Last Time on…
Dragon Ball: Reborn
In the afterlife, Goku and Kami traveled to Earth's check-in station. As they met with the ogre chieftain, Yemma, Kami pleaded with the judge of the dead to allow a postponement of Goku's fate, as well as to grant him passage on Snake Way. Taken with Goku's endearing simple-mindedness and acts of heroism, Yemma gave his blessing. With equal parts trepidation and determination in his heart, Goku set off on his journey to find King Kai.
Meanwhile, Piccolo attempted to coach Gohan in harnessing his energy. Progress was slow, as the boy's budding academic mind found difficulty comprehending a mystical force flowing through all. Discouraged, the would-be warrior tried to forge a bond with Piccolo so he might better learn from them. Though resistant, the reluctant teacher gave in to conversing with their pupil, granting them a better understanding of one another. The next morning, Piccolo awoke to Gohan having made a breakthrough. The child was floating in the air, at last able to exert a degree of control over the power inside him.
Off in West City, Yamcha lamented his injuries from challenging Raditz. He went so far as to tell Krillin he may have to abstain from the coming battle. As if on cue, the Dragon Team's old friend Yajirobe appeared bearing Senzu Beans. He also extended to the pair a special invite from Kami. With the Saiyans steadfastly approaching, Earth's Guardian implored all those willing to fight to join Them at Their temple for further training…
Season 1, Episode 6 —
"The Long Hard Road"
"Guys, we've got a problem," Bulma said as she stared into her lap.
In one hand, she held the Dragon Radar, in the other, her Capsule Copter's cyclic. She thumbed the radar's fluorescent green touchscreen and double-tapped to zoom into a glowing blip on the GPS. The device indicated the orb was right below them.
"Great. Is it in the water?" Chi-Chi asked with exasperation from the passenger seat. She finished zipping up her thick snow jacket and pulled on her mittens before craning her neck to see out the windshield.
These days, Chi-Chi spent most of her weeks at Capsule Corp., only returning to Mt. Paozu on the weekends to see Gohan. While confident they would succeed in wishing Goku back to life soon, Bulma insisted the still-grieving wife and mother stay with her. It was a kind offer, and one Chi-Chi happily accepted. It certainly beat being home all alone. It also afforded her the opportunity to be front and center to go out whenever a Dragon Ball was located. She was sure Goku would be proud of her, were he alive to witness her newfound taste for danger. Going on adventures like the old days was also a welcome distraction from worrying whether her son was all right.
Inside the copter with the ladies were Oolong, Puar, and Ox—Chi-Chi's father, the former baron of Fire Mountain. The man was, for all intents and purposes, a giant. It was a miracle he fit in the larger Capsule Copter Bulma brought along for the occasion. Aside from his immense height and bulk, he had a well-manicured black beard, rectangular glasses, and a hat with a set of small white horns on it, reflective of his moniker.
"What's the problem, Bulma?" Ox bellowed. Though often jovial, he was a man quite oblivious to how his own strength and timbre affected others. His speech rattled the cabin. He took up most of the cargo hold, squishing the group's talking animals into a far corner. Moreover, it was completely unnecessary to bring him. He was clumsy, excitable, and—despite being an accomplished martial artist who trained with the likes of Goku's grandfather and Master Roshi—hadn't fought anyone in years. Nevertheless, he insisted on coming. He did want to protect Chi-Chi but also needed to fulfill his sense of duty to his son-in-law.
It was undeniable his heart was in the right place.
Ox thought the world of Chi-Chi's husband. Like many of Goku's loved ones, he and Ox started off as fierce enemies. Well, fierce as enemies could be in such simpler days when the fate of humanity wasn't at stake. Ox owned a Dragon Ball then, which put him in the roving band's crosshairs. That was when being the ruler of Fire Mountain meant something. He owned a castle, held dominion over a vast chunk of land, wielded influence. None of it mattered once the Red Ribbon Army made its bid for global domination, and later Lord Piccolo. Borders between nations dissolved, former ruling dynasties and monarchs crumbled beneath the weight of cataclysmic threats. In the last decade, a paradigm shift took place, spearheaded by Capsule Corporation technology unifying the people of Earth. Ancient grudges fell by the wayside. New governments arose. Clinging to stone ramparts on an old hill felt archaic by comparison. Best to evolve with the times.
Ox couldn't argue the new era the Dragon Team helped usher in was a better one. This was why Ox wanted to be first in line to give his son-in-law aid, regardless of familial ties. He wanted him brought back as much as anyone did. In his mind, the world was, simply put, a better place with Goku in it.
"The Dragon Ball's not underwater. It's got a few protectors, though," Bulma sighed.
She angled the copter without descending. A few hundred feet beneath them was a family of polar bears, three strong. There was a cub and two gargantuan beasts, obviously the parents. For the moment, they all slept peacefully. Nestled between them atop the huge pile of white fur was the three-star ball. The infinitesimal glimmer of sunlight visible through the thick, dark clouds shone off its surface, making it appear to glow.
"That ain't good," Oolong grumbled as he squeezed past Ox's shoulder to peer out the closest window.
"What do we do now?" Puar squeaked. His tail undulated with concern.
"We press on," Bulma said as she raised her voice. It silenced everyone in the cabin.
"Guessing you've got a plan, then?" Chi-Chi prodded.
Bulma scrunched her eyebrows and blew out a mouthful of air.
"We don't have a ton of options. I'll keep this baby circling a tight perimeter. Chi'ch, you'll go out, try to sneak over and grab the ball. If they wake up, Puar and Oolong will change into something to cause a distraction while you get away."
"Why do I always gotta be bait?" Oolong snorted with indignance. Bulma ignored him.
"If things get dicey, think you can fight off a couple polar bears long enough for them to get to the copter, Ox?"
Ox nodded without hesitation. He cracked his massive knuckles, which sounded like regular-sized human bones breaking in their own right. Puar failed miserably in masking his disgust.
"All right. This is the second-to-last ball we need. Let's hop to it, everyone!" Bulma affirmed. The group continued fastening their winter clothes and prepared to exit the vehicle.
The copter's side door slid open as it banked closer to the ground. Chi-Chi parachuted out and landed in a heap of powdery snow. Soon as she got up and gathered her bearings, the parachute regressed into Oolong. His usually pink face was now beet-red from the frigid cold.
"Cripes, this is the worst! I'll take Kame House with the old fart over this any day," the long-eared pig complained. Puar floated betwixt them as the copter ascended and resumed flying around the glacier.
The Tsumisumbri mountain range was known for its subzero temperatures—a clear death sentence to most who dared venture there. Even researchers and climatologists pretty much wrote off the area. It was a virtual no man's land, hence why nature held dominion over it. They would need to do their work quickly; no number of layers or thermal clothing would save them if exposed to the elements for too long.
Chi-Chi didn't say a word. Any annoyance or nervousness previously on her face was replaced with a steely disposition. She trudged through the icy slush straight at the family of bears.
"Chi-Chi, don't you wanna think this through a little?" Puar worried as he rubbed his paws together for warmth. When the woman didn't answer him, he resigned himself to following in her stead. Oolong yanked on the drawstrings of his wool hood and scampered after them.
From thirty feet away, they could hear the bears' snores over the wind. It was a deep, booming tone which made Ox's vocalizations seem timid. The frost lining their fur glinted in the light reflecting off the Dragon Ball like a million frozen quills.
You've got this. You've fought in martial arts tournaments. You're a strong-willed mother. You're the baroness of Fire Mountain. The wife of Goku Son. This is a cake walk, Chi-Chi thought, psyching herself up as she inched on. She was methodical, careful in her step. One false move could spell disaster for them all.
She was mere feet away now. She could just about reach the ball. She dug one knee into the snow and bent forward. She sucked in the gut she didn't have as she contorted herself to avoid toppling over the admittedly adorable cub.
The gruff breathing became a chorus surrounding her, not unlike when Goku was snoring up a storm and Gohan joined them in bed, adding to the symphony. Warm, palpable puffs of steam flowed across her face. They reeked of dead fish. She wanted to gag but held it together.
Almost there…
A few more inches were all she needed. She outstretched her arm, pushed it farther. She cursed herself for not having Puar or Oolong change into some sort of grabber to extend her grip with. She strained, causing the tip of her gloved hand to touch the shimmering ball.
Oolong sneezed. It was a cacophonous noise. It echoed for miles, carrying with it a requisite expulsion of snot, phlegm, and spittle. It all splashed against the mound of white in front of them, a smattering of nasal fluids all over the face of the poor baby bear. It stirred, made a pitiful noise while it convulsed, then opened its pure black eyes.
Everyone was still. Chi-Chi rotated her head to glare at the pig. He was wide-eyed, nose dripping, shivering in place.
"S-sorry," he croaked.
Chi-Chi turned to see the little one scampering up one of its parents. It snatched the Dragon Ball off in its mouth, which caused the mother and father to awaken. One at a time, they each rolled off their sides and shook the ice crystals from their fur. A miniature hailstorm bombarded the hapless intruders.
The bears blinked slow until they seemed to come online, finally registering the presence of outsiders. No one moved, save for the baby. It made a pathetic mewling sort of sound. It came out muffled, having to pass through a Dragon Ball to be heard.
Chi-Chi and her cohorts fake-smiled and did a slow wave in unison, shaking with abject terror.
The papa bear got up on his hind legs and roared. Chi-Chi couldn't remember ever hearing something louder. The blast of hot air was like standing behind a jet preparing for takeoff. The smell of chum became much more intense and nauseating. She couldn't help letting out a scream.
The bear took a swipe, though it was blocked by, of all things, a telephone pole. It hung at an angle, having fallen into the bear's path. Chi-Chi stepped away, then noticed the cartoonish pair of eyes and mouth on the structure.
"RUN!" Oolong shouted as the mama bear emitted a similar roar. She didn't need to be told twice.
Chi-Chi took off in the direction they came, then realized Puar was missing. She skidded to halt and scanned the area until she noticed a field mouse which seemed very out of place. It skittered across the snow, weaved past Oolong's pole-shaped form and underneath the legs of the bear parents. It dashed to the cub, poofed back into Puar and made a grab for the ball. He managed to get his paws around it and fought the baby in a game of tug of war.
"Puar, are you nuts!?" Oolong yelled as the papa bear continued to swipe at the pole. It landed numerous glancing blows. Thankfully, its claws weren't out yet, so the pig might walk away with naught but bruises.
The mother realized what was going on and turned her attention to her child, who was wrestling with the flying cat. She performed a headbutt and succeeded in dislodging the two. The ball flew high in the sky from the impact.
Everything happened in slow motion. Everyone present had long enough to admire the orange relic as it twisted in the firmament, briefly silhouetted by Bulma's copter soaring overhead.
The ball landed in the snow several yards away. Chi-Chi made a break for it, flanking the entanglement of animals. The baby took off in response, keen to reclaim its shiny toy. Chi-Chi was faster, but the cub was closer. It reached the bauble first and snatched it up in its mouth once more.
Chi-Chi dove and grabbed at the ball. She managed to get her hands around the protruding bit, as it was too large to fit completely in the cub's jowls. She poured all her strength into wrenching the object free from the little one's muzzle. Once she was nearly there, she realized both parents were hurtling towards her.
An enormous shadow landed between them with a thud. She could hear ice split under her. The parents planted their front paws in the snow to halt their forward momentum. They both snarled from the pits of their throats at their new aggressor.
Chi-Chi backpedaled. Once she was far enough away to distinguish objects from each other, she saw the shadow was her father. Ox proceeded to grab half his winter coat in each hairy fist and tear the garment off in one fluid motion. He gave off a cry similar in tone to the bears themselves, then charged them.
It was rare to see Ox take on an opponent similar to him in size, let alone two. It was kind of awe-inspiring. It was as if the years of being a docile grandfather hadn't dulled his edge one bit. He traded blows with the bears, his movements far more graceful and fluid than anyone would have pegged him capable of.
Chi-Chi darted her eyes. She lost the cub. She jumped to her feet and twisted every which way. At last, she spotted the babe as it ran east.
It was heading for the edge of the glacier.
"Oh no," Chi-Chi muttered.
She sprinted after it as best as she could in the boundless field of frost. She never would've guessed making her way through snow could be so tiring. She heard the whirr of the Capsule Copter's rotor as the flying machine followed. A spotlight blinked on to help guide her.
"Incoming!" Oolong yelled as he flew past her in the form of an eagle.
"Get it, Oolong!" Chi-Chi hollered as she collapsed in the snow, exhausted.
Oolong flapped harder and faster. He skimmed the air a few inches above the ground and moved his wings in concentric circles to increase his speed. He was closing in on the frightened imp.
Ox cried out in pain as the mama bear chomped on his shoulder. The papa bear reared and unsheathed its claws. He slashed downward, taking three vertical chunks out of the flesh of Ox's furry chest. Ox flexed his shoulder and spun out of the mother's bite. He sucker-punched her in the chest, then dogpiled onto the father. He drove a fist into the papa bear's stomach, leaped away and elbow dropped the mama. Once the dad started to get up, Ox met him head-on, took an armful of bear, and suplexed the beast.
Oolong caught up with the cub. He reverted to his pig form and put his gathered momentum into a tackle. The two animals rolled along the snow, which was gradually smoothing into a sheet of ice. He grabbed the ball, still nestled in the cub's mouth. They slid, fighting for it as if their lives depended on it.
"Oolong, look out!" Chi-Chi screamed through cupped hands from very far away.
The pig was holding the ball in one hand, desperate to find purchase on the ice with the other. They slid faster and faster until he realized they were dangerously close to plummeting off the side of the glacier. Thinking quickly, he let go of the ball and pressed both hands to the permafrost. He concentrated and morphed them into hooks. He raised himself, let out a shout, then dug deep into the ice. His inertia began to dissipate, yet the bear was still careening to its doom.
"Ah, crap!" the pig lamented. He lifted his hooks out of the ice and used them like ski poles to push himself on course with the baby. The speed at which they moved became dizzying.
He had precious seconds to get this right. If he didn't, he'd lose the ball, be at least partly responsible for killing an innocent creature, and likely be fed wholesale to its parents.
"OOLONG!" Chi-Chi shrieked.
The cub made its mewling noise again. Off in the distance, its parents were kept at bay by Ox, who was wielding a humongous bow staff, in actuality Puar. Once they heard their child's cries, they panicked, blew right past their opponent, and sped to the ice sheet's end.
At the last second, as the baby plunged off the glacier, Oolong dug his hooks in again. He came to a stop and swung his legs over the edge. His hooves plumped and grew enough to shred their way out of his pants, leaving nothing except his prized pair of frilly white panties. Free of the constrictive garment, he grit his teeth and willed his legs to elongate and intertwine with each other in an ever-lengthening, ever-tightening helix. Once long enough, his hooves ceased wrapping around each other and formed a wide, connected oval.
The makeshift lasso looped the cub's midsection and tightened, catching it. Luckily, it didn't drop the ball when snagged.
"Phew," Oolong huffed as he struggled to keep hanging on. The bear kicked and fussed in his grasp for all of a minute before resigning itself to its predicament. Oolong looked down and was about to tell the thing to quit it, then stopped. His mouth hung open in a mix of wonder, puzzlement, and horror.
Hundreds of feet below them, he expected to see the ocean, or at the very least rocks. What he saw instead was a monolithic black structure. He could tell it was big but had no earthly idea how big. Jets of steam plumed across its ridged surfaced as shavings of ice sloughed off the glacier on either side. The shape of it reminded him of a scarab. It even possessed twin bulbous shapes anyone might've mistaken for eyes. If pressed, he would've ventured a guess this thing was unearthed rather recently.
The most troubling aspect of the object wasn't that it was there. No—the most disturbing feature of the mysterious edifice was the symbol emblazoned on its roof. Two red triangles meeting at their points with a white letter R stenciled inside each.
Oolong remembered the emblem very well. He gulped as he stared at it.
"Uh, guys? Lil' help over here?" Oolong called out, returning his attention to the matter at hand.
Since Chi-Chi was nearer, she was the first to arrive. She made sure to traverse the ice carefully, so as not to slip. She grabbed Oolong's wrists and pulled with all her might. As she did, he shortened his leg lasso and drew the baby up to him.
The mama and papa bears got there next yet weren't aggressive. They trotted with claws extended so they wouldn't lose their footing on the ice and peered over the side, frantically seeking their child. They gave off the closest approximation to a sigh of relief non-sentient animals could make when they saw their cub reach the top.
The mother knelt her head and picked her baby up in her jaws by the midsection. As she did, Oolong's legs fully uncoiled and returned to him, resuming their natural state. Chi-Chi dragged him from the ice onto the snow.
Ox limped over to the group, using Puar as a walking stick. He was tired and out of breath. Despite his injuries, he had a grin of excitement plastered on his face.
"Nice save there, buddy," Ox chortled as he clapped the pig on the shoulder. He nearly crushed him in the process. Ox blushed with embarrassment.
"Watch it, ya lummox!" Oolong pouted. He turned to Chi-Chi. "Sorry, Chi'ch. I did my best."
"I know. It's okay. At least you saved the baby."
The Capsule Copter landed near them, kicking up a flurry of snow. Once the spinning blades came to a stop, a door slid open. Bulma hopped out and ran over to them.
"Everyone all right? Man, that was intense!"
Bulma's appearance distracted the group from noticing the polar bear family's approach. The mother and father got on their hind legs and kept their distance. They didn't roar or attack. The cub kept getting closer. Once the Dragon Team saw what was going on, they all huddled together, unsure how to react.
The baby regarded them for a moment before dipping its neck and dropping the Dragon Ball in the snow. It tilted its head at them, then bent again and nudged the ball at Oolong.
"Aww," Chi-Chi and Bulma cooed, misty-eyed. Oolong sat up and leaned in.
"What? For me?" the pig oinked.
"He wants to thank you!" Puar meowed, fluttering in delight.
Oolong smiled and nodded at the cub as he snatched the ball and drove it into his pocket. The mother picked up the cub in her mouth again and placed it on the father's spine as he got on all fours. The family strolled away from the gang, thankful their child was safe. Chi-Chi watched wistful, jealous of such a luxury.
"Well, I guess that could've gone worse," Bulma registered.
"I haven't felt this alive in years," Ox marveled. He went to stretch, then winced at the discomfort in his chest and shoulder. The cold was starting to get to him, too. He regretted ripping his shirt and jacket. He tended to get caught up in powerful moments where he could show off his manly vigor.
"Come on, Dad. Let's get you patched up. Great work, by the way. Maybe you should be training with the guys to help fight the Saiyans," Chi-Chi teased with a wink. She placed a hand in her father's, her small fingers dwarfed by his.
"Aw, thanks, Chi'ch. I can hold my own against a couple bears. Don't think I'd do much against any aliens. I could never even master the Kamehameha technique!"
They all made their way to the copter, laughing and celebrating a job well done, save for Oolong. He was still sitting in the snow. His sight found its way to the edge of the glacier once more, his mind filling in the blanks of what he now knew was down there.
His teeth chattered, blurring his vision and vibrating his skull. He supposed it could've been from being mostly naked from the waist down in a freezing climate. The existential dread filling his every thought told him otherwise.
"Oolong? Something the matter? You look spooked," declared Bulma.
The others paused to watch the pig. There was a long silence before anyone said anything.
Against his better judgment, Oolong figured whatever this was, it probably wasn't too important at this juncture. After all, there were two world-ending threats on the way to Earth. How could a black obelisk hidden in a bunch of ice possibly compare?
"It's nothin'. I'm fine," Oolong said as he arose to rejoin his friends.
"They've gotta be close," Krillin said as he flew alongside Yamcha over a vast forest.
The greenery went on for miles in every direction, broken only rarely by the stray hilltop or valley. The sun was setting, giving the foliage on display a distinct fall shade. It was calming, soothed the soul. There was no city noise to be heard, no hustle and bustle. One could lose themselves in such a backdrop.
Krillin was starting to understand why some of the Z-Warriors preferred the solitude, striving to stay as far from civilization as possible. It was a welcome if temporary respite from the chaos their lives had turned into as of late.
"Yeah, I can feel their energy something fierce," Yamcha grunted.
"They've always been good about hiding it. The fact we can sense them at all means they wanna be found. Or—"
Krillin corkscrewed out of the way of an uppercut. It manifested from nowhere. Either the attack shot straight up from the trees like a bullet, or the assailant was following them, throwing them off their scent like some sort of energy ventriloquist.
The body attached to the punch was heavily muscled and scarred in equal measure. The man's skin held a pinkish hue, his head as bald as Krillin's. He wore a navy-blue tank top, baggy green pants, and a set of gray vambraces. These matched the shin guards fastened to his boots. There was a smirk on his clean-shaven face. It helped frame his piercing blue eyes.
All three of them.
Krillin backflipped in the air and fired off a roundhouse kick. The man caught it at full extension and retaliated with one of his own. Krillin blocked the blow with his forearm and let loose a flare of energy in the form of a pressurized wave to separate them. Once he had some distance, he flew at the man headlong, aiming to strike him in the stomach. He retaliated with a perfectly-timed knee to Krillin's chin which sent him reeling.
Yamcha was about to rush in when a thin blue beam of light rocketed at him. He spun out of the way and chopped the small body it came from in the neck. The body looked to be the intersection between a young boy and a porcelain doll. He was three feet tall with ashen skin, doughy red cheeks, a button nose, and large eyes. He had on a navy-blue ceremonial coat with a high collar, silver fasteners, and a red belt. Black pants, yellow-trimmed shoes, and a puffy hat similar to Gohan's (sans Dragon Ball) rounded out the ensemble.
Yamcha's chop passed through the ghostly child. Soon as it did, the image faded into nothingness. He desisted moving, closed his eyes and concentrated. He waited for the surge of energy, the pulse in the air.
He ducked in time to avoid a double-kick from the actual, solid form of the boy. He passed over the bandit, who caught his ankles and swung him the direction whence he came.
Krillin traded punches and kicks with the triclops. They matched each other move for move. Their clash was broken up by the thrown child sailing between them. Yamcha zoomed after in pursuit.
"They're having fun," the three-eyed man mused. There was a stoic, authoritative quality to his voice. He was about to make another comment when a haymaker struck him in the cheek. It sent him tumbling through the air.
"Let your guard down," Krillin snickered.
"Won't happen again," the three-eyed man assured him.
Once he righted himself, the man touched his fingertips together in a triangular formation. He took deep breaths, gathering and focusing his energy into the space between his palms. Krillin stopped, an expression of shock coming over him.
"Whoa, Tien? I thought we were playing around? What're you doing?"
"Who knows? Maybe a bluff. Maybe not. You decide," Tien said with a grin.
His skin went paler, his muscles losing a bit of their mass as he concentrated. Krillin knew the move he was preparing very well. He only ever used it in the most desperate of situations, for it drew on more energy than his body was capable of containing. To compensate for the energy he didn't have, the technique used his life force itself as its main power source. It was risky, more than capable of killing him under the correct circumstances.
"Spirit…Cannon," Tien breathed.
The crackling ball of yellow in his hands grew bigger, brighter, pulling in all the light around it. Krillin was about to throw in the towel, to give up. He decided better of it.
"Fine. Callin' your bluff, big guy," Krillin said while making a swift chin movement.
Before Tien could thrust his hands and consummate the attack, Yamcha rammed him in the shoulder blades. The move shot him forward, chest pushed out. The energy in his hands dissipated and returned to him. As his body flung towards Krillin, the pint-sized fighter retaliated with a double-fisted smash, sending him the other way. Yamcha rounded out the pinball tactic with a spinning axe kick that sent Tien careening to the forest underfoot.
The three-eyed combatant was able to reorient himself prior to landing. He hit the forest floor with his fist pointed at the ground. It created an incredible percussion that toppled trees and split the earth in a wide radius. He held his pose and took a moment to rest his nerves.
His hands quaked. His muscles ached. The evening wind felt like pinpricks all across his sweat-covered form. Once he was clear-headed again, he stood from his crouched position in the small crater he'd made. Krillin and Yamcha were both standing in front of him, close but cautious.
Tien Shinhan usually oscillated between cool as a cucumber and rage-filled at the drop of a hat. He was paradoxically the most centered out of all of them yet possessed a ferocious temper. They knew to cut him some slack for it. Much of his anger came from being raised and molded into an assassin by Master Crane, Master Roshi's lifelong enemy.
For years, the Hermit and Crane schools were bitter rivals. The lifetime of violence and bloodshed to which Tien was accustomed made keeping a level head difficult. It was one of the reasons he was so terrifying in battle. Those inexperienced at controlling their energy often found anger to be a hindrance to the process. He, on the other hand, used his anger to brutal and efficient success on the battlefield, utilizing truly devastating techniques, both to his opponents and himself.
The fair-skinned child descended at a snail's pace from above. He floated beside Tien though did not touch the ground. Instead, he stayed high enough off the dirt so he wouldn't have to reach awkwardly to grab his friend's hand. As he did, he closed his eyes and hummed, using his telepathic abilities to help pacify him. His red cheeks glowed like hot coals as he did this.
It's okay, Tien. They're our friends. Regain your composure.
Tien let the toxic emotion escape him. A genuine smile found its way to his face. His fists unclenched.
"Thank you, Chiaotzu."
"Any time," the doll-like person replied in a high, ethereal voice.
Chiaotzu was the light in Tien's life. They were closer than brothers, in fact very near in age, though one would never believe it based on appearances. Both orphans taken in and trained by Master Crane, both masters at the art of killing. Those days were behind them now. The day they met and fought Goku was the day they split off from their cruel, sadistic teacher. Chiaotzu never regretted the decision for a moment. It was surprisingly easy for him to keep the horrors of that dark era in the past. Tien had a much rougher go of it. He found himself haunted by the things he'd done in a sadist's name when his own moral compass was pointed far from north.
Chiaotzu had dedicated the rest of his life to protecting Tien as he once protected him. This was why, whenever possible, he would stymie the larger man's outbursts with his psychic abilities. While most of the Dragon Team members excelled at energy control to augment their physical strength, defense, and martial arts skills, Chiaotzu's forte was his natural gift—his power over the mind.
"Sorry about that, guys. We only meant to have a little fun, spar a bit," said Chiaotzu. He shrugged and smiled, nervous.
Krillin and Yamcha's rugged expressions melted away. They waved off the comment.
"Don't sweat it. He hits like my mother," Yamcha quipped. Tien snickered.
"You guys haven't lost your touch. Especially you, Krillin. I see peace hasn't made you any less of a worthy adversary. You still get a bit gun-shy when in the thick of it. S'pose it's to be expected," Tien mocked good-naturedly.
"Please. I was going easy on ya. Everyone knows Turtle Hermit teachings eat the Crane ones for breakfast," Krillin retorted. They all laughed.
Chiaotzu nudged Tien in the ribs while clearing his throat. Tien responded by rubbing his scalp, almost making contact with his third eye. It was a tick Yamcha was always vaguely disconcerted by.
"I'm sorry, too. I wasn't trying to scare anyone or do harm. Keeping a lid on my worser nature…it's an on-going process."
"We get it. No worries," Yamcha said, shaking away his discomfort. He patted Tien on the bare shoulder. As this happened, Krillin's flippant attitude grew more serious, grimmer. He remembered why they were here. It felt like everything these days held an undercurrent of dark portents. Life, it seemed, wouldn't allow them a simple reunion amongst friends. Not without greater machinations at play.
Tried it at Roshi's. Look what happened there.
"I wish we were here for a cordial visit. Not the case, unfortunately. We've been trying to find you guys for a while. Something's up."
The grin faded from Tien's face. None of the anger returned, instead replaced with concern. Chiaotzu remained airborne. He turned to Krillin and studied him. He squinted his eyes like he was trying to scan very small print.
"If you come closer, I can read your mind. I only need to touch your temples," Chiaotzu spoke. Krillin shook his head.
"Yeah, that'd probably be easier. I feel like I need to say it out loud, though. Still trying to get it all straight myself."
Tien shifted his stance. He took a few steps closer into the burgeoning moonlight. The hole he made in the forest was bathed in a blue spotlight shining from the heavens. Krillin felt an ache in his chest for not being able to forget his troubles and enjoy the moment. Even an act of careless destruction amidst a battle only made the forest exude more beauty. It was a harsh juxtaposition to what he was about to divulge.
"I dunno if you felt the fluctuating energy signatures from a few weeks ago. The really big ones?" Krillin asked.
"We did. Figured Goku was getting into another skirmish with Piccolo."
"Well, you're not wrong," Yamcha offered as an aside.
"Listen. There's a lot to tell and a lot of it is gonna be surprising. I need you to run with it for now, okay?" Krillin pleaded.
The duo nodded in unison and folded their arms. The two were in each other's heads so often, this twin act was more or less subconscious. They would regularly finish one another's sentences, say the same things at once, mimic each other's actions without thinking to do so. Krillin knew actual brothers who were less alike.
Goku and Raditz are good examples…
"Goku's dead," Yamcha interjected.
Krillin crossed his eyes. Tien and Chiaotzu nearly collapsed at the revelation.
"What? How?" Chiaotzu said, tears welling up in him. Tien darted his gaze, processing, disbelieving.
"No. Goku? Dead? It's not possible. I mean, we sensed his energy fading at the end of the day. I assumed the fight was over and he was simply lowering his power level to its normal state. I never dreamed it went away completely…I suppose we were too wrapped up in our own training to notice," Tien faltered, his voice cracking. He wished they'd known, wished they were around to do something. If only Goku would've come to them for aid. They would've laid their lives on the line for him in a heartbeat.
"Did Piccolo do it?" Chiaotzu sniffled.
"Yes and no. There's a progression, here. I was going to start at the beginning until Loudmouth over here had to butt in," Krillin sighed and punched Yamcha in the shoulder.
"Ow!" the former bandit howled. He rubbed at the sore spot and scrunched his features in protest.
"It all started when we were having a kind of reunion at Master Roshi's. We wanted to invite you guys, but it was sort of last-minute, and you aren't the easiest people to get ahold of. Anyway, the morning after we all got there, this long-haired guy named Raditz shows up on the beach asking for Goku. Turns out, this guy was Goku's long-lost older brother."
Another wave of astonishment hit the pair.
"A. A brother?" Tien mumbled.
"Was?" Chiaotzu wondered aloud.
"He's dead, too," Yamcha blurted. Krillin mimed a backhand in his direction.
"Will you let me tell the story?"
"Okay, fine! Geeze."
Krillin massaged the bridge of his nose, tried to abate the headache clustering there. He loved Yamcha to death yet wondered sometimes between him and Goku who bore the most brain damage.
"As crazy as it sounds, it gets worse. The guy told us a bunch of whoppers, not the least of which Goku isn't from Earth. Specifically, he's a type of alien called a Saiyan. It's one of the reasons he's always been so uncannily strong, even as a kid. They're a warrior race, and there aren't many of them left."
It was a lot to take in. Tien unfurled his arms, half-turned, and stared into the trees. Unshakable truths he'd relied on for over a decade were changing. He didn't know what to think.
"Wow. I always knew there was something different about him. What makes you so sure this Raditz was telling the truth?"
"He had a tail, just like Goku's," Yamcha said. Krillin didn't begrudge him this explanation. "He also knew about the full moon transformations. Apparently, it's a Saiyan trait. He also was able to fill in some blanks about Goku's injury."
"His injury?" Tien asked, then noticed Yamcha gesturing at his cranium. Understanding washed over him.
"Oh. I see."
"Yeah," Krillin took up again, "When Goku arrived on Earth as a baby, his grandpa Gohan found him. His head injury made him forget all his Saiyan programming, turned him into the Goku we all know and love. That's the other big thing, see. After Raditz tells us all this, he explains the last few Saiyans work for the Planet Trade. They're an organization in space. They kill all intelligent life on a planet so they can sell it to the highest bidder. He wanted Goku to join 'im. After all, it's what he was sent to Earth for."
Tien and Chiaotzu were frozen solid. They didn't move, didn't blink.
"You're. You're joking. This is all some sort of elaborate prank, isn't it?"
"'Fraid not," Krillin said flatly. "And it gets worse."
"How could it get worse?" Tien balked.
"Well, when Goku refused, Raditz beat the pulp out of us and kidnapped his son. Then, Goku and Piccolo made a temporary truce like last time so they could get 'im back. 'Cept Piccolo, being Piccolo, couldn't pass up an opportunity when they saw it. They used an attack that killed both Goku and Raditz."
Silence filled the air. Fireflies danced between them all, leaving wispy trails of neon in their wake.
"Did Goku know it would happen?" Tien interrogated, a little of his anger bubbling.
"Up for debate," Yamcha answered.
"Is Goku's son all right?" Chiaotzu piped in.
"Yeah, he's fine. Far as I know, in any case. Actually, if we're getting technical here, he's the one who finished off Raditz," Krillin explained.
Chiaotzu was aghast. Tien raised an eyebrow in intrigue.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Kid's got Goku in 'im. Guess it means he's got Saiyan in 'im, too. It's why Piccolo's training 'im."
The pair recoiled, their eyes as white as ping pong balls.
"Say what?" Tien shouted.
"Gohan's gonna fight?" Chiaotzu fretted.
"Much as it'd please me to say otherwise, not the most important thing right now. The important thing is, two more Saiyans are on their way to Earth to take their revenge. Allegedly, they make Raditz a joke by comparison. They're gonna be here in less than a year. Hence why we came to find you guys. We need all hands on deck for this one. Kami's invited anyone willing to fight the Saiyans to the Lookout for special training. We wanted to know if you guys are in."
Tien's sadness, bafflement, and frustration evaporated. He became stone-faced, resolute. Chiaotzu smacked his fist with his palm and nodded in the affirmative.
"You can count us in," spoke Chiaotzu. Tien nodded.
"Awesome," Yamcha let out.
"Great. There's a silver lining here, too," Krillin added. "Bulma's got her hands on most of the Dragon Balls. When Kami gives the go-ahead, we'll use them to bring Goku back to life. Last I heard, he's training in the afterlife to help us."
"He would be," Chiaotzu acknowledged. He couldn't help but laugh. Tien sniggered.
"Ah, Goku. Well, I guess he inadvertently answered the burning question I've always had regarding whether there is an afterlife."
"Coulda talked to me," Krillin chortled. Yamcha eyed him.
"I thought none of you remember anything? You and Master Roshi both said all you can recall is a white light."
"Yeah, he's right," Chiaotzu said, agreeing with Yamcha. "It's all kind of a blur. I think you need to be dead longer than we were to take anything away from it."
"In any case, we will be with you, my friends," Tien continued. "We'll finish up our training here, then make our way to the Lookout. Meet you there in, say, three days?"
Krillin and Yamcha stepped forward. They put their arms out and placed their hands on each other. Tien and Chiaotzu leaned in and followed suit.
Piccolo and Gohan hovered twenty feet off the grass at the edge of the sea cliffs they designated as their training grounds. They were both cross-legged, hands on their knees, palms up. Their eyes were closed as they focused on their breathing, the sound of the wind and the water. They acted as one, their minds and bodies temporarily in sync.
It took the boy longer than it should have to find his center. Once he knew where to look, it was simple. But realigning his beliefs in order to master the basics required some effort. Piccolo attributed this to his mother not allowing Goku to train him as early on as possible. It was no longer a problem, though meditation was the easy part. The real training was at last underway. The hardships and struggles inherent in building one's strength from the bottom up were upon him.
They began side by side. Slowly, Piccolo maneuvered until they were facing the boy, their bare back pointed at the ocean.
"Your energy is a natural force," they said. "It flows within you, but also around and through you. It envelops everything. You are a living being with the ability to control it. However, you must know whatever amount you can manipulate—no matter how much it may grow over time—pales in comparison to what's out there. Energy is vast, infinite. What's finite is how much you can exert your will over it. Our goal is to increase said amount as much as we can."
Gohan nodded. He didn't make a peep. He was fully invested, hanging on Piccolo's every word.
"Do as I do."
Piccolo didn't budge, didn't change his position. Nonetheless, their body started to revolve in midair. Rather than a twirl, which would've been simpler, they elected to move in a circular motion, the stationary point being their pelvis.
Gohan sensed the action without needing to see it. He followed his instructor's direction and rotated with them.
"Open your eyes."
Gohan did. As his vision returned to him, his perfect fluid movements became less so. He wobbled and adopted a slight drift. All the external stimuli Planet Earth offered only served to distract him, to muddy his concentration. This was by design. Piccolo was seeking cracks in the armor.
"You've grown much in a short time. There's still a lot we need to do. Your stance is unsteady. You have to learn to filter out the rest of the world without the crutch of shutting it out physically. You won't be in such a serene environment when you're fighting the Saiyans. You'll be clawing and scrambling to stay alive. Maintaining your grip on your powers in those moments will prove key to your survival. Being able to remain aloft, being able to evade attacks, being able to go on offense when you think it's impossible…these things are absolutely essential to you becoming a great fighter."
Gohan was scared. It all sounded like an insurmountable task. So much to do, so much to think, so much to feel. He knew he was smart, knew he was capable. Yet, this was an order of magnitude beyond anything he ever dreamed it would be. Not to mention his young age and newness at the game made him feel such a life-threatening juggling act was impossible. He doubted himself again, wondered if he'd made a mistake in requisitioning this particular education.
"Go the opposite direction as me," Piccolo commanded.
It was slow going, but he was eventually able to do it. The two revolved in asynchronous harmony. To a passerby, they might've seemed like large, people-shaped hands on a clock's face.
A bit of Gohan's confidence returned. He was still jittery, still not in optimal alignment with his teacher. He was getting it all the same. Progress was happening. Maybe all he needed to do was adhere to Piccolo's orders with abject dedication and the finesse would trail along.
"Follow me," Piccolo spoke low.
Their body coasted away from the cliffs, out over the several-hundred-foot drop to the rocks and crashing waves. Their body continued its revolutions.
Despite his mental dedication to go with gusto mere moments ago, Gohan hesitated.
"What if I fall?" the boy mumbled.
"You're able to sense your own energy now. Once discovered, it's not an instinct one tends to lose, no matter how taxed or under strain you may be. As evidenced by your flight, you can use your energy quite proficiently. If you fall, catch yourself. That's all there is to it."
Gohan gulped. Beads of sweat glistened on his skin. He made a silent prayer to Kami, then did as he was told.
He glided to Piccolo, making a conscious effort to keep the clock-like motion going. Soon, he was free of his safety net. The vibration of his form reflected the anxiousness pumping through him. His pulse thrummed, made the veins in his forehead bulge, so powerfully he was sure it could be heard, felt for miles. Piccolo's ears twitched at the sensation.
"Breathe. You will be all right."
Somehow, Piccolo's words comforted him. Perhaps it was because they were normally such a stern, gruff individual. Seeing a moment of tenderness from them, no matter how brief, was heartening. It let him know they cared, if only a little.
Piccolo ended their motion. Gohan did the same. The two were upside down, staring directly at one another. Gohan's hair was growing quite long, so he relished it falling away from his face. He supposed he would have to ask his mom for a trim next time he was home, though hopefully not another bowl cut.
"Ready for your next lesson?" Piccolo asked. Gohan tightened his lips and braced himself.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Good. As I said, fighting on the level of your father and his cohorts—the level I know you can achieve—requires a large degree of multitasking. You need to feel the intricacies of the different energies surrounding you. Who they belong to. If they're a threat. If they're in flux, and if so, how. You need to constantly be on guard. Be aware of your opponents' mannerisms, learn their tells. Only then will you be able to exploit them and ensure victory. You also need to keep your own energy in check. It's a multi-faceted discipline. Managing your stamina, knowing your limits, exceeding them when necessary. On top of it all, you're going to have a foe coming at you for your blood. Above all else, you must retain focus when in the heat of battle. The difference between keeping your cool and having a handle on your power consumption is the difference between life and death. Understand?"
"I think so," Gohan fibbed.
It was all so much. The sheer breadth of what he was required to do to not be murdered was flabbergasting. His breathing grew quick, labored as he dwelled on thoughts of failing, of distraction being the end of him.
His flight path was more erratic than before. Piccolo either didn't notice or didn't pay it any attention.
"Excellent. Now, for the test."
Piccolo threw a punch. Gohan saw it a fraction of a second before it happened. He pulled his head to the side and narrowly evaded it. Piccolo's arm whiffed past his ear, so close he could hear the alternating pink and green muscles coiling next to him.
"What're you doing?" the child called out in fear. He didn't fall, but he was no longer on an equal plane with his master, in fact sluggishly traveling away from them.
"Trial by fire, kid. No amount of explanation is going to prepare you for the inevitable. The best learning is accomplished by doing. Prepare yourself!" the green one growled. They zoomed forward and kicked straight at Gohan's face. The boy barely managed to duck under the strike and swam through the air behind his attacker.
"I'm not ready!" he cried in protest. Piccolo spun around.
"Your dodges say otherwise. You don't need a foundational knowledge in martial arts to keep from getting hit. Not while you're airborne. Keep it up!"
Piccolo cartwheeled on nothing and hurled themselves at Gohan. The boy pirouetted out of the way of another set of kicks, then reversed towards the cliffs. He knew he would feel so much more secure, so much more in control if he could just be a short drop over solid ground, rather than the watery grave surely awaiting him if he kept this going.
Piccolo noticed what he was doing and bulleted at him. Gohan emitted a series of whimpers and groans as Piccolo stopped on a dime, inches from him. They performed a sideways chop aimed right at Gohan's throat.
The boy's altitude dropped. His eyes crossed as he looked up and saw the green hand whizz through a lock of his hair and a layer of skin on his forehead. A minuscule jet of blood arced away from him.
Piccolo's teeth were bared. Their brow was knotted in fury. Gohan couldn't tell if they were trying to psych him out for the purposes of training or if something overtook them. No matter the case, tears spilled forth from the boy as he was painfully reminded of exactly that. He was a boy. Not a man. Not a warrior. A child, practically five years old. He was in over his head. The severity of the mistake he made in undertaking this very adult endeavor was hitting him, full bore. He cried harder, wanting nothing more than to go home and forget about all this.
"Stop crying! Don't be weak! You think the Saiyans will care for a second you're a kid? No, they'll kill you dead like everyone else on this planet. Unless you. Stop them," Piccolo rumbled, their voice growing deeper, more menacing.
"I don't wanna do this anymore!" Gohan screamed, his face wet and red and stinging. Blood dribbled from his hairline, over his eyebrow, into his eyelashes. He tried to wipe it away with one knuckle. He only succeeded in obscuring his own vision, tinting everything a garish shade of maroon.
"Too bad!" Piccolo boomed.
They threw another punch. This time, Gohan instinctively put up both his arms in an X shape. It successfully shielded his chest and face.
Piccolo's fist slammed the outside of his wrists. It felt like getting hit by a car, he imagined. He wasn't sure how his arms weren't broken, though positive there'd be an ugly bruise there before long.
"That's the way. Block! Use your energy!" Piccolo bellowed. A maniacal laugh was rising up in them, bolstering their attacks with a sick sort of glee.
More blows smacked and battered the flesh of his forearms. Gohan tried his hardest to concentrate, to redirect some of the energy keeping him aloft and use it to cushion himself. It worked. Piccolo's strikes were beginning to hurt less and less. Soon, he only felt the pressure of impact versus all the pain and tissue damage normally associated with such an assault. Piccolo responded by making their efforts more vicious, putting more and more power into each throw of hands, of feet. The air rippled between them, sparks of a nature Gohan couldn't quantify firing out.
"Your energy is your greatest tool," Piccolo huffed amidst the barrage. "You can use it to fly. To augment attacks. To boost defense. To move faster, be stronger. But it's only as strong as your will!"
They knew they should've been pulling their punches, going easy on the kid. Something was indeed clambering up from the depths of them. A tenacity, a thirst for violence the likes of which they hadn't known since the day they took Goku's life. They believed it was Lord Piccolo's influence. The dark part of their psyche reminding them their mind, their body, their resolve was never their own. They were equal parts puppet and vessel. And here they were, tutoring the offspring of their greatest foe. For what? To save a planet they had no attachment to? To atone for feelings of guilt they shouldn't be feeling in the first place?
Piccolo seethed. Saliva frothed in their mouth, foamed at the corners of their lips. Their energy rose, muscles bulged. The sky grew thicker, cloudier around them. Their antennae straightened, gravitated towards their target, ears bent.
Piccolo hollered at the top of their lungs and delivered a devastating strike. The shield of invisible energy Gohan built to absorb punishment shattered easier than glass. Shards of light and refracted pieces of the environment blew outwards as if someone tossed a grenade into a hall of mirrors. Piccolo's fist continued past the broken barricade, struck Gohan in the stomach, and sent him careening at an angle. He landed in the side of the sea cliffs, embedded in the rock with a tremendous crash. Boulders splintered and crumbled from the surface and rained into the ocean. A cloud of dust plumed out from the area.
Gohan's energy signature disappeared.
Piccolo held their posture in the air, arm still extended. They took in harsh, ragged breaths, perspiration pouring from their emerald skin. As their heartbeat slowed and their fury subsided, the enormity of what they did dawned on them.
You killed him.
"Gohan?" Piccolo called out.
They relinquished their fighting pose and hunched their shoulders. They turned their head, used their enhanced hearing to listen for any signs of life. All they could hear was sediment shifting, plunking into the water.
No breath. No words. No nothing.
"Gohan!" Piccolo repeated, more frantic.
They sped over to the newly-formed depression in the crag and scanned. Once the dust settled, they spotted the kid. He was wholly encased in stone, blood oozing from his nose, mouth, scalp, and ears.
At best, he had a concussion and several broken bones. At worst, he was a corpse. The second member of the Son family they'd murdered.
"Damn it all. C'mon, wake up, kid," Piccolo muttered as they dug and pulled at the child's granite tomb.
They wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him conscious, yank him out. They forced themselves not to, sure if they did, they would only exacerbate what was already a litany of grievous wounds.
If they followed their own teachings and paid closer attention to their surroundings, they might've noticed the well of rising energy sooner.
"Gohan. Gohan. Wake up. You're all right. You're okay. Wake. Up," Piccolo groaned.
They couldn't tell if they were more annoyed or more worried the kid wasn't responding. The fact the latter was even a possibility revolted them. So disgusted were they at the idea of harboring guilt or empathy for anyone or anything, they failed to see the boy's fingers curling into fists.
Gohan's eyes snapped open. Piccolo jumped, startled by the development.
"Gohan? Gohan, how do you feel?" Piccolo questioned. They waved a hand in front of his face, seeking any recognition from him.
Gohan stared past Piccolo. His eyes narrowed. His lips curled away from his teeth. His blood boiled.
"Uh. Kid?" Piccolo fumbled.
Gohan shrieked. It was a long, sustained, ear-splitting type of sound. Piccolo recoiled and covered their ears. An explosion of rock followed the noise.
Piccolo backed away from the crater to avoid the veritable shower of pulverized gravel. The held note continued unabated. It got louder and more thunderous with each passing second, commensurate with the child's steadily increasing energy.
"What in the world!?" Piccolo yelled to no one in particular.
The waves of the ocean were flowing in the opposite direction, away from the cliffs and Gohan. It was getting difficult for Piccolo to breathe. The oxygen turned thick, soupy, hot with raw power, a massive, high-pressure dome exuding from the boy.
How is this possible?
The vocalization trailed off. Piccolo took their hands off their ears and opened their eyes for the first time in what felt like minutes. The sky was noticeably blacker, even though it was still daylight. It reminded them of whenever the Dragon Balls were gathered. For a moment, they stopped to wonder if someone did summon the Eternal Dragon. Then they realized the darkness was coalescing around and exuding from Gohan. The gravitational force of his energy was bending the light spectrum, pulling color and vivacity straight from the atmosphere itself.
Gohan burst from the cliff and soared at Piccolo. Before the green one could even think to mount a defense, Gohan was already in front of them, executing punches and kicks to their abdomen so fast they could hardly track the movements.
Gohan screeched again and closed fist backhanded Piccolo. The shock was strong enough to send them hurtling to the edge of the energy dome. The warping gravity caused their body to curve in its trajectory, sending them spinning to the grassy edge of the bluff.
The kid's already stronger than Raditz!
Piccolo landed on their backbone like a sack of bricks. Earth ejected into the air around them. They tried to get up, but Gohan was already on top of them. He palmed Piccolo's face and sprinted faster than any normal human could. He dragged Piccolo through the ground, creating a trench with their body, then pitched his teacher like a fastball into the trunk of a nearby tree. It splintered into a hail of wood shrapnel.
"Gohan, stop!" Piccolo beseeched as they crumpled to the floor.
He was still many yards away, taking his time approaching. This gave Piccolo enough room to gather their bearings. They made it to their feet and raised their power level.
Gohan paused. A billowing aura of energy followed him wherever he went. It was white-hot like the sun, occasionally displaying a flare of reddish-gold. His hair stood on end from the static and charged particles.
"Gohan! You need to relax. You're not in danger," Piccolo spoke, trying their best to be heard. Their words were meaningless consonants to the enraged child.
Gohan knelt forward and placed his hands on the flapping blades of grass. He took off running on all fours like a wild, feral animal. He was on a direct course for Piccolo.
Fine. Have it your way.
Piccolo roared from the pit of their throat. Their power continued to increase dramatically. They stared down the oncoming locomotive of newly-minted strength which was Gohan. They felt like a bullfighter, taunting a majestic creature with nothing save a cape and sword to guard themselves. Luckily, they were a trained expert in combat and battle tactics. If they couldn't take this kid out, they deserved what was coming to them.
Amid all the chaos of the scene before them, they pondered if this was the end of the line, they likely deserved what happened next, regardless.
At the last second, Gohan leaped at Piccolo, hands out in a clawed formation.
Piccolo half-stepped into the attack and managed to seize Gohan by the wrists. They locked their knees and took Gohan to the ground yet didn't retaliate. They kept a firm grip on his black and blue arms, only applying enough pressure to keep the boy in place.
"GOHAN!" Piccolo yelled, face-to-face with their student.
A hint of recognition fluttered across his visage. He shook it away.
Gohan lifted his legs and planted his feet into Piccolo's collarbone. The pain was searing. They realized the brat was trying to use their own hold against them and yank their arms out of their sockets.
"Gohan, listen to me," Piccolo said, lowering their voice, trying another approach. "Listen! It's me. It's Piccolo. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for before. I was only trying to help," the green one chanted.
It was working. The strength in Gohan's legs was giving out, his resistance lessening. The air was regaining breathability. Light was returning to the area. This was good. He was starting to calm down.
"I'm sorry," Piccolo repeated.
As Gohan's knees bent, Piccolo inched their head closer. They let Gohan's legs return to the ground. They still held his wrists tight, although pressing on the bruises was no longer necessary to control the situation.
The life reappeared in Gohan's eyes. He stopped fighting the hold, instead fell to his knees in the grass. The crimson golden aura dissipated. The boy began to cry hysterically.
"I'm sorry, Gohan. I'm sorry," Piccolo said again. They were surprised how much they meant it. They released his wrists and moved their hands to his shoulders. "I don't know what came over me."
"You don't know what came over you? What came over me!?" Gohan sobbed.
He was shaking violently in Piccolo's grasp, more terrified than he'd ever been.
"You remember?" Piccolo asked. They blinked a few times, puzzle pieces falling into place in front of them. "When last something like this happened, you defeated Raditz. You were only able to recollect flashes afterward. Do you remember, now?"
"You. You h-h-hit me," Gohan croaked. "Then. I. I g-got mad. It all feels like. Like a bad dream."
Gohan cried harder. He collapsed into Piccolo's chest. The skin felt cold and leathery. It wasn't very comforting.
Piccolo didn't know how to react. They were as still as a cadaver, hands spread-out, mouth agape. Seeing no other alternative, Piccolo relinquished themselves to closing their arms around the boy. They patted his back, rested their chin on his head.
"It's all right, kid. You're okay. I won't do that again. You're safe," they breathed, unsure where this outpouring of sudden emotion was originating from. Their throat felt tight, their heart heavy. For reasons they could not fathom, holding the boy and doing what they could to console him felt good. Felt right.
The voice rising up in them from earlier, feeding off their malice, their hate? It was that of their progenitor, vying for control, trying to goad them into being what they always should have been. But as Gohan's tears soaked their chest, Lord Piccolo's voice sounded so very small now. Like the hum of a fly in the background.
Hours later, night was upon them. While Gohan sat at the campfire recuperating, Piccolo was two miles away, crouching in mud as ocean brine lapped against their ankles.
They never caught a fish before, and the task was proving more difficult than they anticipated. They supposed this was the reason people often used poles, hooks, twine, and other such implements to get the job done. If they didn't have something within the next twenty minutes, they decided they would settle for another meal of the avian variety. They didn't want to give up so easily, however. They figured the kid deserved a dinner of a higher caliber after the ringer they put him through.
"Greetings, Piccolo."
Piccolo straightened immediately. They didn't turn around, instead held their place at the shoreline.
The words belonged to someone they hadn't spoken to in many years. So much the better, in both their opinions.
"What do you want?" Piccolo barked. Their nostrils flared, ears folded as if threatened.
"To talk. Will you do me that courtesy?" asked Kami.
"We have nothing to discuss," Piccolo breathed.
They about faced and strode out of the water, past the deity. Kami stuck out Their walking stick and pinned it to the large boulder beside Piccolo, blocking their easy escape with the dragon-shaped head of the staff.
"I beg to differ," Kami said. According to the Guardian, this was not negotiable. Piccolo still felt like resisting.
"I'll kill you where you stand," Piccolo warned. Kami laughed.
"And kill yourself as well? I think not."
Piccolo spat at the sand. Kami shook Their head.
"Please. Indulge me. I already have a fair number of lesions from your spat with Gohan, earlier."
"Happy to hear it," Piccolo chuckled, a cruel smile on their face. Kami lowered Their staff.
A hush permeated. The two locked eyes, saying nothing for quite a while. Piccolo could scarcely comprehend sharing a beach with a god could feel so mundane, so unremarkable.
"The boy has attained much strength," Kami said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Piccolo folded their arms and leaned against the rock.
"Yeah. Nothing he didn't already have in him."
"No argument. Yet you have brought out a fair amount of it."
"What're you gonna do? Chastise me for not handling him with kid gloves? We're preparing for war. Not that you'd understand what it's like."
"I have fought my fair share of them. Not to mention watched the people of this world fight more than I can count," Kami replied.
"All while you've stood by in your ivory tower," Piccolo antagonized. "What good are you? What purpose does the Guardian actually—"
Piccolo clasped a hand to their hip. They saw Kami digging Their needle-like nails into Their own flesh. Piccolo felt the sensation, knew it hurt, and was unnerved by the deity's lack of reaction to it.
"I may not be strong enough to lay hands on you anymore. But do not fool yourself into believing you are the only one with power," said Kami.
They removed the nails from Their side. A bloom of violet blood soaked Their cassock. Piccolo's own hip felt as if it'd been prodded with daggers.
"Point made. What do you want?"
"As I said, to talk. Preferably with a little less hostility this time."
Piccolo grumbled and retook their stance against the boulder.
"All right, I admit it. I was hard on the kid, okay? I assumed teaching him how to control his energy would be difficult. I knew there was power hidden in him. I had no idea how much."
"Mostly true. You initially believed teaching him would be easy. You rationalized this with the knowledge he is half-Saiyan. Once he struggled, you scaled your efforts accordingly. After his breakthrough, you considered him a prodigy. You expected too much of him."
"Is this what you're here for? To criticize my teaching methods? I already said I was wrong, apologized to the kid. I'm even trying to catch a damn fish for him to make up for it!" Piccolo shouted and kicked at the water. They made sure to kick away from Kami. They didn't feel like getting another demonstration of their linked fates.
"Far from it. I am surprised to say teaching suits you, Piccolo. You only need to find a balance, as does Gohan. He requires a strong hand. But he is also without a father's love. You saw to that."
Piccolo rolled their eyes.
"I've beaten myself up enough for it, all right? I don't need the third-degree from you, too. And I don't care what anyone says, I'm not this kid's dad."
"Yes. I can see," Kami remarked. "You are not his father. And you have given yourself a requisite amount of grief for killing Goku."
They stopped talking, stopped instigating. They tilted Their gaze and watched Piccolo with a curious expression. Piccolo noted the odd sensation of ants crawling around his scalp. A sort of tickle. They didn't like it.
"Get out of my head," Piccolo advised.
"I am not reading your mind. I am observing."
"S'about all you're good for."
The corners of Kami's mouth curled.
"You have grown stronger as well."
Piccolo didn't want to dignify the comment, though was perplexed by it.
"How do you figure? I've been doing nothing but training the brat for the past month. I haven't so much as thrown a punch until today," Piccolo replied.
"Your inner turmoil is vast, Piccolo. Nowadays, you are constantly at odds with yourself. Pitting your inner demons against the new feelings inside you. Things you did not believe you were capable of. I am beginning to think Goku may have been right about you."
Piccolo shifted and stepped up to their other half.
"Right about what? And you didn't answer my question. How have I gotten stronger?"
Kami chuckled.
"It is plain as day, and yet you do not see. Training someone else? Pouring all your efforts into bettering someone else? It has a feedback effect. Making Gohan stronger is making you stronger as well," Kami said while pointing to Piccolo's solar plexus.
"That's ridiculous," Piccolo whispered, unconvinced it was, arguing for argument's sake.
"It is true," Kami went on. "Keep up the good work. There is still much to do. When you two feel you are ready, join us at the Lookout."
Kami began to walk away. Piccolo didn't follow, though found themselves wanting to know more, much to their chagrin.
"Wait! What was Goku right about?" Piccolo called out.
Kami stopped though didn't turn.
"He thought you were becoming a better person. That there is good in you after all. I called it impossible, given you are the reincarnation of Lord Piccolo. Maybe things are not always as they appear. Maybe you are less tied to them than I once believed. It seems Goku is wiser than most give him credit for."
"The hell you say," Piccolo spoke, absentminded.
Their awareness was only peripherally in the now, in the moment. Their mind was far, far away. This train of thought would toy with them for some time.
Kami gestured at a spot in the water with Their walking stick.
"Try here, maybe a few feet further out. The fish are fatter, more sluggish. Should taste better, too," the Guardian said before fading away, ghost-like and haunting as always.
Of all the things Goku anticipated might befall him whilst making an impossibly long trek over an impossibly long road in the impossibly big afterlife, one thing he didn't expect was the mind-numbing, inescapable, soul-eroding boredom.
Flying endlessly without needing to worry about consuming energy kept him occupied longer than it should have for someone so accustomed to flight in their daily life. Once the novelty wore off, the real difficulty of his journey set in.
It wasn't so much it would take him a minimum of three months to make the pilgrimage on Snake Way. The distance itself wasn't what was getting to him. It was the landscape refusing to change. The twists and turns and coils in the serpentine path repeating in a cyclical, rhythmic fashion. This indicated it was actually built, not conjured by some unfathomable architect. Patterns meant there was thought put into it, a conceivable mind attached to the design, therefore demystifying it.
Goku's dilemma was made all the worse by being incapable of telling time. He had no earthly idea how long he'd been dead, how long he'd been traveling, how far there was left to go. It was maddening.
After a while, he started doing tricks to entertain himself. Bouncing like a ball on each bend in the road. Not flying for long stretches and making his way entirely via backflips. At one point, he even got low to the ground and tried to crab walk at high speeds to stay amused. Doing so was as difficult a feat as it sounded. He almost fell off the edge of the road twice.
At the moment, Goku was occupying his mind by flying as fast as possible, arms out. He spun in the air like a pinwheel and soared under and over the road wherever he could. It was getting tiresome; not physically, instead mentally.
Can someone who's already dead die again of boredom?
He closed his eyes as he flew. That was nice. Despite his recent inability to get exhausted from exertion or energy consumption, he missed sleeping. The feeling of getting into a warm bed on a cold day, snuggling up next to Chi-Chi and Gohan, burying his face in his feathery pillow. He yearned to kick back and enjoy being alive once more. It saddened him to know such a thing was still far beyond the horizon. Much as he loved fighting and training and fighting some more, he enjoyed his lazy days just as much. They reminded him of when he was young, when he had no one around except his grandpa. Everything was simpler then. Even after his grandpa died, he still felt a measure of peace in those woods, on that mountain, even if said peace was commingled with loneliness.
Lost in memory, Goku realized he hadn't seen anything for what felt like an alarming span of time. Once he opened his eyes, he immediately registered the blue ogre on his knees atop Snake Way. He was around Goku's size, not a giant like Yemma. His skin was sky-blue. He wore a suit with the sleeves and cuffs of his pants rolled. He was holding a trowel, smoothing out what looked like a moist patch of fresh cement. The ogre saw Goku at the same instance the Saiyan saw him.
They were about to collide with each other.
Goku barrel rolled out of the way. The ogre covered his face with his hands and screeched. Rather than plow into him and potentially smash him like a bug against a windshield, Goku crashed through a portion of Snake Way. He struck headfirst, a huge chunk of the road blasting apart from the force.
Goku was out like a light.
His body continued on past a loop of road, gradually losing speed and altitude. He missed landing on the next section. Instead, he fell through the clouds and off Snake Way completely.
He fell. And fell. And fell, and fell, and fell. As he plunged through the cream-colored clouds, they took on a more gruesome shade. Lightning coursed around him. His descent picked up the speed he lost when meeting pavement. Heat built up around his arms and legs and chest as if he were reentering Earth's atmosphere. He was still knocked out, otherwise, he would've begun flailing and screaming long ago.
When Goku finally awoke, nothing was familiar to him. He sat up in a massive basin created by his own body. Everything hurt. He winced away the aches, wondering why he was even having them, and stood.
A mountain range was visible in every direction. The sky was blood-red and in a state of perpetual thunderstorm. The ground was porous and claylike. He climbed from the crater and cried out.
"Hello? Anyone there? HELLO!" Goku shouted through cupped hands.
His voice seemed to echo forever. Nothing returned his call. Nothing, save for the wail of the wind.
Uh-oh…
"HELLO?" Goku yelled again, getting more and more frantic.
This was bad. Really bad. The first and foremost thing Kami warned him about was not to fall off Snake Way. He didn't think it was a difficult proposition when They said it. He was also starting to realize he didn't take the warning as seriously as he should have.
Goku wandered around aimlessly. He had no idea where he was. He wondered if this place was an extension of Purgatory, or if there was a way back to Yemma's castle. Such a setback would be terrible, but it beat most any alternative.
It was disconcerting he hadn't come across any other people yet.
"HELLO!?" he tried once more.
He stared at his feet listlessly, pondering what to do. Then he noticed the faces forming in the ground below him. Faces contorted in horror and anguish.
Goku yelped with fright and ran to outrun the monstrosities. Then the revelation hit him the phenomenon wasn't following him, wasn't reacting to his presence. It was everywhere. All the earth for miles upon miles was made up of twisted, agonized faces begging for help.
He looked into the sky and saw what he first mistook for meteors raining down upon the pockmarked landscape. Only after further reflection did he come to realize each one was a body like his.
Goku thought he knew what this place was.
He took off from the ground and sped at the sky. He knew he was in bad shape. If he could just make it up to Snake Way, everything would be okay.
He broke the cloud bank, weaved in and out of the way of lightning bolts, was so close to the surface he could taste it.
He slammed into some sort of ceiling he could not see. The speed at which he was moving, he should've crashed right through like the piece of Snake Way he'd taken out, no matter how strong or solid it was. Instead, he fell back to the gnarled, horrible plane below. Fortunately, he was awake for it this instance and managed to catch himself in freefall.
Oh no. Goku, what did you do?
He couldn't remember when last he was so close to crying. He never felt fear like this. Being scared, being concerned for the safety of his wife, his son, his friends was one thing. This was a different, ingrained, primordial type of terror the likes of which he never experienced.
He sniffled and got up from the crouch he landed in. He wiped his eyes with his knuckles, then thought he was hallucinating. In the distance, someone was walking towards him.
They were so far away, he could hardly make out their shape. He was pretty sure it was a person. He saw what looked like a ragged brown cloak draped around them, and something spiky on their head. He prayed to Kami they were friendly.
"Hey! Hello? Can you help me? I was on Snake Way and I accidentally fell off!" Goku shouted at the top of his lungs.
The figure in the distance stopped. They stared him down. Goku waited a few seconds, unsure if his speech was audible.
"Hello? Can you hear me? Can you—"
The figure was right in front of Goku, delivering a knee to his midsection that felt like getting hit by a train. He flew backward with the strike and landed spine-first in the side of the closest mountain. The assailant traveled with him. Rock folded in on Goku with his impact. He coughed a mouthful of saliva, wanting to vomit, painfully aware he couldn't.
Goku gripped the knee in both hands and angled his head to see the face of his attacker. Once his vision came into focus, he caught his breath in shock. His veins seized, blood running cold.
"Hello, brother. Welcome to Hell," Raditz cackled, mania filling his vacant eyes.
To Be Continued…