Manus Cruentus
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
AN: This is a very marginally revised version of the chapter that
essentially clears up a problem a few of my reviewers commented on --
the lack of clarity in dealing with a part of this piece (the winged
shadow). This issue has been partially cleared up, though my intention
was, in fact, to be somewhat vague. I apologize for any confusion my
error may have caused.
Chapter One
The suffocating darkness of the void consumed Son Gohan. Resplendent
in his old mentor's -- Piccolo's -- gi he flailed desperately,
recklessly seeking an escape from the ebony curtain that obscured all
else from his vision. Attempting to blast away the opaque wall, the
destroyer of Cell summoned his ki -- the outward manifestation of his
spirit.
Abruptly, his task was complete; a baseball sized cobalt blue sphere
of highly focused energy lay in the palm of Gohan's right hand.
Ajusting his hand so that it faced the area from where he assumed the
darkness originated, Gohan released the ball of pure energy,
momentarily causing a blue flash to alight his prison. Then, as
quickly as the light from the ki ball appeared, the aquamarine corona
vanished. The void had swallowed the energy completely, leaving only
a Stygian darkness in its wake. Gohan was desperate. Then the specters appeared.
All around the demi-Saiyan wisps of ghastly white air began to
congeal, taking shape in humanoid forms: forms that Gohan found
frighteningly familiar. The first figure to materialize was the
former shinto monk, Krillin‚who appeared before his one-time student
adorned in Saiyan battle armor, his head bald once again. The six
incense marks upon his head were -- for the first time in five years
-- readily apparent.
Second, identical to Gohan in dress, an apparition of Piccolo
appeared. The Namek's ever suspicious gaze roamed warily across the
void, sweeping over Gohan critically, then, after a moment's
hesitation, continuing in their analysis of Piccolo's surroundings.
The sole eccentricity in Piccolo's appearance was the lack of his
weighted training gear, apparently cast off in anticipation of combat.
Then, finally, Son Goku made his presence known, but appearing as if
thrust into a time warp. The concentrated muscle tone that had
become apparent following his intensive training in one hundred times
gravity had mysteriously disappeared and his eyes were far brighter
the protector of Earth's son remembered. The amnesic Saiyan had shed
his insecurities and power, returning to the naive saintly warrior of
times before androids and aliens.
Suddenly, all three of the legendary fighters surrounding Gohan
tensed, as if anticipating an unseen danger. Simultaneously
springing forward, Ma Jr, Son Goku and Krillin Chestnut charged at
unseen foes, each screaming a single word that chilled their teenaged
viewer to the core: "Gohaaaan!"
Then, once again in unition‚ the three defenders of the Earth were
anihalated.
Son Goku was struck with a corkscrewing beam of energy, flying
back to lie in an unconscious heap at his son's feet. At the same
moment Krillin's charge abruptly halted, as he froze in mid-motion.
With an agonizing scream, the shortest of the Z warriors flew towards
the sky until, one hundred metres from the ground, his ascent halted.
Krillin imploded with such celerity that he failed to even
release a final wail. Finally, Piccolo halted his charge of his own
volition, spinning ninety degrees to face an unseen assailant. Then
the hostile blood-red energy of the twice fused warrior's foe began
to tear at Piccolo's skin, ripping tiny scraps of jade flesh off
piece by piece. With a terminal cry tainted with unfathomable pain,
Piccolo collapsed into a pile of charred flesh and bone, the
Namekian's fanged skull grinning at his student eerily.
The aforementioned student of Piccolo simply stared for a single
moment before breaking out of his dumbstruck stupor and releasing an
enraged yell that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality. Son
Gohan snapped.
The heavens themselves seemed to open up before the man, as Gohan's
barren prison shattered explosively. Raven locks lethargically moved
upwards, tinted by a soft golden glow. Empty soulless eyes flashed
teal for an instant, while the demi-Saiyan's muscles expanded
exponentially. The feeling of barely surpressed power washed across
the flowering garden that had replaced the void. Then, without
warning, the delicate papier-mâché barriers walling off Son Gohan's
inner power cracked and suddenly crashed down; waves of titillating
energy washed across the teenage warrior's lithe form and the son of
Goku embraced his titanic power completely. Nothing would stand in
Son Gohan's way.
In an instant, his hair and eyes ceased their wavering, definitively
settling on immaculate gold and heartless teal. The very ground
quaked, then cratered; nothing would withstand Gohan's fury. The
explosion of the super saiyan's ki at his most potent crushed
saplings, roses and all else that stood in the ever expanding aura's
path ruthlessly, leaving naught but another desert in place of the
once blooming garden. Son Gohan's ascension to the fabled second
level of the Super Saiyan transformation was complete; he had
destroyed his paradise.
A desperate plea echoed in his mind, from a time where his actions had
singularly paralleled those in the previous scene: "Gohan! Finish
Cell off now!" Then, his own voice replied apathetically to his
sire's request: "No. He deserves to suffer more for what he's done.
Finally, a despairing scream joined the other voices, again oddly
fitting: "Father, noooooooo!
Springing awake like a loaded rocket, Gohan inadvertently propelled
himself towards the his small room's high ceiling, striking the
wooden surface with a resounding crash that echoed throughout the Son
homestead. A deluge of sweat poured down from his forehead,
drenching both his hair and bare chest. Collapsing back onto his bed
with a groan Gohan breathed desperately, greedily sucking in every
gasp of air possible. His eyes resting upon his brother
instinctively, the demi-Saiyan's breathing calmed slightly; "Goten's
here. It was only a nightmare, if a particularly disturbing vision."
his conscious mind affirmed. "Everything is going to be okay." Despite his self-assurances, however, Gohan felt strangely certain that something was far from 'okay.' The half-Saiyan's subconscious insisted that nothing would ever be 'okay' again.
* * *
Contrary to popular belief, demon lords of Ravanna's stature are not
particularly interested in the corruption and torture of mortal souls.
Most high-ranking daimons view the mortal kindreds as frail and
short-sighted, useful only in so far as they possessed the ability to
perform numerous elaborate austerities which strengthened demon-kind
immeasurably.
The corruption and torture of souls was generally deemed outdated, as
more efficient methods of creating slaves, spies and cannon fodder
were developed. One of these developments was the discovery of the
Rakshasa sub-species of Bhutas. This division fulfilled the same
role for Ravanna as his Kuang-shi servants had for countless millenia,
save that the Bhutas bred more easily and were, therefore, far more
expendable, if slightly less formidable. Both these demonic races
had the innate ability to animate deceased corpses, flawlessly
changing even the most pious hosts into loyal servants of their
Rahshasa taskmasters.
In modern times, within the confines of Hell, corruption and torture
were generally deemed outdated. With the advents of telepathic
knowledge retrieval and possession of recently deceased souls, the
old methods were swiftly falling out of favour with the populous of
Hell's deeper levels. This falling out of favour was both a blessing
and a curse to the latest result of the newer methods.
Erasa Pen had been shopping at a fifty percent off sale when Ravanna's
advance scouts had discovered her. The lord of Hell's most extreme
subsection had commanded the thirty warriors he had managed to place
on the Earth to claim the body of a student who attended Orange Star
High, in order to determine the exact capabilities of the planetary
guardian's greatest hope: Son Gohan. The girl had simply been
unlucky and entirely too chatty for her safety.
The Rakshasa spies had infiltrated Satan City's most prestigous mall
in hopes of discovering a student who attended the local educational
institution. Verbatas –- an elite spy –- had chosen to simply ask
around, utilizing his exceptionally handsome, contrived body to
attract young females.
Verbatas' gambit had been completely successful, luring a half-dozen
Orange Star High students with his charming demeanor and appearance.
Erasa was one of the girls who judged the demonic pseud at first
glance; she paid dearly for her error in judgement.
Deciding that the blonde girl would serve his lord's purposes most
effectively, the Rakshasa daimon made blatant advances that even his
love-struck following could not ignore. Within an hour, all the
young women save Erasa gave up on the mysterious stranger, moving on
to less promising conquests. Erasa, on the other hand, had decided
that she had finally discovered true love; her fantasy was not to be.
Now, six hours later, Erasa lay motionlessly in bed, but not with the
man who had incited her yearning to experience just such a situation
with him at her side. Instead, she lay as one entranced; her eyes
were open, but glazed over, as one who lacked the desire to see and
her limbs were completely rigid at the sides of her curvaceous form.
Another strange irregularity in her appearance was the ceremonial
dagger entrenched in her chest. The weapon pierced her heart, but no
blood could be found on her and, even more fantastically the torn
organ still beat strongly, as if completely undamaged.
Abruptly, Erasa Pen's eyes closed tightly, her brows scrunching up in
defiance of the invasion of her soul. Verbatas licked his parched
human lips in anticipation; the girl was reaching the final stages of
the transformation. There were only a few moments left before she
would willingly join her new kindred. Finally, the puissant demon's
task was nearing completion.
The girl's resistance had –- for the first time in three centuries –-
astonished Verbatas. The apparently air-headed, fool-hardy child had
fought more valiantly against her transmutation than countless saints
and mythic warriors in years past. The Rakshasa operative was forced
to grudgingly respect the girl's will, if nothing else. Verbatas had
misjudged the apparently simple minded teenager. That particular
distinction was one few divine beings held. This Erasa Pen
apparently had far more wisdom and inner strength than was readily
apparent. She would make an excellent addition to Lord Ravanna's
forces.
* * *
The peaceful atmosphere of the 439 mountain area had long erased any
vestiges of Son Gohan's nightmares. All around the raven-haired
demi-Saiyan, morning doves flitted through the clear blue sky in a
perpetual chase after the unreachable sun; the golden orb's
luminescence seemed to illuminate every vestige of shadow, leaving
naught but a calming warm glow in the light's wake.
A soft wind blew across Gohan's face from the south, ruffling the
teen's hair and the cloudy material of his mount –- the flying nimbus.
In response to the minimal breeze, the surrounding trees' leaves
pointed north –- indicating the reluctant warrior's course.
Only moments later, as Gohan's home and the wilderness were left
behind, tall, rounded silhouettes appeared on the horizon; the
skyscrapers were just within the young man's Saiyan vision, though
atleast a kilometre beyond the reach of even the most eagle-eyed
human. Curving elegantly around the rising sun, the innumerable
towers framed the already immaculate setting flawlessly, somehow
improving upon the perfection that was a beautiful sunrise. A
contented smile alighted Son Gohan's features, gradually moving from
his not-quite-innocent eyes to the teenager's mouth, where he
presented the famed Son grin to the world. It was a beautiful day.
Abruptly, the sound of gun-fire broke Gohan's idle contemplation.
Glancing downwards languidly, as if awoken from a deep slumber, the
hybrid warrior spotted a pair of police cruisers, each offering cover
to a half-dozen officers from the machine-gun wielding bank-robbers
who had assaulted Satan City's finest.
With a frown at the disturbance, Gohan descended quickly towards the
city's streets. In a way, the teen would have prefered to simply
resume his pseudo-meditation, but as a child of Son Goku, helping
people was as much a part of his nature as eating or sleeping.
Shrugging nonchalantly at his predicament, the warrior flashed golden
in a stunning display of power, utilizing an inconspicuous alley to
hide his transformation from the nearby crowds; everyone was either
worried or excited by the robbing of The Satan City First National
Bank.
His identity now hidden by a change of hair and eye colour, Gohan
inwardly winced at the flood of negative emotions and feelings from
his past that he utilized as a trigger for his Super Saiyan
transformation. With practised ease, however, the young man quelled
the disturbing thoughts with practised ease. The time to act was now,
and after the Cell debacle that cost the eldest Son his life, Gohan
would never fail to act again.
Gohan observed the kis of the criminals. The thug's strengths
appeared to be relatively low; the guns were their primary and sole
weapon. Fortunately, for someone who equaled Freeza's third form at
six years of age and crushed Garlic Junior at four, even a ballistic
missle would rate a zero when establishing threat levels.
Therefore, dramatically blurring to the robbers' position with a
perfectly executed zanzoken, Gohan struck two robbers lightly on the
sides of their necks; neither of the two miscreants would awaken for
more than six hours. Then, at speeds beyond both the sight and
conception of ordinary human beings, or maniacal ice-jin tyrants for
that matter, the half-breed martial arts prodigy back flipped over
his targets' stupefied figures, completing his task with uncommon
utilitarianism.
Then, abandoning his fellows after the new arrival's startling
victory over some of the city's premier sharp shooters, the final
thug attempted a desprate escape; he had his share of the money
already in the beat-up, dark green truck the five criminals had
commandeered. There was no way the glowing idiot could catch a
moving truck, no matter how fast he looked. Glancing behind his
vehicle frantically, the group's driver caught sight of his quarry.
The stupid kid wasn't even looking at him. Increasing his speed to
one-hundred fifty kilometres per hour, the thug laughed; his escape
was assurred.
Gohan would not allow it. Not even glancing at the speeding truck,
the hybrid began charging up an invisible, low powered ki blast,
pointing his hand palm-up at the fleeing vehicle. Releasing a yell
that caused every human within a hundred metres to wince at the
sound's sheer volume, Gohan utilized his ki with uncanny control:
flipping and disabling the robbers' get-away vehicle without giving
the man inside more than a minor concussion.
Before the warily approaching police could reach him, Son Gohan
impossibly jumped straight onto the peak of one of the city's largest
towers –- the kilometre tall Cell Games monument. Then, sparing a
glance and an unseen wave back at the stupefied spectators, the
mysterious golden stranger turned towards the downtown sector of
Satan City and flew off in a blinding flash of gold that could be
seen anywhere within the city limits with ease. Numerous observers
likened the explosion of light to a miniature supernova. Therefore,
noone noticed a tall, dark-haired teen leaping off a nearby building
following yet another rapid zanzoken. Similarly, the populace were
blithely unaware of a similar flash of energy –- this time light blue
–-, and the intense wave of sound –- caused by the aforementioned
teenager as he shattered the sound barrier on his way to school.
* * *
To a martial artist –- a hero —- honour was of paramount importance.
Without honour, every martial artist had the potential to be a
mass-murderer.
Since the creation of combat styles, the fact that the masters of
these styles were threats to everyone around them, including their
lords and patrons, had been obvious. Having a single person capable
of defeating two dozen foes of equal strength and speed granted the
individual incredible power. Though commanding highly potent
warriors gave the warriors' lords remarkable power, they had to
always be wary of betrayal. They ruled with powers beyond their ken
and, therefore, lived in perpetual fear that those self-same powers
would be used against them.
As martial arts developed, each master bringing his style one or two
steps further, the fear of the warriors increased exponentially. Now,
utilizing shiatsu techniques, one soldier could disable another with
a single, accurately placed finger. Additionally, the "ki users," as
the mightiest martial artists became known, learned to manage
impossible feats of skill and strength; they ran with equal celerity
to the swiftest chariot, leaped dozens of metres straight up and
hefted giant boulders as if the gargantuan rocks were little more
than paper weights. Then, quite abruptly, a true ki user emerged and
shook the very foundations of the ancient world.
The man's name is unimportant, and long forgotten, but his
significance remains unquestioned. The ancient monk –- following
decades of intense meditation –- discovered what he felt had to be
the true source of ki –- the energy that gave all animate objects
life. With near impossible strain, the devout guardian of the
birthplace of martial arts –- a Brahmic temple in India –- managed to
expel his ki from the material shell it animated, accidently
obliterating every living being in the temple, in addition to the
structure itself.
When the monk awoke and saw the devastation he had wrought, the
saintly warrior sealed away all his ki techniques in his grief; no
human could possibly control such power. Engaging in ritualistic
suicide, the monk made every effort to conceal the true power of ki
from the rest of humanity. Unfortunately, the sagacious monk forgot
a detail that would change martial arts forever. His memoirs –-
composed over the course of his meditations –- had not been destroyed
by the explosion of unadultered power. So when a passing bandit
discovered the ruins, the veritable manual to ki usage was his for
the taking. The man's name was one that would live on in infamy for
ages: Kansa.
Within ten years, utilizing the new-found ki techniques, Kansa
declared himself emperor of the Earth, destroying all who opposed him.
The newly crowned emperor quickly moved to consolidate his power,
claiming to be the child of a demon and king. Though many remained
skeptical of Kansa's claim, none dared question him.
Slowly, the former bandit became akin to a God. For five-hundred
years Kansa reigned supreme, having adapted the power of his ki to
slow his aging process to a lethargic crawl. Then, one day, a small
cat person named Karin and an obese, completely black genie descended
to the Earth.
The chosen warriors of Kami, Karin and Popo were named both
protectors of the Earth and avatars of the Gods by the people they
chose to save. Trained by Kami himself, the two smote Kansa's armies
in droves until they stood at the door of the aged dictator's
fortress. In a clash of titans unlike anything that the people of
Earth had ever seen, the undisputed master of ki confronted the
rebellious duo and lost in an epic confrontation that spanned more
than seventy hours.
At the battle's conclusion, however, both Karin and Popo left
wordlessly, summoned by the Earth's current guardian, after
mercilessly slaying their mutual foe. For their actions, both
received positions in the immortal hierarchy, as avatar of the god of
death in Karin's case, and Mr. Popo became assistant to Earth's
guardian.
The liberated people of Earth had been forced to choose their own
leaders and form whatever conception they could imagine to explain
the strange events that had occurred. First, however, they chose to
take precautions against the renewed martial arts orders that,
following Kansa's reign, began to reemerge. They could not allow
some self-proclaimed dictator to control the Earth again.
With the goal of preventing similar occurrences to the former
emperor's seizure of power, martial arts masters, philosophers and
kings conferred with one another. The three factions all sought a
solution to their current problem that would not involve the
dissolution of the martial arts. Eventually, following weeks of
deliberation, the groups came to a consensus. They created a system
of beliefs and teachings that would hopefully restrain the hands of
the arts' masters. The principal philosopher of that era christened
the new concept honour. In years to come, honour would be what
defined a martial artist –- not power or technique. Without honour,
a martial artist was no more than a common criminal.
Videl knew little of this history. The exploits of Karin and Popo
were considered baseless myths in modern times. She did, however,
know something of honour, and the conection the concept had to
martial arts. The teenage girl understood just how honourable her
father had become since his victory at the Cell Games. Mr. Satan was
not a martial artist. Recently, the hero of Earth's daughter –-
Videl –- had become aware of this disturbing fact.
The time had been just a few days ago, as Videl's summer vacation was
coming to a close. "Daddy's little girl" had been at a press
conference, wherein she was busy being bored to tears, as her father
began another monotonous monologue, chronicling his past triumphs for
the surrounding news crews as if the smallest victory was the most
monumentous moment in humankind's history.
Videl had long accepted the fact that her father –- Hercule –- was of
the opinion that "one small step for Mr. Satan was one bloody giant
leap at warp speeds for mankind." Even so, the world champion's
current narrative was utterly absurd in its complete irrelevance.
The discussion had centered around what action should be taken
concerning the recently freed colonies that the world emperor had
finally released from his control, following more than a decade of
complaints from the democratic body that had succeeded him. Somehow,
the great Hercule Satan managed to bring up a moment in his youth
where he met the world emperor coincidently and "saved" the man's
life.
In point of fact, Hercule had slipped, inadvertently knocking over
the ruler of the world, causing a carefully timed assasination to
fail, as a torrent of bullets fired through the space where, only
moments before, the dog-man had stood proudly. Instead the bullets
tore holes through Hercule's already substantial afro; Videl wondered
if they hadn't instead struck his brain, causing the recitation of
his countless moronic stories.
With a few elaborations on the champ's part, in addition to some
actions to increase the narrative's suspense, Hercule held nearly all
his audience entranced with the embellished tale. That didn't change
the fact that the story had absolutely nothing to do with the newly
freed colonials.
Quietly, as not to disturb the conference, Videl's wrist watch rang.
The Satan City police force needed her talents apparently. "Thank
Kami." the raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty thought. She wasn't
certain whether she would have lasted another minute of listening to
her father's speech. Limberly, Videl slowly stood up, reflexively
stretching her muscles after sitting for the past few hours.
Pressing a button on the device, the city's defender activated the
communication screen, immediately hearing the chief's voice, as the
short, flustered man appeared on the screen: "Videl, we need your
help! A team of heavily armed robbers, wielding formerly imperial
army weaponry have assaulted a group of armoured cars carrying a
cargo of diamonds to the First National. We need you Videl! Hurry!"
At the distressing news, the current champion of the Tenachi
Boudokai's junior division sprang towards the doors of the stuffy
hall, prompting numerous questioning glances from the politicians and
reporters who had attended the conference. Videl ignored them.
However, the teenaged crime fighter found the four security guards
blocking her way to the crime scene significantly more difficult to
brush aside.
"Miss Videl" the closest, and most physically imposing, of the guards
intoned, gaining Videl's chief ire and a glare for so much as
speaking in the young crime fighter's direction. "You are not to
travel to this crime scene by order of your father." Gesturing
towards the world champion with his gloved left hand, the man
continued: "Furthermore, it has been deemed unadvisable for you to
participate in future law enforcement operations. You are the heir
to your father's role as planetary guardian. We cannot have you
needlessly injured or killed by some two-bit thug."
The youngest Satan was beyond angry. Her glare redoubling in
intensity, she unleashed a scathing retort; if looks, words or pretty
much anything else besides physical contact could kill, the whole
security team would have been greeting King Yemma at that that moment:
"Exactly who deemed me helping people to be unadvisable. I don't see
how letting others die fulfills my obligations to those people.
Please... explain your logic to me. I find your conclusions...
most unsatisfactory
By that point in the rather one-sided argument, the security chief
was on the verge of fleeing the ornately decorated room to which he
blocked the exit. Peeking up at the fearsome creature who had
roasted him alive with a few pointed remarks, he spotted her
trademark scowl still present and flinched. The guard pointed at his
patron –- the world's saviour; perhaps he could control his daughter.
"It was his idea."
Videl's head slowly, but no less menacingly for the motion's lack of
speed, turned towards her father, who was preparing one of his world
famous speeches to quell his daughter's impudence. Then he noticed
the expression on Videl Satan's visage and gulped. This was going to
be bad.
The teenage martial artist met her father's eyes pointedly. If he
thought he could protect his little sweet pea without her permission,
he had another few dozen things coming; undoubtebly, most of the
epiphanies would be accompanied by a sizable dosage of pain. The
prodigal blackbelt cracked her knuckles threateningly. "Kami," Mr.
Satan thought, worried about a fight with his daughter –- a fight he
might lose, "She's scarier than Cell."
Normally, the champion wrestler and grandmaster of Satan-ryu may have
backed down when his daughter approached an issue with near fanatical
fervor. Frankly, Videl scared him witless when she was like this.
However, the situation was far from ordinary. Surrounded by
countless reporters, on international television, the eldest fighter
of the Satan family could not back down; his reputation demanded he
confront his daughter.
Summoning all his courage, Hercule met his daughter's gaze with equal
strength and spoke flatly to his perpetually spoiled heir: "Videl,
you are my sole daughter –- my heir. As such, you are more important
than a shipment of diamonds or even a few dozen lives. We are more
important than they are Videl. Only if we are alive can other people
feel safe. My decision is final. There will be no arguments."
Turning his back on his daughter, Mr. Satan left the conference
abruptly. He had made his point. Not even Videl would dare defy him
openly. Everything would be fine. Mr. Satan was wrong.
A winged blue shadow descended on the world champion from the sky as he
approached his jet black stretch limousine. Quietly, the floating
being laughed to himself, remaining inconspicuous. "You know
afro-man," the unatural humanoid stated as it hovered kilometres
above Satan City, "we have quite a bit to talk about when you get
home. I'm sure I –- atleast –- will find our conversation readily
enjoyable. Unfortunately, I doubt you will share my sentiments.
Retribution always comes to those who lie. Even if the inevitable
takes seven years to arrive."
* * *
Three days after the abysmal conference, Videl was still fuming.
"How dare he attempt to control my life like that!" She thought
angrily. "Even worse, how could he condemn so many to injury and
death to suit his own selfish needs. Martial artists are responsible
for protecting other people. To do otherwise is to spit on every
samurai who has sacrificed his or her life for the past five hundred
years. Protecting the weak is the most essential part of Bushido.
The world's champion and hero –- my father –- is bereft of honour.
How dare he call himself a martial arts master."
The heir to Satan-ryu nearly stomped past a huge crime scene at The
First Satan National Bank —- completely ignoring her former comrades
in the police force –- and stopped abruptly. The Satan City police
forces were undeserving of her ire. Even without her, the valiant
guardians of Satan City continued to fight criminals, constantly
endangering their lives. No. Her friends in the constabulary
deserved none of her fury and righteous indignation. Those feelings
could and should be reserved for her father: an honourless traitor to
his art.
Following her new revelation, Videl turned to face the crime scene.
Sure, she might be late for school if she watched the crime, but
though fighting criminals was no longer an option, she had to assist
her former allies in the fight against lawlessness somehow. Even if
the only way she could assist was to offer encouragement to her
friends, she would do so. Besides, if a criminal inadvertetly fired
a bullet in her direction, any response from her could be labeled as
self-defence.
Finally, the teenage fighter appraised the scene of the disturbance...
and blinked in disbelief. "No way..."
Confidently smirking in the perpetrators' direction, a young man
stood in the centre of the criminals, seemingly unfazed by the back
and forth gun-fire that ranged over nearly a block between the two
warring factions. Effortlessly, the young fighter –- glowing a
lustrous golden hue –- dispatched four machine gun wielding thugs,
apparently teleporting, or, perhaps, he was simply swifter than she
could fathom.
Then, with ungodly celerity, the mysterious stranger dispatched the
final criminal. Somehow, the shining vigilante had flipped the thugs'
truck so that the roof lay where the wheels should have. The
preceding occurences were completely impossible, then the blond
warrior took the insanity a step further.
Leaping dozens of stories straight up into the air, the mysterious
stranger ascended Satan City's tallest spire. Then, a blinding
golden flash illuminated the city, alike to an exploding star. The
man had vanished!
Ignoring the pointless speculations of her fellow bystanders, Videl
simply left the area, dumbfounded, but nonetheless deep in thought.
The man who had appeared distinctly reminded her of the men at the
Cell Games. Furthermore, from the few glances she had caught of him,
he appeared to be little older than she was. He had also worn an
Orange Star High badge, suggesting that he attended her shool. The
black-haired beauty smirked at the deductions she'd made.
If he attended Orange Star High, she'd find him, undoubtebly. Then
she would blackmail him into telling her what happened at the Cell
Games in truth and maybe even figure out how a boy her age could jump
hundreds of feet, or battle Cell for that matter. The current junior
champion at the Tenachi Budokai would get her way. Her plan was
assured success. The school bell rang, shattering Videl' musing. It
was time for school.
The heir of Satan-ryu entered her classroom, ignoring a few slightly
perverted comments about her body; she was used to them. Soon she
would find that golden-haired idiot. Things would never be the same
again. Videl Satan had no idea how right she was.
AN: The plot is beggining to take shape. This is fun.
Responses to Reviewers:
Psycho-Ann: Thanks for the support. As for the averageness of this
story as a G/V, I warn you, the narrative only gets more unusual.
Dreamwraith: I'm with you on the Dende not being a coward thing.
Just because he can't waste planets with a finger, doesn't make him
cowardly. How many people do you know who would try opposing Freeza?
Anyway, I love Dende and though he's dead for now, you may not have
seen the last of him. He has a part in this story. He's out for
atleast a chapter or two though. Glad you like the idea and thanks
for your support. Also, I appreciate the one correction thing. I
certainly have no problems with advice geared to improve a part of my
writing.
Kami Out
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
AN: This is a very marginally revised version of the chapter that
essentially clears up a problem a few of my reviewers commented on --
the lack of clarity in dealing with a part of this piece (the winged
shadow). This issue has been partially cleared up, though my intention
was, in fact, to be somewhat vague. I apologize for any confusion my
error may have caused.
Chapter One
The suffocating darkness of the void consumed Son Gohan. Resplendent
in his old mentor's -- Piccolo's -- gi he flailed desperately,
recklessly seeking an escape from the ebony curtain that obscured all
else from his vision. Attempting to blast away the opaque wall, the
destroyer of Cell summoned his ki -- the outward manifestation of his
spirit.
Abruptly, his task was complete; a baseball sized cobalt blue sphere
of highly focused energy lay in the palm of Gohan's right hand.
Ajusting his hand so that it faced the area from where he assumed the
darkness originated, Gohan released the ball of pure energy,
momentarily causing a blue flash to alight his prison. Then, as
quickly as the light from the ki ball appeared, the aquamarine corona
vanished. The void had swallowed the energy completely, leaving only
a Stygian darkness in its wake. Gohan was desperate. Then the specters appeared.
All around the demi-Saiyan wisps of ghastly white air began to
congeal, taking shape in humanoid forms: forms that Gohan found
frighteningly familiar. The first figure to materialize was the
former shinto monk, Krillin‚who appeared before his one-time student
adorned in Saiyan battle armor, his head bald once again. The six
incense marks upon his head were -- for the first time in five years
-- readily apparent.
Second, identical to Gohan in dress, an apparition of Piccolo
appeared. The Namek's ever suspicious gaze roamed warily across the
void, sweeping over Gohan critically, then, after a moment's
hesitation, continuing in their analysis of Piccolo's surroundings.
The sole eccentricity in Piccolo's appearance was the lack of his
weighted training gear, apparently cast off in anticipation of combat.
Then, finally, Son Goku made his presence known, but appearing as if
thrust into a time warp. The concentrated muscle tone that had
become apparent following his intensive training in one hundred times
gravity had mysteriously disappeared and his eyes were far brighter
the protector of Earth's son remembered. The amnesic Saiyan had shed
his insecurities and power, returning to the naive saintly warrior of
times before androids and aliens.
Suddenly, all three of the legendary fighters surrounding Gohan
tensed, as if anticipating an unseen danger. Simultaneously
springing forward, Ma Jr, Son Goku and Krillin Chestnut charged at
unseen foes, each screaming a single word that chilled their teenaged
viewer to the core: "Gohaaaan!"
Then, once again in unition‚ the three defenders of the Earth were
anihalated.
Son Goku was struck with a corkscrewing beam of energy, flying
back to lie in an unconscious heap at his son's feet. At the same
moment Krillin's charge abruptly halted, as he froze in mid-motion.
With an agonizing scream, the shortest of the Z warriors flew towards
the sky until, one hundred metres from the ground, his ascent halted.
Krillin imploded with such celerity that he failed to even
release a final wail. Finally, Piccolo halted his charge of his own
volition, spinning ninety degrees to face an unseen assailant. Then
the hostile blood-red energy of the twice fused warrior's foe began
to tear at Piccolo's skin, ripping tiny scraps of jade flesh off
piece by piece. With a terminal cry tainted with unfathomable pain,
Piccolo collapsed into a pile of charred flesh and bone, the
Namekian's fanged skull grinning at his student eerily.
The aforementioned student of Piccolo simply stared for a single
moment before breaking out of his dumbstruck stupor and releasing an
enraged yell that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality. Son
Gohan snapped.
The heavens themselves seemed to open up before the man, as Gohan's
barren prison shattered explosively. Raven locks lethargically moved
upwards, tinted by a soft golden glow. Empty soulless eyes flashed
teal for an instant, while the demi-Saiyan's muscles expanded
exponentially. The feeling of barely surpressed power washed across
the flowering garden that had replaced the void. Then, without
warning, the delicate papier-mâché barriers walling off Son Gohan's
inner power cracked and suddenly crashed down; waves of titillating
energy washed across the teenage warrior's lithe form and the son of
Goku embraced his titanic power completely. Nothing would stand in
Son Gohan's way.
In an instant, his hair and eyes ceased their wavering, definitively
settling on immaculate gold and heartless teal. The very ground
quaked, then cratered; nothing would withstand Gohan's fury. The
explosion of the super saiyan's ki at his most potent crushed
saplings, roses and all else that stood in the ever expanding aura's
path ruthlessly, leaving naught but another desert in place of the
once blooming garden. Son Gohan's ascension to the fabled second
level of the Super Saiyan transformation was complete; he had
destroyed his paradise.
A desperate plea echoed in his mind, from a time where his actions had
singularly paralleled those in the previous scene: "Gohan! Finish
Cell off now!" Then, his own voice replied apathetically to his
sire's request: "No. He deserves to suffer more for what he's done.
Finally, a despairing scream joined the other voices, again oddly
fitting: "Father, noooooooo!
Springing awake like a loaded rocket, Gohan inadvertently propelled
himself towards the his small room's high ceiling, striking the
wooden surface with a resounding crash that echoed throughout the Son
homestead. A deluge of sweat poured down from his forehead,
drenching both his hair and bare chest. Collapsing back onto his bed
with a groan Gohan breathed desperately, greedily sucking in every
gasp of air possible. His eyes resting upon his brother
instinctively, the demi-Saiyan's breathing calmed slightly; "Goten's
here. It was only a nightmare, if a particularly disturbing vision."
his conscious mind affirmed. "Everything is going to be okay." Despite his self-assurances, however, Gohan felt strangely certain that something was far from 'okay.' The half-Saiyan's subconscious insisted that nothing would ever be 'okay' again.
* * *
Contrary to popular belief, demon lords of Ravanna's stature are not
particularly interested in the corruption and torture of mortal souls.
Most high-ranking daimons view the mortal kindreds as frail and
short-sighted, useful only in so far as they possessed the ability to
perform numerous elaborate austerities which strengthened demon-kind
immeasurably.
The corruption and torture of souls was generally deemed outdated, as
more efficient methods of creating slaves, spies and cannon fodder
were developed. One of these developments was the discovery of the
Rakshasa sub-species of Bhutas. This division fulfilled the same
role for Ravanna as his Kuang-shi servants had for countless millenia,
save that the Bhutas bred more easily and were, therefore, far more
expendable, if slightly less formidable. Both these demonic races
had the innate ability to animate deceased corpses, flawlessly
changing even the most pious hosts into loyal servants of their
Rahshasa taskmasters.
In modern times, within the confines of Hell, corruption and torture
were generally deemed outdated. With the advents of telepathic
knowledge retrieval and possession of recently deceased souls, the
old methods were swiftly falling out of favour with the populous of
Hell's deeper levels. This falling out of favour was both a blessing
and a curse to the latest result of the newer methods.
Erasa Pen had been shopping at a fifty percent off sale when Ravanna's
advance scouts had discovered her. The lord of Hell's most extreme
subsection had commanded the thirty warriors he had managed to place
on the Earth to claim the body of a student who attended Orange Star
High, in order to determine the exact capabilities of the planetary
guardian's greatest hope: Son Gohan. The girl had simply been
unlucky and entirely too chatty for her safety.
The Rakshasa spies had infiltrated Satan City's most prestigous mall
in hopes of discovering a student who attended the local educational
institution. Verbatas –- an elite spy –- had chosen to simply ask
around, utilizing his exceptionally handsome, contrived body to
attract young females.
Verbatas' gambit had been completely successful, luring a half-dozen
Orange Star High students with his charming demeanor and appearance.
Erasa was one of the girls who judged the demonic pseud at first
glance; she paid dearly for her error in judgement.
Deciding that the blonde girl would serve his lord's purposes most
effectively, the Rakshasa daimon made blatant advances that even his
love-struck following could not ignore. Within an hour, all the
young women save Erasa gave up on the mysterious stranger, moving on
to less promising conquests. Erasa, on the other hand, had decided
that she had finally discovered true love; her fantasy was not to be.
Now, six hours later, Erasa lay motionlessly in bed, but not with the
man who had incited her yearning to experience just such a situation
with him at her side. Instead, she lay as one entranced; her eyes
were open, but glazed over, as one who lacked the desire to see and
her limbs were completely rigid at the sides of her curvaceous form.
Another strange irregularity in her appearance was the ceremonial
dagger entrenched in her chest. The weapon pierced her heart, but no
blood could be found on her and, even more fantastically the torn
organ still beat strongly, as if completely undamaged.
Abruptly, Erasa Pen's eyes closed tightly, her brows scrunching up in
defiance of the invasion of her soul. Verbatas licked his parched
human lips in anticipation; the girl was reaching the final stages of
the transformation. There were only a few moments left before she
would willingly join her new kindred. Finally, the puissant demon's
task was nearing completion.
The girl's resistance had –- for the first time in three centuries –-
astonished Verbatas. The apparently air-headed, fool-hardy child had
fought more valiantly against her transmutation than countless saints
and mythic warriors in years past. The Rakshasa operative was forced
to grudgingly respect the girl's will, if nothing else. Verbatas had
misjudged the apparently simple minded teenager. That particular
distinction was one few divine beings held. This Erasa Pen
apparently had far more wisdom and inner strength than was readily
apparent. She would make an excellent addition to Lord Ravanna's
forces.
* * *
The peaceful atmosphere of the 439 mountain area had long erased any
vestiges of Son Gohan's nightmares. All around the raven-haired
demi-Saiyan, morning doves flitted through the clear blue sky in a
perpetual chase after the unreachable sun; the golden orb's
luminescence seemed to illuminate every vestige of shadow, leaving
naught but a calming warm glow in the light's wake.
A soft wind blew across Gohan's face from the south, ruffling the
teen's hair and the cloudy material of his mount –- the flying nimbus.
In response to the minimal breeze, the surrounding trees' leaves
pointed north –- indicating the reluctant warrior's course.
Only moments later, as Gohan's home and the wilderness were left
behind, tall, rounded silhouettes appeared on the horizon; the
skyscrapers were just within the young man's Saiyan vision, though
atleast a kilometre beyond the reach of even the most eagle-eyed
human. Curving elegantly around the rising sun, the innumerable
towers framed the already immaculate setting flawlessly, somehow
improving upon the perfection that was a beautiful sunrise. A
contented smile alighted Son Gohan's features, gradually moving from
his not-quite-innocent eyes to the teenager's mouth, where he
presented the famed Son grin to the world. It was a beautiful day.
Abruptly, the sound of gun-fire broke Gohan's idle contemplation.
Glancing downwards languidly, as if awoken from a deep slumber, the
hybrid warrior spotted a pair of police cruisers, each offering cover
to a half-dozen officers from the machine-gun wielding bank-robbers
who had assaulted Satan City's finest.
With a frown at the disturbance, Gohan descended quickly towards the
city's streets. In a way, the teen would have prefered to simply
resume his pseudo-meditation, but as a child of Son Goku, helping
people was as much a part of his nature as eating or sleeping.
Shrugging nonchalantly at his predicament, the warrior flashed golden
in a stunning display of power, utilizing an inconspicuous alley to
hide his transformation from the nearby crowds; everyone was either
worried or excited by the robbing of The Satan City First National
Bank.
His identity now hidden by a change of hair and eye colour, Gohan
inwardly winced at the flood of negative emotions and feelings from
his past that he utilized as a trigger for his Super Saiyan
transformation. With practised ease, however, the young man quelled
the disturbing thoughts with practised ease. The time to act was now,
and after the Cell debacle that cost the eldest Son his life, Gohan
would never fail to act again.
Gohan observed the kis of the criminals. The thug's strengths
appeared to be relatively low; the guns were their primary and sole
weapon. Fortunately, for someone who equaled Freeza's third form at
six years of age and crushed Garlic Junior at four, even a ballistic
missle would rate a zero when establishing threat levels.
Therefore, dramatically blurring to the robbers' position with a
perfectly executed zanzoken, Gohan struck two robbers lightly on the
sides of their necks; neither of the two miscreants would awaken for
more than six hours. Then, at speeds beyond both the sight and
conception of ordinary human beings, or maniacal ice-jin tyrants for
that matter, the half-breed martial arts prodigy back flipped over
his targets' stupefied figures, completing his task with uncommon
utilitarianism.
Then, abandoning his fellows after the new arrival's startling
victory over some of the city's premier sharp shooters, the final
thug attempted a desprate escape; he had his share of the money
already in the beat-up, dark green truck the five criminals had
commandeered. There was no way the glowing idiot could catch a
moving truck, no matter how fast he looked. Glancing behind his
vehicle frantically, the group's driver caught sight of his quarry.
The stupid kid wasn't even looking at him. Increasing his speed to
one-hundred fifty kilometres per hour, the thug laughed; his escape
was assurred.
Gohan would not allow it. Not even glancing at the speeding truck,
the hybrid began charging up an invisible, low powered ki blast,
pointing his hand palm-up at the fleeing vehicle. Releasing a yell
that caused every human within a hundred metres to wince at the
sound's sheer volume, Gohan utilized his ki with uncanny control:
flipping and disabling the robbers' get-away vehicle without giving
the man inside more than a minor concussion.
Before the warily approaching police could reach him, Son Gohan
impossibly jumped straight onto the peak of one of the city's largest
towers –- the kilometre tall Cell Games monument. Then, sparing a
glance and an unseen wave back at the stupefied spectators, the
mysterious golden stranger turned towards the downtown sector of
Satan City and flew off in a blinding flash of gold that could be
seen anywhere within the city limits with ease. Numerous observers
likened the explosion of light to a miniature supernova. Therefore,
noone noticed a tall, dark-haired teen leaping off a nearby building
following yet another rapid zanzoken. Similarly, the populace were
blithely unaware of a similar flash of energy –- this time light blue
–-, and the intense wave of sound –- caused by the aforementioned
teenager as he shattered the sound barrier on his way to school.
* * *
To a martial artist –- a hero —- honour was of paramount importance.
Without honour, every martial artist had the potential to be a
mass-murderer.
Since the creation of combat styles, the fact that the masters of
these styles were threats to everyone around them, including their
lords and patrons, had been obvious. Having a single person capable
of defeating two dozen foes of equal strength and speed granted the
individual incredible power. Though commanding highly potent
warriors gave the warriors' lords remarkable power, they had to
always be wary of betrayal. They ruled with powers beyond their ken
and, therefore, lived in perpetual fear that those self-same powers
would be used against them.
As martial arts developed, each master bringing his style one or two
steps further, the fear of the warriors increased exponentially. Now,
utilizing shiatsu techniques, one soldier could disable another with
a single, accurately placed finger. Additionally, the "ki users," as
the mightiest martial artists became known, learned to manage
impossible feats of skill and strength; they ran with equal celerity
to the swiftest chariot, leaped dozens of metres straight up and
hefted giant boulders as if the gargantuan rocks were little more
than paper weights. Then, quite abruptly, a true ki user emerged and
shook the very foundations of the ancient world.
The man's name is unimportant, and long forgotten, but his
significance remains unquestioned. The ancient monk –- following
decades of intense meditation –- discovered what he felt had to be
the true source of ki –- the energy that gave all animate objects
life. With near impossible strain, the devout guardian of the
birthplace of martial arts –- a Brahmic temple in India –- managed to
expel his ki from the material shell it animated, accidently
obliterating every living being in the temple, in addition to the
structure itself.
When the monk awoke and saw the devastation he had wrought, the
saintly warrior sealed away all his ki techniques in his grief; no
human could possibly control such power. Engaging in ritualistic
suicide, the monk made every effort to conceal the true power of ki
from the rest of humanity. Unfortunately, the sagacious monk forgot
a detail that would change martial arts forever. His memoirs –-
composed over the course of his meditations –- had not been destroyed
by the explosion of unadultered power. So when a passing bandit
discovered the ruins, the veritable manual to ki usage was his for
the taking. The man's name was one that would live on in infamy for
ages: Kansa.
Within ten years, utilizing the new-found ki techniques, Kansa
declared himself emperor of the Earth, destroying all who opposed him.
The newly crowned emperor quickly moved to consolidate his power,
claiming to be the child of a demon and king. Though many remained
skeptical of Kansa's claim, none dared question him.
Slowly, the former bandit became akin to a God. For five-hundred
years Kansa reigned supreme, having adapted the power of his ki to
slow his aging process to a lethargic crawl. Then, one day, a small
cat person named Karin and an obese, completely black genie descended
to the Earth.
The chosen warriors of Kami, Karin and Popo were named both
protectors of the Earth and avatars of the Gods by the people they
chose to save. Trained by Kami himself, the two smote Kansa's armies
in droves until they stood at the door of the aged dictator's
fortress. In a clash of titans unlike anything that the people of
Earth had ever seen, the undisputed master of ki confronted the
rebellious duo and lost in an epic confrontation that spanned more
than seventy hours.
At the battle's conclusion, however, both Karin and Popo left
wordlessly, summoned by the Earth's current guardian, after
mercilessly slaying their mutual foe. For their actions, both
received positions in the immortal hierarchy, as avatar of the god of
death in Karin's case, and Mr. Popo became assistant to Earth's
guardian.
The liberated people of Earth had been forced to choose their own
leaders and form whatever conception they could imagine to explain
the strange events that had occurred. First, however, they chose to
take precautions against the renewed martial arts orders that,
following Kansa's reign, began to reemerge. They could not allow
some self-proclaimed dictator to control the Earth again.
With the goal of preventing similar occurrences to the former
emperor's seizure of power, martial arts masters, philosophers and
kings conferred with one another. The three factions all sought a
solution to their current problem that would not involve the
dissolution of the martial arts. Eventually, following weeks of
deliberation, the groups came to a consensus. They created a system
of beliefs and teachings that would hopefully restrain the hands of
the arts' masters. The principal philosopher of that era christened
the new concept honour. In years to come, honour would be what
defined a martial artist –- not power or technique. Without honour,
a martial artist was no more than a common criminal.
Videl knew little of this history. The exploits of Karin and Popo
were considered baseless myths in modern times. She did, however,
know something of honour, and the conection the concept had to
martial arts. The teenage girl understood just how honourable her
father had become since his victory at the Cell Games. Mr. Satan was
not a martial artist. Recently, the hero of Earth's daughter –-
Videl –- had become aware of this disturbing fact.
The time had been just a few days ago, as Videl's summer vacation was
coming to a close. "Daddy's little girl" had been at a press
conference, wherein she was busy being bored to tears, as her father
began another monotonous monologue, chronicling his past triumphs for
the surrounding news crews as if the smallest victory was the most
monumentous moment in humankind's history.
Videl had long accepted the fact that her father –- Hercule –- was of
the opinion that "one small step for Mr. Satan was one bloody giant
leap at warp speeds for mankind." Even so, the world champion's
current narrative was utterly absurd in its complete irrelevance.
The discussion had centered around what action should be taken
concerning the recently freed colonies that the world emperor had
finally released from his control, following more than a decade of
complaints from the democratic body that had succeeded him. Somehow,
the great Hercule Satan managed to bring up a moment in his youth
where he met the world emperor coincidently and "saved" the man's
life.
In point of fact, Hercule had slipped, inadvertently knocking over
the ruler of the world, causing a carefully timed assasination to
fail, as a torrent of bullets fired through the space where, only
moments before, the dog-man had stood proudly. Instead the bullets
tore holes through Hercule's already substantial afro; Videl wondered
if they hadn't instead struck his brain, causing the recitation of
his countless moronic stories.
With a few elaborations on the champ's part, in addition to some
actions to increase the narrative's suspense, Hercule held nearly all
his audience entranced with the embellished tale. That didn't change
the fact that the story had absolutely nothing to do with the newly
freed colonials.
Quietly, as not to disturb the conference, Videl's wrist watch rang.
The Satan City police force needed her talents apparently. "Thank
Kami." the raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty thought. She wasn't
certain whether she would have lasted another minute of listening to
her father's speech. Limberly, Videl slowly stood up, reflexively
stretching her muscles after sitting for the past few hours.
Pressing a button on the device, the city's defender activated the
communication screen, immediately hearing the chief's voice, as the
short, flustered man appeared on the screen: "Videl, we need your
help! A team of heavily armed robbers, wielding formerly imperial
army weaponry have assaulted a group of armoured cars carrying a
cargo of diamonds to the First National. We need you Videl! Hurry!"
At the distressing news, the current champion of the Tenachi
Boudokai's junior division sprang towards the doors of the stuffy
hall, prompting numerous questioning glances from the politicians and
reporters who had attended the conference. Videl ignored them.
However, the teenaged crime fighter found the four security guards
blocking her way to the crime scene significantly more difficult to
brush aside.
"Miss Videl" the closest, and most physically imposing, of the guards
intoned, gaining Videl's chief ire and a glare for so much as
speaking in the young crime fighter's direction. "You are not to
travel to this crime scene by order of your father." Gesturing
towards the world champion with his gloved left hand, the man
continued: "Furthermore, it has been deemed unadvisable for you to
participate in future law enforcement operations. You are the heir
to your father's role as planetary guardian. We cannot have you
needlessly injured or killed by some two-bit thug."
The youngest Satan was beyond angry. Her glare redoubling in
intensity, she unleashed a scathing retort; if looks, words or pretty
much anything else besides physical contact could kill, the whole
security team would have been greeting King Yemma at that that moment:
"Exactly who deemed me helping people to be unadvisable. I don't see
how letting others die fulfills my obligations to those people.
Please... explain your logic to me. I find your conclusions...
most unsatisfactory
By that point in the rather one-sided argument, the security chief
was on the verge of fleeing the ornately decorated room to which he
blocked the exit. Peeking up at the fearsome creature who had
roasted him alive with a few pointed remarks, he spotted her
trademark scowl still present and flinched. The guard pointed at his
patron –- the world's saviour; perhaps he could control his daughter.
"It was his idea."
Videl's head slowly, but no less menacingly for the motion's lack of
speed, turned towards her father, who was preparing one of his world
famous speeches to quell his daughter's impudence. Then he noticed
the expression on Videl Satan's visage and gulped. This was going to
be bad.
The teenage martial artist met her father's eyes pointedly. If he
thought he could protect his little sweet pea without her permission,
he had another few dozen things coming; undoubtebly, most of the
epiphanies would be accompanied by a sizable dosage of pain. The
prodigal blackbelt cracked her knuckles threateningly. "Kami," Mr.
Satan thought, worried about a fight with his daughter –- a fight he
might lose, "She's scarier than Cell."
Normally, the champion wrestler and grandmaster of Satan-ryu may have
backed down when his daughter approached an issue with near fanatical
fervor. Frankly, Videl scared him witless when she was like this.
However, the situation was far from ordinary. Surrounded by
countless reporters, on international television, the eldest fighter
of the Satan family could not back down; his reputation demanded he
confront his daughter.
Summoning all his courage, Hercule met his daughter's gaze with equal
strength and spoke flatly to his perpetually spoiled heir: "Videl,
you are my sole daughter –- my heir. As such, you are more important
than a shipment of diamonds or even a few dozen lives. We are more
important than they are Videl. Only if we are alive can other people
feel safe. My decision is final. There will be no arguments."
Turning his back on his daughter, Mr. Satan left the conference
abruptly. He had made his point. Not even Videl would dare defy him
openly. Everything would be fine. Mr. Satan was wrong.
A winged blue shadow descended on the world champion from the sky as he
approached his jet black stretch limousine. Quietly, the floating
being laughed to himself, remaining inconspicuous. "You know
afro-man," the unatural humanoid stated as it hovered kilometres
above Satan City, "we have quite a bit to talk about when you get
home. I'm sure I –- atleast –- will find our conversation readily
enjoyable. Unfortunately, I doubt you will share my sentiments.
Retribution always comes to those who lie. Even if the inevitable
takes seven years to arrive."
* * *
Three days after the abysmal conference, Videl was still fuming.
"How dare he attempt to control my life like that!" She thought
angrily. "Even worse, how could he condemn so many to injury and
death to suit his own selfish needs. Martial artists are responsible
for protecting other people. To do otherwise is to spit on every
samurai who has sacrificed his or her life for the past five hundred
years. Protecting the weak is the most essential part of Bushido.
The world's champion and hero –- my father –- is bereft of honour.
How dare he call himself a martial arts master."
The heir to Satan-ryu nearly stomped past a huge crime scene at The
First Satan National Bank —- completely ignoring her former comrades
in the police force –- and stopped abruptly. The Satan City police
forces were undeserving of her ire. Even without her, the valiant
guardians of Satan City continued to fight criminals, constantly
endangering their lives. No. Her friends in the constabulary
deserved none of her fury and righteous indignation. Those feelings
could and should be reserved for her father: an honourless traitor to
his art.
Following her new revelation, Videl turned to face the crime scene.
Sure, she might be late for school if she watched the crime, but
though fighting criminals was no longer an option, she had to assist
her former allies in the fight against lawlessness somehow. Even if
the only way she could assist was to offer encouragement to her
friends, she would do so. Besides, if a criminal inadvertetly fired
a bullet in her direction, any response from her could be labeled as
self-defence.
Finally, the teenage fighter appraised the scene of the disturbance...
and blinked in disbelief. "No way..."
Confidently smirking in the perpetrators' direction, a young man
stood in the centre of the criminals, seemingly unfazed by the back
and forth gun-fire that ranged over nearly a block between the two
warring factions. Effortlessly, the young fighter –- glowing a
lustrous golden hue –- dispatched four machine gun wielding thugs,
apparently teleporting, or, perhaps, he was simply swifter than she
could fathom.
Then, with ungodly celerity, the mysterious stranger dispatched the
final criminal. Somehow, the shining vigilante had flipped the thugs'
truck so that the roof lay where the wheels should have. The
preceding occurences were completely impossible, then the blond
warrior took the insanity a step further.
Leaping dozens of stories straight up into the air, the mysterious
stranger ascended Satan City's tallest spire. Then, a blinding
golden flash illuminated the city, alike to an exploding star. The
man had vanished!
Ignoring the pointless speculations of her fellow bystanders, Videl
simply left the area, dumbfounded, but nonetheless deep in thought.
The man who had appeared distinctly reminded her of the men at the
Cell Games. Furthermore, from the few glances she had caught of him,
he appeared to be little older than she was. He had also worn an
Orange Star High badge, suggesting that he attended her shool. The
black-haired beauty smirked at the deductions she'd made.
If he attended Orange Star High, she'd find him, undoubtebly. Then
she would blackmail him into telling her what happened at the Cell
Games in truth and maybe even figure out how a boy her age could jump
hundreds of feet, or battle Cell for that matter. The current junior
champion at the Tenachi Budokai would get her way. Her plan was
assured success. The school bell rang, shattering Videl' musing. It
was time for school.
The heir of Satan-ryu entered her classroom, ignoring a few slightly
perverted comments about her body; she was used to them. Soon she
would find that golden-haired idiot. Things would never be the same
again. Videl Satan had no idea how right she was.
AN: The plot is beggining to take shape. This is fun.
Responses to Reviewers:
Psycho-Ann: Thanks for the support. As for the averageness of this
story as a G/V, I warn you, the narrative only gets more unusual.
Dreamwraith: I'm with you on the Dende not being a coward thing.
Just because he can't waste planets with a finger, doesn't make him
cowardly. How many people do you know who would try opposing Freeza?
Anyway, I love Dende and though he's dead for now, you may not have
seen the last of him. He has a part in this story. He's out for
atleast a chapter or two though. Glad you like the idea and thanks
for your support. Also, I appreciate the one correction thing. I
certainly have no problems with advice geared to improve a part of my
writing.
Kami Out