Darkness Binding
A Short Story About Mirai Trunks
By Atira Ikun
A/N: This is set in Mirai Trunks' time, a day or so after he destroyed the cyborgs.
He walked through the ruined city, turning his head to noone.
Survivors of the attack ran to him, their savior, some grabbing his coat and trying to pull him to them, to praise him as they were sure he needed to be praised.
But he pulled away, kept walking, his expression unreadable as he kept his face a perfect mask, detached from reality and yet there all the same.
Some of the survivors followed him for a short distance, but they, too, decided that it was useless- he payed them no mind- and gave up, walking back to their broken homes and shattered dreams in grim silence.
He looked down at the ground, idly kicking a pebble that lay in his path. His thoughts were distracted, half of reality and half of a shard of a broken dream.
A grim frown was etched semi-permanently on the demi-Saiyajin's features, and gone was his usual shy grin.
His eyes half-closed, as he willed himself not to cry for the dead, or the dying, or for the hopes and dreams that the cyborgs had destroyed. He wouldn't cry, not even for his family and friends; he would cry for nothing, as his father before him had cried for nothing.
Turning for a moment, he looked back upon the ruins of what once had been a great city.
These people want nothing more than peace, he thought, to have home and life and food again, and they think I can give it to them..
"Well, I can't." He said sharply to the wind and nothing, shaking his head furiously.
Looking around himself, he saw how desolate and lonely this perpetual desert had become. It had been a beautiful forest, before the cyborgs had come and destroyed it all.
"Why does it have to be me?" He shouted bitterly, "I am not as strong as my father, so why couldn't our only hope be someone else? Someone stronger?"
He sat down on the dusty ground, tears of grief welling in his electric-blue eyes.
Briefly he wondered if his mother was worried about him, if she thought that the cyborgs had killed him, or if she knew that he had been seen since then, alive. If she knew of his victory.
"Forgive me, father," He beseeched the spirit as the tears, silver in the fading moonlight, fell onto his pale cheeks, "I can't be as strong as you are.. I can't protect these people anymore.."
Looking around dimly, he was aware that he was crying, yet he was slightly away from reality, and didn't realize where he was. Didn't care.
Does it matter anymore? He wondered silently, does it matter if I come home at all?
Of course it does, a voice inside of him replied, your mother will worry, and these people need your help. You can protect them.. You have to...
Standing unsteadily, he reached up and wiped away the crystaline tears with his jacket sleeve.
"They're all counting on me.." He whispered hoarsely, "These people need a hero to look to.. I'm the only one left, I'm the one they're going to look to.."
Suddenly he felt an enourmous responsibility, a weight that settled on him with surprising ease.
These people trusted him, wanted him, to be their hero, their savior.
And that he would.
"I'll protect them, and help them rebuild." He said softly, turning again to look to the ruins of the city.
"I will."
Without looking back towards the endless sands of the desert behind him, he walked back to the city, back to the survivors of the cyborgs, though they were few.
This time, when they gathered around him, he did not pull away.
A Short Story About Mirai Trunks
By Atira Ikun
A/N: This is set in Mirai Trunks' time, a day or so after he destroyed the cyborgs.
He walked through the ruined city, turning his head to noone.
Survivors of the attack ran to him, their savior, some grabbing his coat and trying to pull him to them, to praise him as they were sure he needed to be praised.
But he pulled away, kept walking, his expression unreadable as he kept his face a perfect mask, detached from reality and yet there all the same.
Some of the survivors followed him for a short distance, but they, too, decided that it was useless- he payed them no mind- and gave up, walking back to their broken homes and shattered dreams in grim silence.
He looked down at the ground, idly kicking a pebble that lay in his path. His thoughts were distracted, half of reality and half of a shard of a broken dream.
A grim frown was etched semi-permanently on the demi-Saiyajin's features, and gone was his usual shy grin.
His eyes half-closed, as he willed himself not to cry for the dead, or the dying, or for the hopes and dreams that the cyborgs had destroyed. He wouldn't cry, not even for his family and friends; he would cry for nothing, as his father before him had cried for nothing.
Turning for a moment, he looked back upon the ruins of what once had been a great city.
These people want nothing more than peace, he thought, to have home and life and food again, and they think I can give it to them..
"Well, I can't." He said sharply to the wind and nothing, shaking his head furiously.
Looking around himself, he saw how desolate and lonely this perpetual desert had become. It had been a beautiful forest, before the cyborgs had come and destroyed it all.
"Why does it have to be me?" He shouted bitterly, "I am not as strong as my father, so why couldn't our only hope be someone else? Someone stronger?"
He sat down on the dusty ground, tears of grief welling in his electric-blue eyes.
Briefly he wondered if his mother was worried about him, if she thought that the cyborgs had killed him, or if she knew that he had been seen since then, alive. If she knew of his victory.
"Forgive me, father," He beseeched the spirit as the tears, silver in the fading moonlight, fell onto his pale cheeks, "I can't be as strong as you are.. I can't protect these people anymore.."
Looking around dimly, he was aware that he was crying, yet he was slightly away from reality, and didn't realize where he was. Didn't care.
Does it matter anymore? He wondered silently, does it matter if I come home at all?
Of course it does, a voice inside of him replied, your mother will worry, and these people need your help. You can protect them.. You have to...
Standing unsteadily, he reached up and wiped away the crystaline tears with his jacket sleeve.
"They're all counting on me.." He whispered hoarsely, "These people need a hero to look to.. I'm the only one left, I'm the one they're going to look to.."
Suddenly he felt an enourmous responsibility, a weight that settled on him with surprising ease.
These people trusted him, wanted him, to be their hero, their savior.
And that he would.
"I'll protect them, and help them rebuild." He said softly, turning again to look to the ruins of the city.
"I will."
Without looking back towards the endless sands of the desert behind him, he walked back to the city, back to the survivors of the cyborgs, though they were few.
This time, when they gathered around him, he did not pull away.
