Dragonball Omega Chapter Two:
Life Bites. Bite Back.
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It was a beautiful morning. A light breeze played with the tall prarie grass and the sun shone warmly through the cloudless sky.
Daia awoke with a splitting headache and what felt like a bag of cotton in her mouth. Aach. What did I do last night? I didn't drink that much. She brought her hands up to shield her eyes as she sat up. Oh, that was a mistake. The slight motion had intensified her headache, and the pain was slow to ebb. Tentatively, she moved her hands around her skull, probing. A sore spot in back was the only damage that she could find..
Okay, she thought, eyes still closed against the sunlight. Someone knocked me out. But who? Not Gohan. Goten? He flirted with me all evening. . .Old fear gripped her, just for a moment, until reason drove it back into hiding. No. No, only my head hurts. Nothing else. And really, I don't he's capable of. . . hurting someone.
A memory surfaced: a tall stranger, deep voiced, threatening, and. . . green? The Hell. . . ?
A shadow fell across her, blocking the light. Cautiously she opened her eyes, blinking to clear them. The figure's image wavered for a moment, then resolved into a . . . man . . . Tall, scary, green. . .yep. "Oh Kami-sama, please let me be drunk," she begged.
"You're not."
"Damn," she said in earnest, climbing unsteadily to her feet. Swaying just a little, she addressed the. . . person directly. "If you're planning on killing me, I'd suggest doing it now. I'm in no condition to fight you off at the moment." Looking him over, she added to herself, Not that I think I could at any other time.
He made no move to attack, merely scowled at her. "You have been unconscious for eight hours. If I wanted you dead, you would be. My mind may yet be changed."
Well, that's comforting. Kinda. She grimaced and massaged her temples. "Yeah, good morning to you too. If you're not planning on killing me, why did you bring me out here?" She surveyed her surroundings through squinted eyes. None of the landmarks were familiar, and she had ranged all over the area she had grown up in. "Wherever the Hell we are?"
His upper lip twitched, revealing a hint of fang. Of course, she thought a bit hysterically. Why not? Green men have to eat, too.
"I do this as a favor to my student. He wished you to be trained and I tired of his whining." His eyes roved over her, searchingly. It made her uncomfortable, but not in the way she would be if the men in the village looked her over. This one gave the impression of not caring a whit about her looks. She forced herself to meet his eyes when they returned to her face. "Are you afraid?"
Might as well be honest. "Scared shitless. However, there's not much I can do about it, and I'll be damned if I start shaking in front of you." His expression of contempt did not change, but she sensed she had said the right thing. "So what kind of 'training' are you offering?"
"Martial arts and control of your ki. You have some limited potential, enough for a human." Though he did not voice it, the 'meer' before that last word was plain to hear. "If you survive it, you will compete in the next Tenkaichi Budoukai."
She did some mental calculations. "Tha ' s only a few months away. You think you're good enough to get me up to speed that fast?"
This time he simply snarled. "Do not question my skill, Human. The question is not if I am capable, but if you are strong enough of spirit to take on the task." Evident in his tone was the implication she would likely not meet that requirement.
Why you arrogant . . . The fear was still there, definately, but he had just given her something to be angry about. The last of her weakness dissapated, letting her stand steadily upright. Even so, she came barely to his chest. "I'm up to it. When do we start?"
"You will first have to prove yourself with more than bluster, Human." He gestured with one arm out over the land, indicating where the land sloped gently into desert. "One hundred kilometers eastward is a red butte. I will wait there. We will start when you arrive. If you dare." Then he levitated, just like Gohan. "If your heart is weak, do not come. I have no pity to show you." He made as if to leave.
"Oh, I'll be there, jerk. But before you leave, how about you answer a couple of questions. Who are you?What are you? A great green desert goblin? If I were a kid, I'd think you were out of a story they used to tell us to make us be good. You look a lot like the description of the Demon King, the one they called. . . " She broke off, eyes widening. . No. It's just a story. Demons aren't real. A part of her mind that enjoyed keeping her honest pointed out, Neither are big green men and people who can fly."The one they called Piccolo, " she finished, a bit more softly, indignation no longer enough to mask her fear.
The reference seemed to amuse him. He lifted higher, looking down on her with a smirk on his face. "My name is Piccolo-Daimaou." The smirk intensified into a cruel almost-smile. "And I am your sensei."
Then he was completely gone, only a gust of wind to mark his passing.
Oh God.Oh God. He's-- he's really real. She sat down hard, taking some comfort in the solidity of the ground as she shook. For just a moment, she allowed herself to feel her hysteria. After all, it was not every day that the Devil Himself declared you to be under his tutelage. He's real.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut and drawing her knees against her chest, Daia began to take deep, calming breaths. Every fragment of every chill she had ever felt at hearing stories in the night had just come crashing back to her. Control yourself, girl. You've got yourself a situation here, and you need to think clearly if you want to make it out alive. Take it step-by-step.
Okay. First, the scary green guy. Piccolo. You always thought that was a stupid name for a demon, anyhow. Assuming he is a demon, and not just saying that to scare you. Memory once again haunted her, memories of voices. Demon-spawn. Curse. Devil. At least I'm in good company.
Like he said, if he wanted me dead, I would be. And if he wants my soul, he'll get the short end of the deal. I traded it for a can of Orangina about six years ago. That memory was so ridiculous that it lifted her a bit from her panic.
Now, what am I going to do? Despite her bold words, she had not resolved to accept his "offer." Two options: go there or don't. If I do, he may well do anything to me. I think he was serious when he said if I survive. If I don't go, I'll go back to the village. It's back that direction, I think, and the terrain looked fairly easy. It wouldn't be long until I hit civilization. Which do I want to do?
Thinking a moment, she stood and looked around. After all, if she was going to walk across a desert, she'd have to have supplies.
****
Nail found humans to be a fascinating species. He enjoyed hearing their languages-- it was odd enough that a single planet had so many. Some of their expressions were sheer genius, and he would sometimes employ them in the few conversations he had nowadays. There was one in particular that seemed appropriate right now. //Brother, you're full of it.//Shut up, Nail, Piccolo replied, more from habit than from any real hope that Nail would obey.
//Why must you always place yourself above everyone else? Admit it, she impressed you. I felt her power spike when she became angry. For a youngling with no formal training in ki control, she's not bad.//
The Namekseijin-- the one nominally in charge of his body-- growled deep in his throat. From his vantage point high above the land, high enough that the human had no chance of seeing him, he watched her collect herself and set out. As long as the sun lit the day his vision had no equal on this world. She is barely strong enough to warrant my attention.
//But she'll get better. You can't help thinking that she's much stronger than Gohan was when you started his training.//
The circumstances were entirely different. Gohan was a child, and his true power had shown through bef re. Besides, the Saiyajin were coming. I had a great impetous.
//Yes, and now you're bored half out of your skull, which seems like reason enough to take on this one. There have been no true enemies to fight since Buu, the hatchling is adjusting to his position as Kami-sama and rarely requires guidance anymore, and the 'conquer Earth and reign as the terrible Daimaou' plan fell through before we met. You are badly in need of a challenge, Brother, and she's it.//
She will serve as a distraction, nothing more.
//Deny it as often as you please. I live inside you, remember?//
At times, Piccolo devoutly wished for the ability to unfuse, just so he could beat some of that infuriating self-assurance out of Nail.
//Children, enough bickering,// said an old, calm voice.
I had wondered when you would see fit to share your questionable wisdom, old man.
//Son,// the aspect who had once been a god said, //it troubles me that you invoke the name of Daimaou. Yo have long been content to let that one rest.//
Whatever you are implying, don't. I am in control of myself. The irony of that statement was not lost on the man who was even now arguing with two others holding some measure of control over his body and mind. Neither of the other two, thankfully, were foolish enough to comment. I dislike disobedience, and that one reeks of it. Whatever methods force her into submission will be my methods, not yours.
//Must you force?// two voices asked in unison, tone so alike that only the timber of age set them apart.
That was quite enough. Piccolo had never been one to abide questioning, much less questioning of his teaching methods. Pride was not an emotion he was too arrogant to entertain. That pride worked its claws into him even now. He would win this battle, and the coming one. I will hear no more of this, he decreed, firmly shutting off the portion of his mind which held the two, often unwelcome, presences. The girl was making progress of some sort-- at least she had the presence of mind to provision herself before setting out. Humans with their weak bodies . . . poor clay, but Piccolo was a determined sculptor, and he had chosen his wheel.
****
"Gohan . . ." a voice, familiar to his ears and soft, at least for him, spoke behind the eldest child of Goku. "Come to bed. You're worrying too much. Piccolo never--" Videl stopped, unsure of what to say. Piccolo had never hurt anyone? That was a bitter joke-- her own beloved Gohan had fought and hurt more people than even Mr. Sataan's heir wished to think about. Piccolo had never killed anyone without reason? A lie she could not bring herself to tell, that particular phrase was. Piccolo -- or this body, or this incarnation, or this soul, for it was all very confusing even to one who had worked through tales that an average human would go into shock from contemplating -- Piccolo was older than Videl. She had not seen her father-in-law' climactic battle which killed Piccolo-Daimaou and birthed a son scarce better than the Demon King. She had, however, seen the lingering remains of the destruction Daimaou had rained upon the earth, and heard hair-raising stories of his earlier legacy, before the Mafubu had trapped him in a bottle for centuries. Discounting the sins of the father, or clone, or elder soul, even the Piccolo who had trained her husband as a child and now, seemingly, held affection for her daughter was far from innocent enough for her to reassure Gohan. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing," she finished lamely.Gohan did not move from his perch in the windowledge, one foot propped against the opposite side and arms wrapped around his chest as if cold. He stared at . . . nothing, nothing that his wife or his own keen hunter's eyes could see. There was only wilderness that way, on the outskirts of Sataan City, wilderness climbing into mountains which in their own turn sloped down, beginning long march of plains and grassland o the western desert. A small hand settled on Gohan's broad shoulder, and he covered it with a hand of his own. "I know," he said simply, staring at nothing for a moment more. Finally his head turned, enough that he could crane his neck and press a kiss to to his wife's knuckles. "Piccolo-san always knows what he's doing . . ."
//But what exactly were you doing, idiot?// Gohan asked himself without the luxury of another mind on which to blame it, // You didn't even tell her, consult her. Idiot. Anything that happens to her is your fault.// Reality had come as a hard force into the life of one carefree boy, many years ago. Since the day he had first seen death and nearly felt its cold touch himself, reality had never let Gohan go for long. The reality was that he loved Piccolo as second father. The reality was that he knew Piccolo cared at least as much for him. The reality was that Piccolo cared not at all for the great majority of the human populace, including Daia. There was no guarantee that he would be concerned with her welfare.
He felt guilt because of Daia and Piccolo in equal measure. He had no right to think of his mentor like that, but reality, cruel, merciless force that she was, would not let him stop the thoughts. Anything that happened to Daia-- and his ever-active imagination did not short him on possibilities-- would be on Gohan's head.
Mustering a wane smile, Gohan tried to convince Videl that his mind was at ease. "Let's go to be, ne?" It didn't work, and indeed he would have been disappointed had she fallen for anything so transparent. For his sake, though, she displayed an uncertain smile of her own and agreed readily. As he drifted asleep in embrace of familiar arms, a silent prayer flittered through his head.
Kami keep her safe.
The one who was god of Chikyuu heard all prayers, as was his duty, whether they be offered to any specific deity or to Fate itself. At the moment, however, this prayer, while heard, was not acted upon. Kami had his own problems.