Juunanagou
The space vessel, assuming that's what it is, came down only a few thousand kilometers from my home. I've never let /my/ guard down, so I felt the strangers long before the martyrs did, and so approached the ship while Son and his lackeys were just beginning to move toward it in ones and twos.
I haven't been seen by any of that group since my sister decided the midget was better company than myself, and I don't intend to come out of hiding until they're dead. For all intents and purposes she and I are immortal, and I have all the time in the world to wait them out. Then there'll be no one on Earth who's stronger than me, besides Juuhachigou, and then we'll see what'll happen. Maybe I'll have a little fun.
Until then, I'm just going to chill. I've been staying in the wilderness, far from most humans and the annoyances they cause. Not even Son can sense a Jinzoningen, and if I don't want to be found I won't be.
But one needs a bit of entertainment now and then, and this might be fun. More impotently is the simple fact that I've yet to hear of someone visiting Earth with pleasant intentions, and they tend to be rather strong, you see. The thing is to make sure they aren't a threat to me or what's mine.
There's three of them in the ship; the strongest's combat level is about half a million, and the other two are a good bit below that. I'm no longer worried; more amused than anything else, really. Reading ki mechanically, checking for and receiving a simple number is easy -- it's part of what I was built to do. But sensing it spiritually is another thing altogether, and as far as I know I've never had any schooling on the subject; just what I've picked up from the martyrs. Still, it seems to me, if I'm reading it right, that the stronger one's sick as hell.
One of the aliens is standing in front of the ship, keeping guard, I suppose; she looks nervous. I land behind an outcropping of rock -- checking out hiding places -- and though she was looking right at me as I went down, she gave no sigh of having seen me. It makes me feel confident to know I'm so far above this chick that she can't even see me move, not that I need a boast; I know what I am, and how much better that what is, compared anything else.
The rocks are set up perfectly; I could watch the whole show here from nearly any angle and never be seen. Satisfied, I started out, my hands balled in the pockets of my jeans, the wind blowing through my dark hair and ruffling my bandanna. I look damn good. I look fucking great.
Once I moved out from behind the stones, the alien noticed me, and raised her arm, pointing what I suppose is some type of gun at my chest. I'm not worried about being hurt by that little thing, but if the she wrecks my clothes I might just get angry. I continued moving forward nonchalantly, pausing to study a remarkably boring rock. The alien now looks puzzle rather than aggressive, which is what I was hoping for. She lowers her arm a bit, studying me. This is too damn easy.
She's all big muscle; no sense of taste or symmetry in her build at all; absolutely hideous. Tall and thick, thinner around the waist and wider at the hips, covered in a coat of short, brindle fur, marbled black and brown, darker and shaggier at the top of her head and down her tail. Her face juts out in such a way at the jaw that it's nearly a muzzle, and two long canine teeth peek out from under the edge of her lip, while her ears, large and erect, set near the top of her head, surrounded by tuffs of fur. She's like a big, bipedal pit bull.
" 'Lo," I said, and taking my hands from my pockets, bowed, briefly and with flourish.
She consulted her scouter, pushing a button on its side then looking at the little screen cross-eyed to read it. If I had a zeni for every time some idiot came here trusting his scouter and died because of it. Then she looked back at me, smirking with all her carnivorous teeth bared. "You're worthless -- don't even /have/ a reading. I don't think my mistress wants me to bother with the vermin, but if you don't get out of here you're going to be in trouble."
"Maybe I like trouble," I said. "But share: what kind of trouble?"
She held up her hand, its fingers tipped by long metallic claws. "This kind," she said.
So, not only is she ugly, she's dumb as a fucking rock. I returned her smirk, and said evenly, "Fair enough. But first, do tell me; are you here to fight the Saiyajin?" If she says no I'll kill them all now -- I'm more than strong enough -- and be done and gone before the martyrs know what happened or even that I was here. I'll put up with Son and his lackeys because I have to, but I don't want to deal with another band of ki manipulators that might come under Son's wing and protection, and cause me trouble later because of it, even if they are weak by my standards. If, on the other hand, she says yes, she wants to fight Son or Vegeta, then I'll just sit back and watch the show. It ought to be fun.
"We're here to kill the super Saiyajin," she says with absolute confidence; it's going to sweet when she learns the facts of the matter. She's nervous, but not because of me. Her eyes keep darting from my face to the horizon, in the direction from which the martyrs are closing in quickly.
"Well," I said, " Have fun," and turned my back to her, starting off in the opposite direction from my hiding place. She was a bit too lost to consider following me, and after I've left her line of vision I leapt, unseen, to the small mount of stones.
I make myself comfortable, settling in among the rock, and set back to wait for the show. I can see them in my mind's eye, specks of light that intersect upon one another a little over a hundred kilometers from here. The specks -- twelve of them -- pause briefly, conversing, then started forward again, and then they were here, landing in tandem just paces away from me.
The Scholar, his teacher's uniform discarded for a clone of his father's gi, hair cropped back and gelled into place; his essentially human daughter and scold of a wife, who can barely command enough ki to keep herself air borne; the Grease Ball, who might have been as great as his father, but lacking the opportunity and ambition is languishing away, wishing for something bigger and not knowing what -- the only one of the whole group I don't hate on general principle; the miserable Executive, his fake glasses put away in their case, purple hair parted; the lonely Namekjin; the Triclops, the Tinny Clown and Bandit; that damn Midget. My sister. And of course the Saiyajin, Son standing in the forefront, Vegeta not so much behind as distant and apart.
The martyrs and the strange alien stare at each other, uncertain of what to do, whether there was to be a fight or not and who was to start it; etiquette of that sort. The humans stand clumped loosely together, nervous because they know how these things always end up, but brought there by some dim, misplaced sense of duty or pride. You'll never catch /me/ sticking my neck out for the chopping block like that, I tell you.
Finally Son asked the obvious question; "What do you want here?"
The alien cocked her head to the side, one eye squinting, the other wide open, bushy eyebrow raised, one ear laid flat and the other held erect, looking at him like he was exspeically stupid. She didn't bother to reply, but began to go over each one with her scouter, her face showing a steady gain in disgust. "Worthless, all of you. Get! My mistress doesn't want to be bothered by any of you humans; only the Super Saiyajin." They're suppressing of course; none showing a level of more than a thousand. It's really quite simple.
None of them quite know what to say to that; it's been a number of years since anything like this has happened, you see, and they're a bit out of practice. Son and Vegeta look no worse for the time that's past; Saiyajin seem to be slow agers, but I have a feeling once they pass their natural prime they're going to drop like flies. You can see it better in the others, many of whom are much older than Son anyway; wrinkles around the Triclops eyes, gray streaks in the bandit's hair, a growing bald stop on the midget's forehead and so on.
Finally, Vegeta stepped forward, his arms crossed against his chest, trying to look like some big badass. See, that's his trouble; he always has to make himself look like a tough guy, when really there's nothing more intimating to a big enemy than to be hit, out of the blue, by a small, suave cool looking guy. But getting back to it; Vegeta said, "Don't waste my time, Inujin. You idiots can do nothing without the word of your master. Tell the coward to show himself!"
The humans and all of the half breeds saves Trunks look to Vegeta like this is all his fault, and most likely it is. Honestly, I don't even know why Son bothers. If I wanted to keep my planet safe I wouldn't harbor intergalactical genocidists.
The alien -- an Inujin, I assume -- pulls her face up, bearing her teeth angrily, the skin wrinkling around her nose, brows piled forward and ears laid back against her skull. "The lady Frigid isn't subject to the whims of vermin," she said, in a memorized spiel. And I bet you anything you like she doesn't understand a third of that.
Vegeta's face twist up in an ugly smirk, easily rivaling her own. "/Frigid/? The Icejin Frigid?" He chuckled, soft and mean; a good chuckle, actually. Well timed. "I know that name. The soft hearted weakling is the shame of the whole Kold Empire. You must joke."
The Inujin's became absolutely vicious; the rest of her lip pulling back, showing her long teeth in their entirety and the pale purple gum they were set in. She lunged forward, and Vegeta shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms and forming a fist at his side. He'll knock her ugly head off, no sweat.
The hatch of the space vessel hissed open, its paneled ramp extending to the ground. A voice cam from the interior, feminine and well cultured yet slightly rasping -- almost pained. The sick one, trying to hide it; who's she think she's kidding? "Aiken!" the voice commanded, and the Inujin froze in her tracks instantly, only a few meters from Vegeta. It would've been simple as anything for him to step forward and kill her then anyway, but instead he stood, that scowl that could mean anything at all on his lips. The Inujin backed off slowly, her eyes still set on him, fangs still bared, until her shoulders touched the back of the ship.
Mean while, the other two aliens walked down the ramp in a solicit, set pace. The first one's not very remarkable; fine frame with small with hard muscling, nice build, no taller than myself. Her lips are thin and mean -- lips like that, you can tell she's a schemer and a bitch -- and eyes big and almond shaped and green. The alien's skin is pale blue and powdery looking, and her hair turquoise and cropped short to her ears, from one of which a long ear ring hangs, but baring that she looks mostly human.
Now the other one -- she's a great deal more interesting. She's tinny and under weight besides -- couldn't weight more than ninety pounds. The Inujin has no sense of dignity, but these two clearly consider a respectable bearing as a matter of personal honor. But unlike the blue one, who holds herself like an unwilling servant, this one has all the haughty, prideful carriage of born royalty.
The alien's skin is a silvery white color, and looks harder and thicker than human flesh, but perfectly smooth and unblemished. Her face is flat, the only raises her small nose and a faint pout in her lower lip, and her chin is short and symmetric. Dark lines trace the path of her jaw, and her eyes are outlined by black like they'd been painted with kohl. Her oval head is crowned by a cap of royal purple, and there's a similar pale pink, hard luminous shell on each of her narrow shoulders, and a darker, diamond shape one in the center of her chest. She's naked, and should seem awkward for it, but she seems a natural nudist, willing and unself-conscious, and she doesn't seem to posses anything that would warrant covering up, anyway. A long, thin tail is wrapped around her ankles. Got to be Frigid.
She paused, studying the group, a thin annoyed frown on her face, and Aiken moved to her side. "Well," she said, "I recognize the Namekjin for what he is, though I had thought they were extinct. And one assumes the rest of you are human?"
"No," Son said, his face grim yet excited in anticipation of the upcoming fight. "They are," and he nodded toward the humans, "But we're Super Saiyajin." Vegeta, Gohan, Goten, and Trunks stepped forward, and Pan nodded, not quite sure what she was or where she belonged; I don't think she's pulled an SSJ yet. I suppose the Scholar thought she'd learn something by being here, but the girl's barely ten, and has no clue as to what she's doing. Parents try to push this kind of shit on their kids, and then people wonder why I killed Gero.
"Nonsense," Frigid said. "You have no tails, and your combat levels are laughable, even by Saiyajin measures. More over, his hair isn't even the right color." She nodded toward Trunks. Vegeta glanced over his shoulder, look at the boy like this is his fault. It's not of course, only rather simple genetics; if the guy wanted a dark haired, Saiyajin looking kid he should have fucked a dark hair chick, but he'd rather be a disapproving ass. Goten snickered, but stopped when Frigid Trunks and Vegeta glared at him in tandem.
"It's funny, is it?" she asked, the corners of her mouth turned down, just slightly. "Well, if you must insist upon lying to me, and won't follow good sense and leave, I guess I'll just have to kill you and worry about the Saiyajin later."
She looked at Videl, guessing correctly that she was Pan's mother. "But really, if I were you I'd send the girl away now, before anything happens to the poor child. These kinds of things aren't for the eyes of children, you know; she sees too much of it, she might grow up to be like me." And the hell of the thing is, she might even be sincere.
"She'll see nothing more than evil being vanquished at its source," Gohan said with complete conviction, the Great Saiya Man reborn. I certainly wouldn't defend anyone, but the smartass mutt knows nothing of her -- never seen the chick before in his life -- and yet she's undoubtedly evil. Doesn't it just make you sick? And mind this comes for the spawn of a Saiyajin, a boy who was raised by the Great Demon Prince himself. It's all one big, fucking joke if you ask me.
"So I'm evil am I?" she said, seemingly more to herself than to the others, and with great contemplation, though if she's anything like the other planet killers I'm sure she's been told as much many times before. "Well, of course I am," she concluded finally. "Just kill them," she said to the Inujin, who'd been growling like a tied dogs the whole time, and now seemed very glad to comply. "That one first," and with a careless yet deliberate gesture flicked her wrist at Yamucha. The human stepped forward willingly enough, looking confident and ready to fight -- these days it's so rare a thing that an enemy one of the humans can handle pops up, yet they have some backward, inert need to be of value -- he's glad for the chance, I think. But Son cut him off, moving toward Frigid until they stood nose to chest, Son looking down and Frigid looking up. Son Goku's big, but by most standards he isn't tall, but she looks absolute minute beside him.
"No," Son said to her. "I'm not playing that game."
"What game?" Frigid asked. "There's twelve of you and only three of us; it only makes sense to fight one on one. Or do you intend to gang up on us? The fact that I could kill you all with one swipe of my wrist aside, that wouldn't be very fair, would it?"
Doesn't she know how to hit them where it hurts! Such skill at judging were his emotions lay! Son doesn't even know what to say to that, and is torn between protecting his little friend and his morals, such as they are. Yamucha cuts in before he can find an answer, and I'll bet she predicted that as well as I did. "It's all right, Goku. I can handle /that/ easy," and he stepped forward, fists balled. I wouldn't be so certain; their combat levels are about matched, but he's out of practice. Son doesn't seem quite comfortable with it, but he nods in assent, and returns to the group of martyrs, all backing off to give the human and Inujin room.
Aiken paused to remove her boots, revealing wide, furry feet ad toes tipped by long claws, then slowly, they began to circle each other.
The space vessel, assuming that's what it is, came down only a few thousand kilometers from my home. I've never let /my/ guard down, so I felt the strangers long before the martyrs did, and so approached the ship while Son and his lackeys were just beginning to move toward it in ones and twos.
I haven't been seen by any of that group since my sister decided the midget was better company than myself, and I don't intend to come out of hiding until they're dead. For all intents and purposes she and I are immortal, and I have all the time in the world to wait them out. Then there'll be no one on Earth who's stronger than me, besides Juuhachigou, and then we'll see what'll happen. Maybe I'll have a little fun.
Until then, I'm just going to chill. I've been staying in the wilderness, far from most humans and the annoyances they cause. Not even Son can sense a Jinzoningen, and if I don't want to be found I won't be.
But one needs a bit of entertainment now and then, and this might be fun. More impotently is the simple fact that I've yet to hear of someone visiting Earth with pleasant intentions, and they tend to be rather strong, you see. The thing is to make sure they aren't a threat to me or what's mine.
There's three of them in the ship; the strongest's combat level is about half a million, and the other two are a good bit below that. I'm no longer worried; more amused than anything else, really. Reading ki mechanically, checking for and receiving a simple number is easy -- it's part of what I was built to do. But sensing it spiritually is another thing altogether, and as far as I know I've never had any schooling on the subject; just what I've picked up from the martyrs. Still, it seems to me, if I'm reading it right, that the stronger one's sick as hell.
One of the aliens is standing in front of the ship, keeping guard, I suppose; she looks nervous. I land behind an outcropping of rock -- checking out hiding places -- and though she was looking right at me as I went down, she gave no sigh of having seen me. It makes me feel confident to know I'm so far above this chick that she can't even see me move, not that I need a boast; I know what I am, and how much better that what is, compared anything else.
The rocks are set up perfectly; I could watch the whole show here from nearly any angle and never be seen. Satisfied, I started out, my hands balled in the pockets of my jeans, the wind blowing through my dark hair and ruffling my bandanna. I look damn good. I look fucking great.
Once I moved out from behind the stones, the alien noticed me, and raised her arm, pointing what I suppose is some type of gun at my chest. I'm not worried about being hurt by that little thing, but if the she wrecks my clothes I might just get angry. I continued moving forward nonchalantly, pausing to study a remarkably boring rock. The alien now looks puzzle rather than aggressive, which is what I was hoping for. She lowers her arm a bit, studying me. This is too damn easy.
She's all big muscle; no sense of taste or symmetry in her build at all; absolutely hideous. Tall and thick, thinner around the waist and wider at the hips, covered in a coat of short, brindle fur, marbled black and brown, darker and shaggier at the top of her head and down her tail. Her face juts out in such a way at the jaw that it's nearly a muzzle, and two long canine teeth peek out from under the edge of her lip, while her ears, large and erect, set near the top of her head, surrounded by tuffs of fur. She's like a big, bipedal pit bull.
" 'Lo," I said, and taking my hands from my pockets, bowed, briefly and with flourish.
She consulted her scouter, pushing a button on its side then looking at the little screen cross-eyed to read it. If I had a zeni for every time some idiot came here trusting his scouter and died because of it. Then she looked back at me, smirking with all her carnivorous teeth bared. "You're worthless -- don't even /have/ a reading. I don't think my mistress wants me to bother with the vermin, but if you don't get out of here you're going to be in trouble."
"Maybe I like trouble," I said. "But share: what kind of trouble?"
She held up her hand, its fingers tipped by long metallic claws. "This kind," she said.
So, not only is she ugly, she's dumb as a fucking rock. I returned her smirk, and said evenly, "Fair enough. But first, do tell me; are you here to fight the Saiyajin?" If she says no I'll kill them all now -- I'm more than strong enough -- and be done and gone before the martyrs know what happened or even that I was here. I'll put up with Son and his lackeys because I have to, but I don't want to deal with another band of ki manipulators that might come under Son's wing and protection, and cause me trouble later because of it, even if they are weak by my standards. If, on the other hand, she says yes, she wants to fight Son or Vegeta, then I'll just sit back and watch the show. It ought to be fun.
"We're here to kill the super Saiyajin," she says with absolute confidence; it's going to sweet when she learns the facts of the matter. She's nervous, but not because of me. Her eyes keep darting from my face to the horizon, in the direction from which the martyrs are closing in quickly.
"Well," I said, " Have fun," and turned my back to her, starting off in the opposite direction from my hiding place. She was a bit too lost to consider following me, and after I've left her line of vision I leapt, unseen, to the small mount of stones.
I make myself comfortable, settling in among the rock, and set back to wait for the show. I can see them in my mind's eye, specks of light that intersect upon one another a little over a hundred kilometers from here. The specks -- twelve of them -- pause briefly, conversing, then started forward again, and then they were here, landing in tandem just paces away from me.
The Scholar, his teacher's uniform discarded for a clone of his father's gi, hair cropped back and gelled into place; his essentially human daughter and scold of a wife, who can barely command enough ki to keep herself air borne; the Grease Ball, who might have been as great as his father, but lacking the opportunity and ambition is languishing away, wishing for something bigger and not knowing what -- the only one of the whole group I don't hate on general principle; the miserable Executive, his fake glasses put away in their case, purple hair parted; the lonely Namekjin; the Triclops, the Tinny Clown and Bandit; that damn Midget. My sister. And of course the Saiyajin, Son standing in the forefront, Vegeta not so much behind as distant and apart.
The martyrs and the strange alien stare at each other, uncertain of what to do, whether there was to be a fight or not and who was to start it; etiquette of that sort. The humans stand clumped loosely together, nervous because they know how these things always end up, but brought there by some dim, misplaced sense of duty or pride. You'll never catch /me/ sticking my neck out for the chopping block like that, I tell you.
Finally Son asked the obvious question; "What do you want here?"
The alien cocked her head to the side, one eye squinting, the other wide open, bushy eyebrow raised, one ear laid flat and the other held erect, looking at him like he was exspeically stupid. She didn't bother to reply, but began to go over each one with her scouter, her face showing a steady gain in disgust. "Worthless, all of you. Get! My mistress doesn't want to be bothered by any of you humans; only the Super Saiyajin." They're suppressing of course; none showing a level of more than a thousand. It's really quite simple.
None of them quite know what to say to that; it's been a number of years since anything like this has happened, you see, and they're a bit out of practice. Son and Vegeta look no worse for the time that's past; Saiyajin seem to be slow agers, but I have a feeling once they pass their natural prime they're going to drop like flies. You can see it better in the others, many of whom are much older than Son anyway; wrinkles around the Triclops eyes, gray streaks in the bandit's hair, a growing bald stop on the midget's forehead and so on.
Finally, Vegeta stepped forward, his arms crossed against his chest, trying to look like some big badass. See, that's his trouble; he always has to make himself look like a tough guy, when really there's nothing more intimating to a big enemy than to be hit, out of the blue, by a small, suave cool looking guy. But getting back to it; Vegeta said, "Don't waste my time, Inujin. You idiots can do nothing without the word of your master. Tell the coward to show himself!"
The humans and all of the half breeds saves Trunks look to Vegeta like this is all his fault, and most likely it is. Honestly, I don't even know why Son bothers. If I wanted to keep my planet safe I wouldn't harbor intergalactical genocidists.
The alien -- an Inujin, I assume -- pulls her face up, bearing her teeth angrily, the skin wrinkling around her nose, brows piled forward and ears laid back against her skull. "The lady Frigid isn't subject to the whims of vermin," she said, in a memorized spiel. And I bet you anything you like she doesn't understand a third of that.
Vegeta's face twist up in an ugly smirk, easily rivaling her own. "/Frigid/? The Icejin Frigid?" He chuckled, soft and mean; a good chuckle, actually. Well timed. "I know that name. The soft hearted weakling is the shame of the whole Kold Empire. You must joke."
The Inujin's became absolutely vicious; the rest of her lip pulling back, showing her long teeth in their entirety and the pale purple gum they were set in. She lunged forward, and Vegeta shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms and forming a fist at his side. He'll knock her ugly head off, no sweat.
The hatch of the space vessel hissed open, its paneled ramp extending to the ground. A voice cam from the interior, feminine and well cultured yet slightly rasping -- almost pained. The sick one, trying to hide it; who's she think she's kidding? "Aiken!" the voice commanded, and the Inujin froze in her tracks instantly, only a few meters from Vegeta. It would've been simple as anything for him to step forward and kill her then anyway, but instead he stood, that scowl that could mean anything at all on his lips. The Inujin backed off slowly, her eyes still set on him, fangs still bared, until her shoulders touched the back of the ship.
Mean while, the other two aliens walked down the ramp in a solicit, set pace. The first one's not very remarkable; fine frame with small with hard muscling, nice build, no taller than myself. Her lips are thin and mean -- lips like that, you can tell she's a schemer and a bitch -- and eyes big and almond shaped and green. The alien's skin is pale blue and powdery looking, and her hair turquoise and cropped short to her ears, from one of which a long ear ring hangs, but baring that she looks mostly human.
Now the other one -- she's a great deal more interesting. She's tinny and under weight besides -- couldn't weight more than ninety pounds. The Inujin has no sense of dignity, but these two clearly consider a respectable bearing as a matter of personal honor. But unlike the blue one, who holds herself like an unwilling servant, this one has all the haughty, prideful carriage of born royalty.
The alien's skin is a silvery white color, and looks harder and thicker than human flesh, but perfectly smooth and unblemished. Her face is flat, the only raises her small nose and a faint pout in her lower lip, and her chin is short and symmetric. Dark lines trace the path of her jaw, and her eyes are outlined by black like they'd been painted with kohl. Her oval head is crowned by a cap of royal purple, and there's a similar pale pink, hard luminous shell on each of her narrow shoulders, and a darker, diamond shape one in the center of her chest. She's naked, and should seem awkward for it, but she seems a natural nudist, willing and unself-conscious, and she doesn't seem to posses anything that would warrant covering up, anyway. A long, thin tail is wrapped around her ankles. Got to be Frigid.
She paused, studying the group, a thin annoyed frown on her face, and Aiken moved to her side. "Well," she said, "I recognize the Namekjin for what he is, though I had thought they were extinct. And one assumes the rest of you are human?"
"No," Son said, his face grim yet excited in anticipation of the upcoming fight. "They are," and he nodded toward the humans, "But we're Super Saiyajin." Vegeta, Gohan, Goten, and Trunks stepped forward, and Pan nodded, not quite sure what she was or where she belonged; I don't think she's pulled an SSJ yet. I suppose the Scholar thought she'd learn something by being here, but the girl's barely ten, and has no clue as to what she's doing. Parents try to push this kind of shit on their kids, and then people wonder why I killed Gero.
"Nonsense," Frigid said. "You have no tails, and your combat levels are laughable, even by Saiyajin measures. More over, his hair isn't even the right color." She nodded toward Trunks. Vegeta glanced over his shoulder, look at the boy like this is his fault. It's not of course, only rather simple genetics; if the guy wanted a dark haired, Saiyajin looking kid he should have fucked a dark hair chick, but he'd rather be a disapproving ass. Goten snickered, but stopped when Frigid Trunks and Vegeta glared at him in tandem.
"It's funny, is it?" she asked, the corners of her mouth turned down, just slightly. "Well, if you must insist upon lying to me, and won't follow good sense and leave, I guess I'll just have to kill you and worry about the Saiyajin later."
She looked at Videl, guessing correctly that she was Pan's mother. "But really, if I were you I'd send the girl away now, before anything happens to the poor child. These kinds of things aren't for the eyes of children, you know; she sees too much of it, she might grow up to be like me." And the hell of the thing is, she might even be sincere.
"She'll see nothing more than evil being vanquished at its source," Gohan said with complete conviction, the Great Saiya Man reborn. I certainly wouldn't defend anyone, but the smartass mutt knows nothing of her -- never seen the chick before in his life -- and yet she's undoubtedly evil. Doesn't it just make you sick? And mind this comes for the spawn of a Saiyajin, a boy who was raised by the Great Demon Prince himself. It's all one big, fucking joke if you ask me.
"So I'm evil am I?" she said, seemingly more to herself than to the others, and with great contemplation, though if she's anything like the other planet killers I'm sure she's been told as much many times before. "Well, of course I am," she concluded finally. "Just kill them," she said to the Inujin, who'd been growling like a tied dogs the whole time, and now seemed very glad to comply. "That one first," and with a careless yet deliberate gesture flicked her wrist at Yamucha. The human stepped forward willingly enough, looking confident and ready to fight -- these days it's so rare a thing that an enemy one of the humans can handle pops up, yet they have some backward, inert need to be of value -- he's glad for the chance, I think. But Son cut him off, moving toward Frigid until they stood nose to chest, Son looking down and Frigid looking up. Son Goku's big, but by most standards he isn't tall, but she looks absolute minute beside him.
"No," Son said to her. "I'm not playing that game."
"What game?" Frigid asked. "There's twelve of you and only three of us; it only makes sense to fight one on one. Or do you intend to gang up on us? The fact that I could kill you all with one swipe of my wrist aside, that wouldn't be very fair, would it?"
Doesn't she know how to hit them where it hurts! Such skill at judging were his emotions lay! Son doesn't even know what to say to that, and is torn between protecting his little friend and his morals, such as they are. Yamucha cuts in before he can find an answer, and I'll bet she predicted that as well as I did. "It's all right, Goku. I can handle /that/ easy," and he stepped forward, fists balled. I wouldn't be so certain; their combat levels are about matched, but he's out of practice. Son doesn't seem quite comfortable with it, but he nods in assent, and returns to the group of martyrs, all backing off to give the human and Inujin room.
Aiken paused to remove her boots, revealing wide, furry feet ad toes tipped by long claws, then slowly, they began to circle each other.