Author's Note: I know, I know, I haven't worked on this for a really long time, and I'm sorry. It's partly due to lack of inspiration, and the oh-so-evil Writer's Block. So, consider this update as a New Year's present from me. Or something like that. ^____^;;

A big THANK YOU to Mari (animegirl3) for inspiring me to work on this again. Your review really did it, you know? Oh, and about the novel I submitted for our English class, patterned after this? I'm the only one who got the perfect score. *beams* Although it's only because I was the only one who did something original, not rip-offs from some other literary pieces or compilations. Nothing to brag about, I'm afraid. ^__^;;

Please review!

Crimson Tide
Chapter Thirteen: A Lesson on Obedience


She screamed.

The goofy, loopsided grin on Goten's features was immediately extinguished as his wife's voice shattered his jovial moment. Fear and a sense of dread overcame him, and he rushed to her side as fast as he could. "Celeste!" he called out as he came to a halt beside her. "What's going on? What happened?"

Celeste pointed a quivering finger to the limp figure lying on the floor, her face as pale as sheet. The color of her eyes faded to admit a whitish hue that mixed with the existing shades, and different emotions lurked from all corners of them. She did not speak, for even if she wished to, she found herself unable to do such an act.

There was a blur, and Goten dropped to the ground, unconscious.

"How could you," she whispered in utter disbelief, her entire body shaking. Upon seeing the face of the one at fault as he stepped forward to stand directly in front of her, anger surged through her veins like a devastating tsunami. "How could you... how could you do this to me? How could you do this to me?!"

"I'm sorry... I had no choice."

"No choice?! You had no choice?!" she asked, her voice rising in pitch as the seconds passed. She was glaring daggers at him, and her hands were clamped into fists by her sides, trying to stop her anger from exploding in full force. "Don't tell me that you had no choice on the matter, don't you dare tell me that! You should have---"

He hung his head. "I know I should have. But I was... I let my feelings get in the way. It was my mistake, and I'm sorry for that." Lifting his head to meet her furious gaze with his apologizing one, he sighed as if he had just given up on something important. "There was nothing I could do; he wanted her dead. I'd rather lose her than lose you."

All of a sudden, stinging tears came to her eyes, and it was as if she was not angry in the first place. She held his gaze for a while, as if assessing him inside-out, and then, she threw herself into his strong, waiting arms. "Torankusu, you baka..." she muttered, sobbing without holding back to release all the pain she felt, the pain that was crushing her from the inside. "Hold me, please."

She did not want to talk. She just wanted to be held.

He just held her.

"Boxer? It's Pan."

Flopping himself on his pillow-infested bed, the demi-saiyajin rolled his eyes. Sarcasm was definitely coming up next, as their argument a week or so ago --- give or take a few days --- was still vivid in his memory. Scowling, he replied, "Why, hello there, Your Worship! Lovely day, isn't it? How are you, if I may ask, Your Majesty? And how may I be of service to you, oh High One?"

"Look, I just... I'm sorry," Pan's voice came, and a heavy sigh followed it. "I didn't know you---"

Suddenly, it just came to Boxer that there was no need for him to hear her apology, and that he didn't have time to spare for another argument with the spoiled princess of Sabrea. He had a job to do, he had to figure out what happened to his little sister and where she would have gone off to. In case he would have to take matters into his own hands. "Forget it," he said, getting up, pulling a fresh set of clothes and sparing a glance at his alarm clock while balancing the telephone skillfully on his shoulder. "I'm tired of arguing with you."

"No. I shouldn't have---"

"I said, forget it. So just forget it, okay?!" he snapped, losing the composure he had worked so hard to keep up in their conversation. Silence greeting him in response, he blurted out rather exasperatedly, "Thank you!"

It took quite sometime for Pan to recover, but the demi-saiyajin was patient enough to wait for her to speak up. "Alright, then that issue is good as forgotten. I trust that you will not bring that up in the future? And hopefully, with your cooperation, all this ridicule will come to a stop," she voiced out in her usual authoritative and so-sure tone. A short while after, however, her voice switched to that of pure concern. "Boxer, what's wrong? Something's bothering you, I can feel it. And I can help you, I'm sure I can!"

"Don't play psychiatrist on me, Your Grace."

Silence.

Pan heaved another sigh, although it was evident that she did not mind the mockery that just took place, most probably realizing that she had hurt Boxer's ego once again. By asking him what was wrong, and by offering her help. She knew, as she was part of the race herself, that saiyajins were warriors full of pride, most especially those belonging to the royal family. Boxer was part of the royal family, and it was logical that he was prideful in the very same way. His demure nature just made it vague and subtle. "Well, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't push it. Knowing you, it'll take me forever to convince you to spit it out. I just want you to know... if you need me, I'm here. Just drop me a line or something."

Still nothing.

"I guess that's all I have to say. Umm... see ya around, Boxer."

"Don't go," Boxer suddenly said in a pleading tone as he leaned back against the comfortable pillows of his bed with his eyes closed, as if in meditation. The line fell silent once again for a few moments, but the other simply waited. After what seemed to be eternity, the youngest son of Vegeta opened his eyes, pain shining out of them like the bright rays of the sun. "It's Bra. She... she disappeared."

A cruel, twisted smile on his pale features, the dark lord of the Hakaijins stepped out from a portal. His flowing black robe, blending perfectly with the pitch-black hue of his warphole, intensified the glow of his sharp, crimson eyes that were glittering with happiness that was beyond the levels of sanity. His smile that was already intimidating in its own way grew intolerable the moment he looked down at the lifeless body that was in his arms.

Long, blue-green hair; deep, cerulean eyes. There was no mistaking who it was.

He dumped the body into the Briefs' front porch, inhumane satisfaction evident on his features. He then bent down, extended a finger tipped with a dangerously sharp talon, and made a quick slashing motion. The wound he caused on the young woman's neck was unusually thin, but it was also unusually deep, evident in the amount of blood that flowed out of it. Dipping his finger into the pool of ruby liquid, he began writing his message to his apprentice --- who, in one way, succeeded, and in another way, failed.


Lmuodg wel le sixu duhnr. Lmuodg wel le duigew jmr.
Lmuodg pal le qe iwq qou.


Blood.

He forced his too-heavy eyelids to open up, and the sight of a dark, crimson-colored fluid greeted his still blurred vision. He dipped a finger on the liquid and put his stained hand in front of his face to examine what the liquid truly was, and to confirm if his still numb senses were telling the truth that he was lying by a pool of blood.

And indeed, he was.

He pushed himself up, although his strength was apparently diminished that he was in danger of slamming hard --- face down, which would probably worsen his condition --- on the hard, concrete floor. When he finally regained his composure --- and all his senses activated into their maximum capacity --- he froze in total shock. Bathing in the pool of her own blood was Ariadne, murdered in her own home on her birthday.

He bent over to examine her, panic --- as well as hope of sorts --- rippling through him. All his hopes sunk, however, the moment his hand came in contact with her skin. She was as cold as ice, as pale as sheet, as inert as a helium atom, and as spiritless as a chunk of metal.

She was dead.

Denial overcame him the moment after. He refused to believe that she was dead, he refused to accept that she was gone forever. He began shaking her, hoping against hope that she would flutter her eyes open and tell him that it was all a joke, and she would laugh and giggle and call him silly, the smile that had always been warm and pleasing planting on her features.

But she did not stir. She did not open her eyes nor move a muscle.

She was dead.

He buried his face in his hands, mourning on the loss of a loved one, bemoaning on the horrible end that a child as young, as innocent and as sweet as her achieved. He paused, however, as a nose-wrinkling scent caught his attention. He looked around, but could not find the source of it.

Until he looked down to examine both his hands.

He backed off at the sight of his hands, his trembling hands, his hands drenched with sweat --- and blood. His eyes darted around in panic --- to Ariadne, to the blood on the floor, to the knife that lay by the victim's side, and back to his hands. "No... it can't be... It's not possible... I can't possibly..." he murmured with tightly shut eyes as he attempted to remember what had gone a few minutes before.

But all he saw a hollow pit of darkness --- a void --- clouded with an atmosphere that made a chill run down his spine.

The door flew open, the vibration of the forceful blow rippling through his subconsciousness, as well as the booming "FREEZE!" that followed soon after. Left without a choice, he raised his arms up in a surrendering motion and spun around to meet his fate. A police officer moved towards him with a partly amused grin on his face and grabbed both his wrists to handcuff him.

"What did I do?" he asked, still dazed and confused at what just happened, and at what was going on.

The officer raised his eyes to look at him, and with a smirk, he blurted out, "Well, Mr. Nice Guy, you are under arrest for the murder of Ariadne Son. Anything you say can and will be used against you, so if I were you, I'll just keep my mouth shut until we reach the police headquarters. Stop insisting that you're innocent --- because we caught you red-handed."