Contradicting Mission
Part 39
In the mean of the times, whilst Son Gohan was standing before his three original companions in all his phenomenal, regained golden power, or before, when he was still battling Heng, before that yet, even, while preparing to launching his Kamehameha, the forgotten Tahch-jin, Henning Le'Armont, stood in his bedroom, alone.
His long arms crossed over his narrow chest, head cast down, leaning against a wall. His lower lip protruded in what could pass as either a pout or a scowl. It served as both, really. In one folded hand, he held his hat, no longer feeling playful enough to wear it, despising it as it reminded him of... things.
Littered about his feet were tissues he had used to soak up the blood that had flowed from his nose for quite a while, broken by the vicious Son Gohan, though, in actuality, his nose was the least of his worries: The grinding he felt when he walked suggested something amiss in his hip; the burning he felt when he breathed warned of internal damages.
On the bed sat Joru Le'Armont's cape and hat. Beside them, Henning had laid the deactivated Chah't scepter.
He wanted his brother.
Pushing away from the wall, running a hand through his blue hair to remove the stray stands from his sticky face, he scrubbed his eye with the back of a knuckle. He felt so hurt and tired. So alone. He'd cried, sobbed, when he'd first reached his room, throwing himself to the bed, clutching his brother's clothes...
He wanted so much to be mad at Joru. Wanted to be mad and hate him and... but he couldn't. It wasn't his brother's fault, was it? He'd requested so often, so politely, for Henning to give up on his search. Had he been jealous? Had he been ignored, neglected from the stimulating brotherly company he'd depended on since birth?
It was a moment that Henning felt his mind unveiling, allowing him to see this situation, painfully, from a different perspective. Through the anger and fear and jealousy and emotional ache ingrained in his brother's cape... The stark horror of Joru Le'Armont through the hilt of the Chah't scepter.
It was entirely his own fault. It hurt terrible to think it, but, though he wanted to blame someone else, to blame the Aeesu-jin, to blame Joru, to blame the animalistic Son Gohan (he'd done it his entire life, hadn't he? Blamed others. Why not now...?) But this was a matter that couldn't be solved with such tactics.
Joru was a highly sensitive individual.
Henning, fighting down panic, had a feeling that if he didn't find his brother and soon, they would never be able to patch things back up. To make them the way they used to be. The way they had been... before traveling through space. When they were still young and innocent children on the tidy civilization of Tahch-sei. They could go back, couldn't they? They could go back and live peacefully together on their planet, no more adventuring. No more exploring. No more hurting. Searching would be done.
They would have peace.
He couldn't see himself wanting to look for anything more in the unloving vacuum of space.
Finally, Henning was satiated. He no longer craved the feeling of a life being shredded beneath his careful eye, for pain would forever remind him of his brother. And the still burning feeling in his body that the Chah't had left. The mental trauma of being beaten by Son Gohan could not match with the pain now associated with betrayal. It hurt his heart.
But he could not think of the boy.
He had to find his brother. Find it and apologize. Yes, kneel and apologize, beg if necessary. Beg for Joru to forgive him for ignoring him, and to return with him to home. To Tahch-sei.
He picked up his hat... then set it back down again. He didn't want to wear it. His fingers wrapped around the Chah't scepter, lifted it up, inspected it, turned it over in his hands, feeling the years of pain and horror imbedded in it. Feeling his own pain through it. Feeling where his brother's delicate grip had been.
A single deft movement.
He broke it over his knee.
The halved pieces fell to the floor.
He exited his room, unarmed, searching for his lost brother.
Originally, it had taken three full days of existing in constant transformation for Gohan to get used to the feeling of Super Saiya-jin, and even then it felt strange to him for a good month more, and, after that, through all the intense training with his father, though 'used to it', it had taken roughly five months for him to be able to truly consider the form 'comfortable'.
He'd never liked the way he looked when he was in this form. After he had returned home from the Room of Spirit and Time, the first time he looked in the mirror -- for there were no mirrors in the Room -- he'd actually shuddered. There was something creepy about the way the eyes were so... void. Pupiless. Cold. After that, he avoided mirrors for a long time, unable to look himself in the face when it was so foreign. He went so far as to take the mirror hanging on the back of his door down and hid it under his bed. Washed and brushed his teeth outside to avoid the bathroom looking glass. He would never be able to look comfortably at himself in any stage besides his generic one.
If asked to describe in one word how the new, stronger form felt, he would only be able to use the word "inhuman".
And that would probably explain why he found it so difficult to get used to, as, for rational purposes, he depended equally on both of his natural heritages, most especially his human side (which, though it wasn't peaceful in itself, was usually at least more reasonable than his Saiya-jin inclinations).
But somewhere in the chemical reaction that triggers the spectacular golden metamorphosis, and the action itself, the thicker of the human blood is bleached from the increasingly Saiya-jin system, leaving -- in Gohan's case at least -- a rather mixed up individual with most of his wires misaligned, forced to find new, less comfortable ways for mental connections to be made.
His chi was enflamed, popping almost audibly like fire alight on a still-green branch, not entirely controlled -- he hadn't intentionally transformed, and his emotions were temporarily rampant. He glanced left, right. His three 'allies' were looking at him with mixed, relatively pensive expressions; they all were not without fear.
Unlike Bojack and Freeza, Garlic Junior had never seen this stage in Saiya-jin evolution. (Indeed, he still wasn't entirely clear on what a Saiya-jin was in comparison to Earthlings, or that Gohan, per say, was one.) But, unlike the other two, he did not need to learn through personal experience what sort of power this new being possessed.
He felt its chi. Its boiling, rolling, hissing chi. It seemed so much more akin to emotion than normal chi. Angrier. As though it were a living thing. And it didn't stay embodied. It sort of... wriggled out of Gohan. Hovered not only inside the gaki's body, but on the outside, too; pulsing like a violated heart, cold and impending as ice, searing and consuming the very air molecules as a hungry flame engulfs a sun-dried prairie.
Under his tattered and chi-blackened cowl, Garlic's small shoulders were trembling.
Hrwack! The whip of a Saiya-jin tail, the fur of which was now only browned at its roots, growing lighter in shade along each hair until the tips were a yellow-white, looking as though it were powdered with gold dust.
The Saiya-jin was searching, testing its new power now that the Human was smothered behind the bright saffron curtain. It felt peaceable enough. It was rational. It needed no weak Chikyuu reasoning. It had perfect control.
It was a trap, Gohan recognized on a vague, listless level. This form was a living trap. It was his angry, unstoppable power, the same that had plagued him his whole life, full of hatred and rage and feral abandon, but now it was seen with the mask of containment. It was convincingly calm. Controlled. His only way of knowing everything was anything but fine was that it had no worry.
None. No fear.
His tail was extended unprotected.
It was pure confidence. The irrational, mindless confidence of the Saiya-jin... or not mindless so much as careless.
This is great. Now you win, Gohan m'boy.
You win. That's it.
No one can beat you...
It sounded so convincing. So very convincing. It would have convinced him had he not heard it all before. All the time. Every time he dared to use this alien, dangerously Saiya-jin mold. It always claimed victory in advance, deep down, beneath his jumbled attempts at sensibility. It didn't really comprehend defeat. Wouldn't admit its plausibility. It was, and thus it would win.
Searching, so very calmly, blank, cool eyes roving. Take it easy, Gohan m'boy. No rush. You've already won. Just relax...
Sight landed on Bojack.
Something very unspecific lit across his face. It didn't flash, so much as subtly alter itself in a way that was so vague, so barely noticeable, that one would be unaware of it were they not personally present to witness the change occur. A sort of hardening of expression; akin to wet cement drying. Lips pressing minutely together, eyes narrowing just the slightest of hairs. It became less... human. Almost empty, with with a sharpness to it, an animal ferocity to every movement, a tearing, the way his nostrils flared as he breathed -- yet such calm, even breaths -- or the way his void, empty eyes blinked in severe rapidity.
Or the way his tail swung so slowly and patiently, yet seemed to have a presence of lashing.
Bojack's spine chilled and his next movement was both a step forward and a step back, as though he were moving to confront and flee at the same moment. Other than that, he moved little, determined to not be intimidated. Not... just... yet.
Freeza was having a certain amount of difficulty with the process of systematically inhaling and exhaling. He couldn't breath.
Indeed, he had known since beginning this quest that Son Gohan had the ability to attain the legendary Super Saiya-jin level; and even without it he had more power within his boyish body than any other Saiya-jin he'd come across in his long Aeesu-jin life. But then, it wasn't really the boy's power that unnerved him so. More, it was the blunt, in-your-face fact that here, standing right before him, was the one thing he harbored a hysterical fear for within his cold Aeesu-jin interior.
Yellow luminescence, pale hair, light so intense, yet somehow internal, beneath the surface skin of the transformed being, bleaching the skin from beneath to a pale near-white, the hair of his head swaying to the driving waves of power generated by his burning chi, upsetting the air around him, scalding the oxygen closest to his body till his whole figure looked as though it were on fire.
But it was the eyes.
Pupiless. Possessing both an eerily empty quality, as well as an ultimately passionate appearance. The calm green of the sea and the burning electricity of neon sapphire. Pure control and utter abandon.
He kept his reptilian body pressed against the far wall, now that the transformation inhibitor restricting him was gone, he partially transformed by pure instinct, his system registering a threat. His size increased a foot, his horns curving slightly. Despite his growing size, he tried to make himself smaller yet, drawing as little attention to himself as possible, unable to help recalling old memories of death and torment at the hands of other individuals with such bright, golden powers.
Such blank, hateful eyes.
He couldn't stand those eyes.
Ttp... Ttp... Ttp...
The delicate, unmasked pat of Gohan's boots as he moved.
He was walking forward, his gold-dusted tail trailing almost reluctantly behind him, toward the mighty frame of the Biraju-jin. His chi spat again, loudly, as he neared the giant, the currents of air causing Bojack's lava mane to stir.
The attack was almost instantaneous.
Not even Gohan expected it on a conscious level.
He just knew that, quite suddenly, he had committed some form of movement; his feet were no longer touching the ground --
-- the only solid matter resisting his movements was the soft, warm skin of Bojack's cheek, against which his fist was currently sporting all his power.
For a split second, time stood still; the boy's enhanced eyes (yet again improved through the transformation) could make out every slight detail of Bojack's face; he saw that jagged scar running diagonally over the bridge of that broad, flat nose. He noticed that somewhere in the past battles, Bojack had lost his bandana; he even had the time to ponder where it had gone... He saw that with his boyish knuckles buried in that blue face, those blue lips were partially twisted open, exposing large, round teeth.
And then the resistance against his fist was gone, as the great blue giant stumbled backwards, his head cocked at the angle in which the punch had positioned it.
And then Bojack regained his footing.
He'd lost three feet.
But that was all.
"Still-," he said as he straightened himself, then moved, simultaneously, one hand to catch hold of Gohan's shoulder, the other drawn back as far as it would go, curled tightly, "-not-," and this time used every ounce of the force within him to thrust a bony fist downward, holding nothing back, returning the favor, struck the boy in the face, "-enough."
Gohan hit the ground shoulder first.
Hard.
It was then that he realized... he'd forgotten.
Even on Earth, with his allies and transformations entirely on his side, when he had first been forced to battle Bojack for the fate of his planet, it had taken his all to defeat -- ... to kill... -- him.
In fact, hadn't it taken--
(....!)
-- It was unspoken, but a dark, powerful viselike grip closed off the thought, disallowing the possibility. Forcing him to not think about it.
He was quickly on his feet again, this time to take a stance that was -- while well defended -- offensive. His tail was not quite twisted to the safety of his waste, but was still loosely twined around the frame of his hips to keep it out of the way. He was going to fight Bojack, he imagined. Gonna get that revenge his Saiya-jin side had wanted. Use every resource, gonna use that--
(....!)
Thought cut off again. He didn't quite see it clearly, but he knew, deep down, that it was the human in him, trying to warn him of... something. Filling him with a spine-chilling sense of impending destruction. Foreboding. But the message was unclear; his starved, desperate, Saiya-jin body couldn't heed warnings that inhibited action. And the sense of approaching doom only succeeded in driving himself to a state of half-panic.
He moved in.
Bojack moved to meet him.
They engaged.
Something had gone wrong in the war.
The halls seemed to have... shrunk since Gohan and Bojack had ducked out; the walls squeezed in tighter around the battalions large bodies.
But it hadn't been the corridors that had changed sizes.
It was the Aeesu-jin. They were growing, twisting, transforming; the steady, rolling battle chi was swelling; bodies expanded, tails elongated, horns curled longer and sharper and harder. The movement of the room's focus had gone from the back and forth, horizontal, block and parry rhythm to a mass of moving, changing flesh. One could hear above the roar of battle the sounds of sturdy bones relocating themselves, organs realigning.
The Underground was crumbling. The air was dry and burning to the lungs, whipping and whistling like underground cyclones. The planet trembled across its crust and deep into its mantel. The mountains that had protected the Underground for so very long split under the pressure of the quaking soil with a thunderous ripping sound, a CRACK!! that echoed for leagues above and below ground. Sun light was cast miles down ward into rooms that had never before seen sun light.
But even after such massive damage, the fighting did not stop.
It was no longer a battle between Henning and Heng's forces. It was more than moving on orders. Were either the Tahch-jin brothers or Heng to step forward and call for retreat, the order would have gone ignored.
It was now a fight for principal. The Aeesu-jin that had joined with the Le'Armonts had done so because they did not approve of the Aeesu laws as they were. They craved change, ratification, rule under a law other than the illusive, mysterious entity known as Heng. While the Heng-loyal soldiers, satisfied with their current position, could not forgive them their rebellious deviance.
The battle would last down to the final, lone survivor.
And so it raged onward, surging ever closer toward the heart of the Tahch-jin fortress.
Toward the main control room.
Which was where Heng, specifically, wanted to go.
A long, wide sweep of his tail cleared a path through those standing in his way, uncaring if they were on his side or not. He stepped out of the battling, and ran on ahead.
He was rampant.
He would have his control back.
He would kill Bojack and he would kill the Saiya-jin boy.
But, oh, first! First, for the sake of dignity, and pride, for the sake of sanity--
--he would have his control back from the Tahch-jin. The bloody, stupid Le'Armont Tahch-jin.
As he charged on, he moved out of sight of the flashing, twisting war behind him, tearing his immense way down the hall.
Unknown, he was headed toward unsuspecting Sunow and Joru Le'Armont.
Unknown, he, too, was transforming, even as he traveled.
Aeesu-jin Sunow and Joru Le'Armont felt victorious for approximately four minutes for their accomplishment.
And then, they felt absolutely terrified.
The ground beneath them trembled and bucked violently, chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling to hop and jump on the shaking floor. A few concerning sparks jumped from the electronics, popping loudly. In one section of the room, the floor had caved in; luckily, no equipment was lost.
Sunow, standing half the size of the Tahch-jin, had an easy time finding his center of gravity, his broad, well-spread toes finding reasonable footing. Joru, whose height doubled Sunow's, found that such a tall frame, so far from the ground, was difficult to keep erect. He held onto the computer for support.
"What's going on!?" the Tahch-jin's voice was barely audible over the raucous rumbling coming at them from all sides.
"An Aeesu-jin nightmare...," Sunow murmured, his scarlet eyes wide, searching the room in case another section of floor were to give out, "Aeesu-jin are transforming by the thousands... millions. Oh, Kami, I hadn't really thought about it, before. Son Gohan, what did you make me do?! This planet - I don't now if this planet can take this amount of abuse!"
"Then let's change it back!" Joru's long fingers were already beginning to dance over the control pads.
"Wait-," Sunow's small Aeesu hand snatched his digits away, "- this might be Son Gohan's only chance..."
"But what if-"
A deep, Aeesu-jin breath, "We'll have to ask him."
A long moment of silence followed.
Finally, hands spread imploring, "Son Gohan is in the middle of the battle. In order to ask him-"
"Yes." Sunow was trembling, his mind flashing uncontrollably back to his children, unprotected in the wilderness, alone --would he ever see them again? But he was resolute, "I gave my word to help that boy however I could. He's convinced me that being able to transform-"
"Saiya-jin transformations aren't that powerful..."
"-that being able to transform was his only means of survival."
"We'll be killed before we ever find-"
"I'm not turning the inhibitor back on until I know it's necessary."
They stared each other in the eyes, Joru's gold to Sunow's ruby, their wills battling. The Tahch-jin looked away first.
They headed for the door, Le'Armont's head lowered in weary defeat.
There was a presiding sense of purposelessness.
Gohan was becoming increasingly aware of it.
Too slow to dodge it, not strong enough to block it, he threw his palms against the bottom of Bojack's approaching fist -- flying for his already bloody face -- and pushed it up, off target, to sail harmlessly over his head. He felt desperate and cornered... using the opening to his advantage, he managed to twice ram his heel into Bojack's exposed ribs and kidneys before his foot was caught at the ankle and savagely jerked; it would have shattered quite a few bones had he not twisted the rest of himself with it, breaking free at the same time.
His already freed foot went for the jaw; the kick was too rushed -- Bojack was really pushing his defenses; too hard to attack much -- and it showed. His target moved. He missed, barely brushing past a few red hairs. In almost the same instant, his arms crossed protectively over his head without him commanding it, moving on instinct, saving his skull from another mind-jarring impact of a great blue elbow.
There was no point to his fight.
Gohan knew it.
Below, for miles and miles on end, throughout the entire Underground, Aeesu-jin chi were bloating; the boy felt it happening in the back of his mind. Growing and changing. The hairs of his tail were on end, the dark roots tingling. It was an unnerving thing to feel; he'd never before in his life felt so many massive chi's in one place. And he hoped he never would, if he survived this.
It was frightening, but the boy wasn't aware a blow had been landed on him until his back hit the ground -- hard enough that he continued down, through the floor for a few inches, sharp chunks of rock and plaster exploding around him, tearing his suit and flesh, the sounds of his tough bones grinding against tile filled his ears. Surprised, he tried to gasp only to find he couldn't immediately breath, tried again, finding it difficult to draw a breath, as though he already had air in his lungs, dead air, and despite his attempts there was no room to suck more in.
After a moment of choking, pained and temporarily forgetting that after inhale came exhale, he was already on his feet again.
This battle was accomplishing nothing. It was useless. In fact, it was dangerous.
Gohan was entirely conscious of that fact.
He left the ground, the floor where he had stood collapsing under the shockwave of his movement. He had to keep his attacks high, couldn't keep his feet on the ground or he'd only have his hands to block all of Bojack's attacks -- and that just wasn't enough.
Fighting people so much bigger than himself was a double-bladed sword; speed was ever at his advantage, he simply didn't have as much mass to resist his movements. But he lacked the power Bojack possessed in his large, hard muscles. And he had to move in closer, which made it difficult -- the Biraju-jin's arms and legs were longer, allowing him to strike at greater distances.
Bojack had the advantages, Gohan was finding out as an icy clamp was moving around his heart, fear, though he wouldn't admit he was afraid yet. Bojack had the power advantage. And he had size. He was... stronger. It hurt even Gohan's shredded, limited pride. He knew that Bojack was stronger.
All he had at his use was speed. And perhaps tactics.
He wished Tousan were there. He would win. He always won.
Oh, kami, it hurt his small arms to block those punches. In his open hands, he barely caught a searing ball of orange chi, his arms shaking with the effort, almost lost it, almost slipped and let the scalding energy burn into his body. Then he threw the chi aside, where it blazed into and decimated a good handful of battling Aeesu-jin. He only glanced at his palms a minute before having to look away; they were burned and raw, the flesh red and wet and juicy.
Gohan noted, though not able to allow much thought go into it, that the battle was still moving, rampaging down the hall, in the direction of Sunow and Joru.
This was an inappropriate time to be having a fight with Bojack.
Gohan knew this all too well.
Dust and plaster clung to both of their hair as it fell from the shaky, sagging ceilings, the mountain's weight slowly coming down, down, down...
Gohan layered his hands over his head, centered his chi there, every cord and tendon tightening within his compact little body, then threw it forward.
Bojack could not sense chi, but even without such a remarkable skill he knew better than to try his luck weathering the blast. He barely stepped aside in time, avoiding a full collision with the raw power as it burned past him, though it came into just enough contact with his shoulder to fry through his sleeve.
A great scale more Aeesu-jin were removed from the war as it continued past them, burned through the walls, and continued on into the depths of the Underground; when it finally exploded, three levels and hundreds more Aeesu-jin went with it, many lost or uncounted for as stories and stories above collapsed from the lost support, burying multitudes.
Bojack noted a raw, sticky wetness on the shoulder the blast had hit. Looking down at it, his frown deepened.
It had burned him. Smartly.
He did not like that. He was mad. He couldn't remember a time when he was angrier. There was something terribly wrong with... everything, and his aged Biraju-jin senses were insisting that something had to change. The way the bozu was fighting, perhaps. There was something painfully incorrect, incoherent, about it; something so utterly wrong that his movements were entirely unpredictable.
Or perhaps that was it. It was so utterly unpredictable that Bojack soon found no pattern to his attacks and blocks. No strategy. No technique. The boy was not fighting with purpose, not to specifically do anything; he was fighting to fight. To move in and out, striking just to strike, blocking for the sake of blocking. It was growing on Bojack's nerves.
On passing, he wished his fellow Biraju-jin friends were here with him. On Earth, with their aid and combined power, it was more than easy to compete with this boy, even with this strange golden power... between the four of them (alas, Bidu, Fujin, alas even the coward Zangya) they had discovered that, if beaten badly enough, these Saiya-jins lost their transformations and reverted back to their original, weaker, generic states. Between the four of them, they had reigned, gaining the greatest of advantages over any warrior.
With their help, Bojack had been able to easily beat the bozu out of his transformation. And then beat him some more. And, if he'd so wanted, he could have done more after that.
He longed for them, now. Longed for their aid, to help him wreak revenge on this cursed boy, longed for them to come, with their psychic webs in which to snare this boy, drain him of his power, hold him nice and still and helpless so he could...
The gaki managed to slither beneath his raised leg -- dodging his kick -- and Bojack only had time to watch as he twisted his whip-thin body around an attempted block to come so very close, face inches from face, before slamming his bony little elbow deep into his blue throat.
Bojack, unable to breath, for the moment cared less about his own pain than about the pain he wanted to unleash on that boy, on his skinny little body, and he swung his entire arm at the shoulder to crash a fisted hand into the small of the boy's back. The kid went down hard, face-first, into the tiles.
And Bojack almost did it. He almost did it. It was stopped by a matter of millimeters, but he did.
He almost delivered a killing blow, a bladed hand stopped so very close to the boy's exposed, unprotected back.
He had been so caught up in the want -- need -- to kill the boy, that he had forgotten-
-he couldn't.
It wasn't allowed.
And then the gaki was on his feet again, throwing himself back, a look of some strong emotion on his face, though it was difficult to tell which; those eyes were still empty as ever. But it could have been fear. Could very possibly have been fear, as he realized how close he had come to being killed. Bojack did not know, though he did notice how the boy's hands trembled so... Or the way his tail hugged so tightly to his waste now, the hairs on it standing out like spines.
And the Biraju-jin understood.
This was only allowed to be a fight; there could be no ending; for this was a fight to the death. But neither could die.
They maneuvered again forward to fight. Gohan wanted, under the mask of Saiya-jin insistence, to go and protect Sunow and Joru.
And Bojack just wanted to kill him.
Neither would get their way.
Not far in the distance, Joru and Sunow -- neither of which possessed particularly noteworthy hearing abilities -- could make out the sounds of battle, just barely, over the rumbling of the Underground and the almost endless crashings of ceiling falling onto floor, floor collapsing to floor below, and below, and below, and so on to the very lowest of the Lower Class.
They stumbled as they walked, leaning heavily against the wall to keep them standing on the shaky, jerking ground. Sunow, walking in front of Joru, paused as the ground beneath him began to sag, backed up to watch as the floor he had previously been standing on sunk down, down, then collapsed, raining into the floor beneath. Sunow didn't pause as he flew over the gap, his face void, his hands trembling as he watched and felt and knew that the only place he had ever lived, where he had grown up, where he had found his first job, where he had gotten his first apartment, was slowly destroying itself, dropping so very swiftly into ruin.
The Underground was falling apart. Whether he survived or not, his children would never see it again; not as it had once been. With this severe of damage... it would never be the same.
So shaken up and emotionally alone was he that he failed to look back to see if Joru Le'Armont was following.
He wasn't.
And in that fact, he wasn't behind him at all.
Somewhere behind the Aeesu-jin's running back, his stubby tail, the hall had forked into two directions, through the right hall, one could smell the burned ozone of battle involving chi. Sunow, so caught up with running, not wanting to think, hadn't paused as he took the left hall, heading toward the west. Away from the fighting.
He sort of knew it was the wrong way. He really did. But he couldn't really explain it; he had no intention of turning the inhibitor back on. Let the Aeesu-jin destroy themselves. Sunow was heading for the exit. He was going to get his children, and they were going to leave this planet. Leave it and let whatever happens happen without his interferance.
Joru, having fallen behind at the gap in the hall floor -- he could not fly, and had a hard time mustering the courage to jump it -- had not seen which way Sunow had gone, and took the hall to the right, heading directly toward the battle. He was looking for Son Gohan, but then he began to slow down.
Something in the air... an urgency from another direction; he paused, looked over his shoulder. He was in that stage where, after one fiasco after another, one has taken a temporary step back to draw breath, where adrenaline has burned itself up, leaving weary caution behind to tend to the body.
His Tahch-jin senses picked up a certain despiration to the air, but it wasn't coming from the foreign, hating airs coming off the Aeesu-jin fighting ahead of him. It came from behind... and it had a certain aluring, affectionate desperatness to it. A hopeless hope... it was...
"Henning...," Joru murmered, and he turned to look down the hall, waiting, losing his balance a moment as half the floor beneath him rained out from beneath his feet.
And then, he felt it stronger, growing closer. It wasn't telepathy, but something purely Tahch-jin; broadcasted empathy, emotion and sensation, mixed with a certain wash of actualy physical feeling, like a retained rememberance of a warm hug, a kiss, a long, deep trench of memories and knowledge and the functioning of a mind. In it was a hopeful despair, a desire for something that felt impossible. But mixed together, it formed what could almost be described as words.
And from the distance, the words spoke: Oh, please wait for me, Brother; Don't leave; I'm coming!
Joru's balding hands pressed against his chest, over his fluttering heart. A drop of warm moisture struck his hand; he hadn't known he was crying.
He saw, running down the hall toward him, an arm raised to wave, was Henning; it was a hobbling jog, limped, one hand against his hip to keep him supported. But it was a run of zeal. Even with his injury, the Tahch-jin ran, his long, powerful legs pumping, his mouth open to catch enough breath, staggering and stumbling over the unstable ground, uncaring of anything other than running, his cape flying behind him.
His arms spread, Joru rushed to greet him, smiling through his tears.
As they embrased, their wet cheeks pressed together, their senses opened fully, and they melted into eachother's consciousness, seeking reassurance as they had once done so often as children, absorbing through their linked awarness the pain they felt at their dissagreement, regret, their fear toward one another. Sorrow. Delight to be together again. A great, presiding residue of mystification: Had they really argued? How could that be? They were of one mind...
Words of appology were unnecessary.
Words of any sort.
From Henning, Joru felt the inclination to return to their home land, to see their parents again, to stop roaming. To stop disagreeing. A longing for things to be as they had once been, in simpler times. Happier times. There was no thought in his mind, leaning neither way, about Son Gohan. This did not involve him.
Joru's agreeance was just as easy to read, though it blended in with Henning's eagerness until it was lost in their mutual, loving sense of sibling understanding.
And then a stark chill ran between them as they felt through the air that they were not alone. Looking up as one, they saw that the target they had been looking for all this time, Heng, was sharing space in their hall as well, breathing their same air, occupying their same space.
He was different, transformed, and terrible. And the rage he radiated was so molten that there was a wonder the Tahch-jin's fur didn't curl and blacken as they percieved it.
For Heng now beheld them that had humiliated him, stripped him of his power, and beheaded over half his carefully maintained organizations.
There was a sense of slow motion to all three of them, in which time the rumbling destruction of the Underground was muted.
They could hear the air move around Heng's hands as he raised them, the sizzle of aura and air as he collected his impossibly aged chi.
And the pop, as he released it from his hold, allowing it to fly free to destroy.
Joru and Henning looked up at the descending orb of energy, demolishing its destructive path through the floor, the walls, the ceiling, tearing up clumps of tile and dust and debris as it neared them; it seemed that everything in existence was quaking, everything but that burningly bright light, which seemed to move toward them in the slowest of motions. It was brilliant blue, a color so bright and strong that all things surrounding them were bathed and enriched in a cold white light.
Every wrinkle of their faces was illuminated, every inch of fur and skin, every cuticle over their fingernails and the gums over their perfect little teeth. The lashes of their eyes, the veins in their hands, the taste buds of their tongues. Gleamed off their still damp tears.
It filled every chamber of their ears. The hairs of their head.
A Tahch-jin thought passed betwixt them, so very clear, yet distant enough that neither knew which mind it had originated from between their melded consciousness.
It's actually quite beautiful isn't it, brother?
A pause of thoughtful, lasting silence.
Yes. I suppose it is.
Their faces grew yet more relaxed and peaceful, solaced with the understanding presence of one another.
As one, they closed their eyes.
They did not feel the impact as it ripped their bodies from the ground, grinding their bones and instantaneously scalding their existence to a fine gray ash.
And then the two Tahch-jin, Joru and Henning Le'Armont, brothers, deep space explorers, adventurers, pioneers in the rugged universe outside of their quaint Tahchsei planet, were no more. They hadn't gone home.
They had perished together.
To be concluded...
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