Disclaimer: *glances at watch* No, sorry, the office is closed. No witty
disclaimers for today, folks, please come back tomorrow. *posts a sign on
the window* I DO NOT OWN DB/Z/GT.
A/N: First off, this chapter is dedicated to my friend Kasi, as certain events in this chapter I think will give her some moments of malicious cackles. ~_^ This one's for you, Kas!
Well well well.......it seems it has taken more over a MONTH to update!!! The worst part is, this chapter has been sitting in my notebook for weeks, I've just been too busy (or lazy!!) to type it. So, my utmost apologies to you all. Thanks to all of you who reviewed, which unfortunately isn't many, but hey!!! Better than nuttin' right? (I am tired, can you tell?) Yeah.... I didn't want to go to bed last night so I stayed up late watching the GT Bebi saga, when I SHOULD have been typing this up!! I am seriously ready to kill my italics now, because the STILL DON'T WORK!!! You know the drill by now. But enough of the senseless babble, onto chapter 3!!!
Meaningless - Chapter 3 Unknown Enemies
The night was turbulent on planet Velassar. Harsh winds whipped across the planet's jagged surface, causing the red, sandy soil to rise and eddy in enormous torrents of furious movement. Storm clouds writhed in the sky above, black, ominous shapes erupting with crashing thunder and flashes of blue light. The night was charged with electricity, so thick that the very air tingled with it.
Vegeta battled his invisible foe in the midst of the inferno of dust, heat, and wind. Coarse sand swirled around him, stinging his skin with relentless fury, yet the Saiyan Prince appeared not to notice. His features drawn once again into a dark scowl, Vegeta pounded the air before him with flurries of vicious attacks.
Sweat poured over his body, sand sticking to the moisture and forming an irritating, crusty layer over his skin before more sweat washed it away. Vegeta snarled and punched the churning air before him, envisioning his fist, its skin red and raw from the chaffing sand, connecting squarely with Kakkarot's smug face.
The third class Saiyan had still not left his head, though it had many moons since his flight from Chikyuu. Relentlessly he had trained, trying to use his new goal to reach Super Saiyan to push Kakkarot from his mind, or at least distract his thoughts from those origins by inflicting pain on himself through his one-sided battles...but of course, as cruel fate would have it, none of it worked. Kakkarot lingered; a constant reminder that his entire being was a pathetic failure. Every day Vegeta's anger waxed while patience rapidly slipped away from him.
Nightly, Vegeta was tormented with painful dreams, bombarded with memories he so longed to forget. His new quest had not filled the void Kakkarot's death had left as Vegeta had convinced himself it would, and that hole within his consciousness grew wider with each passing day. To make matters worse, however, his nightmares were no longer solely based on his departed rival. As of late, every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the image of a certain hot-headed, loud-mouthed human female with turquoise hair and penetrating blue eyes.
The thought of her angered Vegeta more than anything. His inability to dismiss all regards towards Kakkarot was at least understandable; infuriating, but nevertheless understandable. But Bulma! There was no excuse for the hold she still held over him. He would not be going back to her, and remembrance of her being only set back his training.
And yet, there was still a small part of him that resisted, that fought back against his newfound and supposedly concrete resolutions. That skeptical part of his brain seemed to take on a life of his own, whispering constantly whether he wanted to hear its words or not.
~Training?~ it scoffed, the sneering voice following him wherever he moved, pounding inside his head.
~Training for what? No Kakkarot to defeat, and this pitiful planet certainly doesn't have any worthy opponents.~ The voice snorted. ~Going for galactic domination again? I doubt that.~
Vegeta increased the pace of his attacks, his movements so fast they would appear as a constant blur had anyone been there to watch. His eyes blazed, and he gritted his teeth in attempt to keep control on his emotions, though bitter-tasting sand immediately found its way into his mouth as he did so. Still, the voice persisted, taunting.
~Poor little prince, running away from home.~
Vegeta snarled.
"It is NOT my HOME!!"
The voice laughed bitterly.
~So now we're back to clinging to Vegeta-sei? Really now, are you ever going to grow up?~
Vegeta rose into the air, savagely attacking at nothing in an almost desperate effort to rid himself of the mocking voice.
The voice hardened.
~You know as well as I do that your little Saiyan bond can't be broken so easily. Just how long do you expect to last out here, completely alone?~
The red aura surrounding him flared upward, and he lashed out with mounting fury.
"I depend on no-one!" Sand flew eagerly into his mouth as he yelled, but he was so caught up in the battle with the voice that he hardly noticed.
~Suuure you don't. Completely independent. That's why you had to run away, so you could try and outrun all those inconvenient little ties you were forming. Is your pride really so enormous that you can't see past your own nose? You're striving to have something that doesn't exist, while you're too blind to see what you have right in front of you. Really, Vegeta, how juvenile.~
His attacks were frenzied now, features contorted to an almost crazed expression.
"I have new goals now! They will sustain me!"
~Why do you keep trying to fool yourself? You're only going to fail at that, too.~
With that, Vegeta lost all control he had maintained up to that point and he reared backwards, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Shut UP!!" He yelled into the howling maelstrom, the wind whipping the words from his mouth the moment they left his lips. Dust swirled even more thickly around him as his energy rose, the escalation lifting soil and rock into the air to join in snarling vortex.
"SHUT UP!!!" He screamed the last word, the crazed projection of his voice mixing with the roaring winds, carrying with it all the rage, frustration and agony which had been brewing within him for so long. His body became consumed in a brilliant crimson aura, the blood-red tongues of flame curling around his limbs, drying his sweat and burning away whatever sand still clung to his skin. The fierceness of the sandstorm intensified as he screamed, the earth trembling and cracking beneath his feet at the sudden outburst of power.
The raging storm seemed to match his emotions perfectly, as if he and the tempest were combined as one. It surged with the ferocity and aggression of a hunter, its rage ever growing, never resting. Eventually, the rancor of the storm would become too great to control, and its wrath would ravage the landscape before it, destroying all foolish enough to cross its path. Emotion and nature merged in a terrifying display of rage, wind, and power. Then, as abruptly as it had been born, the power within him died, settling back to whatever depths from which it had emerged. Drained, Vegeta dropped to his hands and knees, scraping his skin as he did so, though the prickles of pain hardly brushed his consciousness. His fingers dug into the hard earth as he half-heartedly fought against that inward voice, images and memories flooding his mind with each pulsing heartbeat. Sand lashed at his body, biting his wounds, the rough grains embedding themselves in his raw skin. And yet he felt none of it, so desperate he was to drive the urges and memories from his mind lest they overpower him.
Finally, he could stand no more, and launched from his hunched position into the air. He could barely see through the thickened clouds, his line of vision all a vast, roaring mass of wind-whipped red sand. It stung his eyes, but he forced them open, searching for his only shelter on this forsaken planet.
Finally, his probing hands felt the smooth surface of the space pod. He threw open the door, not waiting for the automatic mechanism to kick in. The wind slammed the door shut behind him, and he was enveloped in the sudden, blissful silence, the storm nothing but a distant howling beyond the door.
Once inside the cool chambers of the pod's interior, Vegeta's anger slowly diminished. His breathing evened out so it came in calm, easy breaths, rather than the grating, sand-choked, fury-driven gasps he drew but a moment before. He ran a calloused hand over his face, sand sprinkling to the floor as he did so.
He could no longer deny that his regards towards the Woman were much stronger than he had originally anticipated. The fact did not please him, but it was still a fact. He did not miss her; he could not stoop so low as to admitting that; but somehow, he....craved her. Craved to feel her light touch on his weary muscles, see the concern in her eyes when he drove himself beyond his limits. Craved her caresses, and even her loud, obtrusive voice when she argued against him. She was the only one ever brave enough to argue against him.
He walked over to the control panel, glancing for the umpteenth time at the digital clock set on the Chikyuu calendar. It had now been over six months since he left that planet...why he kept track of their time he did not know, only that it remained his last link to that planet and the life he had left behind. As much as it irked him, he could not bring himself to destroy that last remaining link.
Well, not quite the last. Vegeta moved over to another section of the control panel, a distant expression on his face. His fingers lingered over the set of keys which would activate the long-range visual transmitter the Woman's father had installed a few years ago. Much to his contempt, Vegeta often found himself drawn to the device, standing over it for long lengths of time, just watching. The power to see her face again lay at his fingertips...perhaps, just one look, one last glance at that young face, just to satisfy him enough to get her out of his mind for good...
A sudden growl escaped his throat, and his expression hardened once again.
"No." The word hissed out between his teeth, tainting the room with its vicious obstinance. It disgusted him that he had come so close to succumbing to petty emotions; he would NOT be going back, and he would NOT resurrect old ties he had chosen to sever that night he stole the space pod. It infuriated him to no end that he was capable of showing such weakness. The woman was nothing, Kakkarot was nothing - all that mattered now was his own survival - alone.
He brought up a fist and promptly drove it into the control panel in a blaze of sparks, ripping out wires as he withdrew his hand. A dark smirk of Saiyan satisfaction etched his chiseled features at the broken communicator, though at the same time something in the pit of his stomach lurched with despair. He chose this new life; there could be no links.
* * * The man hummed tunelessly to himself as he swept the sidewalk in front of his small store, scratching his mustache as the bristly hairs tickled his upper lip. He slowly went through his mental checklist for the day's events.
~Lunch with mother, order more stock for his store, barber's appointment...~
The man's train of thought was interrupted as his broom came to the base of a pair of tall, stylish brown boots, a set of blue sneakers and lime green socks slightly behind them. His gaze journeyed upwards to behold a young, blonde, denim-clad woman with piercing blue eyes, and a boy who appeared around the same age with shoulder-length black hair and a red scarf about his neck. Both did not appear in the best of moods, so the man straightened up, a welcoming smile on his face.
~The customer is always right!~ he reminded himself.
"You're a bit early this morning, folks!" he said cheerfully. "Anxious to get your shopping done before the midday rush? I'll be opening up in just a second."
The woman merely raised a delicate eyebrow and flicked her cornsilk hair off a slender shoulder in a show of obvious indifference.
"That's nice."
The man's brows drew together in oblivious confusion.
"I'm sorry, Miss, what --"
He was cut off as the black haired youth moved in front, a low chuckle rising from his throat. Smooth features were pulled into a sneer, and he surveyed the shop with distaste.
"Stupid human. We're not here to shop at your pathetic little store."
The man scratched his head, then suddenly straightened indignantly as he realized his store had been insulted by this brash newcomer. He folded his arms defensively across his pudgy chest, planting his feet squarely on the sidewalk in what was supposed to be an imposing stance.
"Well then, young sir, I'll ask you to leave the premises to make way for other customers."
The teenager's sneer grew, ice-blue eyes glinting with malice. In one lightning-fast movement, he snatched the broom from the shopkeeper's grasp, holding it delicately between two fingers.
"No." he jeered. "I don't feel like it."
The middle-aged man stiffened; the standoff had already attracted a small gathering of onlookers. This was bad publicity for his store.
The boy's gaze flicked over his audience before returning to the shopkeeper. With a scarcely detectable twitch of his fingers, the broom splintered into matchwood, the severed pieces raining down onto the sidewalk. The blonde woman stepped up beside her partner, a devilish grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Now the man was afraid. Who were these people, and why were they at his store? He desperately stuttered out a protest, anxious to return to the security of his shop's interior.
"I'm w-warning you for the f-final time, p-p-please leave the premises im-m- mediately!!"
The boy smirked, playing with the remains of the broom with his foot.
"No thanks," he said softly, voice edged with steel. "That's your job."
The man did not even get a chance to voice his confusion as a thin beam of light shot from the youth's finger, piercing the shopkeeper's chest and emerging from his back to shatter the brick wall behind.
The crowd around the two teenagers stood in stunned silence, eyes on every face widened with horror and disbelief. A few people stumbled backwards and away from the new deadly duo.
The woman ran her gaze over the crowd, enjoying the looks of terror produced each time she made eye contact. She turned back to her partner, casually tucking pale silken strands behind a dainty ear.
"My my," she mused, voice laden with cruel playfulness. "Whatever are we going to do with all these witnesses? We certainly can't keep them alive."
Her voice hardened and before anyone could react, she spun gracefully on her heel, light spiraling from her index finger. The unlucky victim of her attack crumpled to a lifeless heap at her feet, an expression of shock and pain still frozen on his features.
That awakened the panic. All those who had seen the attack began scrambling wildly in every direction, screams erupting from their lips as they tripped over each other in their desperation to escape.
The boy's face twisted into a mask of malicious delight, and he gleefully began blasting those who fled before him, cackling with pleasure as he did so.
"Finally the fun part!" he exclaimed, casting a dancing look at the woman at his back who was adding her own contributions to the destruction. "Moving targets!"
The girl shook her head at her partner's childishness, but couldn't keep the sadistic grin from her won lips as more pathetic humans fell dead by the works of her hands.
Within moments, every living being in the area lay still, their limp bodies littering the pavement. The duo smiled and moved towards the interior of the city, hungry for more carnage.
* * * Bulma leaned wearily against the overly soft cushions of the den couch. The furniture within the room was her mother's taste, not hers, meaning everything was almost too soft and frilly. The thick carpet, however, was ideal for a toddler still unsteady on his feet, so it was the den, in its various shades of cheerful yellow, which often served as Trunks' playroom. The destructive demi-Saiyan often became bored with his own large playroom, but fortunately he never seemed to tire of tearing apart the den.
The room had been transformed into a disaster area thanks to the baby's newfound walking abilities. Chairs and love-seat lay stripped of their respective cushions, papers, books, and various decorative items lay scattered over the floor, and - a result of Trunks' most recent action - organdy curtains lay in a rumpled pile where small hands had yanked them down in a fit of giggles.
Bulma shook her head as her son surveyed his handiwork, clapping chubby hands together in glee. She had to chuckle when his enthusiasm cost him his balance and the boy plopped down onto his diapered bottom.
Bulma's face fell as quickly as it had brightened. The sound of her own laughter had become almost foreign, so rarely she found occasion to laugh. She checked her calendar several times each day, every time incredulous that so little time had passed.
Six months.
Six months since he left her, abandoned her. Six months since she was left alone to raise a child already possessing signs of abnormal strength and alien abilities, constant reminders of the man who had fathered him. Six months of living with the pangs of loss, both of a friend and a lover. Trunks' first birthday was fast approaching, and only one of his parents would be there to see it. Six months which felt more like generations.
Not liking where her thoughts were leading, Bulma picked up the remote control from the floor and flicked on the television, absently brushing a stray lock of turquoise hair from her eyes. Inattentively she flipped through the channels, not particularly interested, keen only that it prove a distraction from her thoughts.
Trunks glanced up at here, eyes the device in her hand, and a moment later came tottering up to her knee. Small fingers explored the remote's surface as huge, questioning blue eyes stared hopefully up at her.
"See?"
Bulma rolled her eyes and surrendered the remote to her son, who in turn gurgled with delight and sat down to examine his newest toy. Bulma sighed and rested her head on the back of the couch; she hadn't really cared what was on T.V. anyway. From the corny music coming from the set, she could tell without even looking that the current station was playing a soap opera.
~Snap out of it, Bulma!~ she thought to herself. ~It's been six months, how much longer are you going to mope around? He's not coming back, you might as well move on...~
A sudden clatter came from Trunks' direction, and Bulma lifted her head to see the toddler blinking at a now broken remote control, batteries scattered over the floor. The boy wore an expression of surprise which quickly changed to one of feigned innocence when he realized his mother's eyes were one him.
"Not me!!" he declared quickly, though the remains of the remote were still clutched in his tubby fist. Bulma raised an eyebrow and was about to scold when an abrupt change in programs on the T.V. stole her attention.
A nervous reporter was now on the screen, his eyes shifting in a frightened manner.
"We interrupt this program due to current events. South City is under attack!"
Her attention now fully caught, Bulma shifted to a more comfortable position, eyes fixed on the screen. Chaos was erupting behind the reporter, tongues of flame devouring buildings and terrified screams sounding from every direction. The man gripped his microphone tightly, looking like he would rather be anywhere but his present location.
"Two mysterious youths have appeared and for unknown reasons have set out murdering their own kind! The entire city is in a state of panic, and it has been estimated that if reinforcements do not arrive soon, the city's entire population may be wiped out! I think the question on every person's lips is, who are these crazed murderers?"
The reported opened his mouth to continue his broadcast, but no sound emerged save a low gurgle, and the man's eyes widened in sudden shock. The now trembling camera panned down to the man's stomach - and more importantly - the bloody hand which protruded from it.
Bulma's hand flew to her mouth, the other clutching her stomach as it lurched with nausea. Transfixed, she found herself unable to tear her gaze from the screen, even as the horror of what was happening unfolded before her.
The camera now lay on its side on the ground, its bearer having dropped it and fled immediately following the death of his colleague. As Bulma watched, wide-eyed, someone picked up the camera and turned it around so the lens was facing him.
The image of a black-haired teenager now filled the screen. Pale eyes glittered with sick humor, and a chill swept through Bulma's body at the boy's wicked smile.
"Perhaps I should answer the good man's question." he said, voice barely hiding cruel laughter.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Android Seventeen, and somewhere around here is my sister, Android Eighteen. But you might as well just think of us as your death. It'll save your pathetic human minds the trouble of remembering such complicated names." He raised an eyebrow, obviously enjoying his moment of fame.
"Don't believe me?" he taunted, mouth set in a sneer. "Well then. I guess I'll just have to convince you."
The camera was abruptly swung around, broken scenery blurring dizzily. It stopped to focus on a woman pressed up against a brick wall, her expression one of complete and utter terror.
Seventeen's hand appeared in front of the lens, the cowering woman visible between the cyborg's wide-spread fingers.
"Say bye-bye!"
With that, blinding light blasted from his hand, consuming his victim before she even had a chance to scream. The camera's holder erupted into a fit of almost child-like laughter.
The air before the camera blurred, and in the next instant a blonde woman appeared, blocking the crumpled form of the lifeless girl from view. Seventeen's cackles ceased, and he spoke in an amused monotone once more.
"Ah, Eighteen. So you have decided to join me in my little newscast?"
The woman remained unimpressed, raising her hand at the camera.
"Enough fooling around. You're letting everyone get away." A second later, the screen went black as the camera was consumed in a blast of energy from Eighteen's outstretched hand.
Bulma sat perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands gripping her knees. Her mouth hung open, face a mask of horror and confusion.
"What on Chikyuu just happened?!?" she burst out, her shock wearing away to make way for indignance. Trunks crawled up to the darkened screen, touching softly at the spot where the image of the murdered woman's corpse had last been. He turned to look at his mother, eyes wide with questions.
"No wake up." He stated, voice filled with confusion and innocence. "Why no wake up?"
Bulma grimaced and swept him into her arms, petting his face comfortingly and placing her hand over his eyes, even though the terrible images were long gone from the screen.
"Don't think about it, baby." she crooned, turning away from the now offensive television in an effort to protect her son from what he had just witnessed. "Let's go get a snack, ok?" She hurried out of the room, eager to put some distance between herself and the horrifying broadcast.
She was just shutting the door to the den when the telephone rang. Holding Trunks in the crook of one arm, she picked up the jangling receiver and secured it between her shoulder and chin.
"Bulma?" ChiChi's voice came from the other end and from the sound of it, the woman was close to hysteria. "I don't know if you saw what was just on T.V., but everyone's left. Piccolo, Kuririn, Yamucha...Gohan, too."
Through all the muddled events which had so quickly been pressed in upon her, Bulma was only able to utter one high-pitched reply;
"WHAT?!"
* * * The sandstorm had long since ceased. Vegeta sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, face set in its usual scowl. He was growing more impatient with each passing hour, for his training seemed to be going nowhere. No matter how much his power escalated, how hard he pressed himself onward, he still could not reach the infuriatingly elusive level of Super Saiyan. Nor could he drive thoughts of Kakkarot or his mate from his mind.
Growling, he tore a leg from the dead beast which lay at his feet. The planet had not been completely void of life as it had first appeared to be, and fortunately so. His small supply of capsulized food had disappeared at an alarmingly fast rate, so now the planet's unintelligent, reptilian inhabitants were his only source of food. Bitter-tasting and of tough texture, but filling.
Vegeta ripped at the deceased animal's flesh savagely. At first it had surprised him how quickly his body had resorted to his former barbaric Saiyan behavior, but now he barely took notice of the change. No-one was around to see him, and even if they were, Vegeta doubted he would care.
Even so, that small, annoying part of him refused to keep quiet. Not so much a small part, perhaps...more like a deeper part. He could feel himself slowly becoming the savage he once had been - ruthless and untamed, caring for nothing and no-one save his own strength.
His mind welcomed this, as it seemed his only hope of escaping bitter memories, but even as he formed these thoughts, his soul cried out in protest. Vegeta knew that in giving himself over to his old instincts, he was walking willingly into that colourless void which his life had become since Kakkarot's death. He had fled Chikyuu to escape that terrible emptiness, but now memories were driving him to the point of insanity. His priorities had become horribly hidden from view.
The opposing parts tore at him, creating in his mind a tide of emotions so vast it would take more than a life-time to sort them out. He was confused, and that angered the Saiyan prince more than anything.
Vegeta but off another mouthful of coarse hide, spitting out bones as he came across them. His appetite satisfied, he cast the remains of the creature's body aside and stood up, glaring out at the landscape around him.
The scenery had changed slightly since his first arrival. Many cliffs had since been reduced to piles of rock and gravel, and several areas of the ground were scorched a burnt black, all result of his intense training. Vegeta had long since changed from his usual attire after one annoying incident in the first month of his stay on the planet when his sweat pants had actually caught fire during his training. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat, and certainly not something that should happen to a Prince of the Saiyan race. Thus, he now wore only dark spandex shorts. They were more convenient for training anyway.
Pushing these unimportant thoughts aside with an impatient grunt, Vegeta began focusing his power to a higher level to begin his usual training sessions. A blue glow of rising energy was just beginning to tingle against his skin when a clear, sharp doorway was abruptly opened in his mind.
::Vegeta!::
The Prince dropped his concentration, startled. He knew that voice as well as his own; it belonged to the Namekian. Vegeta's eyebrows shot upward; he knew of that race's telepathic abilities, but had no idea they could be this powerful. For a fighter such as Piccolo to reach this far into space and contact him directly, his power must have skyrocketed. Vegeta scowled at this. Had they discovered some new training technique during his absence? If so, -
::Vegeta!:: Piccolo's voice cut in again, urgently this time. ::We don't have time for this! You have to come back to Chikyuu NOW!::
Vegeta snorted. Saiyans had a little experience with telepathy, and he used the link already created by Piccolo to answer.
"Oh really?" he replied aloud, folding his arms over his bare chest and raising a challenging eyebrow, though he knew the Namekian could not see him. "And who are you to be giving ME orders? I don't plan on --"
::Shut up!::
Vegeta started, then regained his composure with lightning speed, eyes narrowing in anger dangerously close to erupting. He was not given the chance to open his mouth, however, before Piccolo continued. The rain of scathing insults lay still on the tip of Vegeta's tongue.
::I don't have time for your idiocy, Vegeta, now listen to me! We are under attack. We can't even hold off our enemy, we're being torn apart one by one!::
The urgency in the Namekian's deep voice kept Vegeta rooted to the spot, for once unable to reply.
::We can't survive much longer, Vegeta, I don't know where you think you are, but we need you here NOW!::
Slowly, a sadistic grin spread over Vegeta's features and he began to laugh, a low, vibrating sound full of mocking and triumph.
"So," he began, voice thick and smug. "The aloof Namekian comes crawling to me. Well perhaps I don't --"
A growling shout of frustration and anger cut him off mid-sentence, followed by a stream of coarse profanity. Piccolo's voice blasted into the prince's mind, sending him reeling backwards in a very undignified manner.
::You FOOL!:: Piccolo barked, voice now lined with the slightest hint of fear. ::Save your speeches for later! Whether you like it or not, you are one of Chikyuu's defenders, and right now we need your strength HERE! We are being slaught--::
The Namekian's words were suddenly cut off, replaced by a sickening, wet gurgle. A second later, the link closed as quickly as it had been opened, and Vegeta was left alone once again on his planet, the slightest traces of shock etched upon his aristocratic features.
The shock soon intensified, however, as a familiar ki flared, its power so high that Vegeta was able to sense it effortlessly even from the depths of space.
Kakkarot's brat.
Vegeta's onyx eyes widened in disbelief and denial as the demi-Saiyan's power-level shot upwards, and far beyond Vegeta's own. The prince knew there was only one way the boy could have undergone such a drastic escalation so abruptly; he must have turned Super Saiyan upon his mentor's death.
But this was impossible!! A mere child could not possibly attain what he himself had worked for his entire life, and still not reached! But then again, the waves of power washing over him obviously proved otherwise. To provoke such a reaction....Chikyuu must indeed be under siege.
Vegeta's brows furrowed, and with closed eyes he stretched out his senses, probing, searching the distant planet for the life forces of those who had once been his comrades in battle. One by one, he found them, though sweat beaded on his brow from the effort, for their ki's were not only far away, but dangerously low.
They were all together, and all were perilously close to the point of death. This did not surprise Vegeta; Gohan's transformation had verified Piccolo's words. As the life forces of the Z-senshi steadily dropped, a familiar fire awoke within the Saiyan prince. A desire he knew all too well began to tug at his mind and body, compelling him to join the battle raging on Chikyuu.
Still, he resisted. A snarl hissed out between his teeth, and he almost pulled his concentration from Chikyuu. That planet's fate, and the fate of its defenders, no longer concerned him. He had broken all ties connecting him in any way with his past life, and knew that if he returned to it now, it would only open old wounds.
~And when did the mighty Prince of Saiyans become afraid of pain?~ the voice in his mind challenged. ~ Running from a fight, that's what you're doing. Again.~
Vegeta growled.
"I am NOT afraid to battle!! I resist only because this fight is none of my concern!" He shouted into empty air, a scuttling lizard his only audience. Still, the voice did not relent.
~That never stopped you from joining in the fray before.~ The voice suddenly became low and firm rather than mocking. ~They. Are. Dying. If you stand around and only watch, you're a bigger coward than I ever thought possible.~ With that, the voice left him, leaving Vegeta seething with anger and frustration. Even as he fought against the voice's words, his Saiyan instincts betrayed him. Inadvertently he felt himself drawn to the battle, and his blood began to flow faster at the thought of a fight. Vegeta clenched his fists, forcing the impulses down, and returned his full attention to Chikyuu once again.
Most were gone. What few ki's remained were quickly fading, and Vegeta knew with almost sickening clarity that they would not live much longer. Against his will, a shred of guilt settled firmly onto his shoulders; people were fighting and dying while he stood by and watched the show. One by one they faded, until only Gohan's life force remained. The direness of the situation finally took hold in Vegeta's mind, pushing his obstinance aside. What had happened that Chikyuu's special forces were ground into defeat so easily?
Suddenly, a new realization hit him, and he pushed his senses further, almost desperately. Frantically he combed Chikyuu's surface, searching for any trace of the life he had once allowed himself to love. Near panic claimed his usually emotionless thoughts as his searches came back vacant, finding no trace of the woman for whom he looked so urgently. Whether her life-force was naturally to weak to feel from such a distance or something more dire had taken place the prince did not know, but was not going to wait around to find out.
Pushing the last remnants of Saiyan stubbornness from his mind, Vegeta raced to the space pod, a sick feeling sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He had no time to dwell on his pride, or the fact that he was going against all decisions he had so firmly established before.
All he knew was that he was going home.
A/N: Phew!! That was a HARD chapter to write, so I'm glad it's over!! For those of you who've read my fic "Shattered", I realize the scene with Bulma was somewhat similar to that. However, that was the only way to develop the story the way I wanted it, so my apologies for the monotony. I know I made Trunks more advanced than most babies in the fact that he can walk and talk already, but I figured that the combination of Saiyan blood and Bulma's brain would make him ahead of the average kid, don'tcha think? Anyway, this chapter totally drained me, so that's about all I'm going to say for now.
Story Advertising: Something Deeper by Tenshi Sasher. I think most of you who are reading this story have most likely read hers as well, but just for those of you who haven't, go check it out. Trust me, it's more than worth the time!!! That said, I'm going to go sleep now.....I really hate exam time!!! =P
A/N: First off, this chapter is dedicated to my friend Kasi, as certain events in this chapter I think will give her some moments of malicious cackles. ~_^ This one's for you, Kas!
Well well well.......it seems it has taken more over a MONTH to update!!! The worst part is, this chapter has been sitting in my notebook for weeks, I've just been too busy (or lazy!!) to type it. So, my utmost apologies to you all. Thanks to all of you who reviewed, which unfortunately isn't many, but hey!!! Better than nuttin' right? (I am tired, can you tell?) Yeah.... I didn't want to go to bed last night so I stayed up late watching the GT Bebi saga, when I SHOULD have been typing this up!! I am seriously ready to kill my italics now, because the STILL DON'T WORK!!! You know the drill by now. But enough of the senseless babble, onto chapter 3!!!
Meaningless - Chapter 3 Unknown Enemies
The night was turbulent on planet Velassar. Harsh winds whipped across the planet's jagged surface, causing the red, sandy soil to rise and eddy in enormous torrents of furious movement. Storm clouds writhed in the sky above, black, ominous shapes erupting with crashing thunder and flashes of blue light. The night was charged with electricity, so thick that the very air tingled with it.
Vegeta battled his invisible foe in the midst of the inferno of dust, heat, and wind. Coarse sand swirled around him, stinging his skin with relentless fury, yet the Saiyan Prince appeared not to notice. His features drawn once again into a dark scowl, Vegeta pounded the air before him with flurries of vicious attacks.
Sweat poured over his body, sand sticking to the moisture and forming an irritating, crusty layer over his skin before more sweat washed it away. Vegeta snarled and punched the churning air before him, envisioning his fist, its skin red and raw from the chaffing sand, connecting squarely with Kakkarot's smug face.
The third class Saiyan had still not left his head, though it had many moons since his flight from Chikyuu. Relentlessly he had trained, trying to use his new goal to reach Super Saiyan to push Kakkarot from his mind, or at least distract his thoughts from those origins by inflicting pain on himself through his one-sided battles...but of course, as cruel fate would have it, none of it worked. Kakkarot lingered; a constant reminder that his entire being was a pathetic failure. Every day Vegeta's anger waxed while patience rapidly slipped away from him.
Nightly, Vegeta was tormented with painful dreams, bombarded with memories he so longed to forget. His new quest had not filled the void Kakkarot's death had left as Vegeta had convinced himself it would, and that hole within his consciousness grew wider with each passing day. To make matters worse, however, his nightmares were no longer solely based on his departed rival. As of late, every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the image of a certain hot-headed, loud-mouthed human female with turquoise hair and penetrating blue eyes.
The thought of her angered Vegeta more than anything. His inability to dismiss all regards towards Kakkarot was at least understandable; infuriating, but nevertheless understandable. But Bulma! There was no excuse for the hold she still held over him. He would not be going back to her, and remembrance of her being only set back his training.
And yet, there was still a small part of him that resisted, that fought back against his newfound and supposedly concrete resolutions. That skeptical part of his brain seemed to take on a life of his own, whispering constantly whether he wanted to hear its words or not.
~Training?~ it scoffed, the sneering voice following him wherever he moved, pounding inside his head.
~Training for what? No Kakkarot to defeat, and this pitiful planet certainly doesn't have any worthy opponents.~ The voice snorted. ~Going for galactic domination again? I doubt that.~
Vegeta increased the pace of his attacks, his movements so fast they would appear as a constant blur had anyone been there to watch. His eyes blazed, and he gritted his teeth in attempt to keep control on his emotions, though bitter-tasting sand immediately found its way into his mouth as he did so. Still, the voice persisted, taunting.
~Poor little prince, running away from home.~
Vegeta snarled.
"It is NOT my HOME!!"
The voice laughed bitterly.
~So now we're back to clinging to Vegeta-sei? Really now, are you ever going to grow up?~
Vegeta rose into the air, savagely attacking at nothing in an almost desperate effort to rid himself of the mocking voice.
The voice hardened.
~You know as well as I do that your little Saiyan bond can't be broken so easily. Just how long do you expect to last out here, completely alone?~
The red aura surrounding him flared upward, and he lashed out with mounting fury.
"I depend on no-one!" Sand flew eagerly into his mouth as he yelled, but he was so caught up in the battle with the voice that he hardly noticed.
~Suuure you don't. Completely independent. That's why you had to run away, so you could try and outrun all those inconvenient little ties you were forming. Is your pride really so enormous that you can't see past your own nose? You're striving to have something that doesn't exist, while you're too blind to see what you have right in front of you. Really, Vegeta, how juvenile.~
His attacks were frenzied now, features contorted to an almost crazed expression.
"I have new goals now! They will sustain me!"
~Why do you keep trying to fool yourself? You're only going to fail at that, too.~
With that, Vegeta lost all control he had maintained up to that point and he reared backwards, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Shut UP!!" He yelled into the howling maelstrom, the wind whipping the words from his mouth the moment they left his lips. Dust swirled even more thickly around him as his energy rose, the escalation lifting soil and rock into the air to join in snarling vortex.
"SHUT UP!!!" He screamed the last word, the crazed projection of his voice mixing with the roaring winds, carrying with it all the rage, frustration and agony which had been brewing within him for so long. His body became consumed in a brilliant crimson aura, the blood-red tongues of flame curling around his limbs, drying his sweat and burning away whatever sand still clung to his skin. The fierceness of the sandstorm intensified as he screamed, the earth trembling and cracking beneath his feet at the sudden outburst of power.
The raging storm seemed to match his emotions perfectly, as if he and the tempest were combined as one. It surged with the ferocity and aggression of a hunter, its rage ever growing, never resting. Eventually, the rancor of the storm would become too great to control, and its wrath would ravage the landscape before it, destroying all foolish enough to cross its path. Emotion and nature merged in a terrifying display of rage, wind, and power. Then, as abruptly as it had been born, the power within him died, settling back to whatever depths from which it had emerged. Drained, Vegeta dropped to his hands and knees, scraping his skin as he did so, though the prickles of pain hardly brushed his consciousness. His fingers dug into the hard earth as he half-heartedly fought against that inward voice, images and memories flooding his mind with each pulsing heartbeat. Sand lashed at his body, biting his wounds, the rough grains embedding themselves in his raw skin. And yet he felt none of it, so desperate he was to drive the urges and memories from his mind lest they overpower him.
Finally, he could stand no more, and launched from his hunched position into the air. He could barely see through the thickened clouds, his line of vision all a vast, roaring mass of wind-whipped red sand. It stung his eyes, but he forced them open, searching for his only shelter on this forsaken planet.
Finally, his probing hands felt the smooth surface of the space pod. He threw open the door, not waiting for the automatic mechanism to kick in. The wind slammed the door shut behind him, and he was enveloped in the sudden, blissful silence, the storm nothing but a distant howling beyond the door.
Once inside the cool chambers of the pod's interior, Vegeta's anger slowly diminished. His breathing evened out so it came in calm, easy breaths, rather than the grating, sand-choked, fury-driven gasps he drew but a moment before. He ran a calloused hand over his face, sand sprinkling to the floor as he did so.
He could no longer deny that his regards towards the Woman were much stronger than he had originally anticipated. The fact did not please him, but it was still a fact. He did not miss her; he could not stoop so low as to admitting that; but somehow, he....craved her. Craved to feel her light touch on his weary muscles, see the concern in her eyes when he drove himself beyond his limits. Craved her caresses, and even her loud, obtrusive voice when she argued against him. She was the only one ever brave enough to argue against him.
He walked over to the control panel, glancing for the umpteenth time at the digital clock set on the Chikyuu calendar. It had now been over six months since he left that planet...why he kept track of their time he did not know, only that it remained his last link to that planet and the life he had left behind. As much as it irked him, he could not bring himself to destroy that last remaining link.
Well, not quite the last. Vegeta moved over to another section of the control panel, a distant expression on his face. His fingers lingered over the set of keys which would activate the long-range visual transmitter the Woman's father had installed a few years ago. Much to his contempt, Vegeta often found himself drawn to the device, standing over it for long lengths of time, just watching. The power to see her face again lay at his fingertips...perhaps, just one look, one last glance at that young face, just to satisfy him enough to get her out of his mind for good...
A sudden growl escaped his throat, and his expression hardened once again.
"No." The word hissed out between his teeth, tainting the room with its vicious obstinance. It disgusted him that he had come so close to succumbing to petty emotions; he would NOT be going back, and he would NOT resurrect old ties he had chosen to sever that night he stole the space pod. It infuriated him to no end that he was capable of showing such weakness. The woman was nothing, Kakkarot was nothing - all that mattered now was his own survival - alone.
He brought up a fist and promptly drove it into the control panel in a blaze of sparks, ripping out wires as he withdrew his hand. A dark smirk of Saiyan satisfaction etched his chiseled features at the broken communicator, though at the same time something in the pit of his stomach lurched with despair. He chose this new life; there could be no links.
* * * The man hummed tunelessly to himself as he swept the sidewalk in front of his small store, scratching his mustache as the bristly hairs tickled his upper lip. He slowly went through his mental checklist for the day's events.
~Lunch with mother, order more stock for his store, barber's appointment...~
The man's train of thought was interrupted as his broom came to the base of a pair of tall, stylish brown boots, a set of blue sneakers and lime green socks slightly behind them. His gaze journeyed upwards to behold a young, blonde, denim-clad woman with piercing blue eyes, and a boy who appeared around the same age with shoulder-length black hair and a red scarf about his neck. Both did not appear in the best of moods, so the man straightened up, a welcoming smile on his face.
~The customer is always right!~ he reminded himself.
"You're a bit early this morning, folks!" he said cheerfully. "Anxious to get your shopping done before the midday rush? I'll be opening up in just a second."
The woman merely raised a delicate eyebrow and flicked her cornsilk hair off a slender shoulder in a show of obvious indifference.
"That's nice."
The man's brows drew together in oblivious confusion.
"I'm sorry, Miss, what --"
He was cut off as the black haired youth moved in front, a low chuckle rising from his throat. Smooth features were pulled into a sneer, and he surveyed the shop with distaste.
"Stupid human. We're not here to shop at your pathetic little store."
The man scratched his head, then suddenly straightened indignantly as he realized his store had been insulted by this brash newcomer. He folded his arms defensively across his pudgy chest, planting his feet squarely on the sidewalk in what was supposed to be an imposing stance.
"Well then, young sir, I'll ask you to leave the premises to make way for other customers."
The teenager's sneer grew, ice-blue eyes glinting with malice. In one lightning-fast movement, he snatched the broom from the shopkeeper's grasp, holding it delicately between two fingers.
"No." he jeered. "I don't feel like it."
The middle-aged man stiffened; the standoff had already attracted a small gathering of onlookers. This was bad publicity for his store.
The boy's gaze flicked over his audience before returning to the shopkeeper. With a scarcely detectable twitch of his fingers, the broom splintered into matchwood, the severed pieces raining down onto the sidewalk. The blonde woman stepped up beside her partner, a devilish grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Now the man was afraid. Who were these people, and why were they at his store? He desperately stuttered out a protest, anxious to return to the security of his shop's interior.
"I'm w-warning you for the f-final time, p-p-please leave the premises im-m- mediately!!"
The boy smirked, playing with the remains of the broom with his foot.
"No thanks," he said softly, voice edged with steel. "That's your job."
The man did not even get a chance to voice his confusion as a thin beam of light shot from the youth's finger, piercing the shopkeeper's chest and emerging from his back to shatter the brick wall behind.
The crowd around the two teenagers stood in stunned silence, eyes on every face widened with horror and disbelief. A few people stumbled backwards and away from the new deadly duo.
The woman ran her gaze over the crowd, enjoying the looks of terror produced each time she made eye contact. She turned back to her partner, casually tucking pale silken strands behind a dainty ear.
"My my," she mused, voice laden with cruel playfulness. "Whatever are we going to do with all these witnesses? We certainly can't keep them alive."
Her voice hardened and before anyone could react, she spun gracefully on her heel, light spiraling from her index finger. The unlucky victim of her attack crumpled to a lifeless heap at her feet, an expression of shock and pain still frozen on his features.
That awakened the panic. All those who had seen the attack began scrambling wildly in every direction, screams erupting from their lips as they tripped over each other in their desperation to escape.
The boy's face twisted into a mask of malicious delight, and he gleefully began blasting those who fled before him, cackling with pleasure as he did so.
"Finally the fun part!" he exclaimed, casting a dancing look at the woman at his back who was adding her own contributions to the destruction. "Moving targets!"
The girl shook her head at her partner's childishness, but couldn't keep the sadistic grin from her won lips as more pathetic humans fell dead by the works of her hands.
Within moments, every living being in the area lay still, their limp bodies littering the pavement. The duo smiled and moved towards the interior of the city, hungry for more carnage.
* * * Bulma leaned wearily against the overly soft cushions of the den couch. The furniture within the room was her mother's taste, not hers, meaning everything was almost too soft and frilly. The thick carpet, however, was ideal for a toddler still unsteady on his feet, so it was the den, in its various shades of cheerful yellow, which often served as Trunks' playroom. The destructive demi-Saiyan often became bored with his own large playroom, but fortunately he never seemed to tire of tearing apart the den.
The room had been transformed into a disaster area thanks to the baby's newfound walking abilities. Chairs and love-seat lay stripped of their respective cushions, papers, books, and various decorative items lay scattered over the floor, and - a result of Trunks' most recent action - organdy curtains lay in a rumpled pile where small hands had yanked them down in a fit of giggles.
Bulma shook her head as her son surveyed his handiwork, clapping chubby hands together in glee. She had to chuckle when his enthusiasm cost him his balance and the boy plopped down onto his diapered bottom.
Bulma's face fell as quickly as it had brightened. The sound of her own laughter had become almost foreign, so rarely she found occasion to laugh. She checked her calendar several times each day, every time incredulous that so little time had passed.
Six months.
Six months since he left her, abandoned her. Six months since she was left alone to raise a child already possessing signs of abnormal strength and alien abilities, constant reminders of the man who had fathered him. Six months of living with the pangs of loss, both of a friend and a lover. Trunks' first birthday was fast approaching, and only one of his parents would be there to see it. Six months which felt more like generations.
Not liking where her thoughts were leading, Bulma picked up the remote control from the floor and flicked on the television, absently brushing a stray lock of turquoise hair from her eyes. Inattentively she flipped through the channels, not particularly interested, keen only that it prove a distraction from her thoughts.
Trunks glanced up at here, eyes the device in her hand, and a moment later came tottering up to her knee. Small fingers explored the remote's surface as huge, questioning blue eyes stared hopefully up at her.
"See?"
Bulma rolled her eyes and surrendered the remote to her son, who in turn gurgled with delight and sat down to examine his newest toy. Bulma sighed and rested her head on the back of the couch; she hadn't really cared what was on T.V. anyway. From the corny music coming from the set, she could tell without even looking that the current station was playing a soap opera.
~Snap out of it, Bulma!~ she thought to herself. ~It's been six months, how much longer are you going to mope around? He's not coming back, you might as well move on...~
A sudden clatter came from Trunks' direction, and Bulma lifted her head to see the toddler blinking at a now broken remote control, batteries scattered over the floor. The boy wore an expression of surprise which quickly changed to one of feigned innocence when he realized his mother's eyes were one him.
"Not me!!" he declared quickly, though the remains of the remote were still clutched in his tubby fist. Bulma raised an eyebrow and was about to scold when an abrupt change in programs on the T.V. stole her attention.
A nervous reporter was now on the screen, his eyes shifting in a frightened manner.
"We interrupt this program due to current events. South City is under attack!"
Her attention now fully caught, Bulma shifted to a more comfortable position, eyes fixed on the screen. Chaos was erupting behind the reporter, tongues of flame devouring buildings and terrified screams sounding from every direction. The man gripped his microphone tightly, looking like he would rather be anywhere but his present location.
"Two mysterious youths have appeared and for unknown reasons have set out murdering their own kind! The entire city is in a state of panic, and it has been estimated that if reinforcements do not arrive soon, the city's entire population may be wiped out! I think the question on every person's lips is, who are these crazed murderers?"
The reported opened his mouth to continue his broadcast, but no sound emerged save a low gurgle, and the man's eyes widened in sudden shock. The now trembling camera panned down to the man's stomach - and more importantly - the bloody hand which protruded from it.
Bulma's hand flew to her mouth, the other clutching her stomach as it lurched with nausea. Transfixed, she found herself unable to tear her gaze from the screen, even as the horror of what was happening unfolded before her.
The camera now lay on its side on the ground, its bearer having dropped it and fled immediately following the death of his colleague. As Bulma watched, wide-eyed, someone picked up the camera and turned it around so the lens was facing him.
The image of a black-haired teenager now filled the screen. Pale eyes glittered with sick humor, and a chill swept through Bulma's body at the boy's wicked smile.
"Perhaps I should answer the good man's question." he said, voice barely hiding cruel laughter.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Android Seventeen, and somewhere around here is my sister, Android Eighteen. But you might as well just think of us as your death. It'll save your pathetic human minds the trouble of remembering such complicated names." He raised an eyebrow, obviously enjoying his moment of fame.
"Don't believe me?" he taunted, mouth set in a sneer. "Well then. I guess I'll just have to convince you."
The camera was abruptly swung around, broken scenery blurring dizzily. It stopped to focus on a woman pressed up against a brick wall, her expression one of complete and utter terror.
Seventeen's hand appeared in front of the lens, the cowering woman visible between the cyborg's wide-spread fingers.
"Say bye-bye!"
With that, blinding light blasted from his hand, consuming his victim before she even had a chance to scream. The camera's holder erupted into a fit of almost child-like laughter.
The air before the camera blurred, and in the next instant a blonde woman appeared, blocking the crumpled form of the lifeless girl from view. Seventeen's cackles ceased, and he spoke in an amused monotone once more.
"Ah, Eighteen. So you have decided to join me in my little newscast?"
The woman remained unimpressed, raising her hand at the camera.
"Enough fooling around. You're letting everyone get away." A second later, the screen went black as the camera was consumed in a blast of energy from Eighteen's outstretched hand.
Bulma sat perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands gripping her knees. Her mouth hung open, face a mask of horror and confusion.
"What on Chikyuu just happened?!?" she burst out, her shock wearing away to make way for indignance. Trunks crawled up to the darkened screen, touching softly at the spot where the image of the murdered woman's corpse had last been. He turned to look at his mother, eyes wide with questions.
"No wake up." He stated, voice filled with confusion and innocence. "Why no wake up?"
Bulma grimaced and swept him into her arms, petting his face comfortingly and placing her hand over his eyes, even though the terrible images were long gone from the screen.
"Don't think about it, baby." she crooned, turning away from the now offensive television in an effort to protect her son from what he had just witnessed. "Let's go get a snack, ok?" She hurried out of the room, eager to put some distance between herself and the horrifying broadcast.
She was just shutting the door to the den when the telephone rang. Holding Trunks in the crook of one arm, she picked up the jangling receiver and secured it between her shoulder and chin.
"Bulma?" ChiChi's voice came from the other end and from the sound of it, the woman was close to hysteria. "I don't know if you saw what was just on T.V., but everyone's left. Piccolo, Kuririn, Yamucha...Gohan, too."
Through all the muddled events which had so quickly been pressed in upon her, Bulma was only able to utter one high-pitched reply;
"WHAT?!"
* * * The sandstorm had long since ceased. Vegeta sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, face set in its usual scowl. He was growing more impatient with each passing hour, for his training seemed to be going nowhere. No matter how much his power escalated, how hard he pressed himself onward, he still could not reach the infuriatingly elusive level of Super Saiyan. Nor could he drive thoughts of Kakkarot or his mate from his mind.
Growling, he tore a leg from the dead beast which lay at his feet. The planet had not been completely void of life as it had first appeared to be, and fortunately so. His small supply of capsulized food had disappeared at an alarmingly fast rate, so now the planet's unintelligent, reptilian inhabitants were his only source of food. Bitter-tasting and of tough texture, but filling.
Vegeta ripped at the deceased animal's flesh savagely. At first it had surprised him how quickly his body had resorted to his former barbaric Saiyan behavior, but now he barely took notice of the change. No-one was around to see him, and even if they were, Vegeta doubted he would care.
Even so, that small, annoying part of him refused to keep quiet. Not so much a small part, perhaps...more like a deeper part. He could feel himself slowly becoming the savage he once had been - ruthless and untamed, caring for nothing and no-one save his own strength.
His mind welcomed this, as it seemed his only hope of escaping bitter memories, but even as he formed these thoughts, his soul cried out in protest. Vegeta knew that in giving himself over to his old instincts, he was walking willingly into that colourless void which his life had become since Kakkarot's death. He had fled Chikyuu to escape that terrible emptiness, but now memories were driving him to the point of insanity. His priorities had become horribly hidden from view.
The opposing parts tore at him, creating in his mind a tide of emotions so vast it would take more than a life-time to sort them out. He was confused, and that angered the Saiyan prince more than anything.
Vegeta but off another mouthful of coarse hide, spitting out bones as he came across them. His appetite satisfied, he cast the remains of the creature's body aside and stood up, glaring out at the landscape around him.
The scenery had changed slightly since his first arrival. Many cliffs had since been reduced to piles of rock and gravel, and several areas of the ground were scorched a burnt black, all result of his intense training. Vegeta had long since changed from his usual attire after one annoying incident in the first month of his stay on the planet when his sweat pants had actually caught fire during his training. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat, and certainly not something that should happen to a Prince of the Saiyan race. Thus, he now wore only dark spandex shorts. They were more convenient for training anyway.
Pushing these unimportant thoughts aside with an impatient grunt, Vegeta began focusing his power to a higher level to begin his usual training sessions. A blue glow of rising energy was just beginning to tingle against his skin when a clear, sharp doorway was abruptly opened in his mind.
::Vegeta!::
The Prince dropped his concentration, startled. He knew that voice as well as his own; it belonged to the Namekian. Vegeta's eyebrows shot upward; he knew of that race's telepathic abilities, but had no idea they could be this powerful. For a fighter such as Piccolo to reach this far into space and contact him directly, his power must have skyrocketed. Vegeta scowled at this. Had they discovered some new training technique during his absence? If so, -
::Vegeta!:: Piccolo's voice cut in again, urgently this time. ::We don't have time for this! You have to come back to Chikyuu NOW!::
Vegeta snorted. Saiyans had a little experience with telepathy, and he used the link already created by Piccolo to answer.
"Oh really?" he replied aloud, folding his arms over his bare chest and raising a challenging eyebrow, though he knew the Namekian could not see him. "And who are you to be giving ME orders? I don't plan on --"
::Shut up!::
Vegeta started, then regained his composure with lightning speed, eyes narrowing in anger dangerously close to erupting. He was not given the chance to open his mouth, however, before Piccolo continued. The rain of scathing insults lay still on the tip of Vegeta's tongue.
::I don't have time for your idiocy, Vegeta, now listen to me! We are under attack. We can't even hold off our enemy, we're being torn apart one by one!::
The urgency in the Namekian's deep voice kept Vegeta rooted to the spot, for once unable to reply.
::We can't survive much longer, Vegeta, I don't know where you think you are, but we need you here NOW!::
Slowly, a sadistic grin spread over Vegeta's features and he began to laugh, a low, vibrating sound full of mocking and triumph.
"So," he began, voice thick and smug. "The aloof Namekian comes crawling to me. Well perhaps I don't --"
A growling shout of frustration and anger cut him off mid-sentence, followed by a stream of coarse profanity. Piccolo's voice blasted into the prince's mind, sending him reeling backwards in a very undignified manner.
::You FOOL!:: Piccolo barked, voice now lined with the slightest hint of fear. ::Save your speeches for later! Whether you like it or not, you are one of Chikyuu's defenders, and right now we need your strength HERE! We are being slaught--::
The Namekian's words were suddenly cut off, replaced by a sickening, wet gurgle. A second later, the link closed as quickly as it had been opened, and Vegeta was left alone once again on his planet, the slightest traces of shock etched upon his aristocratic features.
The shock soon intensified, however, as a familiar ki flared, its power so high that Vegeta was able to sense it effortlessly even from the depths of space.
Kakkarot's brat.
Vegeta's onyx eyes widened in disbelief and denial as the demi-Saiyan's power-level shot upwards, and far beyond Vegeta's own. The prince knew there was only one way the boy could have undergone such a drastic escalation so abruptly; he must have turned Super Saiyan upon his mentor's death.
But this was impossible!! A mere child could not possibly attain what he himself had worked for his entire life, and still not reached! But then again, the waves of power washing over him obviously proved otherwise. To provoke such a reaction....Chikyuu must indeed be under siege.
Vegeta's brows furrowed, and with closed eyes he stretched out his senses, probing, searching the distant planet for the life forces of those who had once been his comrades in battle. One by one, he found them, though sweat beaded on his brow from the effort, for their ki's were not only far away, but dangerously low.
They were all together, and all were perilously close to the point of death. This did not surprise Vegeta; Gohan's transformation had verified Piccolo's words. As the life forces of the Z-senshi steadily dropped, a familiar fire awoke within the Saiyan prince. A desire he knew all too well began to tug at his mind and body, compelling him to join the battle raging on Chikyuu.
Still, he resisted. A snarl hissed out between his teeth, and he almost pulled his concentration from Chikyuu. That planet's fate, and the fate of its defenders, no longer concerned him. He had broken all ties connecting him in any way with his past life, and knew that if he returned to it now, it would only open old wounds.
~And when did the mighty Prince of Saiyans become afraid of pain?~ the voice in his mind challenged. ~ Running from a fight, that's what you're doing. Again.~
Vegeta growled.
"I am NOT afraid to battle!! I resist only because this fight is none of my concern!" He shouted into empty air, a scuttling lizard his only audience. Still, the voice did not relent.
~That never stopped you from joining in the fray before.~ The voice suddenly became low and firm rather than mocking. ~They. Are. Dying. If you stand around and only watch, you're a bigger coward than I ever thought possible.~ With that, the voice left him, leaving Vegeta seething with anger and frustration. Even as he fought against the voice's words, his Saiyan instincts betrayed him. Inadvertently he felt himself drawn to the battle, and his blood began to flow faster at the thought of a fight. Vegeta clenched his fists, forcing the impulses down, and returned his full attention to Chikyuu once again.
Most were gone. What few ki's remained were quickly fading, and Vegeta knew with almost sickening clarity that they would not live much longer. Against his will, a shred of guilt settled firmly onto his shoulders; people were fighting and dying while he stood by and watched the show. One by one they faded, until only Gohan's life force remained. The direness of the situation finally took hold in Vegeta's mind, pushing his obstinance aside. What had happened that Chikyuu's special forces were ground into defeat so easily?
Suddenly, a new realization hit him, and he pushed his senses further, almost desperately. Frantically he combed Chikyuu's surface, searching for any trace of the life he had once allowed himself to love. Near panic claimed his usually emotionless thoughts as his searches came back vacant, finding no trace of the woman for whom he looked so urgently. Whether her life-force was naturally to weak to feel from such a distance or something more dire had taken place the prince did not know, but was not going to wait around to find out.
Pushing the last remnants of Saiyan stubbornness from his mind, Vegeta raced to the space pod, a sick feeling sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He had no time to dwell on his pride, or the fact that he was going against all decisions he had so firmly established before.
All he knew was that he was going home.
A/N: Phew!! That was a HARD chapter to write, so I'm glad it's over!! For those of you who've read my fic "Shattered", I realize the scene with Bulma was somewhat similar to that. However, that was the only way to develop the story the way I wanted it, so my apologies for the monotony. I know I made Trunks more advanced than most babies in the fact that he can walk and talk already, but I figured that the combination of Saiyan blood and Bulma's brain would make him ahead of the average kid, don'tcha think? Anyway, this chapter totally drained me, so that's about all I'm going to say for now.
Story Advertising: Something Deeper by Tenshi Sasher. I think most of you who are reading this story have most likely read hers as well, but just for those of you who haven't, go check it out. Trust me, it's more than worth the time!!! That said, I'm going to go sleep now.....I really hate exam time!!! =P
