Chapter 1: The Prophecy
He found himself face down on the ground, his hands above his head as if he had fallen. His jaw ached accordingly. Heat was pouring from the sky by the large, ominous sun which held itself at roughly twelve o'clock. A breeze picked up, causing a dust devil to flank the immediate area before it abruptly died. He pulled himself up slowly, the saturated air filling his lungs - he instantly wished for something to drink. Before him he saw a great structure made of stone, yet it was worn from age and the desert surroundings. In fact, the more he looked at it the less spectacular it appeared.
Regardless, something drew him to the place, an odd feeling pitted in his stomach. Something was out of place, something wasn't quite as it should be. A dark shadow cast over the sky and he gazed upward, watching the moon block the golden sun. The heat did not decrease in its intensity, but almost felt like much the opposite.
He squinted and sniffed. The air around him was slowly getting laced with humidity, the sweet, yet salty, smell creeping around him tauntingly. He gritted his teeth and released a low growl from his throat when suddenly an object crashed before his feet. He blinked, surprised, and bent over to pick up the object. Oddly, it was cold. He stood up and examined it, noting how it melted in his grasp. Another small crash was heard from ten feet to his left. A small piece of rounded ice about the size of a quarter in diameter lay on the ground.
His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked up at the sky which was dark because of the eclipse, but clear of clouds. Another piece of hail fell. And then another. He knew better than to stay outside, and he quickly fled for cover inside of the once-majestic building. He only glanced back once to see a downpour.
He paused once he reached the end of the hallway, not quite understanding why he went so far when he only was seeking shelter. Looking back, he was shocked to find that he was no longer in a hallway. He released a startled gasp as his hands ran across the stone wall that blocked the way he had come. He felt the back of his neck tingle. Something felt..not wrong, but just not right. He spun around to find out exactly where he was at, only to see that he was completely engulfed in darkness. He blinked a few times before giving a frustrated cry. This..could not be happening!
Suddenly, the smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his senses and he growled lowly in his throat. It was possible he wasn't safe here, wherever here was. He backed against the wall and prepared himself. Torches flickered to life, two by two down a hall directly in front of him, as if gesturing for him to travel in that direction. Hesitantly, yet unable to stop himself, he passed through the archway and towards the structure. As soon as he took a step upward into the foreboding hallway, the smell increased, and for some reason it utterly disturbed him. He breathed in through his mouth and exhaled through his nose to avoid the scent.
He paused as soon as he entered. The hallway seemed endless. He dared not look behind him, fearing what he might see. What he suspected of seeing. What he was certain he would see. As calmly as possible he began his trek, listening to the barely-audible sound of his feet padding across the stone floor.
He walked. He walked till he broke a sweat. He walked until his muscles burned and his joints ached, but finally convinced himself after some time to stop and catch his lost breath.
Only then did he happen to catch something from the corner of his eye. He stood up straight, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. On the wall there was a depiction of himself and Kakkarot fighting. What was truly stunning was the fact that it was accurate to exactly what had happened when he had first come to Earth and fought with the other Saijin. Startled, he walked further to see images of himself leaving Earth to be healed in a regeneration tank. He looked on the opposite side of the wall to see pictures of Kakkarot, Krillin, and Gohan in the hospital.
He continued forth, picking up the pace slightly. He saw both sides of what occurred during the fight on Namek. Occasionally the path crossed, like his death induced by Freiza. He paused here to stare at his own face. And then he was overwhelmed by an impulse, and he ran through this bizarre abyss of the past.
And then, suddenly, the style of the artwork on the walls changed. They were no longer drawn out pieces but rather what seemed to be sketches. Colored roughly as if someone rushed through to complete them, but still as life-like. He stopped and stared for the longest moment in his life.
There before him he saw Kakkarot killing his son. His stomach twisted and he began to slowly walk, watching as the black-haired Saijin became nothing more than a brutal murderer. That woman Chi-chi was next, and then, Goten. Eighteen, Krillin, Marron, Tien, Chou-tzu, Yamcha, Piccolo, Dende..they all perished by the hands of Kakkarot. His head was swirling as he began to see the scenes as he looked at the pictures. His breath was strangled in a way, as if invisible hands were crushing his windpipe, and he fell against the wall, dizzy.
He lifted his head and let his body fall, not even trying to keep his strength. Trunks. His son...he too was killed...as well as Bulma, and Bra. His family. Gone. The visions invaded him. Trunks. Kakkarot. Bulma. Kakkarot. Bra. Kakkarot. Kakkarot smirking, laughing..laughing at him. He held his hand over his heart, clenching it into a fist in a pitiful attempt to ward off the ache there.
He forced himself to look at the side of the hallway he had fallen against, but they were drab up until the point where Trunks was murdered. There were pictures of himself. But he was alone. Always alone.
Confused, he continued on, his steps staggering in a drunken manner. He came across a sketch that showed a battle between himself and Kakkarot, and naturally, he lost this fight. The vision of this act was so clear it was like a memory - no - it was like he was experiencing it. The brutality of the younger was appalling, and rather not from the sheer strength, but from the execution of such power. The sensation of bones snapping under assailing fists, of tissue raw from intense, concentrated ki, of seemingly irreparable external and internal damage..it was too much at once. With a startled gasp, he fell to his knees, coughing up blood. The smell in the air changed to that of rotting flesh so grotesquely old it somehow was able to send a flicker of fear through him. And somehow, he managed to get to his feet.
He forced himself forward, to push the painful, lucid, and instilled memories away. The images on the walls became blurry, vague. The color seemed paler and not used so frequently. Soon there were pictures of himself on either side, one was that of a priest, the other, an angel. The pictures here were hazy yet so...life like. It was so oddly disturbing to see himself in a depiction of something holy. The decay scent didn't dare touch these images though. It was as if all the dying had occurred directly before these graphics.
A movement caught his eye and he froze in place as an angel began to call to him in words he didn't understand. A priest turned to him, and startled, he backed into the center of the hallway. The angel and priest began speaking simultaneously, their words exact an in synch. Even though he couldn't truly hear their words, he could somehow understand what they were saying. They screamed to him, mournful, painful cries. The aching of their souls - his soul - came through their cries.
"Shut up!" he yelled, "Shut up!" He held his hands over his ears in hopes to block them out, but they merely got louder. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, a million images flashing through his mind. Death, destruction, pain, fear, so many things that he did not understand, or merely did not want to understand; but most of them he already bitterly understood. This was their gift to him.
He opened his eyes and there, in front of him, was Kakkarot. Startled, he took a step back, unsure of what to do or say. His breath was ragged as his lungs begged for clean, cool air.
"I'll kill you," Kakkarot said, a frightening, predatory grin on his face, "I'll kill you like I've killed your family." Somewhere in there Vegeta could here the echo of, "I'll kill you like I've killed my family." The screams increased, his head pounded and felt as if it would explode; visions of his family and allies dying flashed before him.
'Kakkarot, no! KAKKAROT!!' he grabbed his hair and pulled until he thought it would come out, but even then..anything to stop the pain. The blinding, agonizing pain that he would never be strong enough, that he'd always be alone, that he would never be good enough. It hurt to have all his mistakes spat at him at once, it tore at him worse than any attack had ever before, tearing him apart from the inside in an attempt to leave him a hollow shell. And yet, he hung on, no matter how horrible the pain got, something kept him holding on. He released a scream of his own, unable to withstand anymore of the torture that invaded his mind.
"I'll kill you."
And then it was over: He awoke in a cold sweat.
He found himself face down on the ground, his hands above his head as if he had fallen. His jaw ached accordingly. Heat was pouring from the sky by the large, ominous sun which held itself at roughly twelve o'clock. A breeze picked up, causing a dust devil to flank the immediate area before it abruptly died. He pulled himself up slowly, the saturated air filling his lungs - he instantly wished for something to drink. Before him he saw a great structure made of stone, yet it was worn from age and the desert surroundings. In fact, the more he looked at it the less spectacular it appeared.
Regardless, something drew him to the place, an odd feeling pitted in his stomach. Something was out of place, something wasn't quite as it should be. A dark shadow cast over the sky and he gazed upward, watching the moon block the golden sun. The heat did not decrease in its intensity, but almost felt like much the opposite.
He squinted and sniffed. The air around him was slowly getting laced with humidity, the sweet, yet salty, smell creeping around him tauntingly. He gritted his teeth and released a low growl from his throat when suddenly an object crashed before his feet. He blinked, surprised, and bent over to pick up the object. Oddly, it was cold. He stood up and examined it, noting how it melted in his grasp. Another small crash was heard from ten feet to his left. A small piece of rounded ice about the size of a quarter in diameter lay on the ground.
His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked up at the sky which was dark because of the eclipse, but clear of clouds. Another piece of hail fell. And then another. He knew better than to stay outside, and he quickly fled for cover inside of the once-majestic building. He only glanced back once to see a downpour.
He paused once he reached the end of the hallway, not quite understanding why he went so far when he only was seeking shelter. Looking back, he was shocked to find that he was no longer in a hallway. He released a startled gasp as his hands ran across the stone wall that blocked the way he had come. He felt the back of his neck tingle. Something felt..not wrong, but just not right. He spun around to find out exactly where he was at, only to see that he was completely engulfed in darkness. He blinked a few times before giving a frustrated cry. This..could not be happening!
Suddenly, the smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his senses and he growled lowly in his throat. It was possible he wasn't safe here, wherever here was. He backed against the wall and prepared himself. Torches flickered to life, two by two down a hall directly in front of him, as if gesturing for him to travel in that direction. Hesitantly, yet unable to stop himself, he passed through the archway and towards the structure. As soon as he took a step upward into the foreboding hallway, the smell increased, and for some reason it utterly disturbed him. He breathed in through his mouth and exhaled through his nose to avoid the scent.
He paused as soon as he entered. The hallway seemed endless. He dared not look behind him, fearing what he might see. What he suspected of seeing. What he was certain he would see. As calmly as possible he began his trek, listening to the barely-audible sound of his feet padding across the stone floor.
He walked. He walked till he broke a sweat. He walked until his muscles burned and his joints ached, but finally convinced himself after some time to stop and catch his lost breath.
Only then did he happen to catch something from the corner of his eye. He stood up straight, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. On the wall there was a depiction of himself and Kakkarot fighting. What was truly stunning was the fact that it was accurate to exactly what had happened when he had first come to Earth and fought with the other Saijin. Startled, he walked further to see images of himself leaving Earth to be healed in a regeneration tank. He looked on the opposite side of the wall to see pictures of Kakkarot, Krillin, and Gohan in the hospital.
He continued forth, picking up the pace slightly. He saw both sides of what occurred during the fight on Namek. Occasionally the path crossed, like his death induced by Freiza. He paused here to stare at his own face. And then he was overwhelmed by an impulse, and he ran through this bizarre abyss of the past.
And then, suddenly, the style of the artwork on the walls changed. They were no longer drawn out pieces but rather what seemed to be sketches. Colored roughly as if someone rushed through to complete them, but still as life-like. He stopped and stared for the longest moment in his life.
There before him he saw Kakkarot killing his son. His stomach twisted and he began to slowly walk, watching as the black-haired Saijin became nothing more than a brutal murderer. That woman Chi-chi was next, and then, Goten. Eighteen, Krillin, Marron, Tien, Chou-tzu, Yamcha, Piccolo, Dende..they all perished by the hands of Kakkarot. His head was swirling as he began to see the scenes as he looked at the pictures. His breath was strangled in a way, as if invisible hands were crushing his windpipe, and he fell against the wall, dizzy.
He lifted his head and let his body fall, not even trying to keep his strength. Trunks. His son...he too was killed...as well as Bulma, and Bra. His family. Gone. The visions invaded him. Trunks. Kakkarot. Bulma. Kakkarot. Bra. Kakkarot. Kakkarot smirking, laughing..laughing at him. He held his hand over his heart, clenching it into a fist in a pitiful attempt to ward off the ache there.
He forced himself to look at the side of the hallway he had fallen against, but they were drab up until the point where Trunks was murdered. There were pictures of himself. But he was alone. Always alone.
Confused, he continued on, his steps staggering in a drunken manner. He came across a sketch that showed a battle between himself and Kakkarot, and naturally, he lost this fight. The vision of this act was so clear it was like a memory - no - it was like he was experiencing it. The brutality of the younger was appalling, and rather not from the sheer strength, but from the execution of such power. The sensation of bones snapping under assailing fists, of tissue raw from intense, concentrated ki, of seemingly irreparable external and internal damage..it was too much at once. With a startled gasp, he fell to his knees, coughing up blood. The smell in the air changed to that of rotting flesh so grotesquely old it somehow was able to send a flicker of fear through him. And somehow, he managed to get to his feet.
He forced himself forward, to push the painful, lucid, and instilled memories away. The images on the walls became blurry, vague. The color seemed paler and not used so frequently. Soon there were pictures of himself on either side, one was that of a priest, the other, an angel. The pictures here were hazy yet so...life like. It was so oddly disturbing to see himself in a depiction of something holy. The decay scent didn't dare touch these images though. It was as if all the dying had occurred directly before these graphics.
A movement caught his eye and he froze in place as an angel began to call to him in words he didn't understand. A priest turned to him, and startled, he backed into the center of the hallway. The angel and priest began speaking simultaneously, their words exact an in synch. Even though he couldn't truly hear their words, he could somehow understand what they were saying. They screamed to him, mournful, painful cries. The aching of their souls - his soul - came through their cries.
"Shut up!" he yelled, "Shut up!" He held his hands over his ears in hopes to block them out, but they merely got louder. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, a million images flashing through his mind. Death, destruction, pain, fear, so many things that he did not understand, or merely did not want to understand; but most of them he already bitterly understood. This was their gift to him.
He opened his eyes and there, in front of him, was Kakkarot. Startled, he took a step back, unsure of what to do or say. His breath was ragged as his lungs begged for clean, cool air.
"I'll kill you," Kakkarot said, a frightening, predatory grin on his face, "I'll kill you like I've killed your family." Somewhere in there Vegeta could here the echo of, "I'll kill you like I've killed my family." The screams increased, his head pounded and felt as if it would explode; visions of his family and allies dying flashed before him.
'Kakkarot, no! KAKKAROT!!' he grabbed his hair and pulled until he thought it would come out, but even then..anything to stop the pain. The blinding, agonizing pain that he would never be strong enough, that he'd always be alone, that he would never be good enough. It hurt to have all his mistakes spat at him at once, it tore at him worse than any attack had ever before, tearing him apart from the inside in an attempt to leave him a hollow shell. And yet, he hung on, no matter how horrible the pain got, something kept him holding on. He released a scream of his own, unable to withstand anymore of the torture that invaded his mind.
"I'll kill you."
And then it was over: He awoke in a cold sweat.
