Angst and Cliffhangers present…
An Evil Authoresses Production....
Parable of the Eagle
Chapter 2: All Wrong
It was a disaster. Utterly, totally, beyond comprehension, and he had been witness to it all.
Vegeta floated silently above the huge bowl in the earth, wondering just how it could be possible for everything to seem so peaceful when just minutes ago the battle for universal survival took place. He wasn't sure exactly when everything went wrong. It could be when he let Cell become perfect, or when Kuririn refused to detonate the cyborg. Heck, maybe it all went wrong when Kakarrot was sent to earth.
However, for sure, it all went horribly wrong when the idiot Kakarrot miscalculated his son's resolve to fight.
But the fact that his fate had even been placed in the boy's tiny hands in the first place was wrong as well. How—how had it come to this, and when? Somewhere along the way he had slipped from his high pedestal, been sent plummeting down into the depths of normalcy when he should have been raised to the highest peaks of perfection. But struggle as he might to pinpoint the exact location of his failing, he could not. Perhaps, he mused bitterly, it was because his whole life had been one giant mistake. Perhaps every move he'd made had been a wrong one, every choice incorrect.
For what other reason was there as an explanation for the fiasco that his life had become? Everywhere there was something being shoved in his face, sneering at him. Kakarrot being first to achieve the legendary status of super Saiyan, his son achieving it too, and the boy defeating the creature who could've crushed Vegeta under his heel. All the while he had failed in every aspect of his life. No matter how hard he trained, how much work and effort he put into gaining more and more power—even achieving the Legendary so that he might once again stand before Kakarrot knowing he was the better of the two—it was all for nothing. None of it mattered now.
Trunks was dead. But not for long, that didn't matter.
Kakarrot was dead. Now that was a problem, that mattered.
Vegeta had achieved Super Saiyan only to be defeated in power by his enemy's son. And now the fool was dead—he would never get the chance to redeem himself. To take back his lost pride in a triumphant show that yes, the Saiyan Prince was the strongest Saiyan of all. That he had finally become the most powerful; these Earthlings' greatest threat.
Instead, the greatest threat had come in the form of an oversized cockroach.
"Stop…" Gohan choked out, tears dripping down his chin but unmercifully his vision remained clear. "S-stop it—stop..."
They didn't. Cell watched in perverse amusement as a hard chop from Cell Junior number 5 broke Yamcha's arm cleanly with a loud crack. A second crack soon followed after, rendering the scarred fighter unconscious from the pain and heavy blows. Even the strongest left—Vegeta and Trunks—were starting to lose ground; taking upon more damage with every passing second.
"Stop…" again came Gohan's broken whisper. He could only watch in wide-eyed horror as he trembled on the dusty ground. No one could be brought back to life except Trunks. If anyone died—it would be for good. Forever. Forever his fault.
His fault that he's not strong enough.
His fault that he couldn't find this power.
His fault.
Kuririn went down, as did Tenshinhan, and Cell laughed loudly at the deplorable show. Gohan's cloudy jade gaze left the torture scene to quickly glance at the android. This—this—monster had the gall to laugh at the pain of his friends. To cause the pain of his friends. Why—why did Cell want to make him mad?
Why can't they just all stop? Fighting would just breed more fighting—until one of them was dead. Gohan certainly wouldn't want to die; for his own and for the universe's sake. But, why would killing Cell be necessary? Why did Cell want to fight so badly? He told Cell he couldn't control himself—he hated that feeling, to not be in control.
But the way things were looking, Gohan started to wish for that loss of control. Oh Kami, the human fighters were already down. His father—no, please, his father. Lying there on the ground—beaten, bloody, even the proud golden mane of Super Saiyan dusty and matted with blood. An invincible fighter like his father, Son Goku, always there to be the one standing, now there helpless—no. Stop, please. Please s-stop.
Gohan completely missed the smirk on Cell's face.
"That's enough play, Cell Juniors! Kill them when you feel like it."
Nothing could prepare Gohan for what happened next—not even the horrors of Freeza. Because this time, it was his entire fault. Gohan's natural reflex was to desperately search out his father's form. In doing so, his eyes instantly focused on the Cell Junior whose arm was poised back in a killing blow while shooting at Goku's prone figure.
Gohan was already in a half move to phase over—though he knew no speed of his could ever reach his father in time. But he had to—to—to do something. Anything. He wanted to scream, to be the one lying on the earth without strength to even resist the deathblow—why can't he be the one on the sidelines? Watching his father defeat Cell—why?
Kami, daddy I'm so sorry. I—please, I don't want you to go—please—anyone… PLEASE!!
Someone answered, but not in the way Gohan would ever wish for.
Luck. It was sinister luck that saved his father's life—at the cost of another. It took Gohan a while to register the figure impaled on the Cell Junior's arm; flung there by accident in a miscalculated throw from another Cell Junior.
Tenshinhan.
Then, before Gohan could even gather the breath to scream, something fell out of the sky to roll to his feet. He didn't want to look down—he really didn't—the smell of blood pretty much confirming what it was. However, he needed to know—Kami knew he didn't want to—who it belonged to. But why should he? He didn't really need to know. Oh Kami, he shouldn't look, but…. He looked down.
It was Yamcha's head.
The anguished scream ripped through the plains, bringing an abrupt halt to everything and everyone. The ki that burst forth from Gohan was like a solid hot wall—akin to getting punched in the face for those that could sense ki. Gohan kept on screaming, needing something—needing release.
Dead. They were dead. Unable to come back. Killed by this monster, this bastard that—that—
He was going to kill Cell. Not defeat, not subdue—kill. Kill him a thousand times over. Rip him to pieces, crush him into pulp, listen to him scream, and scream, and scream. Force him to watch the flesh melt from his bones; force him to eat his own limbs. Killing him slowly, painfully, over and overwithoutmercywithoutremorsejustwatchinghimdiediedie—
Cell was going to die.
First to go were the little ones—the little demons sent by their master to goad him on. Well, their mission was accomplished, so now they had to go.
And go they did—quite violently too. Gohan wasted no time in dispatching Cell's minions, vaporizing them in the blink of an eye, seemingly effortlessly; he wanted to save all the fun for the android himself, the Juniors were nothing. And when he'd stopped they were literally nothing, save a fine dust blown about in the wind.
But now it was time to address the task at hand: revenge. For Yamcha, whose head lay some twenty feet away from the rest of his body. For Tenshinhan, who lay sprawled out in an unnatural position, belly to the sky exposing the hole made by an arm skewered through his chest. But perhaps most of all for his father, whom he would hurt more than any others that day as he watched his only son slip into the depths of darkness this monster had pushed him to, as the boy became a monster himself.
'Sorry Daddy…He made me do it…' Cold empty blue-green eyes turned from the carnage behind him to face the android before him, towering a full five feet over the boy's under-developed form. Had anyone outside of their circle looked on, they would have seen him physically as the child he should have been: small, wary in his stride, and looking quite out-of-place in the middle of a canyon before what appeared to be a giant green cockroach. But they would've been blind had they seen that.
No one on the battlefield could miss the new maturity and determination shining through his eyes—focused solely on Cell. Slowly he walked forward, still keeping a constant pace. He wasn't hesitating in the least, merely taking his time, and the smirk faded from Cell's face: finally the boy was coming around to his senses! Perhaps he'd get a decent fight after all. Making a mental note of what seemed to raise these Saiyans' ire the most, Cell slid into a fighting stance, patiently waiting for his opponent to make the first move.
What a fool he was for that.
No amount of data, no amount of genetic engineering, no amount of technical marvel could prepare the android for what he was now facing. The boy literally blurred from view, right before him—his ki signature blipping into nothingness at the same time. He was simply gone, from sight, from sense, and this actually sent a shiver of worry down the android's lab-grown spine.
He was gone. And then he was there. Right in front of him—or more accurately, right through him as evident by the short arm protruding from Cell's back, muscles rippling, taut, sending a spray of multi-hued blood and other bodily fluids out from the wound. The boy's face was there too, a hair's width from his own, and he frowned no more. No, now he was wearing the same thrilled smirk the android himself had been wearing mere moments ago.
Cell barely had time to register the pain of the attack which had arrived with quicksilver celerity before the child was all over him. Punches, kicks, blasts—they all tore through him mercilessly, one right after another, leaving him zero time to formulate a counter-attack. Each new onslaught carried rage and fury he hadn't calculated in the boy, wiping all plans from the bio-engineered mind. Unable to fly away, unable to stay and fight—he was far too slow to respond, he realized—by the time one blow had even registered and he was gearing up to retaliate, another was already connecting. The boy—the boy was strong.
Perhaps he'd underestimated him, overestimated himself—could it be? Desperately he reached for power, frantic, panicked—there must be more there must be more there must be more.
He might be composed of the best of the best—but this Saiyan—this Gohan virtually negated any advantage he might have had. 'Impossible…' echoed somewhere in his mind. It made no sense! He should be winning right now, not losing fantastically—it was all wrong! Gero had created him, had made him perfect. And yet still he was losing.
He accredited it to the recent ejection of the android female, reducing him to a less perfect form—the stupid child, one too many blows to his abdomen, and the android simply known as "Juuhachigou" had come shooting out. He could only look on in horror as his strength was mocked, the boy's malignant smile widening over a scarred and bloodied face. It was all wrong…
Though he didn't know it, his opponent was also making the same argument in his own head, helplessly looking on as his body was flooded with Saiyan rage, his power unleashed. He'd tried to warn them, tried to make them see—couldn't they understand? No, of course they couldn't—for they were them, and he was himself. None could comprehend what he was going through, not even his own father—but perhaps Cell was beginning to understand. Oh yes, yes, from the horrified disbelieving expression slapped upon his face, realization that perhaps he might lose dawning at last, he knew the android understood.
'You wanted this, you monster…' his soul spoke.
'I wanted this…' a twisted maze of wire and
DNA replied.
But that certainly didn't mean he was going down
without taking someone with him… Something flashed in the databank of his
mind, and a cold smile worked its way across his features, causing Gohan
to slow his assault in wondering what he was up to. His hits became sloppier,
his kicks more easily blocked, until he eventually stopped altogether and
merely looked on.
Mistake.
Cell released a great yell and powered up, now able
to fully focus on the task without Gohan trying to stop him. No blasts
came, the boy just stood there, watching curiously. What would he try now,
didn't he understand that Gohan was far stronger than him—what a pitiful
display, this monster obviously couldn't handle the ki he was drawing
into his body, beginning to bloat like a balloon. Bigger, bigger, as more
and more energy streamed into his body, now a full three times his original
size at least, and still he kept growing.
A pang of worry shot through Gohan's mind, curiosity shoved
into the corner—something wasn't right, this was a battle, a battle!
Not some game his Saiyan side was being allowed to indulge in! Yamcha,
Tenshinhan—dead. And all his fault.
Alright, enough games Cell.
It was time to win.
But according to Cell, it was time for them all to die. "I'll admit, Gohan—you're stronger than me like this!" His rough voice could barely be heard over the crackling energy and howling winds, "But if I'm going, then you and the whole rest of this wretched planet is going with me! Tell me, how long do you think you can survive in space, boy, without air?!" Maniacal laughter filled the air as he drank in the delicious look of sudden horrified realization that washed over the baby-like face. Oh yes, he would have the last laugh after all it seemed.
Apparently Goku had other plans, though, as suddenly he was right beside the towering beast, bloated with energy and no longer able to move. Cell flailed his tiny arms wildly, unable to reach the Saiyan far below him, and screamed curses at him.
"D—Daddy?!"
With one hand on the warm bulk beside him, and another holding two fingers to his forehead, he turned to cast a weary eye to his warrior son, smiling warmly. How he wanted to hold him one last time—only once, to just give him a hug and say how proud he was… But time was not on the side of the Saiyan father, and all he could do was say goodbye and phase from existence, taking Cell with him.
"DADDY!!"
goodbye…
He abandoned his ascended form as quickly as possible and sank ungracefully to his knees—he wanted to cry so badly; to just be Gohan, not to be a Super Saiyan, not even to be a fighter, just to be a little boy and cry… To lean on someone's shoulder and just let all the grief flow forth unhindered. His daddy was gone again, gone again—he always left! And it always wound up being his fault somehow. Not enough power, not enough rage, not enough motivation…
if you come back, daddy, I promise
I'll do better
if you come back I promise I will
They all came down now—all that were left, still shocked into silence by the events. Kuririn alone spoke to him, whispering reassuring words into his ear, that it wasn't his fault, that it was no one's fault…
Stupid humans.
Time was never on his side. A barely noticeable ki spike, and Trunks' body landed in a heap on the ground, another corpse, with a sickening thunk; a clean one-inch-diameter hole burned right through his chest, and the crunch of gravel beneath boots turned his head.
He was back. He was back.
Oh, he was back, was he? Oh ho, he was back... There would be no playing around this time. Despite the tears that stung his eyes, straining to be released, a malevolent smile crawled across the demi-Saiyan's bruised and bloodied face, and a new brightness sparked in his eyes. White-hot energy arced around his small frame as he was engulfed in yellow flame, ascending once again to fulfill his duty.
There were no more tears now, no time for tears. He had no patience for such niceties. "I am going to kill you Cell," a cold voice that could not have been his own spoke low, "I'm going to kill you, simply that. I feel you should know this before I strike you down for the final time."
No movement was made in reply, merely the holding of a steady gaze between the two fighters. "It is all that I asked from you, boy."
They both stepped back, squaring off for the final battle.
Their two worlds exploded simultaneously in a curtain of white-hot fire, swirling up around their forms, and each suddenly knew the other—knew his purpose, knew his sense of self, knew his ultimate goals.
They blasted forward, leaving prominent dust trails in their wake and disappeared in a whirling flurry of kicks and punches, blows and blasts. A narrowly dodged kick from the android, a swift uppercut from Gohan followed by a thick spray of fluid or a blood-curdling scream—these were all the details caught by those still alive on the sidelines.
Then suddenly Gohan—or more accurately, the monster Gohan had become—stopped. Just stopped—halted every punch and kick, and wasted no time in slicing a single palm through the now-regenerated gut of his opponent, fingers sharp as knives, so packed with ki were they. Cell would have expected him to repeat his previous action, withdrawing the hand and renewing the assault, but to his immense surprise, the boy didn't.
He didn't explode out the back but kept his hand buried in the abdomen, frowning at the vital organs which threatened to spill from the hole. Cell could only look down into the cold blue-green eyes and wonder what was to come next. He felt the rise in the temperature of his lower half before he even sensed the ki buildup—oh no…The boy—he—he wouldn't!
A feral scream, like that of a mountain wildcat, echoed through the nearly demolished valley, yet no explosion came as of yet. No, Gohan just kept gathering ki—more—more in his little fist, still buried deep in the green flesh of his adversary. Cell tried to bat him away, but he merely used his other arm to effortlessly blast off the appendages—by the time Cell re-grew them, they'd be of no use, for he would be finished.
Still the energy grew inside, and Cell could do nothing now—Gohan had wrapped him in a half-bear hug with his free arm, clutching him to his own chest. If Cell flew away, then Gohan would be going with him. The pain was a raging fire in his stomach, acid burning through his veins. Before it was released, he was allowed one more look into the eyes of the one who would destroy him. The eyes he'd wanted to see so badly, the ones which burned with anger, rage, hatred—his lifeblood. No remorse, no regret, no signs of mercy, just cold calculating fury.
"Goodbye…" the eyes said, narrowing. He twisted his body to Cell's side, keeping his fist clamped outside, but bringing his palms together all the same. One inside the body, one out, a thin layer of flesh separating his hands.
Then the whisper came, and it was almost carried away by the wind before it reached Cell's ears.
"Ka…" The first syllable, soft, quiet, not meant to instill fear in his heart.
"Me…" The second syllable, stronger, louder, yet still nearly lost in the swirling winds. A shiver went up the android's spine as recognition of the attack flooded his mind.
"Ha…" The third, and now his voice was just loud enough that the remaining fighters could discern the recitation, eyes widening—this was it, they could feel the finality—everything would be poured into the blast. Gohan would unleash all that he had—would it be enough, though?
"Me…" The fourth, quite loud now, a yell carrying in tow pain and fury, a few stray tears leaking out.
if I do this daddy, will you come back?
daddy? for you…
Face contorting in a pathetic mixture of pain and sudden realization, the android made one final feeble attempt to thwart the boy—turning out to be a futile attempt as well. No reply was granted, save for the final syllable, an anguished, "HA!" of release as he discharged the ki, ripping through the cyborg's body as it searched for an opening, an exit. When the energy found none, it simply made one, dissolving the monster's being into nothingness. Even when it seemed not a single cell remained, still energy poured from Gohan's hands, shooting every which way, forming a larger and larger crater. It took nearly all the remaining Z warriors' help to get the child to finally realize that it was over—he was gone.
But no—he was gone too. He.
Daddy…
He just slipped to the ground, lying broken and beat on his back, and laughed at the sky.
His eyes swept round the scooped out land below him, running around the rim and coming to rest at the very center of the bottom where the boy who'd saved the world—who'd saved him—had slipped to the ground, chest heaving, as he laughed in victory, glad to have the battle over.
Stupid child.
Just like Kakarrot. He couldn't stand either one of them, how they used their heritage, abused it. Whatever pain either one of them had gone through during that fight, they deserved it. He should have been the one fighting, the one grinning maliciously as he ground fist after fist into Cell, drinking in eagerly the twisted contortions of that monster's face as Vegeta toyed with him. It shouldn't have been the boy, it should've been him.
For that was what he loved most in a fight—standing proudly above your enemy, knowing you are the stronger one, and just playing. As a Saiyan under the Cold Empire, planet purging gave him ample opportunity to indulge in that pleasure. He flashed back to his days of traveling the universe with Nappa and smiled cynically. How ironic that peaceful as life was for him now, free as he was, his happiest memories issued from times of bondage in the past.
It was the planet purging missions that truly made him appreciate his Saiyan heritage though, and that was why he recalled them so fondly. Destroying mercilessly—for fun—at the side of another Saiyan… Ah, it brought a smile to the warrior's lips. The rush, the power, never holding back, never taking prisoners—though their orders were to take prisoners, but they were vigilantes Freeza overlooked on account of their value to the empire. How he longed to feel that pride again—what he wouldn't do…
But the Saiyans were all gone now, and he was the prince of a forgotten race, himself forgotten. Who would acknowledge his birthright? Kakarrot? The very thought made him queasy. And he could hardly picture the only other Saiyan joining him on any hunts. No—if he wanted anything done, he would be doing it alone.
But perhaps that was all for the best. Perhaps he did need to be alone for a while. Perhaps a long while. Yet there was so much here holding him back, so many feelings—argh, he longed to be rid of them! He wanted feelings for himself in place of feelings for others—pride over care. He wanted…
He wanted to go. To abandon it all, leave it all behind, and just go.
"I'm leaving," he whispered to himself with startling finality. "I'm leaving," he whispered even louder, firmer. He tilted his head up into the blue sky, making his mind up and once again grounded out resolutely, "I'm leaving Earth."
And so, he flew off to Capsule Corps., eager to have a little chat with Dr. Briefs.
It was that time again, when the Light was high up in the Blue and warm against his dry and scaly hide; warming his blood enough to jumpstart his muscles. He got up with as much grace as one with his size could muster and shook himself off. Dust and dead skin seemed to mist over before getting carried off by the winds and making him feel much cleaner and younger. Taking a second to scratch his massive pick-up truck size head against the cavern walls, he pondered the schedule for that day. Oh yes, first thing first… He sniffed the air, testing for a certain scent.
Ah, the Small One was awake and by the cluster of trees most of the Smalls gathered at for food. As usual.
He snorted, having it come out sounding like a cross between a roar and sneeze in its stertorous quality. He would get that Small One yet. Oh yes sir, and the Light would be witness to it that day! It wasn't about eating anymore—no—it was about the getting! With a final snort he lumbered on his two gigantic feet towards the Small One's scent—his nearly absent tail barely keeping him in balance for a decent run.
Of course, he failed to recall that he had thought the same notion every week and that every time he would fail to get the tiny yet deceptively exasperating morsel. As it goes, dinosaurs like Scar (or as the Smalls called him, "The Scarred Tail-less," to his irritation) weren't blessed with much of a knack for pattern recognition. A mere hour later the old reptile lumbered back with another 5 square inch of his tail delicately missing—one would think he would have learned the first time around about hunting human children that carried swords.
Videl fanned the coals with the cheap bamboo fan she had acquired, her mouth watering at the way the relatively thin slice of meat was sizzling over the fire. She must say it had been a while since the old dinosaur came around drooling and attempting to devour her. The first time she met up with the curiously already half-way-short-of-a-full-tail dinosaur was a little over a year ago when she was unceremoniously "placed" there.
A year ago. Had it really been a year? Well, according to the markings she had made on the small cave, which served as her main shelter, it was definitely past 365 days. Truthfully, she had had no doubts she could manage this long. After all, she had been living both on the streets and the open country for the last two years as she made her way west from Orange Star City.
She did, however, wonder how long she would have to wait. It passed through her mind at least once every day that she could be living out there in vain. That the man who promised her power—Vegeta—was never coming back. But something kept her there in earnest wait, patiently counting down the days. She had known right away Vegeta had nothing in both appearance and attitude that could label him as "good". He oozed danger and certain darkness hovered around him like a deadly curse. Videl with what her young eyes had seen over the years could easily see it—and she could clearly see the honor and pride too.
He was unquestionably a man of his word.
At least she convinced herself so.
She would wait.
The first few days had been hard. Getting used to the contours and finding food was a problem. But then, Videl was highly resourceful despite her age—a skill gained from the years living off the streets and contending over a slice of molded bread. It was only the second day when Videl mused out loud to herself that the powerful man never said she couldn't leave the area. She could travel to a nearby town and live off there before returning to the harsh wilderness. But of course, she was a fighter—a warrior; and there were certain things like honor to hold up to.
So she got up early and padded bare foot around the location making sure she never strayed too far from the small lake, fearing that it would turn out to be the only embodiment of water for miles. She happened across numerous landscape oddities and traces that someone else had lived there before. A hand cut half of a coconut shell was clearly used as a bowl and she wasted no time picking it up.
Choosing one of the sturdier caves that riddled the landscape as her "permanent" home, she collected all she could find that was useful and set it there. Myriad of sharp rocks, flat rocks, and smooth rocks were lined neatly in a habit her deceased mother had instilled in her. Large leaves and dry grass were laid out in the far corner as a bed—she had smiled to herself when she first slept on them, finding it much more comfortable than cardboard boxes on wet and cold pavement.
It was on the fourth day that the dinosaur first suddenly sneaked on her (to which she could never understand how such a large creature managed to move so silently) and would nearly have gotten her if she hadn't dived into the lake. Seemed like the half-tail reptile had a certain distaste for water—a pity, she had mused, the creature stunk. And from that day on she would immediately hide if the smell of a mix of leather, feces, and carcass were to drift in on the wind.
Videl lived off the abundant berries and fruit trees that seemed to never go empty and occasionally managed to snag a rabbit or two. Mornings were spent practicing whatever katas she could remember or just taking refreshing dips in the lake. She even made it a game to train her lungs, increasing steadily the amount of time she could hold her breath under water.
It was one sunny day that she decided to try and climb the steep rocky cliffs—just for the heck of it. Maybe she could even sleep under the stars for once; the height making it safe from predators. She almost killed herself before managing to reach the top but the result was well-worth the risk. The view was simply beautiful and she had stared in awe before a bright glint to her right caught her attention. Whatever it was, it was man-made. And whatever was man-made might be of use.
So she had once again risked her life to scale the even higher vertical rock, her fingers and knees bleeding profusely when she made it. She was a child gifted with a natural sense of readiness, so she had packed a bunch of berries to ensure she could survive a while before her fingers could withstand the climb back down. And what was the object she had seen glinting in the sun? To her delight, it would prove to be her most useful tool of all—and later on a cherished companion.
It was a sword.
From the way it had been half buried in the topsoil it looked like it had been there for years. But no rust was found and the edge of the blade still appeared sharp as ever. In fact, Videl had never seen such fine workmanship. Well, her knowledge of blades was decidedly limited, restricted to the times her parents would let her use the kitchen knife or when street kids pulled out switchblades—but even so, she could tell it was a very good sword. And then there was the fact that it could cut cleanly through tree trunks with her meager strength once she got the hang of angling it correctly.
The only clue she had on who made or possessed the sword was from a crudely carved kanji at the topside of the halberd. It took her nearly a day to decipher the child-like scribble and in the end she guessed the closest meaningful word she could get was "go". "Go," as in "realization" or "enlightenment"—yes, that would suit the sword well. And so she delightedly named the sword "Go-kun".
Go-kun was there when she got her first ever taste of dinosaur meat. Apparently old Scar was very sensitive about his tail and once Videl got a small slice of it he would immediately lumber away as if remembering something painful from the past. Videl had even wondered if it was Go-kun's owner that once cut off Scar's tail. She was also honestly baffled why anyone would leave behind such a superb weapon. She—for one—would be quite insane to ever part with it: Go-kun was her best friend for now.
It wasn't long before she incorporated sword-play into her katas, mostly improvising as she went. With no humans to try it against (save for the occasional bandits that passed through and consequently provided her with clothing and other supplies when they dared try to rob her of Go-kun) she didn't have a clue where her weaponry skills stood. No matter though, as long as she could defend herself against Scar it was all that mattered.
It had been somewhere during the first 6 months that strange earthquakes rocked the area. In fact, it felt like the whole earth was shaking and she had been genuinely scared out of her wits. The earthquakes soon stopped and all was calm once more. She had blinked and pushed herself up back on her feet from the ground, trying to figure out just why the earthquakes felt more like shockwaves from some great blast. She was even more confused when hours afterwards the sky had gone completely black. The event also quickly went away and she accredited it to some unknown effect from the earlier earthquakes.
After that, nothing particularly exciting ever happened again.
And she continued waiting.
There was a knock. It wasn't particularly loud or hurried—just a crisp rap in an announcing manner. Vegeta kept his arm forward in a completed swing position and kept his blue-green eyes staring straight ahead at an unseen enemy. One would almost think he was tracing the outline of a tall, spiky haired man the way his piercing orbs burned with a mix of grudging respect and resent.
It wasn't until the entry door to the Gravity Room swished open that Vegeta dropped the arm and straightened up to face his visitor. He never welcomed anyone that disturbed his training time, but this time he cut himself some slack and allowed just a minor spark of anticipation warm him. After all, Dr. Briefs wasn't a man who would willingly intrude on the Saiyan prince's time unless it was for a reason.
"Vegeta," the genius father of Bulma cheerily greeted, "It's done!"
Even the cold destroyer of planets couldn't help the smallest of smirks twist into his face at the statement. He had approached the aging man with a not so gentle demand nearly half a year ago to harness the genius's skill in making Vegeta a vehicle to travel in space. The months after were spent in impatient wait as he buried himself in his training.
Vegeta had convinced himself it wasn't so that he could avoid Bulma and her son.
He almost faltered in his plans to leave the blue-green sphere when Mirai Trunks left. The young man reminded him of the potential his own son could achieve. However, the thought of even entertaining the idea to settle down was like a blow to his gut. Could he? Could he really stay there on a planet where he wasn't the strongest? Where his one true rival had left in death taking his chance of victory with him? Where a woman and her child reside—a constant reminder of his momentary weakness?
Mirai Trunks had told him of the life he had gone through amidst the cyborgs' reign of terror in the time they both had spent in the Room of Spirit and Time. Even though Vegeta had made no indication of listening, Trunks continued his monologue without care. Afterwards, the Saiyan prince ignored his future son to once again step into the open white and continue training—but he kept the pain-filled words in mind. He had promised himself not to leave his Trunks without a father.
He had.
That was before Kakarrot's son ascended beyond them all, before Kakarrot sacrificed himself. Before he realized he really needed to escape from this—this—failure, this trap of mundane consistency. The baby still had his mother and the world was at peace. Surely Vegeta wouldn't be sorely missed. It wasn't like he would play an active role with his son other than training him if he stayed. His future son turned out—satisfactory, even without him there.
They didn't need him.
Nor he them.
The large pod like ship was eerily reminiscent of Goku's
space-ship that he took to Namek. Though, this one was visibly much
larger and more elliptical in form; more aerodynamically suited to atmosphere
traveling than just space where aerodynamics had no bearing. Vegeta was
lucky that Dr. Briefs—being the inquisitive scientist he was—continued
to expand on the information he had gathered and created when he first
made Goku's ship. Not mention Vegeta's transport was modeled after an upgraded
Ginyu pod—the exact one Goku had arrived from Yardat in.
"I took the liberty of dividing the sections more clearly since you had said you would be living in it for quite some time," Dr. Briefs explained before leading Vegeta in for a tour of the craft.
The main door led in to the air-lock chamber before opening into a lobby-like room with three corridors branching off in different directions and a round ladder that went down to another level. Vegeta immediately noticed the intercom panels by each corridor. Not to mention that even the current room they were in had the appearance of a family living room—sofas and a coffee table were bolted down on the cold white tile.
"What are those useless things for? Didn't I say I was going alone?" Vegeta scowled.
"Why Vegeta," the lavender haired man replied innocently, "We must be prepared if you were to have guests! You are after all going on a vacation in space! Who knows if you end up hosting intergalactic scientists!"
Vegeta didn't even bother to respond. And "vacation"? The man sounded like he was sure Vegeta would come back. Would he? Pushing the contemplation out from his mind, Vegeta briskly strolled through the automatic sliding doors into what seemed to be the main control room.
"Ah, I modeled the controls from what I found in the pods. I also added a few extras like radar and manual controls for atmospheric flight since I assumed you would stop by planets for re-fueling and supplies. The planetary coordinate maps are also in the database and it's still all in that language you used."
Vegeta eyed the controls, feeling something akin to a peculiar mix of nostalgia and disgust. The controls were a breath of familiarity to him on the strange alien planet. But even so, they reminded him of his servitude under Freeza—a taint in his pride that would consequently remind him of the blasted Kakarrot once again. Sweeping his eyes over the panel, taking note of unfamiliar buttons, Vegeta went ahead pressing recognizable ones and brought the ship to life.
The large screen flickered to show the Capsule Corps yellow dome as secondary grids and statistics blinked on the lower right and left corners. Vegeta had to admit Bulma's father was thorough in his work and was extremely pleased. He frowned though when he skimmed through the ship's directories and commands—he could hardly read them.
"It's in Earth language," Vegeta pointed out, "I want them in the universal script."
Dr. Briefs lightly chewed on his ever-present cigarette, kicking himself mentally for failing to remember that Vegeta wasn't fluent in the Earth's written language. Giving the Saiyan an apologetic smile, he immediately formulated a way out and nodded. "I would need your assistance since I don't understand a word of your language. And I need to be able to check if everything is translated correctly."
Vegeta nodded in reply. "Can you get it done by today?"
"I can get it done in an hour. I just need you to confirm some constants and double check a few variables in the language later on. The computer will translate everything else automatically."
"Good. You do that right now. I'll be evaluating the rest of the ship."
With that, Vegeta exited the control room and explored the vehicle that would be his 'home' for an un-predetermined extended time. The second corridor to the control room's right led to the training facility that was nearly identical to the gravity room he had been using. The chamber was considerably larger and on his request was able to generate more than the 300g pressure his current GR could. A door next to the GR led to a medical section where it held relatively high-tech life support systems (taken from the pods) and most of Earth's newest and best medical supplies. There were large empty spaces left via Vegeta's orders—who knew that he could get himself a regen tank or anything more useful than the Earth's pathetic medical instruments.
The third corridor led to an extensive storage room that could supply a small family for years. Rows upon rows of capsules were available to store more than Vegeta could ever need and a large freezer was also present. An elevator was placed at the middle of the storage room to ease transporting supplies to the lower level where the living quarters were. Taking it, Vegeta found himself at the juncture between the kitchens and bedrooms.
The kitchen wasn't very large with just a few of the necessities—it seemed Dr. Briefs realized how efficient a person Vegeta was. A wide table was placed a few feet from the stoves and had more seats than Vegeta would have cared for. Along the walls of the room were large round windows, providing a clear view of their surroundings and later on, in space, a breathtaking view of the stars. Shutters were installed in case the need for complete stealth arose.
The main bedroom was easily found since Dr. Briefs took the time to label it with his name. Snorting at the name plate that simply said "Vegeta", he made his way to the end of the hall. Down the hall and across from his room was the guest room, considerably smaller and had the furnishings of an average hotel. Vegeta scowled at the guest room, wondering why it had to be placed so close to his or why it was even added in at all. Between the two rooms were a bathroom and an extra small storage room.
His master bedroom was spacious with plain white furnishing and had its own private bathroom to his satisfaction. A control panel beside the queen-sized bed enabled him to control the ship—albeit restrictive in maneuvering—and generally monitor the ship and alert him if anything was amiss. Satisfied, he returned to the upper level and exited, heading to his quarters at the CC dome.
He had no possessions save for the replica of Cold Empire armor the woman had made for them during the Cell Games. He would take that along—it would be useful in intimidating races that still held fear for the elites of Freeza. Dressing up in the blue spandex and white gloves he took one final look at the room and closed the door behind him.
He felt no attachment to the place he was about leave—at least he didn't give himself the time to even think about it—and just quickly made his way back to Dr. Briefs. The man was waiting for Vegeta when he entered.
"Ah! Vegeta, I need you to check a few—eh?" The scientist pushed his glasses up a bit before eying Vegeta. "Why are you dressed like that? Are you leaving so soon??"
"The ship is ready to go and stocked is it not?"
"Yes—bu-but, aren't you going to say goodbye to Bulma or Trunks?"
Vegeta's eyes narrowed and the Saiyan crossed his arms. "I have no wish to do so. Now, what is it you need to know? I'm leaving immediately."
For a split-second the good scientist's facial expression darkened and it took Vegeta by surprise. Never in the years with the Briefs had Vegeta ever seen anything but positive emotions from the paterfamilias. The man genuinely seemed angry that Vegeta would be leaving without telling his daughter—deserting her. However, the man calmed himself down before turning to the controls and beckoned Vegeta over with a wave of his hand. Vegeta frowned before making his way over and answering all the questions Dr. Briefs threw at him.
Should he be wary now? After all, Dr. Briefs was the one to make the ship—if he were to sabotage it in anger…
No. The man wasn't capable of hurting anyone. And that included Vegeta, no matter how much he would certainly hurt Bulma by deserting her.
Was he—? Deserting?
It didn't matter. If Vegeta was leaving he had no need to report to the woman like some lapdog. She knew he was going to leave the day Dr. Briefs had started working on the space-ship. She was angry, that was a given, but even she—the stubborn woman that she was—gave up the fight. Strange. It hadn't felt like much of a victory to him.
Now, Vegeta settled into the pilot chair and stared at the numbers and words flashing across the scene in the initial starting sequence. This was it. He was leaving. Scanning the North Quadrant planet grid, he settled the coordinates to one of the closest re-fueling ports that should be still active even with the downfall of the Cold family.
The computer beeped twice to confirm the coordinates and rose steadily into the air, blasting the surrounding ground and trees like a hurricane. Vegeta suddenly felt a rush of eagerness to feast his eyes on the open space once more. To be free. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. No more did he have to feel like he was tethered to a pole by Freeza, having the chains of slavery bite into his pride.
The space-ship vibrated heavily before taking off into the sky. It didn't blast off as Goku's ship had done, but merely ascended higher and higher at a considerably leisure pace. Vegeta didn't know why it felt like something was nagging him not to leave so quickly.
"Two minutes until total Earth gravity release."
Was it about the woman? No. It was something else—something—something he couldn't really recall…
"60 seconds."
The Earth's gravity pulled at the ship and the ascent slightly curved to compensate, ending up somewhere directly above the area where Vegeta had first arrived in. His onyx eyes swiveled to the landscape once again unwillingly. Feh. At least that was yet another landscape he would be pleased to leave behind.
"40 seconds."
Leave—behind? Something about the landscape… Something—
He was now directly above the area Kakarrot's son had trained in.
"30 seconds."
The area with the outcroppings, the small lake, and the fruit trees.
The area where he'd left the girl.
"20 seconds."
Damn it. Yes, the girl.
A few swift strokes to the command panel and the ship stopped, hovering still in the ionosphere, the second most outer layer of the atmosphere some 100 miles over the surface of the earth. Vegeta glared at the screen to the landscape below.
He'd entirely forgotten about the girl. She could be dead for all he cared. However, he did promise didn't he? But why should he anyway? She was human, weak—yet he remembered just how much she reminded Vegeta of himself. A child that felt more attuned to him in the few minutes they met than the hulking Saiyan that was Nappa for all those years. Nappa and Raditz were the ones that went with him on the missions. Traveled the universe with him….
What fun was it to destroy things if there wasn't someone to laugh about it with?
And the child—would she still be as accepting as he last remembered her? How easily could he mold her into his like-ness without anyone interfering? Vegeta's mind traveled to the extra room Dr. Briefs had installed. And then a stroke of inspiration came to him. If—just if he could get the girl strong enough to fatally wound him—
Standing up from the seat, Vegeta strode briskly to the exit and flew off the vessel. He could be just wasting time. The girl could be dead, could have given up and wandered to a city. But then, he should check it just the same—impatient as he was to leave the planet.
He floated above the area, quickly scanning for ki. He felt a few higher ki than others in the area—probably belonging to large predators. Did he really have the patience to check them out one by one? The sun's heat beat upon his back, making him even more impatient and irritated. What the heck was he doing there?
"Bah—this is ridiculous…" Vegeta scowled, displeased that he had wasted time for some mere human girl. He was about to turn around when a bright glint caught his attention. A bright metallic glint. Narrowing his hawk like eyes, he picked up the small movement on the surface below—right by the lake where he had last left the girl.
A nearly invisible smirk graced his features as Vegeta descended, his back against the burning noon sun. The closer he got gave him more details to the small figure below. The flash was coming from a small sword gripped tightly in an even smaller fist, swinging carefree along with the girl's stride. She appeared immensely cleaner than he last saw her, her black hair now down to her back and bound with some twine. Her over-sized clothing was suited to the outdoors: dark brown leather and denim material that appeared to be slapped together hastily—like outfits that desert rogues would wear. He gave it no more thought as he got even closer, his imposing shadow now alerting the small child.
The black-haired girl quickly spun around to face the cause of the growing silhouette, her sword poised in both defense and attack, gripped firmly in both hands. Vegeta would have laughed at her attempt to defend herself but didn't for some reason—not feeling up to it at the moment. The child whose name he had guiltily forgotten squinted up at him, unable to discern who or what he was since, with his back against the sun, she was blinded to any details.
No matter though, she was there and alive. The brat actually survived the year. How interesting.
Vegeta kept his descent feet first, arms folded in his usual stance.
How interesting indeed.
The shadow above her grew, looming larger in her vision
as it descended like a dark angel. Still she could make out no features
or details of the form, even when she squinted, so bright was the sun behind
it. Raising one hand to her forehead, she tried to shield herself from
the painful glare of the rays streaming down upon her. Unconsciously she
tightened her grip on Go-kun's well worn handle; keeping it at the ready
should whoever—whatever this thing was turn out to be an enemy.
She backed up—it was nearly on top of her, and slowly the image sharpened, details blurring into focus: it was a man. But—no, not just a man…
It was Vegeta.
Yes, it's been a long year.
He circled her like a predator, eyes sweeping up and
down calculative in appraisal of her slender frame as she still clutched
Go-kun protectively, now holding it to her chest, unsure of what the next
few moments would bring. Their first conversation more than a year ago
had explicated what would happen up to this point. The only question pervading
her mind now was, "What next?"
She said nothing, though, not wishing to be the one to break the silence and feeling quite certain that the man would answer her questions shortly. He made one more pass around her before stopping in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.
"Well?" he prompted roughly, raising a single eyebrow in question.
She relaxed her hold on the sword, and replied slowly with a sarcastic air, "Well what?"
The man's eyes widened a bit at the audacity she still showed him—apparently a year in the wilderness had done little to improve her manners—but managed to keep his face relatively blank, betraying nothing through his expression. "Are you ready to go?"
That was it. That was what was next: leaving. Ah, but the question was, ready to go where? She cast a worried glance down at her weapon, giving its handle a slight squeeze as if to ask, 'You ready to go, Go-kun?'
It gave no response to the child, and she was forced to voice her question, though somewhere inside she knew she shouldn't have—it showed impatience on her part, unfaithfulness that Vegeta would reveal all when she needed to know. "Go—where?"
"Away from here." Another short, curt answer that made more questions than it answered. But she should have expected no less from the Saiyan prince, shouldn't she have?
What else could she do but follow him wherever he led her? Stay here, for another year? Not when the promise-maker was so near—he'd guaranteed her power, and something about him told her he would not fail to deliver. Her blue eyes blazed as she stared straight into his black pits.
"I'm ready." A smirk widened upon the warrior's face as the blue-eyed girl stepped forward, ready to do as he commanded, go where he led, think as he told her to think. Ready to be him. She'd survived in the wild lands for over a year, quite a feat for a human, though he would never admit it. If the child of Kakarrot's could do it, then certainly a child of his coul—
His child? No, not his child—he had a child already. And he was leaving it. Losing one child, gaining another. He stared down at the girl before him, noticing the weapon she still held in her tiny right fist. "What—is that?" he sneered in question, scowling and pointing a finger distastefully.
She glanced down and pulled it closer to her chest, being sure to keep her fingers well clear of the well-sharpened blade. "It's—my sword."
He sniffed disdainfully. "Well be rid of it, we're leaving now." With that he turned on his heel and began walking away towards the shimmering blue-green lake before him, waiting until he heard the crunch of gravel which meant she was following behind obediently. No crunch came. When he'd nearly reached the shoreline he turned an angry eye to her.
"Girl?" She stood in the same spot, staring down at the hilt wrapped in cloth. "Come on, girl, I've no time for this!" Her eyes shot up to meet his, and he began walking back towards her, an angry frown now marring his perfect features. "What's your problem?"
In a very small voice uncharacteristic of her, she hesitantly replied, "I—I wanted to take it with me." Shock struck Vegeta square in the forehead. "I was going to keep it—I've been training with it!" She marked her pleas with reasoning. Perhaps if she made it clear the weapon had been incorporated into her training routine he would let her keep it. After all, he seemed the type to appreciate the value of a good weapon.
Truthfully, though, Go-kun had become something of a friend and protector to Videl over the past year. He'd been there to defend her from Scar, had helped her fight off bandits, had cleared her path through many a forest of dense undergrowth. He was her most powerful ally, and she would sooner die than hastily toss him aside like Vegeta was asking her to.
A white-gloved hand found its way to her shoulder, shaking her from her reverie, and she followed a line up his arm to rest on his face that once again wore a determined smirk. "When I'm through with you, brat, you won't need any weapon for protection…You yourself will be an instrument of destruction."
Her eyes widened—was this the power he'd spoken of, the power he'd promised her? Power which would render Go-kun useless? Go-kun—she still didn't want to leave him! He was always there, one of the few constants in her life of wandering. Home wasn't constant, friends weren't constant, even the simple probability she would find food wasn't constant—but her sword was. She—
But apparently Vegeta wasn't one to indulge in sentimental crap like memories of days gone by. He had a schedule to keep and a planet to leave. If the girl wanted to come, fine, but that sword was staying. The smirk faded into an angry scowl, and—never one for patience—he leaned forward and snatched the hilt from her grasp, interrupting her thoughts.
A shocked gasp slipped from her lips, and she stupidly grabbed the blade to stop him from taking it—an action she would regret later on. The cold metal easily sliced her palms open like a hot knife cutting butter, spilling her precious life-blood upon the dusty ground and nearly severing her hands halfway up the palm. Vegeta paid no attention to the girl's foolish actions and flung away the sword, sending it flying into a nearby cliff-side where it embedded itself snugly in the rock.
"GO-KUN!" she yelled out instinctively, lunging forward and calling to it as if she had just lost her closest friend.
Vegeta's ears twitched when she spoke, and he turned a wide-eyed furious gaze to her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. "Wh—what did you just say?" came the barely whispered question, its shock and anger not lost with the drop in volume.
Go-kun's loss was immediately forgotten as she found herself staring straight into the warrior's eyes, confused at the sudden shift in demeanor. His pupils danced wildly, practically shaking with rage, and she racked her mind for what could have set him off. "I—I—called Go-kun…You threw him…" she finally managed, finding it difficult to form words when he kept shaking her every few seconds.
He quickly shoved the girl away, severely berating himself for losing his composure before the child. Go-kun—yes, of course. Of course she would have called out her little endearment for the weapon, and not the name of a Saiyan she'd never met. How could she have known that name, after all? He had simply been focusing too intently on that stupid low-life Kakarrot lately, and everything made him think of the man somehow. He heard the name in every statement, saw his face on every body, could even detect his sickening stench in the most crowded room. Too long—too long he'd been obsessing over this. It was time to leave it all behind.
Videl stared down at her bloodied hands, horrified—they hadn't stopped oozing yet, staining everything the same sickening blackish-red hue. She was actually beginning to feel a bit lightheaded, her stomach turning in revulsion, when she felt a sharp pinching sensation on the back of her neck as her feet left the ground to flail about uselessly in the air.
"Let's go, brat—before you die on me and I have to lug your useless carcass around."
Moments later she was unceremoniously flung through the airlock into the main departure chamber of Vegeta's ship, keeping herself from rolling about by landing on all fours. The cold metal floor stung her wounded palms and she let a tiny moan escape her lips and squeezed her eyes shut in pain, to which Vegeta looked down scornfully, conscious of the red stains on his new floor.
He briskly strode over to a small cabinet in the main corridor and jerked it open, scanning the contents quickly before removing a roll of medicinal tape, tossing it to Videl. "Mend your wounds," was all he said before marching off to the main control room, leaving her to her own devices.
She watched him abandon her for a moment before swiftly picking up the tape and managing to rip a strip off with which to wrap her hands. Once they were successfully treated, she returned the tape to the closet he'd left open and began wandering down the hallway she'd seen him exit by. There seemed to be very few rooms in the craft, everything cold and sterile with nothing of a "homey" feel to it at all. Was this where Vegeta lived? Where he'd waited for over a year before returning to her? What had he done?
A slight jolt nearly sent her to her knees as she leaned against the wall for support, but she quickly recovered. Following it, a faint clicking reached her ears from the last room at the end of the corridor, and she hesitatingly approached it. A metal door at the end immediately slid open once she got close enough, startling her. No reprimand came and all was quiet so she poked her head in, openly gaping at the myriad instruments and control panels dotting the walls and bridge. It actually was a ship! She failed to suppress a slight gasp of shock at the sight when she laid eyes on the room, though, and Vegeta quickly turned to greet his guest, beckoning her over with the same gesture he'd used upon first meeting her.
He guided her over in front of the main viewing screen, upon which the whole of Earth was passing in a great brown, blue, and white blur. Her eyes widened in wonder when everything burst into flame, bathing all in sight in red. He explained that it would pass in a moment, and indeed it did, eventually returning to the soft natural tones familiar. Now, though, the planet was only half viewed and most of the screen was occupied by a vast expanse of black dotted with twinkling stars. Would wonders never cease—she felt she could almost reach out and touch it, like a big blue beach ball, and actually tentatively reached out a few fingers.
He cast an interested eye down at the human child before him, viewing her planet with the awe and wonder he'd never experienced. Planets were just—there for him. Nothing special, he saw them frequently when arriving at or leaving mission sites. Jaded, he'd lost any appreciation for the wonders of nature, when he himself was one of those wonders.
Her planet—she was leaving her planet. This man, this Vegeta was taking her away, and she couldn't even guess as to whether or not she would return again. Everything was one great mystery now. From that moment more than a year ago, when he'd first approached her, stepping into her life from the sidelines of a street-fight, she'd known things would be different. But leaving…
Well, what was she really leaving, when she thought about it? Family? No. Friends? Hardly. Anything that even remotely resembled human life? She'd lost that long ago.
So, what was she leaving? Her planet, that was it. Just a big blue ball of dirt and water.
What was she gaining? Her eyes turned from the view screen up to the Saiyan prince beside her, not much taller than herself. Him. She was gaining him. A teacher, a mentor, a fath—well, a father figure at least.
His eyes were focused away from her on the screen now. What, she wondered absently, was he leaving? Was he as accepting of abandoning the planet as she? Did he have friends, family, a life? What was Earth to him?
Unbeknownst to her, he was asking himself the exact same questions.
Both, Saiyan warrior and human child, kept their
eyes on the screen in silence as not a minute later the planet faded out
from view and from their lives. This was it. A new beginning for them.
For one it was a journey to regain his lost pride, as for the other, a
journey that would ultimately strip away her humanity.
To be Continued.
Sage's notes: Heh heh…um, man, this thing is almost Veritas long—let's hope it doesn't get relegated to Veritas update speed though! *eyes Ann* Of course, we all know who to mess with about that now don't we? Um, well, I guess the only thing we really need to let you know this time around is: hurry up with those reviews! We got a few specials written out and ready to post, but we can't do that (well we could, but we're mean and we won't) until we get reviews (that and we want to wait until the story's far enough along to merit these little side bits ^^;;). Your turn, Ann—don't make me come down there and gqoa you!
Ann's notes: Blah! Aw! I wanted to write the notes first! *pouts at Sage* I'm so going to smoc you for this!! And guys, she means it that we got a review special already in hand! We were going to put it in with the storyline but it just stands so well on its own. Ohohoho, did you people see that coming? That Vegeta was going to leave? Poor Videl won't be anything like she was before after Vegeta (or us) is done with her. And for the record, THIS IS NOT A VEGETA/VIDEL FIC!! And dang it, we still can't get in a decent smoc chapter end…. But later on…. *rubs hands together evilly* All your questions will be answered eventually! We're not giving any away in the mean time!
Glossary of Evil Terms:
- Gqoa (gee-kee-yu-oh-ah): The participation of Gohan and Videl in a plot where the author would implement devices of immeasurable torture upon the two. Usually accompanied with death of either one and/or both to which the remaining party (if only one is departed) will be subjected to heavy angst and the possibility of a mental breakdown or even suicide. "Gqoa" can also be used as a verb (gqoa, gqoa-ing, gqoa-ed) as a mean to vaguely threaten your peers and to depict the act of implementing angst into literature. As an adjective (gqoa-ly, gqoa-ness) it is used to measure the level of angst and/or evil.
- Smoc (suh-mock): The act of providing a written piece to which the reader has devoted full attention to before truncating the said literature at the peak of the plot. The term differs from the regular well known term "cliffhangers" as "smoc" is generally used when adding a certain malevolent and sinister element to the regular cliffhanger. As a verb (smoc, smoc-ing, smoc-ed) it is similar in use with "gqoa" in terms to threaten one's peer; otherwise, it is used when a particularly evil author chooses to insert a cliffhanger. As an adjective (smoc-ly, smoc-ness) it is used to measure the merciless way a chapter is ended and/or evil.
Evil Counter: 10