, where are my manners? I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans."
Saiyan.
Roshi, Krillin, and Bulma all shuddered at the word, remembering that day vividly. But their reactions paled in comparison to Goku's, whose outrage overpowered his shock.
"What the hell are you doin' here for, huh?" Goku asked. Behind him, his friends all exchanged unnerved looks amongst each other; never had they heard such disdain in Goku's voice before, not even towards Piccolo.
Vegeta just laughed, dismissing him just like Raditz had eight year prior. "That's no way to greet your prince."
"Enough!" Goku screamed, his voice nearly cracking. "Why are you here, and what happened to my son?!"
Seemingly recognizing Goku's righteous fury, Vegeta frowned. "I didn't come here for a fight, if that's what you think." He menacingly lowered his arms, and curled them back. "But if you've got a problem with me, I can certainly solve it for you."
Though Goku matched Vegeta's intensity, he stopped to observe his friends and the guests. Only the twins had been composed, and even that was slight; for everyone else, fear plagued their expressions. Even the hotheaded blond version of Launch trembled under the Saiyan's storm cloud.
Knowing his rage would do nothing but put all of them in danger, Goku shifted his attention back to Vegeta. "Let's do this somewhere else."
"By all means. Be a good usher and lead the way."
Though he could have certainly done without the comment, Goku was relieved that the barbarian at least leveled with him on that front. He blasted off into the sky and Vegeta followed. Whatever was going to happen, Goku knew it would end with somebody shedding blood.
As the rocks crumbled away into dust, a green being with antennae like a slug, dressed in a purple martial arts uniform, grinned with satisfaction over the destruction his blast had wrought. That man? Piccolo, the last bastion of the Demon Clan.
After agonizing for the past three years to figure out Son Goku's bizarre, mystical techniques, Piccolo had finally turned the corner. It was only a matter of time until he legitimately defeated him at full strength.
He had little time to appreciate his progress, however. Just as he picked up his white & purple turban, a Ki signature from miles away struck his mind with the force of a lightning bolt. Every inch of his skin down to the pink patches on his arms sprouted goosebumps as he looked up at the dot drawing closer into his vision.
It was weird - the Ki approaching felt like Goku, but it wasn't. It didn't quite feel evil, but it possessed a darkness absent from his lifelong enemy.
He swallowed heavily when the source of the Ki finally dropped down from the sky. It was just a boy, yet he wielded the strongest Ki Piccolo had ever felt in his life. The Ki wasn't the only thing that stood out, either; his hair resembled both that Saiyan from eight years ago, and Goku's. Same type of armor, too, though he wore the same shade of purple as his own uniform. Even his face felt familiar.
"Who the hell are you?" Piccolo demanded when the boy landed. He stared him down through his vacuous eyes, one of which possessed a scar.
The boy tilted his head to the side, as if he were studying Piccolo. "You're Picasso, aren't you?"
"Picasso?" Piccolo scoffed, humored by the misnomer. "It's Piccolo, brat. And how do you know about me? Did that other Saiyan tell you?"
When the boy smirked, he almost looked like Goku with paler skin.
"No. Back in the day, I heard a lot of stories about you from my father."
Piccolo's throat ran dry. "Wait a minute…"
The face, the hair, even those strangely shaped eyes. Of course!
"You're Son Goku's son, aren't you?!"
The half-Saiyan nodded.
But how? He knew he'd been kidnapped by Goku's brother, and that he briefly joined forces with Goku to help get him back. But by the time they arrived at wherever the Dragon Ball on his hat was located, he was gone. He still remembered that day vividly…
"He's down there!" Goku shouted from atop his flying Nimbus as it spiraled down to grass.
Though Piccolo nodded and followed him down, he felt a strange suspicion. Something wasn't right about this. He could sense neither that Saiyan's outrageous Ki, nor Goku's son's. But the Dragon Radar at least indicated that the ball atop the boy's hat was still around.
Piccolo grunted when he stepped onto the grass. Just as he suspected, nobody was there besides a few animals.
Goku hectically ran back and forth in search of any sign. "Gohan, daddy's here! Where are you?"
Piccolo looked around as well, though not out of concern for Gohan; he was eager to make that Saiyan pay for his taunts. Nobody looked down on him like that and lived. But he couldn't sense his Ki anywhere; not in the vicinity, and not in the distance, either.
The wind blew two peculiar things into Piccolo's face - a red hat, and a Dragon Ball with four stars on it. In other words, pieces of Gohan's outfit.
Piccolo picked the hat up from the ground. "This is your boy's hat, isn't it?"
Goku met him with speed Piccolo didn't even know he was capable of. His eyes glued themselves to the red hat. "Y-Yeah, it is…"
"But I don't sense him or Raditz anywhere." Piccolo scanned the area once more until he found a large crater off in the distance - the Saiyan's landing spot, perhaps? After dropping the hat, he flew a few feet in the air to get a closer look. Whatever hit the ground, it left an enormous crater that was still charring with smoke.
But there was nothing in the middle. Not a crater, not a ship, not anything.
Piccolo flew back down to the grass, his features indifferent as he came to the most logical conclusion. "Goku…I think the Saiyan might have taken your son and high-tailed it off the planet."
Goku finally turned himself away from the hat and the Dragon Balls to blankly stare at Piccolo. His eyes were as vacant as a corpse's. Though he stood still and arrived on a cloud, his chest heaved in and out like he'd blown all of his energy on flight. As grief overtook his features, his body shuddered.
While his son had swiftly and suddenly gone away, reality was slowly and painfully closing in on Goku.
The typically headstrong fighter collapsed onto his knees and tore at the fabric of his orange pants. A scream that hardly sounded human left his mouth as slammed his fists into the grass. With every second, his body convulsed. When Piccolo leaned in closer, he could even see tears welling up in his eyes.
He had to look away. Never had he seen Goku look so defeated. There was no getting around it; his son was gone and there was no telling when, or even if, he would ever return. Of course, the brat meant nothing to Piccolo, but the sight of Goku's grief actually unnerved him.
At the same time, though? Opportunity knocked. His fingers twitched once it dawned on him how vulnerable Goku was. Though the attack he had been working on for the last few years was still far from mastered, it would have been a cinch to unleash it on Goku in his anguished state. All he had to do was charge the attack and fire, and the son of a bitch would be out of his antennae forever. The world would be his for the taking.
And yet, the proud Demon Clansmen irritably shook his head.
Not now.
That fight at the World Martial Arts Tournament five years prior still burned Piccolo's pride. His goal, above all else, was to prove he could best Goku in battle at his very best. It didn't take a genius to tell that he was in no shape to fight at the moment. Killing him now? Too easy.
Instead, he grinned malignantly at his sworn enemy.
"So pitiful, Son Goku! Can't even protect your own flesh & blood, huh?" Goku didn't even react. He just stared bleakly at the ground. Not that it could deter Piccolo's verbal lambasting, of course. "But don't worry, I won't kill you - yet. You're so pathetic right now I can hardly look at you, much less lay hands on you."
Piccolo unleashed his Ki and turned around. He offered Goku one last glance over his shoulder.
"In due time…"
"So you're him...Son Gohan."
Piccolo had gotten a look at the kid back when he eavesdropped on Goku and Raditz's confrontation on Roshi's island. Aside from his height and the scar above his left eye, he looked more or less the same as he did back then - but carried an edge in his expression that rivaled his own. Clearly, the Saiyans had successfully taken him in. The irony made him snicker.
Gohan took on an uncomfortable frown, which Piccolo found peculiar. Of course, that didn't matter; if he was aligned with the Saiyans, then he'd obviously arrived for trouble.
"Out with it. What the hell have you crawled back here for? Trying to join forces with your father?"
"Nonsense," Gohan answered, returning Piccolo's hostility with a scowl of his own. "I'm here for the Dragon Balls."
Intrigued, Piccolo leaned back. "Dragon Balls? What for?"
"That's not important. I need them, and I have a feeling you know more about them than anybody else. I'm not here to fight - unless you have other ideas."
Piccolo dismissed him with a smirk. "Sorry; I have no clue where those blasted things are. So how about you get out of my face before I get angry?"
His fingers curling up into tight fists, a cold intensity foreign to his father's family overtook Gohan's features. "Is that a threat?"
Piccolo let his turban fall to the ground. "I prefer to call it a warning. Your fool of a father once felt what it was like to die by my hand - and if you piss me off enough, I'll extend that same courtesy to you."
The stoic half-Saiyan's dumbstruck reaction gave Piccolo his best laugh in months. "Surprised? You may have heard about me in stories, but you have no idea who I am." His devilish smirk spread wide across his lips. "But then, I don't expect some mindless, lobotomized slave to know much of anything."
That struck a nerve, because all of the shock that illuminated Gohan's face flickered to pitch black. The razor-sharp spike in his Ki made Piccolo clam up. Power the likes of which he hadn't even felt from Goku assaulted all of his senses, leaving him too flustered to properly assume a battle stance. As he watched rocks levitate around Gohan's feet, Piccolo started to understand why Raditz hauled him to space instead of risk a fight.
And an even greater comprehension arrived less than a second later in the form of a kick delivered to the center of his gut.
With no opportunity to brace himself, Piccolo sailed into one of the few cliffs he hadn't already destroyed - and toppled it with his own body. The pile of rocks that crumbled onto him might as well have been plush compared to the pain that single kick rained down onto his entire body. When he finally swatted away the clutter and cut his vision through all of the dust, Gohan was hovering above him.
The corrosive, loathsome glare on his face made even the offspring of the Demon King himself wonder who was the real devil among the two.
"That was your first and last warning," Gohan said with a sinister calm. "If you won't help me, then I'll figure it out myself. Stay out of my way."
Gohan flew away. A few moments later, Piccolo collapsed; even standing up had taken every ounce of effort after that kick. Never in either his predecessor's or his reincarnated lifetime had he been hit so hard. He dug his claws into the gravel, consumed with resentment.
Yet another defeat at the hands of Goku's family. Same shit, different Saiyan.
As Vegeta flew, he could see Goku's head subtly tilt towards him almost every 5 seconds or so. Without a doubt, he was wrestling with a chaotic mix of emotions and struggling to keep his grip. Though Vegeta certainly understood why he'd be so angry in his presence, he still found it funny. The loss of his son was his own damn fault for being weak. The true Saiyan warriors raised Gohan the proper way - it was a matter Goku's poisoned mind could never grasp.
Then again, Vegeta may have had to retract his "weak" assessment. He felt a formidable Ki from Goku; though he had no numerical reference, it utterly dwarfed the miserable 334 reading Raditz had gotten from him.
But it had only been eight years since that day – how in the hell could he, a low-class fighter, have gotten that much stronger on a backwater planet? And if Gohan had used him as a reference for controlling his power, then Vegeta suspected he was hiding far more under wraps.
Goku finally stopped at a chilly area far removed from where they'd met. Mountains and cliffs filled the outer reaches of the barren, stone terrain. They landed on low ground, where the surface wasn't as cluttered. A good few feet of space stood between the two Saiyans.
Wind as heavy as the tension whirred through the air as Goku and Vegeta stared each other down. Raditz's younger brother stood firm even in the face of Vegeta's cold stare. The prince smirked; had he not been born from low-class stock, Goku might have made a respectable warrior. But regardless of his powerful son, or admittedly improved strength, Vegeta had no reason to see him for anything other than what he was - a commoner.
At the same time, though? Vegeta's subconscious assaulted him again for spending all of those years settling for Frieza's way. Goku's exponential improvement just staying on Earth slapped him across the face.
"Are we just gonna stare at each other all day?" Goku snapped, breaking the silence. "What're you here for? Better yet, what happened to my son? I've been on the other side and I know he's not dead."
The last time Vegeta saw a look like Goku's glare, it was when Gohan reacted to his cruel commentary of his mother; or, Goku's mate, he realized.
The surrealness of his circumstances made Vegeta shake his head. Nevertheless, he remained steadfast. "Your son is of no concern. I'm here for another purpose."
"Such as?" Seemingly on instinct, Goku walked on a circular path and sized Vegeta up with his eyes.
Vegeta raised an eyebrow; Raditz had certainly called the lack of accomodation. "Itching for a fight, are we?"
"You got a lotta nerve showin' your face here after what your people did to Gohan," Goku seethed.
"OUR people," Vegeta indignantly corrected, "Would vomit at the traitor you've turned out to be, Kakarot."
"Don't you ever call me by that name! I'm Son Goku, not Kakarot." Venom dripped from every last syllable of Goku's words. "I said it to my brother and I'll say the same thing to you: I am no Saiyan. I'm not a rotten bastard that would take another man's son away from him."
"You dare spit on your heritage, third class?" Vegeta asked, his veins swelling with disgust.
"What do you think?"
Vegeta humorlessly chuckled. "I see now, Kakarot. A stupid part of me actually hoped you would be there to witness me avenge our fallen race. Clearly, that won't be happening. Every breath a turncoat like you takes is an assault to my honor as your prince."
Reining in his temper, Vegeta froze and folded his arms. "But I'll finish you only after I've beaten the information I need out of you."
"Information? What are you talking about?"
Vegeta pointed his finger in Goku's face. "The Dragon Balls. How can I find them?"
Alarmed, Goku stepped back. "Dragon Balls?"
Vegeta smashed his boot into the gravel. "Did I stutter? Tell me how to find them!"
"Hold on - how do you know about the Dragon Balls?" Goku lightly gasped and lifted his head up at the sky, but quickly returned his focus to Vegeta. "Who could have possibly told you about that?"
"Me."
