Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
Manus Cruentus
Chapter Three
Gohan was bored; that reality was indisputable. In the half-Saiyan's current -- exhausted -- state, the normally stimulating lectures of his professors failed to penetrate the blanket of exhaustion that blocked their best efforts to educate him. The constant drivel -- as the Super Saiyan perceived their speech -- was quickly fading to a faint, annoying buzz in Gohan's ears. Before long, Orange Star High's premier student gave up on his studies in favour of a more appealing pastime: sleep.
The heir to the Ox Kingdom had stumbled in drunkenly just as the late bell was ringing for his third class, barely avoiding detention. Despite the scholarly fervour he had exuded yesterday, most of the class quickly assumed the worst.
"Nerd boy's drunk!" a muscular member of the football team had yelled.
Another youth of significantly smaller stature replied, wiping his glasses, "Yes, he does appear somewhat inebriated." Fatum, on the other hand, blinked incredulously. Gohan drunk? How utterly ludicrous?
Videl's reaction differed from that of her compatriots. Rushing to the front of the classroom, she'd firmly latched up on the boy, trying to steady him. "You idiot! I bet you're still woozy from that jump yesterday. What sort of idiot exits the school from the third floor window anyway? You probably have a concussion." Glancing at the teacher in a way that commanded respect from even those twenty years her senior, she motioned towards the door. "Mr. Tedum, would you mind if I brought Son Gohan to the nurse's office."
"No. Of course not, Videl. That's an excellent idea," the math teacher replied evenly. Ignoring her after that comment, Mr. Tedum began his class. "Now class, take out questions ten to thirty two on the derivatives of basic functions. As you can see in question ten..." The class continued, undisturbed for the most part until Videl Satan and her charge returned fifteen minutes later.
"No sir. According to the nurse, Gohan is suffering from sleep deprivation. She estimates that he hasn't slept in more than thirty hours and engaged in a number of strenuous activities. Essentially, he's tired and needs sleep."
The calculus professor shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I wonder why the boy would have stayed up all night. Oh well. Just put him in the back, Videl. I'm sure my best student will be awake again in no time."
Acknowledging her instructor's request, the youngest Satan carried her number one candidate for the Gold Fighter to a desk in the back. She carefully took note of his densely muscled frame. Ignoring an irritating surge of hormones at the thought, Videl took note of the fact, adding the point to her growing tally of reasons why Gohan could be the gold fighter. Mentally, she considered her latest discovery: "Obviously a fighter of some description from the way he's toned. Little Gohan was hiding quite a bit more than a few muscles with his loose clothing. Hmmm... a martial artist pretending he's perfectly normal. Certainly proves he could be the gold fighter. I just need more evidence, and to figure out how he changes his eye and hair colour."
Finally reaching the back of the classroom, Videl laid Gohan down on the floor carefully. "Wake up soon wonder boy. I've got a few more questions to ask you." Smirking down at the prone figure, she would have continued, but her wrist communicator chose that moment to beep. Videl pressed the button to activate the view screen on the pseudo watch and gasped. A large, green, goblin-like face with a pair of fangs completely covered the screen.
"Now what do we have here? Another human? How wonderful! Unfortunately, I don't have time to talk now little girl. I have a city to destroy and a super-powered brat to roast. Perhaps we can speak later, just before I end your worthless life." Then, abruptly, the gremlin turned to the left. "What!?!" and the screen was filled with static.
* * *
A diminutive figure strutted along main street in Satan City, completely enshrouded by a jade cloak. Ignoring the numerous whispers that abounded through surrounding crowds about him, he moved purposefully, inhuman hearing picking up each and every comment within a one block radius. The stranger discarded the opinions just as readily, a single cogitation rendering their suppositions inconsequential in his mind. "You have one minute to live."
Finally reaching his destination, the cloaked immortal stared up at the forty foot high statue before him. The monument depicted a ridiculous human in Garlic's eyes, who's abnormally large muscles would doubtlessly impede his fighting ability. Additionally, Hercule, as the ornate plaque at the memorial's base declared him, favoured an absolutely ludicrous hairstyle; the challenger of Kami could barely control his urge to laugh at Satan City's namesake. The statue would be the perfect place to begin his reign of terror.
With a giant leap, Garlic ascended the monument commemorating Cell's defeat and stared down at the stunned residents of the Earth's third largest city. "Your one minute is up." A steady rain of death crashed down on the unsuspecting gawkers, as the humans' mouths widened. Ki blasts exploded indiscriminately. Lives were extinguished without remorse. Chaos reigned. Garlic was loving every minute of it.
"Run fools, run! Maybe, if you're fast enough, you can even escape." A pair of eye beams suddenly shot out of his pupils, cutting the supports that held up a pair of gargantuan skyscrapers along the primary escape route the crowds chanced. Both collapsed in a titanic impact, the shock wave knocking the few survivors of their feet. "Then again, maybe not."
Their sole escape route blocked, the throng of human beings did what was natural: they panicked. Any semblance of civilization was lost as those who remained fought to survive in the maelstrom of brilliant red death. Familial associations were ignored as brother, parent and child all fought one another to endure. A single man, driven beyond rational thought, climbed up to the former denizen of the dead zone and attacked with a lead pipe. Garlic stopped his wanton destruction for a moment to gaze at his challenger and chuckled darkly. "Idiot. Heroes are always the first to die." A blur of green, and a jarring collision by a human being with a concrete wall at supersonic speeds, later the wanton destruction resumed. A piercing siren wail stunned the demon with the sound's intensity. Garlic winced and then began to smirk once again. The cavalry had arrived. Oh goody.
"This is the chief of police," an obese, smallish man carrying a megaphone in one hand and a gun in the other declared. "Surrender now or we will shoot. I repeat, this is your las-"
A gurgle cut off the chief's warning as Garlic blurred down to grab his opponent by the neck. "No need for repetition, chubby. I heard you just fine the first time." Then, gleefully, the ancient demon snapped his victim's neck.
A hail of bullets shot out of the surrounding half-dozen police cars, striking all over the mass murderers body. The officers would have been safer leaving their revolvers at home. Garlic turned towards the line of vehicles, his maniacal smile never leaving his face. The corpse that had been chief of police was dropped thoughtlessly. "So you would like to play too, little humans. Fine. I'll be happy to obli-" Garlic stopped. He'd heard something: a faint beeping to be precise.
Idly gazing around -- and completely ignoring the frightened police -- Garlic searched for that which had produced the sound. Then he spotted the watch-like contraption on the chief's wrist and grinned. Apparently, something had bumped into the foreign object, activating the red communicator.
The screen in the pseudo watch flicked on with a start, showing a girl who, by any human standard, would undoubtedly be considered a heartbreaker. Lush black curls and piercing blue eyes completed the classic beauty faultlessly. Garlic's smirk widened by an order of magnitude as his interest in the device increased. "Now what do we have here?"
* * *
The process had been both stressful and laborious. Moving halfway across the world was seldom a simple task, but, in his own case, Yamcha felt the escape had been worth all the difficulties. For more than two decades, the legendary bandit had resided in West Capital for one reason: Bulma. That reason had long become invalid.
In the past eight years, the presence of Ms. Bulma Briefs, owner of Capsule Corporation, had been a constant source of grief for the three-time Tenachi Budokai competitor. At first -- when reporters learned of "the break-up" -- many of his fans offered support in whatever way they felt he would appreciate. They never understood; pity was not appreciated.
The baseball star would have preferred to mourn his loss alone, but he eventually came to accept the both the public and media's attention as inevitable. People he'd never met would approach him on the street to give him their condolences. Reporters were always looking for the "real story." His life seemed hectic enough prior to the end of his relationship, but afterwards matters became even more chaotic. Even this chaos Yamcha weathered with difficulty. Unfortunately, just as he had began to accept his change in lifestyle, disaster struck -- or perhaps the inevitable.
On the eighth month of Bulma's pregnancy, in the middle of a violent mood swing, Vegeta heard something about Yamcha, which he -- as usual -- misinterpreted. An hour later, the former bandit's mansion was in flames and his reputation in tatters. Not only could he not claim any insurance -- after all, how could a single man do what the future hall of famer described -- but the Briefs family sued him for slander when he claimed that Vegeta was responsible for the aforementioned events. Finally, only a day later, the West Capital Chronicle came out with a preposterous article by a reporter who, hearing some of the Saiyan prince's curses, had come to the conclusion that Yamcha had been sexually harassing Bulma.
Seemingly overnight, all the condolences and reassuring pats on the back were transformed to curses and slaps in the face. Anyone who tells a person that words can't injure is sadly mistaken; they destroyed one of Earth's mightiest warriors as surely as an atomic warhead. Perhaps even more so, considering the reality that he could brush off conventional weaponry effortlessly. Just when the master of Kamesennin ryu thought things could get no worse, they did -- and then they went a few billion steps further.
Unlike most of his companions in the Cell Games, Yamcha was easily recognizable. So, when the time to mock the worthless tricksters arrived, he was first, second, third and fourth to face the guillotine -- metaphorically, of course. After those fiascos -- and more than a dozen lawsuits from Satan Dojos inc. --, not even the most prolific athlete in professional sports history's baseball skills could save him. Unwilling to keep on a public pariah, such as Yamcha, no matter how many home runs he batted, The Titans -- his team -- put him on waivers, and the eight time golden glove winner stayed there for almost five years. After that long, he simply gave up hope. Baseball could no longer provide a haven for him. That was when he decided that escape was a necessity.
In the space of three months, Yamcha had undergone all the required sales and acquisitions for his escape from West Capital and moved to Satan City. That was when another of his countless difficulties became apparent. The innumerable lawsuits, the destruction of his mansion and the results of half a decade unemployed began to catch up on him. Formerly the twelfth richest bachelor on Earth, the desert bandit was forced into bankruptcy by his financial woes.
Then, a thin beam of hope emerged to lighten the darkness that was quickly becoming Yamcha's life. The bandit had been looking for a free meal the traditional way for a wandering warrior: challenging a dojo for food and board. He had, of course, defeated the dojo's master soundly in the combat of bokkens which kendoists prefer. Expecting only a night of free lodgings, the second weakest Z fighter had emerged the next morning, prepared to depart, only to discover that his way was barred by a wall of samurai.
Yamcha could have escaped easily, but the situation piqued his interest. He'd remained, and been stunned only a moment later when the ancient sensei he'd bested a day previous emerged from the warriors with an explanation of their conduct. According to the master, any who bested a member of the elitist dojo was inducted into the school, ensuring the kendo school never lacked mighty warriors. Therefore, Yamcha would have to remain.
Eventually, he'd conceded to their request and become a member, spending the past six months honing his skills and relearning the way of the sword. In a way, the occurrence was the best thing that could have happened to him. Yamcha was among people who neither knew nor cared about his past in an area bereft of reporters -- a group he'd collectively begun to despise. He'd felt no need to reenter the outside world; he was perfectly happy where he was -- until now.
The disappearance of dozens of kis in an instant had reawakened something within Yamcha. An instinct to protect, undermined by a decade of helplessness, pushed itself up into his conscious mind. There were people being killed by a force greater than they could hope to combat. Human beings were being slaughtered. Just like Piccolo, Vegeta , Freeza, Cell and all the other foes who had coldly murdered thousands to sate some perverse desire for death: even though he'd come to detest much of his race, Yamcha would not allow it.
Normally, his friends would handle something like this. He couldn't hope to compare to Super Saiyan power. The power he detected in Satan City, however, was well within his limits. The new arrival might have given the Ginyu Force a run for their money, but three years of intense training for Cell, and the previous six months, regaining his old strength and more, had forged Yamcha into a warrior of far greater capabilities than the elite team could ever hope to match.
As he flew over Satan City, ignoring the glances -- both awed and scornful -- directed towards him, the former bandit, baseball player and planetary defender prepared himself for his first real battle in eleven long years. Unleashing a high-powered Kamehameha as soon as he was within range of his opponent, the orange-clad figure meticulously strode towards the rubble strewn building into which the green-skinned recipient of his opening assault had crashed. The kendo practitioner gazed at his trusty katana -- forged long before he ever met Goku -- and smiled grimly. He could still turn back on reality and return to hiding from his life in a timeworn dojo. That would always be an option. Hopefully, hiding was an option he could forsake. Yamcha had made the choice to live; he would deal with the consequences.
* * *
As Videl's jet copter approached the part of the city her communicator indicated was the source of the transmission from that green creep, she involuntarily flinched at the devastation she saw. "It looks like a bomb went off," she thought, as her eyes widened at the approaching scene. "Scratch that. Its more like a hundred bombs. What could have possibly caused this much destruction."
Landing, and recapsulizing her vehicle, Videl surveyed the mounting devastation. Chunks of rubble as large as cars were strewn about the district from the collapse of a quartet of sky scrapers. The streets were bereft of human life, yet no corpses were immediately visible. From the burn marks in the area, it almost looked as if a series of high yield laser weapons were fired. Analytically, Videl filed the information away; she could save her grief for a later time. Energy weaponry would at least account for the lack of bodies present. However, she still had no answer for the big question -- even as Videl took note of the flaming wreckage of police cars one hundred metres to her left: what could have possibly wrought such ruin and where was it now. Then she saw them.
A pair of figures blurred in and out of sight at speeds beyond comprehension. One was obviously the creature who had spoken with her earlier, but the identity of the other was less clear. He was obviously human and male, with dark black hair that matched her own, but at the intense velocities the stranger moved at, she could discern little else. He was, however, winning, and doing so with ease.
The man stopped momentarily to release a taunt. "Is that the best you've got, murderer. We both know that your ki steadily decreasing; even immortality can't stop that. Why don't you just give up." Then, raising his right hand, which now glowed an unearthly blue, he screamed, "Soukidan!" With that single word, the blue corona solidified into an aquamarine ball of energy and shot towards the sphere's target: the smaller of the two fighters.
Showing seemingly impossible grace, the attack's target dodged with a mid-air somersault. His foe barely noted the movement, as he reversed the ball's direction with an abrupt movement of his forefinger. The inhuman midget saw his adversary drop flat and smirk in his direction. The green man looked behind him -- big mistake.
The energy attack plowed into the unprepared, goblinesque creature's flank like a charging rhino. Sent flying through a building and at least fifty feet into the ground, Videl was confident the diminutive demon would be dead. She yelled at the remaining battler to come down and explain himself. He did land, but not to submit to the teenage girl's request.
"Young lady, get out of here now. This guy's way out of your league. If you remain, you'll be a liability on the battlefield. I can't afford the distraction right now."
All through the man's -- who she now clearly identified as the baseball star Yamcha -- perceived insults, Videl had been fuming. This sad excuse for a martial artist -- so pitiful he had to resort to elaborate deceptions -- was ordering her to leave a crisis in the city she protected. How dare he. Her face coloured scarlet and steam practically pouring from her ears, the prodigal martial artist fumed and decided that, as soon as this jerk shut his big mouth, she was going to tear into him with a vengeance. Yamcha's request ended.
"How dare you suggest I can't help just because I don't use your cheap tricks. I'm the second best martial artist on this planet, after my father, and no man is going to order me anywhere! Do you understand?" Her cutting rant ended, but that didn't mean that Yamcha was given the opportunity to offer a retort. "Besides, whoever that guy was, he's dead. No one survives that sort of impact."
Yamcha had listened enough. Normally very calm and self-possessed, there were few things that angered him; this girl had managed to strike on quite a few of his pet peeves. First off, she was hopelessly arrogant in a way that reminded him of Vegeta. Reminding the former bandit of his failures was always a sure method for getting blasted to Enma's office. Furthermore, she had insulted his martial abilities: something he'd become far more sensitive to since the aftermath of the Cell debacle. Finally, the fact that nothing but ignorance and unwarranted assumptions backed up her claims he found infuriating. That trait was what led to ninety percent of the difficulties in his life and he'd come to despise those who possessed said flaw in their characters. He'd been trying to be reasonable; Vegeta would have just picked her up and hurled the girl a few miles away. Yamcha had had enough. Then the ground exploded violently all around the duo.
Garlic, leg less and missing at least one hand, ascended from the centre of the giant crater he'd created. His limbs already reforming themselves, he released a foreboding cackle. Yamcha grimaced. "Are you hard of hearing, puny mortal? I can't be killed! Yet, even so, your attack caused me considerable discomfort. So I've decided to show you something I was saving for the little runt."
Bolts of lightning crackled all around Garlic as he charged up, summoning the depth of his powers. "This technique took almost a decade to perfect, human. Enjoy." Finally, his power condensed into a ball not unlike Vegeta's false moon, save that the sphere was red -- blood red. "Pseudo Makyo Star." Before anyone could move to stop it, the ball shot straight up into the air and Garlic began to grow larger... much larger.
Yamcha desperately stretched out his senses, hoping to detect one of his friends nearby. Before, Garlic junior had been a joke compared to him. Without his immortality, the little gnome would have died a dozen times in their previous combat, but now... Garlic's power increased a half-dozen times over, dwarfing Yamcha's. This fight had just become serious and, as far as he could tell, the second weakest Z warrior was going it alone.
Then, like a candle in an inferno, the bandit felt a faint energy signature: about as strong as Nappa had been. It was Gohan! For some reason, he hadn't emerged yet, but the demi-Saiyan powerhouse was quite close by -- scarcely two miles away. There was a problem, however. The teen's ki was not concealed, but in its rest state; he was either sleeping or unconscious. Yamcha couldn't spare the attention necessary to seek out his friend from watching Garlic and didn't want to draw the now gargantuan demon away from this currently uninhabited part of the city.
He was about to take the chance and fly towards Gohan when he again noted the pushy young woman who had challenged him. She stared in disbelief, slack-jawed, at the spectacle. Of course! The girl could get Gohan! If he could just word his request so as not to offend her...
"You were right, young lady. I just might need your help after all, but not to fight." Videl simply nodded, mutely.
"You see that building over there." He pointed to Orange Star High School. "There's no way I can do any more than hold this guy off for a few minutes, but in there there's someone who can stop this monster. I need you to find Son Gohan."
With that, Yamcha shot off once again, yelling, "Shin Roga Fufu-ken." A blur of fists and feet, he mercilessly assaulted his foe, breaking the sound barrier with each movement. Momentarily, the battle seemed to turn in his favour, but then an uppercut interrupted the set moves, disrupting his pattern... Then a powerful two foot strike collided with the orange gi clad figure's gut and he went flying into the ground on a twenty degree angle. The resultant trench stretched almost a mile.
With a supreme effort, Yamcha focused his ki to strengthen his vocal chords. "Go!" The scream echoed all across the city, breaking Videl from her reverie.
"Gohan, but how could he help? Oh well, if he wants Gohan, he'll get Gohan. Hmmm... I wonder. Maybe Gohan's the gold fighter. That would certainly explain some things." Anymore thoughts of Videl's would have to wait for later, however, as the daughter of Mr. Satan reached Orange Star High. Quickly, she ascended the stairs, checking her watch out of habit. "Wow! Only two minutes for that distance. That's my best time yet." Then, she pushed those thoughts away as well, focusing on her objective once more. "Gohan'd better not be a heavy sleeper."
* * *
A haze of exhaustion enshrouded Gohan's conscious mind. The half-Saiyan had no difficulty detecting kis, even in his sleep, but the implications of those pieces of information were lost upon him. In many ways, the condition would have reminded the veteran warrior of how his father had described his experiences in the regeneration tank on Namek, had the napping student been aware enough to make such a conclusion.
Unfortunately, Gohan was nowhere near the aforementioned level of analytical thought. Rather, the Son child simply slept through the mini earthquakes that rocked the city. Even throwing a bucket of water on the teen had failed to rouse him. Instead of planning a counter attack, or rushing to his long-time friend's aide, Gohan simply thought dreamily, "Wow, Garlic and Yamcha are sparring. Its good there getting along so well. Last time Garlic junior freed himself from the dead zone, he wasn't very nice."
Random thoughts of past and present flitted across the boy's subconscious. Nothing could have awoken Son Gohan at that moment, save one irresistible power: the voice of his mother. Chi Chi was not available at the moment, however. One Videl Satan was, though, and if her voice lacked the potency of the Son matriarch's declarations, then it at least came darn close: close enough to awaken a sleeping Saiyan and then some.
"Son Gohan! If you don't get up right now, I'm going to kill you!"
Faster than her trained eyes could hope to follow -- to Videl's annoyance -- Gohan sprang up and began desperately bowing and begging for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry mom. I promise I won't ever sleep in again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-" then he noticed who he was bowing to and sweat dropped. "You're not mom, are you."
Videl huffed and glared at him. "No, I'm not."
Gohan rubbed his head sheepishly and hazarded a silly grin. Videl ignored her classmate's antics pointedly. "Normally, I'd ask what that demonstration was about, but right now I've got bigger problems. You see Gohan, there's this little, er, formerly little green creature laying waste to Satan City. Furthermore, the only person who's been able to last against said creature so far specifically requested that I seek you out and I want to know wh-" She stopped abruptly, as she noticed her target had vanished. "Grrrrr... when I find you Son Gohan..." She let the thought trail off, leaving her threat open ended as she considered the many ways she'd heard of to slowly torture and maim. "And then you're going to explain how the hell you just moved so fast."
* * *
Erasa watched the battle unfolding before her in a detached manner. Standing atop the highest remaining building in the two mile radius, the blonde demon gazed indifferently at the titanic conflict. In her opinion, the obliteration of downtown Satan City was inconsequential, as was the maniacal green fool her lord had procured. All that mattered right now was the collection of useful information.
The scarred human who had confronted Garlic was noteworthy. Though the man lacked considerable power, his battle savvy made the most of his ki. Compared to Garlic, the currently smaller warrior was a tactical genius and, furthermore, his actions were instinctual; the mortal obviously possessed a wealth of battle experience.
Charging up his signature attack with one hand, while deflecting a flurry of blows with his ki-charged katana held in the other, the infidel maintained both an offence and defence effectively against a far superior opponent. The orange-clad stranger was singed, burnt in some places and badly bruised, but none of his ligaments were broken or torn off after almost five minutes of single combat. Erasa's respect for the unknown meddler rose another notch as she noticed that he was gazing at her intermittently; not only was he fending off Garlic, but the man remained on guard for other threats as well. Impressive. She would have to report this one. Then her true target arrived.
Like a Grecian deity out of myth, Gohan charged, the golden aura of his Super Saiyan form illuminating even the darkest corners of Satan City. "Enough!" A right hook flashed out faster than any on the battlefield could follow, sending Garlic sprawling.
"All I wanted was a little sleep, but nooooooo. You just had to go and attack the city, didn't you?" The demi-Saiyan punctuated each word with a bone-crushing blow. Through gritted teeth the he finished: "You villains never learn. You might destroy a few buildings or gain a minor victory, but you never win. You. Can't. Win."
Around the teen aged guardian of Satan City the surrounding golden corona began to intensify, lightning crackling at the most intense spots. "You may be immortal Garlic, but let's see how well you hold up in vacuum."
The energy gathered at a single point and formed into an inferno of blue flames. For the first time in a decade, Garlic Junior felt genuine fear. "Masenko Ha!" The artfully engineered beam impacted with its intended target, but did not explode. Rather, the beam began to carry him up, miles beyond the atmosphere, until he reached the void that separated Earth from the planet's neighbouring solar systems. Son Gohan dropped his hands to his sides, breathing slightly harder than before and gradually flew over to his friend. The battle was over.
* * *
Videl Satan watched the news wearing a perpetual scowl. Once again, proof of the golden fighter's identity had eluded her. Doubtless Son Gohan knew the mysterious warrior's identity -- or was perhaps the super hero himself -- but without evidence of his identity, speculation would prove fruitless.
The other fighter -- Yamcha -- was an even greater anomaly. She had never realized he was any kind of serious martial artist -- just a baseball player -- before that night. However, minimal research had uncovered a plethora of martial accomplishments. The perpetual underachiever was a three time Tenachi Budokai finalist who seemed to always have the bad luck of facing one of the tournament's finest in the first round; he had faced two eventual champions and a man who some claimed was Kami-sama in disguise. That speculation was utterly ludicrous of course.
Even so, it became apparent that the master of the Wolf Fang Fist was no pushover. He was a high calibre martial artist who could no doubt make even her father sweat. Yamcha was also -- reportedly -- in attendance during the alien invasion and Cell Games. Perhaps he could give her a full account of the events that took place after the cameras went out. That was if she ever found him again.
The scarred warrior had disappeared in recent years, after a flurry of lawsuits and condemnations. This was the middle-aged man's first appearance for sixteen months; she doubted that he would be seen again anytime soon.
There was one thing she had gathered from the reports of his prowess that confused Videl. Yamcha was listed as one of Earth's most formidable martial arts masters, but nowhere near the top of that list. All accounts agreed -- including one she'd obtained from her father -- that Son Goku, Piccolo Damaio Jr, or even Tien could quite easily carve the weapon user up. Not even they could have caused the extreme damage Yamcha's combat precipitated, without extreme effort, however. Short of atomic weapons, Videl knew of no way to cause such devastation; what she saw were no tricks. That realization left her to ponder another question of equal import: if Yamcha has become formidable enough to destroy a city, what sort of abilities do the other fighters of the Budokais now command?
Perhaps her father had trained intensively to combat these powers, but, if so, she'd seen no evidence of said training. Even if her father was the strongest man on the Earth seven years ago, she doubted that position was still his. Yamcha, the gold fighter and anyone else in possession of comparable powers was a significant threat to the world at large. They could just as easily destroy as defend -- the monster who'd assaulted their city had proved that. Letting the vigilantes run wild would be a critical mistake for a crime fighter of her calibre. They could not be trusted. The news anchors echoed Videl's views.
"A tragedy of epic proportions occurred today, as a result of a battle between super-powered vigilantes. Using what scientists hypothesize were small-scale atomic weapons, the vigilantes -- namely Yamcha, the golden fighter and an unknown, green-skinned figure destroyed more than a half-dozen blocks, costing an estimated one thousand lives. Fortunately, the sector's workers were on their respective lunch breaks, or else the death toll could have been significantly higher. The city has taken drastic measures, calling upon the head scientists of Capsule Corporation and other technological or defence services. The mayor is guaranteeing that the perpetrators will be captured and summarily executed. A reward of two hundred million zeni has been placed upon the heads of the gold fighter and former baseball player, Yamcha. Anyone with information regarding their whereabouts should phone 555-232-" Click. Videl turned the machine off.
One person she knew certainly possessed the requested information. Son Gohan had shown that he could summon the Golden Warrior on a whim and Yamcha had requested that selfsame student by name. Her classmate obviously knew much about the situation which he chose to conceal. Withholding information from the police was a criminal offence.
Videl was an understanding girl , however (at least she thought so), and would, therefore give Gohan one last chance to come clean. After all, he still had to show her how he'd pulled off that disappearing act earlier. Her suspect had missed the rest of the school day as well. Not that missing the afternoon had been uncommon today: half the Orange Star High's student body had left school early to check on loved ones or just leave an area so close to ground zero. Tomorrow Gohan had stated that he would be in attendance during the tryouts for the school's martial arts team. If he was a man of his word -- as she suspected -- her erstwhile acquaintance would follow through with the actions such a statement entailed. Fatum -- the other mysterious newcomer -- had agreed to join Gohan there. The appearance of the focuses of both her current investigations and inquiries was an excellent opportunity to get in some uninterrupted questioning. Even if they managed to evade her during the school day, neither would escape her in the ring. The martial arts was Videl's element. In a place of martial training, none could defeat or escape her. Son Gohan and Fatum Ultori's secrets were as good as hers. One more day.
* * *
Little is known to mortals of the beginning of existence. Some theorized regarding quantum singularities, paradoxes, or even divine intervention. The truth of the matter was even more startling than those hypotheses, however. In truth, not even the gods knew the truth of creation. Though the universes age -- over ten billion years -- was unquestioned, no deity could quite recall his, her, or its creation. In point of fact, the majority of the divine hierarchy could not recall any events before about two billion years ago. Those who could never spoke of their knowledge to any but one another, yet even they failed to discern creation. Even among these select few deities, no memories before the great war were in evidence.
Dende was a rarity among the divine hierarchy. He was a mortal deity. The teenage Namek's memory still measured time in days months and years, while his mind could hardly fathom the thought of a century, let alone millennia. For this reason, Dende had always been somewhat of a joke among the Kamis. The majority of guardians spent aeons in meditation to hone their spiritual prowess preceding their ascension to agelessness at the very least. To these gods -- who had scorned Earth's previous Kami as well -- Dende was no more than an impetuous youngster. The child possessed the power to be the greatest of their number, but no more than that: potential. Most felt that he lacked the dedication to become their equal.
As a result of the doubts of the Divine Council, Dende had thus far been ignored when dealing with matters of consequence. Whenever the Kaios or Kaioshin requested an operative, someone respected and with a wealth of experience was chosen -- not Dende. Even when the Council of Divinities learned of their junior members death, the matter was dismissed. Dende had been a good, if not particularly important god. Earth could get a new Kami. Certainly, the little Namek wouldn't mind being a cloud. Even if the youngest guardian did mind, the matter was of no consequence. That is to say, the matter was of no consequence until the East Kaioshin decided to specifically request the youth for a critical assignment.
"No, no and no!" The purple skinned kaioshin was becoming extremely frustrated with the pompous, otherworldly bureaucracy. "I need Earth's guardian. No other god has the knowledge necessary to complete the mission. What do you mean you don't know where he is!?! Awaiting judgement!?!" Shin ground his teeth together menacingly at the lesser oni functioning as a clerk for the divinities. He was a Kaioshin! These sorts of thing were not supposed to happen to him.
Muttering an oath, the highest surviving deity spun on his heel sharply. He looked up to his long-time advisor sagely. "Kibito, it appears that our friend is currently at Lord Enma's palace. Let's go." He placed a hand on his friends shoulder and the two disappeared.
* * *
Dende hated being a cloud. There was no halfway with the former guardian about that issue. He couldn't access any of his magical abilities -- not even his healing talent -- and no matter how many times he insisted he needed to speak with the Council of Divinities, none of the passing oni would listen. Apparently, they heard similar requests quite often. The afterlife was proving despicable in Dende's eyes and, as far as he could see, his current form was one of the contributing factors leading to his difficulties.
Abruptly, he had two feet once more and was standing on them. For once, Dende even towered over someone. The purple-skinned figure facing the Namekian was almost childlike in appearance. There was, however, a wisdom in the stranger's eyes that belied his infantile aspects.
"Hello. I am the East Kaioshin. If you wish, you may call me Shin, however." There was nothing demeaning in Shin's posture, or speech, but after hearing that declaration, the youthful healer and guardian felt once more like an inconsequential cloud-shape.
AN: Well Dende's back. Garlic's out of the picture; he was not particularly important, save as a means to pushing the plot along. Things look to be reaching a head for Gohan, as foes on all side converge on him. Geez, let's check again. How many people does Gohan have against him now? There's the demons, Satan City, Videl, whatever Shin's come to talk about, Babidi, possibly Fatum, and some other stuff that only I know about. I almost feel sorry for the kid... almost. Anyway, sorry about the length between updates again, but there's not much I can do with school and other such difficulties. If you're wondering about Yamcha, he's going to remain a part -- if not a central part -- of the story, as I quite like the guy and feel the need for Gohan to have an ally who can't solve, or necessarily even help with, all his problems. I find the bandits a pretty neat character, as he's ridiculously powerful, but can't touch any of Earth's other special forces. It causes him to act a bit more cautiously than the others -- some would say more cowardly. As for Gohan's quick victory, what did you think was going to happen? There were very good reasons for prolonging that fight, but the fact is that SSJ Gohan vrs. mini Garlic is not the most intriguing of match-ups. I also wanted to remind people that, yes, the little green man may be pitiful by post-Cell standards, but is more than capable of annihilating a city, or even planetoid. Well, I guess I'm done now, except for the reviewer responses, of course.
Responses to Reviewers:
sir-maggot-freak: Thank you for your support. That's what keeps this story going, among other things.
DarkPower1: Well I'm glad that more than just me feel that this is a neat way to take Gohan. Thanks for the review.
SSJ5Tiger: Can't argue with "brilliantly written," but you'd best stop with all the praise. If I get much more, my head will probably get so big that it will explode. Thanks for the review; I appreciate everyone.
Dreamwraith: I'm write beside you on the too many V/B and T/P fics. I understand the appeal of both pairings, but the same monotonous, cliched plot can only be used so many times before it becomes stale. Our pseudo Dende will eventually be found out, but I can't tell you who will discover his secret. Finally, the short green man is back and will be taking on more significant roles in coming chapters. Thanks for the review.
reader: Well I can't argue about yours being an obscenely long review, but try to shorten it a little bit. After all, if your next review is much longer, it might outdo my chapters (as far as length is concerned). Then again, I can't argue with someone willing to spend so much time critiquing my work and your conclusions are generally valid so... meh. Write as much as you want. The line you pointed out about Videl's feelings is one of my favourites; you'll discover I love misleading readers. I'm all for someone who finds improvements in my writing and the cliched way I portrayed Sharpner was problematic. From now on, I'm going to work harder at him in particular; the guy's tough to portray. Fatum's fun, though he had a minimal role in this chapter. I think he is one character who -- in particular -- will surprise you. I think I used Garlic effectively, despite your misgivings. The little green man was a wonderful tension tightener. He also acted as a method to introduce Yamcha, who will be essential later. Concerning character and villain depth, I feel my "good guys" are generally plenty deep, but a horde of demons proves slightly harder to develop. I have some ideas, however, so don't let that concern you. My villains will have a fair mix of negative and positive characteristics. A hint: one of my favourite characteristics to tweak in villains is a sense of honour, or lack thereof. Finally, you are correct about noone being no one and I'll try to get that right from now on. Thank you for your continuing support.
Manus Cruentus
Chapter Three
Gohan was bored; that reality was indisputable. In the half-Saiyan's current -- exhausted -- state, the normally stimulating lectures of his professors failed to penetrate the blanket of exhaustion that blocked their best efforts to educate him. The constant drivel -- as the Super Saiyan perceived their speech -- was quickly fading to a faint, annoying buzz in Gohan's ears. Before long, Orange Star High's premier student gave up on his studies in favour of a more appealing pastime: sleep.
The heir to the Ox Kingdom had stumbled in drunkenly just as the late bell was ringing for his third class, barely avoiding detention. Despite the scholarly fervour he had exuded yesterday, most of the class quickly assumed the worst.
"Nerd boy's drunk!" a muscular member of the football team had yelled.
Another youth of significantly smaller stature replied, wiping his glasses, "Yes, he does appear somewhat inebriated." Fatum, on the other hand, blinked incredulously. Gohan drunk? How utterly ludicrous?
Videl's reaction differed from that of her compatriots. Rushing to the front of the classroom, she'd firmly latched up on the boy, trying to steady him. "You idiot! I bet you're still woozy from that jump yesterday. What sort of idiot exits the school from the third floor window anyway? You probably have a concussion." Glancing at the teacher in a way that commanded respect from even those twenty years her senior, she motioned towards the door. "Mr. Tedum, would you mind if I brought Son Gohan to the nurse's office."
"No. Of course not, Videl. That's an excellent idea," the math teacher replied evenly. Ignoring her after that comment, Mr. Tedum began his class. "Now class, take out questions ten to thirty two on the derivatives of basic functions. As you can see in question ten..." The class continued, undisturbed for the most part until Videl Satan and her charge returned fifteen minutes later.
"No sir. According to the nurse, Gohan is suffering from sleep deprivation. She estimates that he hasn't slept in more than thirty hours and engaged in a number of strenuous activities. Essentially, he's tired and needs sleep."
The calculus professor shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I wonder why the boy would have stayed up all night. Oh well. Just put him in the back, Videl. I'm sure my best student will be awake again in no time."
Acknowledging her instructor's request, the youngest Satan carried her number one candidate for the Gold Fighter to a desk in the back. She carefully took note of his densely muscled frame. Ignoring an irritating surge of hormones at the thought, Videl took note of the fact, adding the point to her growing tally of reasons why Gohan could be the gold fighter. Mentally, she considered her latest discovery: "Obviously a fighter of some description from the way he's toned. Little Gohan was hiding quite a bit more than a few muscles with his loose clothing. Hmmm... a martial artist pretending he's perfectly normal. Certainly proves he could be the gold fighter. I just need more evidence, and to figure out how he changes his eye and hair colour."
Finally reaching the back of the classroom, Videl laid Gohan down on the floor carefully. "Wake up soon wonder boy. I've got a few more questions to ask you." Smirking down at the prone figure, she would have continued, but her wrist communicator chose that moment to beep. Videl pressed the button to activate the view screen on the pseudo watch and gasped. A large, green, goblin-like face with a pair of fangs completely covered the screen.
"Now what do we have here? Another human? How wonderful! Unfortunately, I don't have time to talk now little girl. I have a city to destroy and a super-powered brat to roast. Perhaps we can speak later, just before I end your worthless life." Then, abruptly, the gremlin turned to the left. "What!?!" and the screen was filled with static.
* * *
A diminutive figure strutted along main street in Satan City, completely enshrouded by a jade cloak. Ignoring the numerous whispers that abounded through surrounding crowds about him, he moved purposefully, inhuman hearing picking up each and every comment within a one block radius. The stranger discarded the opinions just as readily, a single cogitation rendering their suppositions inconsequential in his mind. "You have one minute to live."
Finally reaching his destination, the cloaked immortal stared up at the forty foot high statue before him. The monument depicted a ridiculous human in Garlic's eyes, who's abnormally large muscles would doubtlessly impede his fighting ability. Additionally, Hercule, as the ornate plaque at the memorial's base declared him, favoured an absolutely ludicrous hairstyle; the challenger of Kami could barely control his urge to laugh at Satan City's namesake. The statue would be the perfect place to begin his reign of terror.
With a giant leap, Garlic ascended the monument commemorating Cell's defeat and stared down at the stunned residents of the Earth's third largest city. "Your one minute is up." A steady rain of death crashed down on the unsuspecting gawkers, as the humans' mouths widened. Ki blasts exploded indiscriminately. Lives were extinguished without remorse. Chaos reigned. Garlic was loving every minute of it.
"Run fools, run! Maybe, if you're fast enough, you can even escape." A pair of eye beams suddenly shot out of his pupils, cutting the supports that held up a pair of gargantuan skyscrapers along the primary escape route the crowds chanced. Both collapsed in a titanic impact, the shock wave knocking the few survivors of their feet. "Then again, maybe not."
Their sole escape route blocked, the throng of human beings did what was natural: they panicked. Any semblance of civilization was lost as those who remained fought to survive in the maelstrom of brilliant red death. Familial associations were ignored as brother, parent and child all fought one another to endure. A single man, driven beyond rational thought, climbed up to the former denizen of the dead zone and attacked with a lead pipe. Garlic stopped his wanton destruction for a moment to gaze at his challenger and chuckled darkly. "Idiot. Heroes are always the first to die." A blur of green, and a jarring collision by a human being with a concrete wall at supersonic speeds, later the wanton destruction resumed. A piercing siren wail stunned the demon with the sound's intensity. Garlic winced and then began to smirk once again. The cavalry had arrived. Oh goody.
"This is the chief of police," an obese, smallish man carrying a megaphone in one hand and a gun in the other declared. "Surrender now or we will shoot. I repeat, this is your las-"
A gurgle cut off the chief's warning as Garlic blurred down to grab his opponent by the neck. "No need for repetition, chubby. I heard you just fine the first time." Then, gleefully, the ancient demon snapped his victim's neck.
A hail of bullets shot out of the surrounding half-dozen police cars, striking all over the mass murderers body. The officers would have been safer leaving their revolvers at home. Garlic turned towards the line of vehicles, his maniacal smile never leaving his face. The corpse that had been chief of police was dropped thoughtlessly. "So you would like to play too, little humans. Fine. I'll be happy to obli-" Garlic stopped. He'd heard something: a faint beeping to be precise.
Idly gazing around -- and completely ignoring the frightened police -- Garlic searched for that which had produced the sound. Then he spotted the watch-like contraption on the chief's wrist and grinned. Apparently, something had bumped into the foreign object, activating the red communicator.
The screen in the pseudo watch flicked on with a start, showing a girl who, by any human standard, would undoubtedly be considered a heartbreaker. Lush black curls and piercing blue eyes completed the classic beauty faultlessly. Garlic's smirk widened by an order of magnitude as his interest in the device increased. "Now what do we have here?"
* * *
The process had been both stressful and laborious. Moving halfway across the world was seldom a simple task, but, in his own case, Yamcha felt the escape had been worth all the difficulties. For more than two decades, the legendary bandit had resided in West Capital for one reason: Bulma. That reason had long become invalid.
In the past eight years, the presence of Ms. Bulma Briefs, owner of Capsule Corporation, had been a constant source of grief for the three-time Tenachi Budokai competitor. At first -- when reporters learned of "the break-up" -- many of his fans offered support in whatever way they felt he would appreciate. They never understood; pity was not appreciated.
The baseball star would have preferred to mourn his loss alone, but he eventually came to accept the both the public and media's attention as inevitable. People he'd never met would approach him on the street to give him their condolences. Reporters were always looking for the "real story." His life seemed hectic enough prior to the end of his relationship, but afterwards matters became even more chaotic. Even this chaos Yamcha weathered with difficulty. Unfortunately, just as he had began to accept his change in lifestyle, disaster struck -- or perhaps the inevitable.
On the eighth month of Bulma's pregnancy, in the middle of a violent mood swing, Vegeta heard something about Yamcha, which he -- as usual -- misinterpreted. An hour later, the former bandit's mansion was in flames and his reputation in tatters. Not only could he not claim any insurance -- after all, how could a single man do what the future hall of famer described -- but the Briefs family sued him for slander when he claimed that Vegeta was responsible for the aforementioned events. Finally, only a day later, the West Capital Chronicle came out with a preposterous article by a reporter who, hearing some of the Saiyan prince's curses, had come to the conclusion that Yamcha had been sexually harassing Bulma.
Seemingly overnight, all the condolences and reassuring pats on the back were transformed to curses and slaps in the face. Anyone who tells a person that words can't injure is sadly mistaken; they destroyed one of Earth's mightiest warriors as surely as an atomic warhead. Perhaps even more so, considering the reality that he could brush off conventional weaponry effortlessly. Just when the master of Kamesennin ryu thought things could get no worse, they did -- and then they went a few billion steps further.
Unlike most of his companions in the Cell Games, Yamcha was easily recognizable. So, when the time to mock the worthless tricksters arrived, he was first, second, third and fourth to face the guillotine -- metaphorically, of course. After those fiascos -- and more than a dozen lawsuits from Satan Dojos inc. --, not even the most prolific athlete in professional sports history's baseball skills could save him. Unwilling to keep on a public pariah, such as Yamcha, no matter how many home runs he batted, The Titans -- his team -- put him on waivers, and the eight time golden glove winner stayed there for almost five years. After that long, he simply gave up hope. Baseball could no longer provide a haven for him. That was when he decided that escape was a necessity.
In the space of three months, Yamcha had undergone all the required sales and acquisitions for his escape from West Capital and moved to Satan City. That was when another of his countless difficulties became apparent. The innumerable lawsuits, the destruction of his mansion and the results of half a decade unemployed began to catch up on him. Formerly the twelfth richest bachelor on Earth, the desert bandit was forced into bankruptcy by his financial woes.
Then, a thin beam of hope emerged to lighten the darkness that was quickly becoming Yamcha's life. The bandit had been looking for a free meal the traditional way for a wandering warrior: challenging a dojo for food and board. He had, of course, defeated the dojo's master soundly in the combat of bokkens which kendoists prefer. Expecting only a night of free lodgings, the second weakest Z fighter had emerged the next morning, prepared to depart, only to discover that his way was barred by a wall of samurai.
Yamcha could have escaped easily, but the situation piqued his interest. He'd remained, and been stunned only a moment later when the ancient sensei he'd bested a day previous emerged from the warriors with an explanation of their conduct. According to the master, any who bested a member of the elitist dojo was inducted into the school, ensuring the kendo school never lacked mighty warriors. Therefore, Yamcha would have to remain.
Eventually, he'd conceded to their request and become a member, spending the past six months honing his skills and relearning the way of the sword. In a way, the occurrence was the best thing that could have happened to him. Yamcha was among people who neither knew nor cared about his past in an area bereft of reporters -- a group he'd collectively begun to despise. He'd felt no need to reenter the outside world; he was perfectly happy where he was -- until now.
The disappearance of dozens of kis in an instant had reawakened something within Yamcha. An instinct to protect, undermined by a decade of helplessness, pushed itself up into his conscious mind. There were people being killed by a force greater than they could hope to combat. Human beings were being slaughtered. Just like Piccolo, Vegeta , Freeza, Cell and all the other foes who had coldly murdered thousands to sate some perverse desire for death: even though he'd come to detest much of his race, Yamcha would not allow it.
Normally, his friends would handle something like this. He couldn't hope to compare to Super Saiyan power. The power he detected in Satan City, however, was well within his limits. The new arrival might have given the Ginyu Force a run for their money, but three years of intense training for Cell, and the previous six months, regaining his old strength and more, had forged Yamcha into a warrior of far greater capabilities than the elite team could ever hope to match.
As he flew over Satan City, ignoring the glances -- both awed and scornful -- directed towards him, the former bandit, baseball player and planetary defender prepared himself for his first real battle in eleven long years. Unleashing a high-powered Kamehameha as soon as he was within range of his opponent, the orange-clad figure meticulously strode towards the rubble strewn building into which the green-skinned recipient of his opening assault had crashed. The kendo practitioner gazed at his trusty katana -- forged long before he ever met Goku -- and smiled grimly. He could still turn back on reality and return to hiding from his life in a timeworn dojo. That would always be an option. Hopefully, hiding was an option he could forsake. Yamcha had made the choice to live; he would deal with the consequences.
* * *
As Videl's jet copter approached the part of the city her communicator indicated was the source of the transmission from that green creep, she involuntarily flinched at the devastation she saw. "It looks like a bomb went off," she thought, as her eyes widened at the approaching scene. "Scratch that. Its more like a hundred bombs. What could have possibly caused this much destruction."
Landing, and recapsulizing her vehicle, Videl surveyed the mounting devastation. Chunks of rubble as large as cars were strewn about the district from the collapse of a quartet of sky scrapers. The streets were bereft of human life, yet no corpses were immediately visible. From the burn marks in the area, it almost looked as if a series of high yield laser weapons were fired. Analytically, Videl filed the information away; she could save her grief for a later time. Energy weaponry would at least account for the lack of bodies present. However, she still had no answer for the big question -- even as Videl took note of the flaming wreckage of police cars one hundred metres to her left: what could have possibly wrought such ruin and where was it now. Then she saw them.
A pair of figures blurred in and out of sight at speeds beyond comprehension. One was obviously the creature who had spoken with her earlier, but the identity of the other was less clear. He was obviously human and male, with dark black hair that matched her own, but at the intense velocities the stranger moved at, she could discern little else. He was, however, winning, and doing so with ease.
The man stopped momentarily to release a taunt. "Is that the best you've got, murderer. We both know that your ki steadily decreasing; even immortality can't stop that. Why don't you just give up." Then, raising his right hand, which now glowed an unearthly blue, he screamed, "Soukidan!" With that single word, the blue corona solidified into an aquamarine ball of energy and shot towards the sphere's target: the smaller of the two fighters.
Showing seemingly impossible grace, the attack's target dodged with a mid-air somersault. His foe barely noted the movement, as he reversed the ball's direction with an abrupt movement of his forefinger. The inhuman midget saw his adversary drop flat and smirk in his direction. The green man looked behind him -- big mistake.
The energy attack plowed into the unprepared, goblinesque creature's flank like a charging rhino. Sent flying through a building and at least fifty feet into the ground, Videl was confident the diminutive demon would be dead. She yelled at the remaining battler to come down and explain himself. He did land, but not to submit to the teenage girl's request.
"Young lady, get out of here now. This guy's way out of your league. If you remain, you'll be a liability on the battlefield. I can't afford the distraction right now."
All through the man's -- who she now clearly identified as the baseball star Yamcha -- perceived insults, Videl had been fuming. This sad excuse for a martial artist -- so pitiful he had to resort to elaborate deceptions -- was ordering her to leave a crisis in the city she protected. How dare he. Her face coloured scarlet and steam practically pouring from her ears, the prodigal martial artist fumed and decided that, as soon as this jerk shut his big mouth, she was going to tear into him with a vengeance. Yamcha's request ended.
"How dare you suggest I can't help just because I don't use your cheap tricks. I'm the second best martial artist on this planet, after my father, and no man is going to order me anywhere! Do you understand?" Her cutting rant ended, but that didn't mean that Yamcha was given the opportunity to offer a retort. "Besides, whoever that guy was, he's dead. No one survives that sort of impact."
Yamcha had listened enough. Normally very calm and self-possessed, there were few things that angered him; this girl had managed to strike on quite a few of his pet peeves. First off, she was hopelessly arrogant in a way that reminded him of Vegeta. Reminding the former bandit of his failures was always a sure method for getting blasted to Enma's office. Furthermore, she had insulted his martial abilities: something he'd become far more sensitive to since the aftermath of the Cell debacle. Finally, the fact that nothing but ignorance and unwarranted assumptions backed up her claims he found infuriating. That trait was what led to ninety percent of the difficulties in his life and he'd come to despise those who possessed said flaw in their characters. He'd been trying to be reasonable; Vegeta would have just picked her up and hurled the girl a few miles away. Yamcha had had enough. Then the ground exploded violently all around the duo.
Garlic, leg less and missing at least one hand, ascended from the centre of the giant crater he'd created. His limbs already reforming themselves, he released a foreboding cackle. Yamcha grimaced. "Are you hard of hearing, puny mortal? I can't be killed! Yet, even so, your attack caused me considerable discomfort. So I've decided to show you something I was saving for the little runt."
Bolts of lightning crackled all around Garlic as he charged up, summoning the depth of his powers. "This technique took almost a decade to perfect, human. Enjoy." Finally, his power condensed into a ball not unlike Vegeta's false moon, save that the sphere was red -- blood red. "Pseudo Makyo Star." Before anyone could move to stop it, the ball shot straight up into the air and Garlic began to grow larger... much larger.
Yamcha desperately stretched out his senses, hoping to detect one of his friends nearby. Before, Garlic junior had been a joke compared to him. Without his immortality, the little gnome would have died a dozen times in their previous combat, but now... Garlic's power increased a half-dozen times over, dwarfing Yamcha's. This fight had just become serious and, as far as he could tell, the second weakest Z warrior was going it alone.
Then, like a candle in an inferno, the bandit felt a faint energy signature: about as strong as Nappa had been. It was Gohan! For some reason, he hadn't emerged yet, but the demi-Saiyan powerhouse was quite close by -- scarcely two miles away. There was a problem, however. The teen's ki was not concealed, but in its rest state; he was either sleeping or unconscious. Yamcha couldn't spare the attention necessary to seek out his friend from watching Garlic and didn't want to draw the now gargantuan demon away from this currently uninhabited part of the city.
He was about to take the chance and fly towards Gohan when he again noted the pushy young woman who had challenged him. She stared in disbelief, slack-jawed, at the spectacle. Of course! The girl could get Gohan! If he could just word his request so as not to offend her...
"You were right, young lady. I just might need your help after all, but not to fight." Videl simply nodded, mutely.
"You see that building over there." He pointed to Orange Star High School. "There's no way I can do any more than hold this guy off for a few minutes, but in there there's someone who can stop this monster. I need you to find Son Gohan."
With that, Yamcha shot off once again, yelling, "Shin Roga Fufu-ken." A blur of fists and feet, he mercilessly assaulted his foe, breaking the sound barrier with each movement. Momentarily, the battle seemed to turn in his favour, but then an uppercut interrupted the set moves, disrupting his pattern... Then a powerful two foot strike collided with the orange gi clad figure's gut and he went flying into the ground on a twenty degree angle. The resultant trench stretched almost a mile.
With a supreme effort, Yamcha focused his ki to strengthen his vocal chords. "Go!" The scream echoed all across the city, breaking Videl from her reverie.
"Gohan, but how could he help? Oh well, if he wants Gohan, he'll get Gohan. Hmmm... I wonder. Maybe Gohan's the gold fighter. That would certainly explain some things." Anymore thoughts of Videl's would have to wait for later, however, as the daughter of Mr. Satan reached Orange Star High. Quickly, she ascended the stairs, checking her watch out of habit. "Wow! Only two minutes for that distance. That's my best time yet." Then, she pushed those thoughts away as well, focusing on her objective once more. "Gohan'd better not be a heavy sleeper."
* * *
A haze of exhaustion enshrouded Gohan's conscious mind. The half-Saiyan had no difficulty detecting kis, even in his sleep, but the implications of those pieces of information were lost upon him. In many ways, the condition would have reminded the veteran warrior of how his father had described his experiences in the regeneration tank on Namek, had the napping student been aware enough to make such a conclusion.
Unfortunately, Gohan was nowhere near the aforementioned level of analytical thought. Rather, the Son child simply slept through the mini earthquakes that rocked the city. Even throwing a bucket of water on the teen had failed to rouse him. Instead of planning a counter attack, or rushing to his long-time friend's aide, Gohan simply thought dreamily, "Wow, Garlic and Yamcha are sparring. Its good there getting along so well. Last time Garlic junior freed himself from the dead zone, he wasn't very nice."
Random thoughts of past and present flitted across the boy's subconscious. Nothing could have awoken Son Gohan at that moment, save one irresistible power: the voice of his mother. Chi Chi was not available at the moment, however. One Videl Satan was, though, and if her voice lacked the potency of the Son matriarch's declarations, then it at least came darn close: close enough to awaken a sleeping Saiyan and then some.
"Son Gohan! If you don't get up right now, I'm going to kill you!"
Faster than her trained eyes could hope to follow -- to Videl's annoyance -- Gohan sprang up and began desperately bowing and begging for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry mom. I promise I won't ever sleep in again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-" then he noticed who he was bowing to and sweat dropped. "You're not mom, are you."
Videl huffed and glared at him. "No, I'm not."
Gohan rubbed his head sheepishly and hazarded a silly grin. Videl ignored her classmate's antics pointedly. "Normally, I'd ask what that demonstration was about, but right now I've got bigger problems. You see Gohan, there's this little, er, formerly little green creature laying waste to Satan City. Furthermore, the only person who's been able to last against said creature so far specifically requested that I seek you out and I want to know wh-" She stopped abruptly, as she noticed her target had vanished. "Grrrrr... when I find you Son Gohan..." She let the thought trail off, leaving her threat open ended as she considered the many ways she'd heard of to slowly torture and maim. "And then you're going to explain how the hell you just moved so fast."
* * *
Erasa watched the battle unfolding before her in a detached manner. Standing atop the highest remaining building in the two mile radius, the blonde demon gazed indifferently at the titanic conflict. In her opinion, the obliteration of downtown Satan City was inconsequential, as was the maniacal green fool her lord had procured. All that mattered right now was the collection of useful information.
The scarred human who had confronted Garlic was noteworthy. Though the man lacked considerable power, his battle savvy made the most of his ki. Compared to Garlic, the currently smaller warrior was a tactical genius and, furthermore, his actions were instinctual; the mortal obviously possessed a wealth of battle experience.
Charging up his signature attack with one hand, while deflecting a flurry of blows with his ki-charged katana held in the other, the infidel maintained both an offence and defence effectively against a far superior opponent. The orange-clad stranger was singed, burnt in some places and badly bruised, but none of his ligaments were broken or torn off after almost five minutes of single combat. Erasa's respect for the unknown meddler rose another notch as she noticed that he was gazing at her intermittently; not only was he fending off Garlic, but the man remained on guard for other threats as well. Impressive. She would have to report this one. Then her true target arrived.
Like a Grecian deity out of myth, Gohan charged, the golden aura of his Super Saiyan form illuminating even the darkest corners of Satan City. "Enough!" A right hook flashed out faster than any on the battlefield could follow, sending Garlic sprawling.
"All I wanted was a little sleep, but nooooooo. You just had to go and attack the city, didn't you?" The demi-Saiyan punctuated each word with a bone-crushing blow. Through gritted teeth the he finished: "You villains never learn. You might destroy a few buildings or gain a minor victory, but you never win. You. Can't. Win."
Around the teen aged guardian of Satan City the surrounding golden corona began to intensify, lightning crackling at the most intense spots. "You may be immortal Garlic, but let's see how well you hold up in vacuum."
The energy gathered at a single point and formed into an inferno of blue flames. For the first time in a decade, Garlic Junior felt genuine fear. "Masenko Ha!" The artfully engineered beam impacted with its intended target, but did not explode. Rather, the beam began to carry him up, miles beyond the atmosphere, until he reached the void that separated Earth from the planet's neighbouring solar systems. Son Gohan dropped his hands to his sides, breathing slightly harder than before and gradually flew over to his friend. The battle was over.
* * *
Videl Satan watched the news wearing a perpetual scowl. Once again, proof of the golden fighter's identity had eluded her. Doubtless Son Gohan knew the mysterious warrior's identity -- or was perhaps the super hero himself -- but without evidence of his identity, speculation would prove fruitless.
The other fighter -- Yamcha -- was an even greater anomaly. She had never realized he was any kind of serious martial artist -- just a baseball player -- before that night. However, minimal research had uncovered a plethora of martial accomplishments. The perpetual underachiever was a three time Tenachi Budokai finalist who seemed to always have the bad luck of facing one of the tournament's finest in the first round; he had faced two eventual champions and a man who some claimed was Kami-sama in disguise. That speculation was utterly ludicrous of course.
Even so, it became apparent that the master of the Wolf Fang Fist was no pushover. He was a high calibre martial artist who could no doubt make even her father sweat. Yamcha was also -- reportedly -- in attendance during the alien invasion and Cell Games. Perhaps he could give her a full account of the events that took place after the cameras went out. That was if she ever found him again.
The scarred warrior had disappeared in recent years, after a flurry of lawsuits and condemnations. This was the middle-aged man's first appearance for sixteen months; she doubted that he would be seen again anytime soon.
There was one thing she had gathered from the reports of his prowess that confused Videl. Yamcha was listed as one of Earth's most formidable martial arts masters, but nowhere near the top of that list. All accounts agreed -- including one she'd obtained from her father -- that Son Goku, Piccolo Damaio Jr, or even Tien could quite easily carve the weapon user up. Not even they could have caused the extreme damage Yamcha's combat precipitated, without extreme effort, however. Short of atomic weapons, Videl knew of no way to cause such devastation; what she saw were no tricks. That realization left her to ponder another question of equal import: if Yamcha has become formidable enough to destroy a city, what sort of abilities do the other fighters of the Budokais now command?
Perhaps her father had trained intensively to combat these powers, but, if so, she'd seen no evidence of said training. Even if her father was the strongest man on the Earth seven years ago, she doubted that position was still his. Yamcha, the gold fighter and anyone else in possession of comparable powers was a significant threat to the world at large. They could just as easily destroy as defend -- the monster who'd assaulted their city had proved that. Letting the vigilantes run wild would be a critical mistake for a crime fighter of her calibre. They could not be trusted. The news anchors echoed Videl's views.
"A tragedy of epic proportions occurred today, as a result of a battle between super-powered vigilantes. Using what scientists hypothesize were small-scale atomic weapons, the vigilantes -- namely Yamcha, the golden fighter and an unknown, green-skinned figure destroyed more than a half-dozen blocks, costing an estimated one thousand lives. Fortunately, the sector's workers were on their respective lunch breaks, or else the death toll could have been significantly higher. The city has taken drastic measures, calling upon the head scientists of Capsule Corporation and other technological or defence services. The mayor is guaranteeing that the perpetrators will be captured and summarily executed. A reward of two hundred million zeni has been placed upon the heads of the gold fighter and former baseball player, Yamcha. Anyone with information regarding their whereabouts should phone 555-232-" Click. Videl turned the machine off.
One person she knew certainly possessed the requested information. Son Gohan had shown that he could summon the Golden Warrior on a whim and Yamcha had requested that selfsame student by name. Her classmate obviously knew much about the situation which he chose to conceal. Withholding information from the police was a criminal offence.
Videl was an understanding girl , however (at least she thought so), and would, therefore give Gohan one last chance to come clean. After all, he still had to show her how he'd pulled off that disappearing act earlier. Her suspect had missed the rest of the school day as well. Not that missing the afternoon had been uncommon today: half the Orange Star High's student body had left school early to check on loved ones or just leave an area so close to ground zero. Tomorrow Gohan had stated that he would be in attendance during the tryouts for the school's martial arts team. If he was a man of his word -- as she suspected -- her erstwhile acquaintance would follow through with the actions such a statement entailed. Fatum -- the other mysterious newcomer -- had agreed to join Gohan there. The appearance of the focuses of both her current investigations and inquiries was an excellent opportunity to get in some uninterrupted questioning. Even if they managed to evade her during the school day, neither would escape her in the ring. The martial arts was Videl's element. In a place of martial training, none could defeat or escape her. Son Gohan and Fatum Ultori's secrets were as good as hers. One more day.
* * *
Little is known to mortals of the beginning of existence. Some theorized regarding quantum singularities, paradoxes, or even divine intervention. The truth of the matter was even more startling than those hypotheses, however. In truth, not even the gods knew the truth of creation. Though the universes age -- over ten billion years -- was unquestioned, no deity could quite recall his, her, or its creation. In point of fact, the majority of the divine hierarchy could not recall any events before about two billion years ago. Those who could never spoke of their knowledge to any but one another, yet even they failed to discern creation. Even among these select few deities, no memories before the great war were in evidence.
Dende was a rarity among the divine hierarchy. He was a mortal deity. The teenage Namek's memory still measured time in days months and years, while his mind could hardly fathom the thought of a century, let alone millennia. For this reason, Dende had always been somewhat of a joke among the Kamis. The majority of guardians spent aeons in meditation to hone their spiritual prowess preceding their ascension to agelessness at the very least. To these gods -- who had scorned Earth's previous Kami as well -- Dende was no more than an impetuous youngster. The child possessed the power to be the greatest of their number, but no more than that: potential. Most felt that he lacked the dedication to become their equal.
As a result of the doubts of the Divine Council, Dende had thus far been ignored when dealing with matters of consequence. Whenever the Kaios or Kaioshin requested an operative, someone respected and with a wealth of experience was chosen -- not Dende. Even when the Council of Divinities learned of their junior members death, the matter was dismissed. Dende had been a good, if not particularly important god. Earth could get a new Kami. Certainly, the little Namek wouldn't mind being a cloud. Even if the youngest guardian did mind, the matter was of no consequence. That is to say, the matter was of no consequence until the East Kaioshin decided to specifically request the youth for a critical assignment.
"No, no and no!" The purple skinned kaioshin was becoming extremely frustrated with the pompous, otherworldly bureaucracy. "I need Earth's guardian. No other god has the knowledge necessary to complete the mission. What do you mean you don't know where he is!?! Awaiting judgement!?!" Shin ground his teeth together menacingly at the lesser oni functioning as a clerk for the divinities. He was a Kaioshin! These sorts of thing were not supposed to happen to him.
Muttering an oath, the highest surviving deity spun on his heel sharply. He looked up to his long-time advisor sagely. "Kibito, it appears that our friend is currently at Lord Enma's palace. Let's go." He placed a hand on his friends shoulder and the two disappeared.
* * *
Dende hated being a cloud. There was no halfway with the former guardian about that issue. He couldn't access any of his magical abilities -- not even his healing talent -- and no matter how many times he insisted he needed to speak with the Council of Divinities, none of the passing oni would listen. Apparently, they heard similar requests quite often. The afterlife was proving despicable in Dende's eyes and, as far as he could see, his current form was one of the contributing factors leading to his difficulties.
Abruptly, he had two feet once more and was standing on them. For once, Dende even towered over someone. The purple-skinned figure facing the Namekian was almost childlike in appearance. There was, however, a wisdom in the stranger's eyes that belied his infantile aspects.
"Hello. I am the East Kaioshin. If you wish, you may call me Shin, however." There was nothing demeaning in Shin's posture, or speech, but after hearing that declaration, the youthful healer and guardian felt once more like an inconsequential cloud-shape.
AN: Well Dende's back. Garlic's out of the picture; he was not particularly important, save as a means to pushing the plot along. Things look to be reaching a head for Gohan, as foes on all side converge on him. Geez, let's check again. How many people does Gohan have against him now? There's the demons, Satan City, Videl, whatever Shin's come to talk about, Babidi, possibly Fatum, and some other stuff that only I know about. I almost feel sorry for the kid... almost. Anyway, sorry about the length between updates again, but there's not much I can do with school and other such difficulties. If you're wondering about Yamcha, he's going to remain a part -- if not a central part -- of the story, as I quite like the guy and feel the need for Gohan to have an ally who can't solve, or necessarily even help with, all his problems. I find the bandits a pretty neat character, as he's ridiculously powerful, but can't touch any of Earth's other special forces. It causes him to act a bit more cautiously than the others -- some would say more cowardly. As for Gohan's quick victory, what did you think was going to happen? There were very good reasons for prolonging that fight, but the fact is that SSJ Gohan vrs. mini Garlic is not the most intriguing of match-ups. I also wanted to remind people that, yes, the little green man may be pitiful by post-Cell standards, but is more than capable of annihilating a city, or even planetoid. Well, I guess I'm done now, except for the reviewer responses, of course.
Responses to Reviewers:
sir-maggot-freak: Thank you for your support. That's what keeps this story going, among other things.
DarkPower1: Well I'm glad that more than just me feel that this is a neat way to take Gohan. Thanks for the review.
SSJ5Tiger: Can't argue with "brilliantly written," but you'd best stop with all the praise. If I get much more, my head will probably get so big that it will explode. Thanks for the review; I appreciate everyone.
Dreamwraith: I'm write beside you on the too many V/B and T/P fics. I understand the appeal of both pairings, but the same monotonous, cliched plot can only be used so many times before it becomes stale. Our pseudo Dende will eventually be found out, but I can't tell you who will discover his secret. Finally, the short green man is back and will be taking on more significant roles in coming chapters. Thanks for the review.
reader: Well I can't argue about yours being an obscenely long review, but try to shorten it a little bit. After all, if your next review is much longer, it might outdo my chapters (as far as length is concerned). Then again, I can't argue with someone willing to spend so much time critiquing my work and your conclusions are generally valid so... meh. Write as much as you want. The line you pointed out about Videl's feelings is one of my favourites; you'll discover I love misleading readers. I'm all for someone who finds improvements in my writing and the cliched way I portrayed Sharpner was problematic. From now on, I'm going to work harder at him in particular; the guy's tough to portray. Fatum's fun, though he had a minimal role in this chapter. I think he is one character who -- in particular -- will surprise you. I think I used Garlic effectively, despite your misgivings. The little green man was a wonderful tension tightener. He also acted as a method to introduce Yamcha, who will be essential later. Concerning character and villain depth, I feel my "good guys" are generally plenty deep, but a horde of demons proves slightly harder to develop. I have some ideas, however, so don't let that concern you. My villains will have a fair mix of negative and positive characteristics. A hint: one of my favourite characteristics to tweak in villains is a sense of honour, or lack thereof. Finally, you are correct about noone being no one and I'll try to get that right from now on. Thank you for your continuing support.