This was supposed to be the final part. I was even so presumptuous to end the last part with "To be concluded..."
I was wrong.
I could not end it so abruptly, the very thought put me into a near catatonic state, and I found myself unable to so much as look at this part without feeling a gutwrenching hole rip open in my stomach (thus the two months or so it took to produce this part.) See, I've been working on this particular series for two years come this August, and when it's gone, I was convinced I was going to lose my mind.
Fortunately, on this little break I've had from CM, I allowed my mind to expand, and I'm now feeling more confident and assured that ending this fic is the right thing to do. Though this is not the last part, the last part shall come hopefully some time soon; I might be able to time it right to end it on the two year anniversary of its creation... But I'm not making promises.
Contradicting Mission
Part 40
Doctor Koda, once sequestered in his hidden Lower class apartment, had decided to evacuate from his safe place when the first tremors began to rattle the shelves of his modest dwelling.
He traveled the halls skyward at as great a speed as his inherited power and might would carry him -- "running his tail off", as his students would have called it...
His bulk was shifting as he ran, altering his power and appearance as fear lapped at the lower elements of his awareness, increasing as the first beginnings of the ceiling began to crumble and rain down on his massive head. It was fortunate that, besides his generally calm nature and resistance to panic, he had also been once privileged with a change to venture off the planet to realize and maintain the greater of his other form's power.
Thus, he had little distraction and difficulty controlling himself, even when his brow lowered slightly over his eyes to better protect his vision, or when his horns slid further toward the back of his head, simultaneously curving over the carapace shell protecting the top of his skull, pointing in front of him as though guiding him on which direction to go.
Why he was transforming, however, was beyond him, though the answer was painfully obvious. It was the fear of every Aeesu-jin once they reached the maturity to realize what unfathomable power they possessed. The transformation inhibitor had been turned off. There was no control, now, and as the hypothesis's of the great scientists of old had guessed, it seemed to be the end of the peace for the Aeesu-jin, and a violent conclusion to the great creation called the Underground.
He was heading for the surface.
There was little true resistance leaving the Lower Class levels into the Middle class; mayhem was erupting around each turn, as inexperienced and frightened Aeesu-jin gave way to the rising tide of jumbled Aeesu-jin intentions; new, powerful hormones giving them intentions they'd never before known, never before knew existed in their normally calm, polite exteriors.
Collapse of the Underground was imminent, but now that the good doctor was no longer considered a loyal or even accepted citizen of the Underground as it was ruled by Heng, he wasn't entirely displeased to see it fall... He just wasn't interested in being beneath it when it happened.
He reached the exit of the Underground, along with a small group of other Aeesu-jin that seemed to also think escaping to be a much better idea than remaining. The door was opened by a stranger that the doctor did not know, and the Aeesu-jin were greeted with a heavy gust of fresh, clean air of the Outside -- as foreign to them as their transformations.
The Aeesu-jin, the good doctor included, took to the skies, eyeing just a moment the vast, gentle purple expanding above them... Before noting that all the skies were filled with refugee Aeesu-jin, so thick they almost appeared to be clouds of multiple colors, with long, thick tails swinging comfortingly beneath them and brisk ebony horns protruding to the skies above their gleaming metallic heads.
They hovered, a good thousand or so, all transformed and scared and confused, creating a large, silent circle around the largest, central mountain, watching in silent horror as explosions from beneath it rocked it to its hollow, populated core, tearing free whole crags of of wicked rock, avalanching them down the mountain side.
Inside were the Aeesu-jin who hadn't the sense to evacuate; they battled endlessly on, under the tremulous but incredible weight, more than an estimated million pounds, of cold, solid stone.
Glancing amongst the floating throng, the good doctor thought he might have spied a familiar face.
Shoulder between two oblivious onlookers, he cupped a hand to his mouth and called, "Sunow? I say, is that you, Sunow?"
The green Aeesu-jin glanced up from the ruinous spectacle. He had changed some as well it seemed: his coloring was darker and his limbs had extended -- his thick tail had all but doubled in size. His horns, which had once looped behind his head like a ram had twisted like cork screws, now more resembling the majestic rack of a gazelle.
"Doctor Koda-san?" The man answered back, flying around a cluster of obstructing Aeesu-jin to reach the doctor. It was indeed Sunow.
The doctor, unable to find a better thing to say, asked, "Where is Son Gohan?"
The younger Aeesu-jin gestured at the trembling, dying mountain with his pointed chin, "Down there, last I knew." He reached up slowly to remove something that appeared electronic from his ear, dropping it the few miles spanning beneath them, "I can't hail him over the communicators... his must have been destroyed."
"Where did you-" the doctor began to inquire before being cut off as the masses of Aeesu-jin clogging the great purple sky all began to gasp and make small noises in their throats. A roar came from the mountain below and, with a final shudder, it began to slowly sink into the ground. Dust and crushed rock and compressed air spewed miles into the air, choking the silent witnesses as it lowered down, down, into the vast reaching Underground.
Half way in, up to its formidable peaks, like a swimmer with nur but his head above water, it gave another roar as though in pain and paused its descent. It seemed to be just hovering. Shuddering. Grinding. Quivering, as though it were aware its majesty was coming to a final close.
"Come," Sunow said quietly, putting a hand on the doctor's arm, turning away from the great mountain's tragedy, "Help me find my children. We all must leave this planet at once."
"Yes...," the good doctor responded, taking a last sympathetic look at the horrid majesty of destruction, "Yes."
They flew off over the trembling landscape.
The war had died down in the upper levels of the Underground. Indeed, nearly
all the fighting in the Tahch-jin fortress had come to its macabre end; the
tiles were slick with gore. The walls streaked and splashed, burned, broken.
Bodies and pieces of bodies littered the floor; draped over the rubble of former
walls, or hanging down through holes in the floor to drip into lower levels,
strewn across the floor. The hulking pieces of mountain that crashed downward
toward the planet's core descended almost slowly under the rising chi from below.
Farther below, the aggression that accompanies the Aeesu-jin transformations
was causing far more tedious fights, amidst friends and family. Neighbors. Acquaintances.
Strangers. Many of the Aeesu-jin residence had never before experienced a transformation,
were forced to deal with notions and instincts they never before had.
The original war had almost stopped, but now war tore its way to the very heart of the Underground.
It mattered little to two particular combatants.
A boy, engulfed in a warm, bright light.
And a man of lava hair and icy blue flesh.
They had been high enough in the Underground, the uppermost levels, that instead of being crushed beneath several thousand tons of rock as the mountain collapsed, they only vaguely became aware that they were lowering, like one in a descending elevator might feel a slight rise in his stomach.
It was not enough to make them even pause.
Their fantastic battle raged on.
The only event succeeded in causing the battle to pause was the death of the two entwined Tahch-jin brothers, who had dared to die in each other's arms, their consciousness so strengthened by one another that it send a powerful ripple through the chi of the planet, deeply shaking Gohan as he realized that something had gone amiss.
And then, the chi of the Tahch-jin existing on the planet gave a final sigh of resignation, and winked out without resistance under a brighter flash of Heng-tanged power.
They were dead, and Gohan, in his mildly altered Super Saiya-jin state, was beyond recognition of what he should feel -- he felt remorse for Joru. The man had aided him repeatedly, and yet at the same time bowed and loyally followed his maniacal brother through every turn. As for Henning Le'Armont... it was more than mere cold Saiya-jin instincts that felt pleased to feel his demise.
To the core of his being, he was glad to "see" him dead. Not even the pitiful voice of the human within him raised a hand against it. The man had needed to die. He was sick. The only regret -- and, admittedly, this probably was his Saiya-jin side -- was that he hadn't been able to kill him personally.
The distraction of the sibling's death and the emotions accompanying it had taken only a split second, and yet that was all the time Bojack needed to rip a gaping hole through the boy's defenses, grab a handful of his thick dark hair, and pound four solid knuckles into his face nearly six times before he was able to tear free, leaving behind a handful of hair, bloodied at the roots.
He considered it Henning's final parting gift.
And good riddance.
The air was growing thick with dust and ash, congesting throats, as they had to breath through their mouths to get enough air into their bodies, spitting globs of black to the ground when it built up on the backs of their tongues. And where there was not ash and dust there presided the heavy residue of smoke and the bitter sweet stench of death and blood. The halogen lights had all been demolished in the intense heat building up from the molten chi, turning the Underground into a scalding furnace, though light was not needed in this battle, due credit given to the residing golden light, reflecting off walls where broken shadows of rapid movement interrupted it.
They barely were able to fill their lungs with enough pure oxygen from the filth in the air to collide again and again, the shock waves of their collisions overturning walls, destroying levels of eroded and eroding rooms. Overturning wooden tables, the lacquer of which was curling in the dry, blistering heat.
Bojack was stronger.
Bojack had decades more experience.
His body was bigger, his muscles more powerful, his arms longer, his chest broader, his bones thicker.
But for reasons Son Gohan could or did not bother considering, he was neither backing down, nor was he finding his gleaming saffron power depleting as the hopeless battle waged onward through the foul air and dark, broken halls.
The smoke and ash burned their eyes, giving Gohan that much of an advantage -- he didn't need to see. Keeping his eyes closed for the most part, his lids fluttering, he eased more into awareness of the awful chi around him. It was by this way that he felt the crushing power of the Biraju-jin ascend over his head to attack his already aching back.
He spun, driving his clenched hand into... a blocking elbow. Swung with the right, then -- blocked also. A gnarled blue fist closed in on him; he dodged right, his knee, no longer protected by the shredded and bloody remains of his body suit, arced upward, aiming where his hunter's instinct informed him his enemy's warm, wet vitals were stored. His subconscious cried for his foe to be vanquished, his body called for a swift kill, then to eat the still-warm body of his downed opponent to feed his starving facilities, nourish himself from his enemy's own power --
-- the knee jab was stopped by overlapping blue palms, the arms of which had elbows locked to avoid giving under the failed blow's momentum.
He squinted open his watering, irritated eyes to see a great Biraju-jin fist headed for his bloody little face -- Block, dummy, block! His sore, weary arms crossed over his face to protect, but the initial attack never came; Kuso, a feint!
The true attack came from below, mimicking the very attack he'd just attempted, striving to knee his stomach, ruin his guts, destroy his intestines; it came at enough speed the impact could possibly split his whole body open.
His eyes closed once again, not wanting to see his own worn, misshapen knuckles or bloody, burned, bruising flesh. He couldn't afford the distraction. Turning all control to his raging Saiya-jin instincts. Concentrate on chi... there. He slammed his small, powerful body shoulder-first into the broad, scarred chest of Bojack, who had failed to anticipate such a blatant, obvious maneuver -- the kid's movements were, after all, normally highly controlled and elaborate...
And yet, even then Bojack barely stumbled back before charging back to the fray.
There was that call for a higher power again, but the desire and need for it was growing too fast to be smothered by the simpering human within him...
What was it Tousan said to him? The last time he'd heard Tousan's voice... To fight... Bojack.
Ah.
'Gohan, ' the otherworldly voice had said, as though from a great distance, though he remembered it so very clearly and perfectly, 'show them your true power! Don't give up, you have to protect Chikyuu...'
He had been meaning the -- (...!) his subconscious tried to stop him, but it was too late and too weak now -- other form, when he said 'true power'. The horrid one. The one that... changed him. Altered who he was and how he thought, disillusioned him in a way that, unlike his Super Saiya-jin form, he could not realize or stop until horrible deeds had already been accomplished.
Responsible for Tousan's death...
Rage unrestrained fueled him, and more vicious than before did he assault Bojack's defenses, driving the heel of his boot into that disenchanting blue face, hard enough that he actually heard one of those teeth snap free from its holding. He tore in again, every limb he owned flying, as though trying to beat back past memories of anguish and humiliation and pain and horror and... Cell. And everything.
A blow to the head crumpled him to the ground, but only for a moment before he sprung back, attacking vitals, head and stomach and chest, blocking and dodging and... oh, yes, he was screaming, now. He hadn't noticed when he'd started. His hair was standing almost on edge all along his body, the thin coil of tail about his waist, dusted with gold, was twined so tight it hampered his breath.
Don't give up, you have to protect Chikyuu.
But he wasn't protecting Earth.
This battle had nothing to do with his mission. If anything, it was deterring their group from accomplishing the task the Kami Larkas had charged to them.
But he wasn't thinking of that. Instead, he was uncontrollably allowing his mind to go beyond Bojack, remembering deep in his mind the horrible, excited voice of Cell, 'Get angry! Doesn't this hurt? Your bones will break soon... You can't possibly be pacifist enough to enjoy this...'
Sharp Saiya-jin teeth on edge. A feral snarl amidst his rageful howls. When his well-packed fist struck the side of Bojack's head, the Biraju-jin found himself crashing to the ground, rolling on his shoulder, regaining his footing, stunned... and slightly afraid.
The kid was getting stronger.
The fine ashes of the deceased Tahch-jin brothers had not even a chance to settle before Heng stormed through them, swirling in curls of gray, following the shifting winds.
The great Aeesu-jin dictator then stood before the main computer, his skilled fingers, thick as sausages, were surprisingly nimble as they moved across the numerous keypads, his large, blood-red eyes constantly monitoring his progress as he slowly but surely moved his power back from the Tahch-jin -- they would no longer be needing it, after all, he though with a drastic chuckle -- and back to where it belonged, in the hidden consoles of Heaven.
Fortunately, the Le'Armont brothers had not had time to change anything in the programs, and the format was exactly as it had been when it belonged to the Aeesu-jin; they had not even bothered to filter out Heng's emergency codes, through which he accessed the utmost command and would, within a few good minutes, be in complete control again.
He intended to regain his power, and set things right. The Underground was collapsing, and that just wouldn't do; as it was, he was confident he could repair the extensive damage, but before that he knew full well he had to stop the damage being caused at its source.
Specifically, and of first priority: turning the transformation inhibitor back on.
"We failed." A voice in the dark said. Freeza's voice, deepened slightly where his throat and vocals had expanded.
Beside him in the dark, holding the wall for support, stood Garlic, also transformed. He was roughly the same size as his Aeesu-jin companion.
And he was roughly equally optimistic.
"Whether Son Gohan dies, now, or not doesn't matter," the Aeesu-jin went on, touching the pad of a finger against the sharp end of a curved horn... the horn he had once used to stab a small, bald human through the stomach. Hm. "This planet will be destroyed within a few hours more of this torment. It shall crack in half. In our own way, it was us that destroyed this planet, if you think about it. That kami is probably kicking himself; it's his fault."
"I hate kamis," Garlic said, not particularly interested in following the conversation. His demon eyes allowed him to see reasonably well, even in the dark. But in truth, he was unwillingly following the patterns of raging chi dealing against one another below him. Trying to ignore the incomprehensible powers of the brat and the Biraju-jin raging a good mile down the hall.
"Well, I hate losing," Freeza returned, not bothering to be irritated for being ignored. Being aware of ones impending doom put him out of sorts. "And that's just what's going to happen. We lose."
"Get angry!" Tousan had yelled.
"Get angry!" Cell had yelled.
Get angry, both his human and Saiya-jin sides whispered confidentially.
Oh, and he was angry. The muscles of his slender neck felt bunched and eager; there was so much more power inside of him. So much more needed to be released, and he wasn't using it up fast enough. It ripped up his mind, strewn his thoughts into utter chaos, his hands shook with utter rage and terror.
He was beating the enemy back, spinning, arching, ducking, parrying, blocking -- Bojack found himself unable to lay an attack on that small body. Motion was all Gohan was entirely aware of, the slashing arcs or punches and rounding kicks of feet and the sound of bone against bone and flesh against flesh, scenting blood; it was battle dominating his perceptions, and he hated it. He hated battle and he hated fighting and he hated killing and the smell of death and decay and the way his father had said good-bye and he hated Bojack for making him fight and he hated himself and he hated this stupid, stupid planet and he hated Cell, he hated Cell with the depths of his tearing heart and he was not going to sit back and watch as it all happened all over again!!
A blue fist drove toward his face.
He stopped it with one hand.
Every ounce of power in his being, the tightness of his muscles, his undying rage, his thirst for revenge, his indignation at the cruel, unfair world, his soul, his spirit, pooling and boiling and seething, all inside and squirming and his chi fluxed so hard and hot that walls for nearly half a mile were laid flat, and, as it all reached the surface at once, a rolling bubble of utter passion, his back arched, head thrown back, face to the unseen heavens.
He screamed.
And he turned over the last ounces of self restraint and control; gave his entire being wholeheartedly to the thing, the twisting, shoving thing inside him, and the change was rapid as it grasped his body, expanding his power, increasing his size ever so slightly, his chi erupting into bright flashes, as though the very air friction against his chi caused bright sparks. His rising hair found new placement, all standing against their roots, tingling in his scalp. His tail confidently swung free from his waist, no longer just powdered at its tips, but flaxen to his very roots.
For the third time in his entire life, he gave way to something entirely inhuman.
The form beyond Super Saiya-jin.
Heng's large cheeks, illuminated in the monitor's light, rose as he smiled. Paused just a moment, studying the program before him, assuring himself that no alterations had been made.
And, with a final push, the inhibitor was turned back on.
Ascended Super Saiya-jin Son Gohan and interplanetary warrior Biraju-jin Bojack stared into eachother's hating eyes; Bojack's shrunken pupils burning with an aged, long life of anger and displeasure; Gohan's blank, almost emotionless eyes glowed like a green gas flame.
Bojack shuddered involuntarily, a hand covering a specific portion of his lower abdomen, where once long ago before his death a fist-sized hole had been punctured. Where Gohan had struck him on Earth. As the fiery golden demon, his power beyond even the Biraju-jin's extended memory. Hair swept back from his face, severe gaze harsh and hating, yet at the same time almost bored, or infinitely patient, as though the world and all residing in it mattered little compared to what was stored beneath those that icy void of an expression.
The very same as he who stood before the shaking Biraju-jin now. The very same. The same face and same chi and same hatred and same calm assurance that, yes, he was going to die now.
Bojack lowered into a defensive stance, as tight as he could.
The boy made no move. It didn't matter, the way he held himself was immaculate anyway; nothing could get through his barriers.
Bojack had seen it coming; he'd known all along that this boy would be the death of him. He had known! And yet he had still convinced himself that it wouldn't happen. The kusoyarobozu had been so weak this whole time, so small and so unable to defend himself. He had been so easy to dominate. So easy to antagonize. It had been so easy to hurt him. So easy to hit him. So easy to beat him and crush him and intimidate him.
Now, he only wished he hadn't restrained himself from killing the boy. Brutally killing him. He had actually been repeatedly presented with the chance to get revenge for his death and torment in hell. The boy had been so powerless to defend himself, why hadn't he done it? Why had he not killed him?! Why had he stopped when he could have easily beaten the boy to death at his own leisure? It could have take hours, he could have made the boy truly suffer. Made him bleed. Made him cry. Made him beg. He could have...
But he hadn't.
Like a fool, a raving, brainless fool, he hadn't. Even after the boy had begun his stages of transformation, had brought up the first metamorphosis from onyx to gold, why hadn't he killed him, then? Instead, he had stopped himself, holding back at the last possible second! Why? Because he was too afraid of his own mortality! Too afraid of dying to do what was supposed to be done.
Well, he wasn't about to charge against death again. He'd made that mistake on Earth; charging face first, belly open, totally convinced that it didn't matter how much power the horrible, glowing little kid had, there was no way in hell he could win!
So he turned and ran, collecting his chi and projecting himself down the hall as fast as his massive body could travel.
Gohan charged after his prey -- yes, the man he now pursued struck him as little more than a helpless, awaiting victim. The only sound he made over the roar of wind as it whistled over his body, thin as a new blade of grass, was an almost subaudible rumble of warning from deep within his throat, which peaked at a snarl as a corner of his pale upper lip curled to display a few razor canines beneath, twisting the scar on his cheek.
Speeding after his prey, arm already rising to deliver a killing blow, his whole system fully prepared to accept the guilt that might possibly follow later. He hated Bojack. No less than Henning himself. He didn't care that the planet was dying all around him, over his head and beneath his feet. Let them all die. They were a cruel, uncaring race of cold-blooded lizards. They didn't matter in the least. He didn't care about them. Didn't know them. Didn't love them nor did they show much kindness to him.
He was going to kill Bojack. Hell to what might happen if he did. Cell? So what if he came back. He would kill him, too. And he would get it right this time, no one was there to distract him. No one would interfere. He would kill them all. Just watch him.
He increased his speed to maximum. Within a few seconds, he would be in range of Bojack's retreating back. He could plunge his small, boyish hand right through that thick red hair, into that thick blue neck. And tear out his throat and spine and jugular all in one deft sweep. And it would be over. And, this new form did not shy at all from the idea, he would be able to feed.
And then, all too suddenly, the speed in which he pursued was abruptly canceled.
His massive, blazing chi propelling him and the bright yellow aura illuminating his path, and his glorious power were cut short.
For but a split second, his still-blank, deadly green eyes observed himself as though underwater, moving much slower than it should have, as though in slow motion, loaded down and heavy with some awesome, unseen weights. In the same eternal second he saw ahead of him his prey, now suddenly and rapidly broadening the distance between the two of them.
And then his eyes, too, became limited in power. They and his bristled hair darkened and lost their sharp severity. And became black once again.
He had been jerked back to his generic state like a tethered dog that ran at full speed to escape, only to have its legs thrown out from under it as it reached the end of its leash and was torn forcefully back into captivity.
Only he was still propelling forward, unable to control his momentum now that his power had been beheaded. He was powerless to stop, like a rag doll thrown at high velocity by a powerful giant hand. Unable to even cancel his trajectory, he found himself heading rapidly toward the ground... and then he hit, tumbling head over ass possibly a dozen times, the flesh of his back and his arms slamming repeatedly into the hard floor, burning from the friction; limbs, arms, legs, tail all thrown out in panic. He only kept enough rationality to keep his head tucked in to avoid snapping his own neck.
In a last ditch effort to avoid sustaining any further damage, as his body spun to again smash his bottom against the ground, he threw down his heels, knees locked, and threw himself flipping rapidly over the ground instead of crashing across it. He made a desperate landing in a deep crouch, letting his springy legs cushion the impact, a hand against the ground to steady himself.
And then sank to his knees, leaned over to place his forehead against the trembling ground, and heaved a mighty sigh into the dust.
Attaining that second form had always taken an astronomical toll on Gohan's chi. And now, he found himself with nothing in return for the payment, other than that he was beyond exhaustion from not just from the rapid transforming, but all the fighting he'd done before. His system was in a mad tangle of confusion and terror, his still roaring anger, now impotent without the advantage of transformation to back it up. And the now louder, maddeningly practical human inclination to retreat and live to fight another day.
Breathing hard, he was merely biding his time keeping conscious, as slipping into a deep, heavy sleep was what he wanted most. To rest and allow his chi to replenish. And to eat a nice, large meal.
Or, were neither an option, death wasn't looking entirely unpleasant either, all things considered.
Life just wasn't striking him as entirely worth the effort of sustaining any more. Too difficult. He just wanted the anger - seeded with Saiya-jin disappointment at the loss of his Super Saiya-jin power - and the hatred and the fear and the pain and the hunger to go away. His body ached down through to his deepest bones; his muscles were sore and stiff. His palms were raw, the flesh of them having been burned badly. His knuckles were smashed and broken.
And, looking up, he saw that Bojack had noticed he was no longer being pursued.
The Biraju-jin had turned around; in actuality, he had decided running would do him no good, and wanted to face his death like the man he was, even if it would be a death delivered by one who had not even reached full manhood.
He hadn't expected to see the boy hunched over the ground, his glowing chi and awesome power and haunting, empty expression gone. He was black haired. And he looked somehow smaller. More worn. His utter Saiya-jin confidence had seeped out of him along with his unimaginable power.
He was nothing more than a boy again.
A small, helpless, fragile boy.
Bruised and subdued.
A desperate smile displaced the diagonal scar that ran over the bridge of his nose from cheek to brow. Was it some sick trick of his eyes? Was the brat playing a horrible game with him? It didn't matter. He wasn't taking chances. He had to kill him now, and quickly. No time to make it elaborate. No time to break those little bones and hear him scream, no time to see how long he could keep that little body alive and conscious under all the forms of torture he knew.
He had to kill him now.
Before anything else went wrong and delayed him.
He was willing to die as well. But he had to know, had to know, that he had also killed that boy.
Looking up a second time, Gohan watched as Bojack took to the air, and rocketed toward him. The look in his broad face expressed all to well a feeling Gohan knew too well, and recognized instantly. He was moving in for the kill. And had the confidence he would have that kill.
Well.
Gohan tore his aching little body off the ground. Well, he wasn't going to hold still and just accept it, no matter how tempting.
His speed pitiful now compared to that of his Super Saiya-jin form, he tore his way forward to meet Bojack. He was rushing to meet pain and death, but... well, he would meet it anyway. But he would meet it fighting. He would not lay still and allow himself to be killed. He would die as his father would die: Fighting.
The final clash never occurred.
For, before he had a chance to lay a single blow more on the boy's abused and starved body, his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head, his mouth swung slack at his jaw, and he fell to the ground, his glorious chi cutting short like an interrupted breath, his giant body limp.
Gohan stopped instantly.
And stared.
Then gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
He had seen enough corpses in his life to recognize the symptoms in a utterly disbelieving, stone-cold way. Bojack was dead. Were there any doubt left, he could already smell death seeping from his large, crumpled body.
He just couldn't... understand... why.
But then he heard a voice he recognized, respected, hated and feared all at once: the unquestionable, irrefutable voice of the other dimentionary god. Kami Larkas-sama.
"It's over now, Son Gohan. It's over. The planet Aeesu is no longer endangered by any person or body. You've succeeded... by the very slightest of margin."
To be continued...
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