Tainted Soul
Chapter 7

By Cremrock

A body slept. It was perhaps devoid of spirit, of conscience, possibly a soul as well, though its caretaker didn't dare think of it. Regardless of whether there was still soul there or not, this body slept, and as this body was its caretaker's most sacred charge, his duty, and as it had alwaysbeen his life's work, he cared for it.

"Oh Kami-sama... just where do you find yourself? Please come back to us..." Mr. Popo thought, his dark features tinged with concern. He had occasionally peeped over the edge of the Lookout, but all he had seen was battle, and despite his interest in the outcome, he could be of no help there. It seemed, as though he could be of no help anywhere. He had been furiously thinking of a way to assist, some form of knowledge, anything to counter the vile intrusion that Diamaou had performed, but had come to the determination that such knowledge either did not exist, or that he did not have it.

And so, he had tended to Kami as best he could. The man's expression hadn't changed in the past few hours, but then, Popo reflected, since his mind was so clearly out of his body, there wasn't a whole lot around to inspire a change in his pain-filled, serious expression.

Popo sighed. He knelt down, picked up a nearby flask of water, and lifted Kami's head, hoping to at least pour a few mouthfuls of water down his throat, and in doing so, perhaps make Kami's body a little more comfortable.

Popo finished, and was turning away to put the flask of water on a nearby shelf. As he turned he could have sworn that he had seen Kami's mouth twitch upwards in the slightest hint of a smile. Popo instantly swung around, relief grafted onto his face, but Kami had adopted the same, stern, painful expression as before.

Popo's eyes dropped in despair, and he looked away. "You didn't see him smile... you only want to see him smile, right?"

He continued to tend to Kami; if Son Gohan and his friends needed him for something, they would know where to look.

---

Chipmunks tittered and clambered back into their burrows, birds took flight, and even the plants themselves seemed to shrink away as a massive, battle-torn figure dashed through the wilderness. He ran as fast as he could, not because of fear, but because it was necessary to survival.

Diamaou couldn't remember the last time he had been set running like this. Oh, he had run before, yes. One did not live as long as he had, or rather, as he once had, by fighting while at a considerable disadvantage. He could have taken flight, but he knew from sifting through Piccolo's memories; the memories he had torn from his son's mind, despite the fact that his son was no longer... present; that his foes would be able to follow him, sense his ki, if he flew. He could not allow his next move to be determined. Not yet, at least. He had only afforded as brief a bit of ki as he needed, regenerating his arm upon reaching cover of wilderness, before running again.

"Not that they would follow, as bloody and battered as I left them." Diamaou thought. He was angry, angrier than he had been in a long while, but he took some solace in that thought.

Considerable disadvantage or not, he could not dispute that his plan had become disrupted. He had intended to destroy them all there, once he had separated with Piccolo, and thereby destroying Kami's body as well. However, Neru's appearance had disrupted his plan. The distraction the Nameksei-jin had caused; and his own arrogance, Diamaou ruefully admitted, had resulted in the disruption.

It was no matter. He was the king of demons, and he would merely resort to another plan. Once he was safely away; where he could lick his wounds, rest, and...

An errant tree root disrupted his thoughts as he tripped the momentum of his speed carried him forward, tumbling and rolling in a heap. He finally came to a stop, his head spinning, his back aching, and a few more tiny cuts and scratches appearing on his already battered body.

He turned, snarling, and incinerated the root; and it's corresponding tree; with a ki blast, without thinking. He stared at the charred remains, realizing what he had done, and furrowed his brow, his antennae drooping with the gesture.

"Idiot. Next time, be more careful."

Diamaou blinked, his eyes widening in surprise at this thought; not because he had called himself an idiot; far from that, but because he could have sworn that the thought was different; that the thought was not his own.

"Who said that?" Diamaou thought, quite illogically, but whether the thought had been of his own volition, or had been the thought of someone else, there was no way to tell. The voice, imaginary or not, was silent.

"I must be imagining things..." Diamaou thought. Cursing, he stood up and continued his running. He knew where he was going, as a wry, evil, anticipating smile spread over his visage. He changed direction and began running north, over hills and a more elevated slope.

There was nothing of interest in that direction, save a house in the mountains; a house that just happened to belong to a woman, if Piccolo's memories were to be trusted. Diamaou had no time to deal with humans, but he would make an exception with this one, for nothing more than the fact that this one just happened to be Son Goku's wife.

---

Chi-chi loomed over the table in the middle of the family kitchen, scrutinizing it for the tiniest flaw, be it chip, crack, scratch, or microscopic speck of dirt. Had the table been alive, it would likely have been intimidated by the woman's glare; a glare so sharp that it was laser- like in its intensity... but it was just a wooden table. And so, its only response to the glare possessed by this woman looming over it, was simple, and dictated by science and nature. The table displayed this woman's reflection on its newly polished surface.

A smile warmed over her stern glare, and she halted her scrutiny of the table and looked up. Dusting the entire home from top to bottom was not a task she relished, but she knew it wouldn't do to have her husband returning home to a dusty house. It didn't once cross her mind that the Saiya-jin wouldn't care, but the dusting served another purpose.

It took her mind off of him. She turned around and opened a window, gazing at the beautiful mountain landscape, hoping to take her mind off of her husband. What she saw made her think of Son Gohan instead, as the Haiyaa Dragon toddled around outside. The dragon had become quite rambunctious and mischievous once Son Gohan had left, and after Chi-chi had inspected the dragon's wound to ensure it was healing nicely, she had had no choice but to send the dragon outside. Even after being turned away, it had stayed around the house; the dragon apparently knew that Son Gohan would be returning for it at some point, and the dragon had discovered plenty of things to eat

Chi-Chi sighed again and furrowed her brow as a thought occurred to her...

"Can we keep him as a pet mom?"

She shook her head at the thought. Gohan was more intelligent than that, but she had to admit that that question would be a possibility when her child returned home. Speaking of which, where had Gohan been? She hadn't thought that he would be out for this long without checking in... but then, nothing that her son did surprised her anymore. She'd never admit it to his face, but she knew that he usually had a good reason for being away.

A sudden screech jolted her from her thoughts, as she looked up and saw the dragon staring at her. She eyed it quizzically, not understanding the creature's intent.

"I'm certainly not going to play with you! Unlike you, I was doing some work today!" She shouted at the creature, which continued to gaze at her. It screeched again, and Chi-Chi continued to admonish it, glaring directly into those soft, liquid eyes. It was only then that she noticed the angle of the creature's head; tilted slightly sideways, and then, it hit her.

The creature wasn't looking straight at her; the creature was looking behind her. In the past few minutes, while she had been lost in her thoughts, her neatly polished table had acquired another reflection. She moved to turn around, but before she could even begin, she felt something slam into her left shoulder; something razor sharp and impossibly fast. She shrieked in pain, but Chi-Chi was a strong woman; and the pain, terrible as it was, did not render her into submission, nor did it defeat her. She spun around, her good arm raised and swinging through the air, a brutal backhand that would have surely crushed the skull of any normal man, any would-be burglar. But instead of meeting with her adversaries' temple, her arm met only with the vise-like grip of a green hand now covered in blood. As surely as that, she was defeated. She didn't even see the blow, much less feel it, as the hand released her arm and slammed into her forehead with impossible force, knocking her out cold.

It was a good thing that she was no longer in the realm of conscious thought, as she would have been disappointed indeed to see that her table no longer held the luster it had held before.

Human blood could do that to a table.

---

The Haiyaa dragon bellowed in protest, squealed in warning, in surprise, and in fear, but even then, it had been too late. The little creature would have liked to have screamed before, but it's instincts, and of course, that bone-chilling curtain of fear; held the creature back. Now it was too late.

It had not seen what had happened to the woman as she had slumped out of view. All it saw were those cold eyes and their grim tidings. Tidings which bore the promise of death. Slowly, as if to savor the moment, the green-skinned being raised it's hand, a tiny grin spreading over it's face.

The dragon turned and ran, the painful memory of it's earlier wounds spurring it onward, adrenaline snapping the pall of fear that had held it. There was no way that it would make it in time...

---

Diamaou hesitated as the creature scurried off into some bushes, it's purple tail and backside waggling furiously. He blinked, wondering why his concentration had lapsed, why he had not simply incinerated the creature. He briefly considered chasing after it, before letting it go. He didn't want to admit that he had hesitated, so he quelled that notion with the realization that he could not afford to blast the dragon and risk detection.

"I have everything I need right here...The dragon can lure the boy here, if need be..."

His expression returned to that vilest of grins, darker than the darkest shadow. His plan was coming to fruition, and this woman was the latest piece of the puzzle.

---

Somewhere, entrapped deep within the furthest regions of his conscious, a vision flashed. Was it his own, or someone else's? Was he even alive? He didn't know. Come to think of it, he didn't even know; truly, who he was. He could feel, yet he somehow knew he was not conscious. Perhaps that was a good thing; for reasons as yet unknown to him, his body was wracked with pain, with injury. Pain so intense that it transcended into the unconsciousness.

And yet, despite the fact that he was unconscious, he was aware. He could see, but only through a haze, as if someone had thrown a darkened shawl across his vision. A woman came into his view; or rather, the back of a woman. She too, was without hue, yet the unconscious being sensed that she was somehow... familiar, as if he had known her before. More than familiar, the being felt that she was important to him. He could only watch, sense, as this woman turned around with a start, before something; blurred and impossibly fast; slammed into her forehead. The woman crumpled to the floor, and despite his familiarity, the being felt no sympathy, no remorse. Instead, he felt only fear. Not fear for the woman's well being; he had not yet pieced together why this woman was familiar to him, so why be concerned?

No, the fear he felt sent a deep revulsion through his entire being, as the reflection of the woman's attacker came into view in the window. Colors were impossible to distinguish, but he recognized that evil smile, that hairless brow, and those finely pointed ears. He wanted to scream, wanted to move, to turn this reflection away, but he could not. Fortunately, the reflection soon faded away, as he noted that the women was being lifted up in arms that were not his, yet the angle of the view suggested that they were. They were not his arms, it was not his reflection in the window, but regardless it pierced him to his very core. He did not want to meet the owner of that reflection.

And yet he knew that something important was being revealed to his very eyes, as his vision shifted again; shifted to an entrance; to a cave. He thought he knew where the cave was, but words did not come to him.

He would have liked to see what was inside the cave, to see where, or what this woman was being taken to, when the vision faded.

He was awakening; and awakening was terrible. He did not want to face the conscious world, not yet, not ever... but pain told him he had no choice; like it or not, something was waking him up. And as he awakened, he became more sensitive to pain again.

He thought he heard someone calling out as the last vestiges of his sensibility began to return...

"Piccolo-san? Please wake up!"

Piccolo? Was that his name? He wished to stay unconscious, to learn more... It was only while unconscious that the bonds holding him had any hope of weakening...

But then he awoke. To a world where pain and fear banished him.

---

Few things can diminish rational thought more than pain; be it mental or physical. Such did Son Gohan discover when Piccolo jolted from the gurney with a start, howling and babbling non-sensibly.

Neru felt almost sorry for the child as he grasped Piccolo's arm, trying to calm the other Nameksei-jin down. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be here, even as Son Gohan stammered, "Piccolo-san, you're safe! It's all right!"

"Here" Was a large building marked "Capsule Corporation", if the bald- headed man he knew as Kuririn was to be trusted. The immediate surroundings consisted of a nondescript, rectangular room with white walls, arguably the only pure and unstained thing in the room: All the living beings inside the room were stained with something, or so Neru thought.

Neru knew he was stained with guilt, though he didn't want to admit it; being here was a portion of that guilt, contributed to it. But he had had nowhere else to go at the time, on a planet with a people mostly foreign to him. The child Gohan, was stained physically, his face lined with tears as he continued trying to reason with his mentor, and Piccolo... Neru didn't know what Piccolo was stained with, only in that he couldn't decide on a particular thing. Pain, fear regret, sadness, sorrow, or insanity, Piccolo seemed to be displaying all of those emotions, and more right now.

Of Piccolo, Neru only knew that things had not been according to plan; not according to his plan at all. He wondered if admitting to his plan would resolve the guilt he felt, or intensify it, but now was most decidedly not the time for a question and answer session.

There was a single entrance, a steel door that was currently closed, but Neru guessed that within moments, someone would come barging through it. He knew that Earthling hearing was not as sensitive as his, but by the pure decibels of sound that were assaulting his sensitive hearing, even a dead man would be able to hear Piccolo, screaming and ranting.

His suspicions were answered a minute later when Kuririn and Bulma burst into the room, followed by a small, spherical robot with a red cross emblazoned on its side. The robot wasted no time, as a tiny slot opened and a metal arm shot out, holding a syringe. Unfortunately, by now, Piccolo had started thrashing in his throes of pain, and as Kuririn dashed forward to help Gohan and Neru hold the burly Nameksei-jin warrior down, Piccolo's flailing leg smashed the syringe into tiny pieces.

The spherical robot, undaunted, soon procured another syringe, this time connecting with the Nameksei-jin's leg, depressing the plunger and injecting Piccolo with a powerful sedative. Unfortunately, the sedative had no effect, but the slight pain of the needle only increased the fear, the pain in Piccolo's eyes, as an involuntary shudder ran through his body.

The woman, Bulma, looked at the three men, and then ran off again, presumably to find more help, or something. Whatever she was going for, Neru did not know. Gohan and Kuririn continued to try to reason with Piccolo, and the robot hovered silently in the air, it's Artificial Intelligence processing wildly in an effort to figure out why the sedative had not worked. It had never considered the fact that its patient might not be human; it was not programmed to do so.

"Piccolo-san, please..." Gohan reasoned, but Piccolo gave no indication of having heard, uncomprehending in his panic. Kuririn looked at Neru helplessly. Not for the first time, Neru felt a pang of guilt. The guilt only increased as he did the only thing he could think of; rearing back and slapping Piccolo hard across the face.

Immediately after that slap, Piccolo stopped screaming, staring at Neru with the same pain-filled gaze he had displayed before, but Neru felt he saw something else in those eyes... recognition?

Piccolo pushed at Neru and began thrashing again while babbling nonsensically, but with one clear phrase, almost a gasp. Had they not been the only intelligible words in his rapid stream of gibberish, Gohan and Kuririn wouldn't have been able to make it out.

The intent of Piccolo's two intelligble words was clear though, as he screamed, "STAY AWAY!" At the top of his lungs, before thrashing even more wildly. Gohan stared pleadingly at Neru, and the older Nameksei-jin took the hint, turning away and exiting the room.

It was a good thing too, as despite his stern expression during much of the previous ordeal, Neru had felt a tear welling up in his eye. When he was out of the room, he stared at the ground, his antennae drooping with the rest of his once firm visage. Tears were unbecoming of a warrior such as he, but as a single drop of moisture rolled down his cheekbone, he knew that it was not merely a tear of sorrow, but a tear of frustration as well.

Things were not supposed to be this way.

He still did not know much about the earthlings, but he had gleaned some insight from looking into Piccolo's thoughts. Neru knew that, with the situation as it was, he was going to have to explain to Son Gohan and the others what he had done.

He only prayed that he would be able to undo his mistake, before it was too late, as he clenched his fists in frustration.

Diamaou was his mistake. No matter the cost, he knew that one way or the other, Diamaou had to die.

And yet, in that affirmation of the death that Neru swore he would have a hand in dealing, another disturbing notion crossed his mind.

Wasn't he supposed to be dead? In fusing with Piccolo, he had cheated death in a traditional sense, but had traded one form of death for another. At the time he had likened it to giving his life for a noble cause, but now...

He unclenched his fists, stared at his palms, solid, alive... and free. He wished he was outside, wished he could gaze at the calm tranquillity of the open sky, foreign it may have been.

He recalled Piccolo's tortured screams, Diamaou's vile laugh, and shuddered. He was free, yes.

But was it worth the cost? He had wanted to defuse from Piccolo with every fiber of his being, even if it meant his death, but that had previously been impossible. He knew in his heart that Piccolo was not at fault. Neru had made the decision to fuse with the great warrior, with full knowledge of the price he had to pay. And yet, when he had been offered life through twisted, evil means, he had taken it and had unleashed a great evil upon an innocent planet and people. All because he had wanted to live again. With his noble heart, this was one time the ends did not justify the means.

He had overestimated his fighting skills, had not considered that Diamaou might be stronger than he had let on, and perhaps that Neru's own body, so finely tuned for combat, would be weaker than anticipated..

He clenched and unclenched his hand again, this time staring at the lines on his palms, the slender fingers, and the Nameksei-jin nails. He certainly felt stronger than he ever had, but he knew he wasn't as strong as he had estimated, perhaps by a wide margin. Had Diamaou taken more of Piccolo's fighting acumen than he had thought? The demon had already surprised Neru by having strong fighting skills of his own...

A sharp yelp that Neru recognized as Piccolo's came from down the hall, and another thought came to Neru. A third possibility for the absence of power that he had not yet considered.

He would have to think on this, think about Piccolo. Think about the power.

All the while, he wondered what the Saichoro would have thought of him.

"Am I really that different from Diamaou?" Neru mused...

He closed his eyelids in reflection for a moment, but he was wearier than he had thought, as if his guilt was somehow weighing on him, and a moment later, he was fast asleep.

Even in the land of the dreamers, he doubted he would find peace.

---

As soon as Neru had left the room, Piccolo had calmed noticeably. Now, his antennae were waving back and forth rapidly, synchronous with the rapid movements of his head, as he kept staring wide-eyed at Bulma, Kuririn, and Gohan, as if expecting them to do something to him.

Or perhaps, Kuririn mused, turn into something. He made a note to ask Neru about what was going on, but right now, he had another problem to solve. Tenshinhan and Yamucha were in another, separate room of the capsule corporation, very much alive, but very much out of the fight. Kuririn hadn't noticed it during the battle, but the pouch of Senzu he had been carrying had been torn open, and the Senzu lost to the wild.

As a result, their little group had been reduced to 4... And that was if he counted Piccolo and Neru as part of the group. He glanced at Bulma, and knew that if his thoughts were spoken aloud, she would demand to be considered part of the group. Kuririn would have been happy to accommodate her, but the mantle of leadership was on his shoulders, and he had to consider exactly who and what they had to oppose Diamaou on the field of battle. Bulma was a trusted friend, and an asset. But if she was all that would be left to oppose Diamaou, it was time to kiss the world goodbye, unless she happened to contact Son Goku or, dare he think it, Vegeta.

Kuririn began to wonder if he should have left his friends behind and gone after Diamaou in hopes of finishing the demon before he recovered. Now it was up to him to come up with a plan.

"And not for the first time, either..."

He already felt trepidation about the decisions he would have to make; on Nameksei he had had the luxury of knowing that Son Goku was coming, and in that luxury, know that he only had to keep everything afloat, so to speak, until then. Now though, he wasn't quite sure what to expect; he didn't just have to keep everyone alive, he had to figure out how to stop Diamaou in the process.

"Of course, after Freezer and Vegeta, how difficult can this be?" Kuririn couldn't help wondering if his thoughts were nothing more then famous last words.

He motioned to Bulma and Gohan; Piccolo's eyes also followed the motion of his hand, but they recoiled, as if Piccolo expected to be struck. Thankfully, the Nameksei-jin remained quiet. Kuririn doubted that he would have been able to tear Gohan away from his side if anything else were the case.

"C'mon guys... Piccolo needs to rest for a bit, and we need to figure out what we're going to do about Diamaou. Let's go find Neru and try and figure out what's going on, okay?"

Bulma began to move towards the door, but...

Gohan glanced at Kuririn, pleading for a few more minutes. It was time that Kuririn knew they might not have. Fortunately, Kuririn had a card to play, as he stared into the child's eyes, inhaling deeply, and then staring at Piccolo and letting it out. If he pulled this off, he wouldn't have to be a complete jerk.

"Gohan, Piccolo's safer now than he was before... But the only way we're going to be able to help him is to find some answers, and if we know one thing, we know that Diamaou's not just our enemy; he might also be the person who holds those answers, okay?"

Gohan stared at Piccolo, clearly torn. He clutched Piccolo's right hand, and amazingly, the Nameksei-jin didn't seem to flinch, or at least, he didn't respond in a negative manner. Kuririn hadn't received an answer yet, but Gohan's body language was telling him that he clearly wanted to stay with Piccolo longer.

Fortunately, Kuririn had one more card to play.

"Gohan, let's go. Piccolo wouldn't want you standing here over him; he'd want you to fight."

Gohan looked from Kuririn, to Piccolo, his face masked in concern, but Kuririn could tell that the child was pondering his words. Kuririn turned and walked outside of the room without a sound, and Gohan knew that the former monk was disappointed.

Gohan attempted to rationalize what he wanted to do, because he knew that, "Piccolo would do the same for me..." But then, was he respecting his master's wishes and ideals by remaining with Piccolo? Gohan stared at Piccolo and his clothing, taking a long look up and down. Despite the split, the Nameksei-jin had retained his purple gi and his flowing white cape; though the turban had been lost somewhere in the shuffle of Piccolo's flailing limbs and screams.

Absently, he stared down at his own clothing, so different, but lovingly crafted at an earlier time. Gohan remembered when he had made the clothing himself; each stitch, each outlandish strip of clothing. At the time, Gohan had felt that by wearing the same clothes as the Nameksei-jin, he would become more like him. The reflection made him think harder, as he glanced at Piccolo again, and he found himself asking the question, "What would Piccolo really do?"

Gohan forced himself to lock his gaze on the sight he least wanted to see: Piccolo's eyes, which were widely staring at him. Were the eyes judging him, somewhere beneath the pall of fear? Was Piccolo even Piccolo anymore, or just a shell?

There was only one way to find out, only one way to help.

Quietly, silently, and without a single tear, Son Gohan made his decision. Piccolo would have wanted it that way. He started towards the door, and then turned to glance at Piccolo again. Piccolo might not have wanted him to look back, but as he stared at his sensei one last time, his despair, his sadness, and his concern at the Namek's present condition were banished for the moment, replaced by determination.

"I'll make you better, Piccolo-san..." He whispered, and with that he made his vow. It was, perhaps, a gruesome vow, far to macabre for a child; but then again, maybe it was the vow of a boy that was mature beyond his years; a boy that had taken his first step towards emulating his master. One way or the other, he would find answers. And one way or the other, Diamaou, the monster that had taken the form of his master and had ripped Piccolo asunder, would die.

---

Kuririn wasn't surprised to see Gohan stepping out of the room, but Gohan was certainly surprised to see Kuririn leaning against the wall, his stern expression gone, and a faint smile on his face.

Despite the seriousness of the vow Gohan had just made, he was still a child in many ways, and though he wondered if he had disappointed Kuririn, the "I knew you'd come" look in older man's eyes told Gohan all that he needed to know. For the first time in the past few hours Gohan allowed himself a smile, and the two warriors nodded to each other before racing down the hallway.

--- As Neru looked around, he knew immediately that he was dreaming. What else could this be...? This blackened void? He was surrounded by darkness, and floating on air, though he had no sensation that he was expelling or floating on ki.

He should have been afraid, but instead he felt oddly peaceful. Was this death? Or rather, what death felt like? He felt a faint breeze across his brow, as his antennae wafted slightly in the movement of the air, though there were obviously no trees; or at least, none that he could see. A moment after that he was engulfed in a blast of light, so bright that he reflexively shut his eyes. They snapped open a second later, and what he saw made him gasp in surprise and nearly lose his balance.

A bright green sky, three suns, and many strange, thin trees were around him. To any other race, this world would have appeared alien, but to Neru, these surroundings were the most beautiful thing he had seen in all his years. He was on Nameksei. He was home.

Neru collapsed into the tall grass, feeling it waft slightly in a cool breeze, as it tickled the portions of him that were unclothed. He knew it was a dream, and he didn't care. That was when he felt, or rather didn't feel, the grass tickling his skin. He craned his neck around for a glance at the ground, and realized that he was slowly floating, rising up from the ground. He sat up, floating on air, and wondered what the hell was happening, moments before he was pulled hard by some invisible force, as he soared across the landscape. Gritting his teeth, he managed to right himself in a position more ideal for flying, although he knew that he wasn't going to be able to change his direction.

He was at the mercy of whatever force had him, unable to break free. He continued to soar around the landscape, and Neru knew that he had gone halfway around the planet when, as abruptly as he had started, he stopped.

Slowly, he floated down to the ground; whatever force had held him and drawn him here had gone. He gazed around, trying to discern his surroundings. Underneath his feet was a large cliff overlooking a valley. He was about to leap down the cliff when he noticed two figures in the valley, and his keen hearing picked up voices, so faint and distant that he couldn't yet make out who the voices belonged to; or the words themselves. Curious, he scrambled down the cliff and moved in for a closer look.

Neru wasn't surprised to know that he recognized the first figure. This was, after all, a dream, and all dreams had the potential to turn into nightmares. The first figure he recognized as nightmare incarnate. The first figure had a cocky, confidence filled smile, two horns, three toed feet, a long tail, and a diminutive stature that belied the true power he possessed. The first figure was Freezer.

But the second figure was the exact opposite; tall, stern, disciplined, and seemingly confident as well. Neru knew that the confidence this figure possessed was a façade; a trick, because the second figure that he viewed... was himself. He and Freezer were exchanging words that Neru remembered well; the words they had exchanged during his brave, albeit suicidal, effort to buy Dende and the Earthlings time to summon Porunga with the Nameksei-jin Dragonballs.

His sacrifice, and at the time he had thought it would be the only one he would be making, merely because that sacrifice would entail his death. As he, or the representation of himself in this dream sprung into battle, Neru was forced to admire the sheer perfection of his movements. At the time he had been less than satisfied with the results, as Freezer had stood, accepting his blows with that same damnable smile, but now that he was removed from the fight, he knew that he had fought as hard as he possibly could; his blows would have affected almost anyone else.

Just the same, he couldn't help but involuntarily flinch as he watched Freezer tear off his arm. At the time, there had been nothing he could do about it except try to keep breathing, ignore Freezer's bantering, and regenerate his arm, continue to buy himself time. He had known at that point that he didn't stand a chance. He had made his peace, he had his duty, his purpose, and nothing would make him deviate from it.

Of course, the anger and rage he felt helped too, as he watched himself release all the energy he had in a massive strike. He had been hoping to catch the tyrant off guard, but he only winced as Freezer caught him off guard, appearing right in front of him and casually driving his fist back into Neru's face; shattering the bones surrounding his left eye; or worse. At the time, he hadn't really been able to tell; all he knew was that it hurt more than anything he had ever encountered (though the arm being torn off was a close second), and that he was completely blind in his left eye.

Freezer stood over him, intent on dealing a final blow while still wearing that smirk, and that, Neru remembered, was when he had made his first mistake. Given that he was still sworn to protect the Saichoro it had seemed like a good idea at the time... But that was when he told Freezer that his plans were ruined, and that the wishes of the earthlings were well on their way to being made.

The look on the alien's face was worth the risk, and despite his new role of bystander, he chuckled to himself as the Neru in his dream told Freezer the news. A moment later, the alien blasted off, leaving him to die a slow death.

Neru recalled thinking about his sacrifice, but he also remembered that he primarily made it a challenge to his spirit; he wanted to see just how long he could stay alive. If he got lucky, perhaps help would arrive and he would pull through, but if not; he was comfortable with his sacrifice.

That had been when he had sensed the massive ki's on the other side of the planet, including the one most recognizable to him; Freezer's. He hadn't cared then how powerless he had been only minutes before, he had only wanted to help, to provide assistance. He had wondered how Dende was doing, and how the Saichoro was doing... And that was when he came.

Piccolo stood over his body, regarding him with a steely glare, and Neru remembered how impressed he had been by the sheer power he could sense in Piccolo. He had been considered the most powerful Nameksei-jin on the planet in terms of fighting ability, and this one completely blew him away, if his senses were to be trusted. The prideful part of him hoped that he was delusional, because the gulf in power was so wide.

This, Neru knew, was when he had made his sacrifice. He hadn't know what fusing with another Nameksei-jin would be like, would feel like, but he knew from the legends, from the stories of elders that had fused with other Nameksei-jin, that it would greatly enhance their power. All Neru didn't know was what would come after the fusion; would he cease to exist? Would he reside in an afterlife like any other being? Would he still be conscious, still be aware, would he have any control?

With time, the answers had come to him. Piccolo had seemed as uncomfortable with the arrangement as he was, but the two had tolerated each other... For Piccolo it was a boost to his power, but for Neru, it had eventually become his own personal hell.

Piccolo had been an amusing fellow to converse with; and though he had been able to do that with his new counterpart, the fusion had afforded him precious little aside from that. He could think, but not speak; could not express himself to anyone except Piccolo, and even that was difficult. He could feel if he allowed himself to, but it was only what Piccolo was feeling, be it pain, a cool breeze, or the delicate petals of a flower. (He hadn't really ever had the opportunity to do that again. Piccolo preferred to admire nature instead of fondle it.) He could see, but once again, it was only what Piccolo was seeing; he could not move.

At first, it had not been so bad. He could always retreat somewhere in Piccolo's consciousness, opting to surround himself with darkness instead of sensing what Piccolo was sensing. The Nameksei-jin had so many intriguing memories that Neru had never thought possible; knowledge about the wilderness on planet Earth, memories of his childhood, and the like. In a way, it was like reading a biography, but a biography that was far more interactive than any other.

But that adventure wore off quickly, and gradually he became more and more depressed. It had really begun when his people had left the Earth and gone to their new home. He often tortured himself with the thoughts; he wanted to be with his people, to help them with the challenge of living on a new planet, to protect them from whatever dangers lie there.

He didn't mind helping Piccolo, and he would have gladly assisted these Earthlings in battle if they needed him, but his sense of duty, his sense of loyalty, and the honor he had intended to keep when he had made his sacrifice began to wane. He voiced these concerns to Piccolo, but Piccolo hadn't quite understood the depths to which Neru had fallen; after all, he was the one in control. He also didn't know of any way to release Neru, even if he had wanted to. Neru knew he shouldn't fault Piccolo for that, and he truly didn't, but...

That was when his real desire to find a way to become himself again, even if it meant his death. He had been dreaming; one of the few freedoms still available to him, and also untouchable by Piccolo. In his dreams, he had been experiencing wonderful, placid visions of being free, living on Nameksei, experiencing old memories, and the like.

That was when he appeared. Neru remembered the dream quite clearly. He wasn't really sure if the clear remembrance of the dream was a side affect of being fused with Piccolo, or something Diamaou had done, but... he remembered the dream vividly.

He had been dreaming about training, and had thus decided to train as hard as he could before the dream ended. He had been warming up, throwing a variety of kicks and punches into whatever inanimate objects his dream provided, when the shadow appeared directly behind him. He had turned around, but no one had been there; only the tall, dark, deepening shadow on the ground in front of him. It wasn't his shadow, that much Neru knew, but he was perplexed.

He was about to discount it as an oddity in his dream when he heard the voice, also directly in front of him. He remembered that it sounded distant, as if it wasn't quite there, more like a hiss than a voice, but Neru could make out the words well enough.

"Who... are you?"

Neru didn't really have any idea what was going on, but he figured that it was still just an aspect of his dream.

"You may call me Neru." He replied, and at that the top of the shadow shifted, as if its owner was tilting their head in curiosity.

"Neru, eh...? So you're the reason I'm here... I did not think that there were any other demons beside myself and, well, the one you currently inhabit. But it is no matter."

Now Neru himself was confused, but at least he had Piccolo's memories as a frame of reference. Piccolo had considered himself a demon as well. Still did, if Neru was correct. Demon, alien, it didn't matter. On Earth, he was just as likely to be considered one as he would the other.

"Demons? What are you talking about, and why are you here?"

The shadow chuckled, if the voice indeed belonged to the shadow.

"I am a friend, Neru... A friend who has come to help you... and in doing so, help myself. I have come to help you escape this imprisonment and punish the man who did this to you... for he has wronged me, as well."

Neru didn't want to admit it, but he was intrigued... Even though this shadow was obviously guessing at the facts. He was right about the imprisonment, at least, but he made it sound like a malicious, vicious thing, clearly having no idea that Neru had volunteered to fuse with Piccolo. He was about to respond when he noticed the shadow drifting away, the voice fading as it spoke some final words.

"I must leave now... the time allowed to me is short, but... think about it."

The shadow vanished from view, and Neru frowned while pondering the shadow's words. What did it matter? It was only a stupid dream, and now that the voice was gone, he should get back to training. It was the one thing that kept his mind off his current state of affairs.

The dream ended... but Neru found that the thoughts of freedom, of this mysterious figure did not. He knew it was stupid, illogical, and was probably just a dream, but Neru could not deny that the shadow had tantalized him with the prospect of freedom.

Three days later, Neru dreamed again. In the dream, he had been again preparing for training exercises, but this time, the landscape was radically different. Fissures were all around him, the land seemed volcanic, and the blue hue of the original sky had been replaced with a deep, foreboding red.

"I see you've come back."

Neru spun around, expecting to be accosted by the same shadow as before, but this time, things had changed. The shadow was not merely a shadow anymore, but the ghostly, transparent outline of a man; a Nameksei-jin, as tall as he. As a matter of fact, if not for the... harshness of this man's gaze, he could have passed for Piccolo himself. He began to speak, but his voice was not so much a hiss this time; it had solidarity, it was stronger, and it wasn't as distant.

"My brother, I must thank you for thinking of me." Neru's antennae shot up in surprise. This was too much of a coincidence to be a dream, but he kept his wits about him, determined to be the one asking questions, taking the offensive in this conversation.

"Thinking of you? What do you mean? And why didn't you show yourself before?" Neru growled. Something about this man's eyes unnerved him, and he involuntarily shifted into a fighting posture. He could not fight a shadow, but this, this was something he felt he could, even if it did look like a ghost.

The shadow raised it's transparent arms as if to push Neru away, outstretching them as if to show he had no hostile intent.

"Peace brother... I am not here to fight with you. I intend to fight on an entirely different plane of existence..." His voice trailed off, but at this point it didn't matter. Neru was glad to interrupt and cut the figure off at this point.

"I'm not your brother. Now answer my questions, leave, or prepare to fight." It was an idle threat, but Neru banked on the shadow not knowing just what kind of person he was. After all, he had talked of punishing Piccolo. The shadow shuddered, his face hardening a moment, as if he was not one used to being defied.

"Watch your tongue, Neru. You trifle with one not to be trifled with." Neru stiffened in surprise before relaxing, confident that he could defeat the spectre... But it became unnecessary, as the figure's tone softened. Still cold, but without the malice it had previously contained a moment ago. "What I mean, Neru, is that by thinking of me you have given me a way in, you have given me substance where there was none. Do you not see me as I am now? Where I was once a mere shadow, now you can see my form. I have this because of you, and it is with your loyalty, your assistance, that we may both re-join the living... you will be free... as would I, and in the process, our dreams will be... complete."

Neru was perplexed, but also interested... He trusted this mysterious man about as far as he would have trusted Freezer, but once again the lure of freedom tempted him. He was more than interested... now, he was curious.

"Assuming I'd want to help you, what do you want me to do?"

The figure smiled, before adopting a stance quite similar to the one Neru currently possessed.

"All you have to do right now... is spar with me. Interact with me... Strengthen my hold on this plane of existence."

"Plane of existence? Were you banished somewhere?"

The figure shrugged his shoulders.

"You could say that..."

Their conversation ended that day, as the figure launched himself at Neru, and Neru found himself on the defensive briefly, before exchanging blow after blow with the figure. To his surprise, despite his transparency, the figure was quite solid, and proved to be a worthy sparring partner, at least in terms of skill.

The two sparred within every dream Neru had from that point on, and as the dreams continued, Neru noticed two things. One, that the figure was growing steadily stronger and much more solid than before; every aspect of him. His features, his voice, and his demeanor. Two, the landscape continued to become cracked and even more barren and damaged than before. Sometimes, even as they were fighting, more pieces were destroyed, until the landscape seemed little more than a large expanse of floating rock islands in a void.

Finally, after two weeks, the figure abruptly stopped Neru in the middle of a sparring session. He held up two hands, as if to yield, but his face was not the face of a man surrendered. Instead, his face was masked by a grin of triumph. Neru quirked an antennae, but as he was about to question the figure's hesitance, the figure burst into laughter, falling to his knees, overcome by the sheer mirth.

"At long last, I've done it! I'm back, back to punish my son, and the one who did this to me! To wrench the life out of Kami's wretched planet!"

Neru was stunned. He had wanted his freedom, and had planned to stop this man from punishing Piccolo when they were free; not that he thought Piccolo would have needed the assistance, if his sparring sessions were any indication. Still, if what this man was screaming in joy was true, he considered the fact that he may've made a mistake. He swore then and there that this man would not be alive for long, but...

Neru was interrupted from his thoughts, as he realized that the man had stopped laughing at him and was glaring at him. The man, fully solid now, and still grinning ear to ear, beckoned across the tattered landscape with one long arm.

"Come, Neru. We still have much to do... we must find Piccolo, first and foremost. It will all begin with him. He's out here, somewhere, unaware of my presence. With your assistance, we can defeat whatever barriers he has and infiltrate his subconscious. Then, and only then, will it begin..."

Neru glowered, wondering if he should attempt to defeat this man now... But that would be the end of his chance at freedom. Whatever he did, he had to decide quickly... And his wish for freedom won out.

He had become far weaker in the past months, far weaker indeed.

"I don't even know your name."

"I'd ask you to call me Piccolo... But that will get confusing. Call me Diamaou."

"Diamaou..." Neru breathed. Demon, if he was correct.

Diamaou flexed his arms, stretched, and then blasted off across the landscape. A split-second later, Neru, still feeling uncomfortable with the recent events, but determined to get his freedom, blasted off after him.

It began.

---

From then, Neru stood and watched the landscape change and become even more tattered from within the confines of Piccolo's mind. Diamaou had begun his work. From his vantage point of seeing what Piccolo saw and felt, he could tell that the Nameksei-jin was becoming more and more erratic and unstable as Diamaou infested his subconscious, subjecting him to awful dreams that usually involved harming Son Gohan.

Through them, Diamaou poisoned Piccolo's mind, body, and spirit, and it showed in the only representative of Piccolo his subconscious contained; tied to a stake, and looking more beaten, more bloody, and more battered with every dream Diamaou bestowed upon his son. Occasionally, when Diamaou was distracted, he tried to aid Piccolo's form, but the Nameksei-jin was too deluded, too deranged, to see Neru as a friend. Given the fight he and Diamaou had had to restrain him, Neru didn't blame Piccolo in the least.

With every passing moment, he felt the pangs of guilt at what he was doing to Piccolo, but he was in too deeply now; there was no turning back. He could only hope that defeating Diamaou would undo the damage to the Nameksei-jin's mind. Through it all, he feigned loyalty to Diamaou, and whether distracted by his eminent triumph, or whether he didn't perceive Neru as a threat, the fiend did not notice.

Then the most shocking moment came, and Neru was forced to acknowledge the price he was paying for his own freedom. It burned at him, annoyed him, damaged his self-image and his confidence, but gave him one resolve that almost overwhelmed his desire to be free; Diamaou had to die.

It occurred shortly after Diamaou had lectured Neru about how close they both were, babbling some kind of nonsense about nearly taking over Piccolo's body; not just his subconscious, for good. Diamaou had hinted at something arriving, a new enemy for them to fight, but Neru had no idea what he was talking about... Until the both sensed the presence. It differed so from Diamaou and Piccolo's presence; Diamaou's was dark, Piccolo's was erratic and pain-filled, but this one... was pure. What surprised Neru even more was that it wasn't just pure, it seemed to be a near perfect duplicate of Diamaou, except that it felt... good. Righteous.

The presence was the man that Piccolo had come to know as Kami.

---

Neru and Diamaou defeated Kami, although he had proven every bit as capable of Diamaou, and surely would have defeated the demon if he had not intervened. It was, Neru knew, one more stain on his legacy, one more stain on his honor, and one more evil act he was performing, just so he could be free.

Diamaou was gone again, cementing his victory, and Neru knew that he had taken control of Piccolo's body. He was the victor, the conqueror, and Neru was left to wait. He watched over Kami and Piccolo's subconscious representations carefully. Both of them had ceased moving, their eyes closed, but Neru wasn't sure whether they could really be considered unconscious... because after all, wasn't the subconscious what was there when a person was unconscious?

The time of the split was coming. Already, the main island which housed Piccolo, himself, and Kami was cracking, almost split into three pieces. Diamaou had instructed him to place Piccolo and Kami on one of the pieces, and to stand on the vacant piece.

As a matter of fact, he was about to do that, as the island was breaking up, when the unthinkable happened. The man called Kami awoke, despite remaining impaled on the stake that held Piccolo. He glanced at Neru, and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound other than a faint whisper came out. The island was breaking up; He had placed Piccolo and Kami on one side, and made to leave, but Kami's eyes caught his gaze. Pleading yet remarkably... still clear. Not filled with torture and fear as Piccolo's were, but instead with the faintest hint of a focus.

The eyes held Neru's gaze for a long moment, even as the moment of the split was at hand... And that was when Kami pointed towards the island that neither he, Piccolo, nor Neru resided on. The island that Neru knew, somehow symbolized Diamaou and his consciousness. Kami gestured towards it again, pointing sharply, and...

Neru didn't understand the message, even as lightning bolts symbolized the fact that he had mere seconds left before the split. He wasted no time in acting though; he didn't know what Kami wanted, but he kept pointing intently at the island. Neru tore him off the stake, and with all his strength and speed in this dream world, hurled him towards Diamaou's island, pausing only for a second before jumping to his own. And then the blackness overtook him.

---

Neru stood up, glancing around the Nameksei-jin landscape of his dream. He hadn't intended to get lost in the memory of the events that had brought him back to "life", so to speak, but as he realized that the memory's too, were part of his dream, he began once again to feel the crushing guilt of his previous actions.

That was when the landscape of Nameksei abruptly changed into a black void. Neru gasped in surprise, wondering how this flashback of the last events in his life, and the events through which he destroyed Piccolo's mind had turned into a nightmare. He blacked out, and when he came to, he found that he was in another room from his past; a room where he had spent the majority of his walking life.

He was in the throne room of the Saichoro, kneeling in front of the throne... and the Saichoro himself! Neru stared up at him, biting his lip. How he wanted to acknowledge his presence! How he wanted to talk to his father! ... But he knew that it was only a dream.

At least, that was what he had thought. Then the Saichoro moved, his old and wizened, cherished face, twitching, before his aged lips parted upwards in the slightest hint of a smile.

"My son, why do you not speak?" He rumbled. Neru's eyes widened in surprise, his antennae standing straight up.

"For-... Forgive me, Saichoro-sama. I had not realized that you were..."

"Myself? You thought that I was merely a delusion of your dream?" The Saichoro chuckled, and to Neru, the sound felt like the most joyous thing he had every heard. Neru leapt forward, as if to embrace the man he had sworn to protect; however difficult that would have seemed, but the Saichoro held up a massive arm.

"Stand back, my son. Though I am not necessarily a dream, but a projection, to touch me would draw you dangerously close to the afterlife in which I currently reside."

Neru hesitated, contemplating whether to embrace the man anyway, bursting with a thousand questions, but he didn't know which one to ask.

"But... Saichoro-sama... how... why?" He managed to get out, still overcome with emotion.

"I have come because you are troubled son, and because there is a great danger you must be made aware of. This danger threatens not just the innocent people of Piccolo's planet, but also the people of our own Nameksei." The Saichoro's voice grew dark, and his smile vanished. He was clearly disturbed.

Neru's eyes narrowed, guessing at the threat. "Diamaou."

The Saichoro nodded. "He must be defeated, my son, he who is so different from the principles that our people cherish, that our people represent. He seeks not peace, but war. He embraces not love, but hate. He seeks only to destroy. And yet, this warning is not why I have come... I sense that you are aware of this."

Neru nodded, biting his lip to prevent from crying out. In the past moments, as the Saichoro had darkly intoned Diamaou's intentions, Neru felt that perhaps his father, his master, was displeased with him. After all, hadn't he helped Diamaou? Hadn't he also destroyed? He fell to his knees, overcome.

The Saichoro regarded him, and... sighed.

"Speak, Neru. Tell me your concerns, tell me what you must, and do not fear."

Neru held nothing back, collapsing to the ground, the tears now streaming down his face, the anguish, the pain, evident in every sob-tainted word he uttered.

"I did it, Saichoro! I unleashed him upon this world! He could not have done what he has to Piccolo without me, he could not have become so powerful because of me! I was weak, completely and utterly weak, and I am not even worthy to call myself a Nameksei-jin anymore! I would be better off as a demon like him... I did this all to help myself! I'm no warrior... I'm a coward."

The tears and sobs continued, and perhaps most painstakingly for Neru, the Saichoro did not say a word. He only sat there staring at Neru, regarding him sympathetically, his heart going out to his son.

The Saichoro's voice came sternly, but with tinges of pity, tinges of forgiveness held within.

"My son... You have suffered greatly. You have endured much. And you will endure this." At the mention of the word "will", the Saichoro's tone became more forceful, so forceful that Neru, even in his surge of emotion, was forced to stare up at his face. The Saichoro's visage was stern, stark contrast to Neru's mask of pain, and the much older man continued.

"Forgive yourself, my son. Just as Freezer would not be redeemed by a single good deed, nor will you be damned by a single evil deed. You are, without a doubt, one of the bravest Nameksei-jin that ever lived. You are a hero to our people; and you are still honored highly among them. Though I am dead, I still hear our people, and not a day goes by when I do not hear your name. Our people remain strong, my son, and you too, will remain strong."

"But..." Neru began, as the Saichoro's words sunk in. The Saichoro had shaken him, reminded him of his past deeds, past accomplishments, and in doing so, had snapped Neru out of his emotional state. Neru wanted to speak again, but he noticed the Saichoro becoming transparent.

"Don't leave me!" Neru screamed, "Please!" He pleaded. The Saichoro regarded him sadly, but his face contained hope.

"I will always be with you, my son. Never forget that..." The Saichoro faded away completely, leaving Neru with more questions than answers.

"Wait, father! What do you want me to do? How can I defeat Diamaou? Guide me, please!"

A wind rustled through the hall as it faded away, the dream ending, but as it ended, Neru heard that patient chuckle, that quiet, paternal voice, one last time.

"You already know, my son... Remember. Be strong, not troubled. There are those who still need your help; and you may be the only one who can counter his plan, the only one he did not consider..."

---

"Neru...? Neru... Neru! Wake up!"

Neru stirred groggily, a familiar voice resounding in his ear. Who was shaking him? He had been dreaming, had heard the Saichoro's last words, and then... He opened his eyes to see Kuririn and Gohan, the two earthlings, standing above him, both of them wearing concerned expressions on their faces.

"You back with us, Neru? It's a good thing Gohan and I found you... why didn't you tell us you were so tired?" Kuririn's voice was tinged with concern, and it was apparent that they had been trying to wake him for a minute or so. Neru's eyes and cheeks felt wet, and he wondered if...

"Neru-san? Are you all right? You looked as if you were crying!" Gohan chimed in, concerned, but making the innocent observation Kuririn had purposely avoided so as not to embarrass the Nameksei-jin warrior.

Neru sat up, shaking the drowsiness out of his arms, as Kuririn and Gohan stepped back, giving him room. A moment later, with impressive speed, the Nameksei-jin flipped to his feet in a maneuver that nearly stole Gohan and Kuririn's breath, so quick were his movements.

"I'm fine, but you have my gratitude for the concern. What's going on?"

Gohan shrugged, pointing at Kuririn, and Kuririn spoke again. "Well, we figured we'd better find you and come up with some kind of plan to figure out what we were going to do about Diamaou. I was also curious in asking you a few questions about Piccolo. After all, we haven't really had an opportunity to discuss what's been going on yet."

Neru grimaced, and both Kuririn and Gohan eyed him curiously. The Nameksei- jin was clearly burdened by something, perhaps the notion of having to tell the two of them what he knew. He gestured down the hallway.

"Let's find some place a little more comfortable, and I'll tell you two all I know."

Gohan nodded and turned to lead them down the hallway, and even though Kuririn was in charge, he nodded and beckoned for Neru to follow the child. He knew the look Neru had had on his face, and that look was bad news. At least walking towards a more comfortable area would give the man time to figure out what he had to say.

---

Neru frowned and sighed, and Kuririn still heard him, despite the fact that Neru was straying in the back. He had decided that he was going to tell the earthlings everything he knew and just hope that Piccolo's young protégé wouldn't tear his head off when he did. He knew from Piccolo's memories what Son Gohan had a tendency to do when pissed off, and, well...

He quirked an antennae, and smiled slightly in spite of himself. Maybe Son Gohan would turn out to be twice the enemy that Diamaou currently was. The thought of Gohan made Neru hesitate for a moment, and he paused in his movements. Son Gohan was already down the hallway, but Kuririn noticed, and turned to look at him.

"Something wrong, Neru?" He asked. Neru glanced away.

"Yeah. Can I talk to Piccolo for a moment? The child isn't going to like what I have to say, and in the event that something regrettable happens, I'd like to tell him something before I tell you two what's going on."

Kuririn nodded, not asking the warrior what he meant, and pointed to a hallway on the left.

"Just go down there, it's the first door on your right. Then come back here, go straight up the hallway we're in right now, and Gohan and I will be in the room on your left."

Neru nodded his thanks, and Kuririn went up the hallway, while Neru went left. He didn't exactly know what he was going to say to Piccolo, and he doubted that Piccolo would understand him, but before he could begin, he felt that he had to apologize for the mess he had caused.

A cool breeze, not unlike the wind of Earth, drifted down the hallway, and Neru couldn't help but marvel at the feeling... and the smell. "These Earthlings are amazing... They can even mimic the air from the outside world with their machines!" He turned, opened the door to Piccolo's room, and... stared.

---

Gohan happily slurped the milkshake he had procured after arriving in the recreational room. Bulma's drink was slightly more adult and probably alcoholic. Bulma had proceeded to this room while Kuririn and Gohan had gone to find Neru, and the woman had thoughtfully instructed some Capsule Corps robots to prepare food and drink for the four of them.

Gohan glanced at Kuririn and Bulma, curious, and Kuririn answered his unasked question.

"Neru wanted to say something to Piccolo before he talked to us, Gohan. I think he wanted to say he was sorry, or something."

"Sorry? What's there for him to be sorry for? I mean, from what I heard, he really helped you guys out!" Bulma interjected, sipping her beer.

Kuririn placed his beverage on a nearby coffee table, kicked his feet up, and shrugged. "Well, hopefully he'll tell us what it is when he gets here."

Gohan opened his mouth to ask Kuririn why he thought Neru might be sorry, but just then, Neru burst through the door, causing Gohan, Kuririn, and Bulma to all jump to their feet. Unfortunately, Gohan's milkshake didn't quite clear the child's lap, and it went flying, creating a rather sticky mess that the robots hurried over to clean up.

"Gohan, be more careful!" Bulma admonished, wagging her finger at Neru to say something, but Kuririn cut her off.

"Neru? That sure was quick! What's wrong?"

Neru's face was grim, his features stone. He tried to think of how to word what he was going to say, but he opted to spit it out in the quickest way possible.

"Piccolo's escaped."

In a moment, their immediate problem had become much worse than a milkshake spilled on the carpet.

---

Gohan recovered from the shock first, as his face contorted from an expression of surprise to an expression of rage. Overcome by emotion, the child grasped at a straw instead of taking a moment to trust his instincts. He bolted for the exit, ignoring Kuririn's sharp cry to stop, fixating only on the first conclusion his mind allowed him: Diamaou had taken Piccolo!

"Gohan, wait!" Kuririn pleaded, "It can't be Diamaou! We'd sense him!" The child continued storming towards the door with reckless abandon, not swayed by his friend's words, being so enraged that they hardly registered. Kuririn threw up his hands in exasperation, hoping against hope that Gohan would come to his senses before he was out of the room and flying miles away.

"Damn it, Gohan! We need to come up with a plan, this is exactly what Diamaou would want!"

Fortunately for Kuririn, he was not the only person in the room. As Son Gohan rushed for the door, he found himself bull-rushed by Neru, who tackled the child and pinned him down. Gohan kicked and screamed, and an errant kick landed on Neru's nose, but he was already showing signs of calming down; the physical contact had quelled his rage long enough for him to think.

Neru kept him pinned for a long moment, staring into Gohan's eyes with a stern, piercing gaze, as the last indicators of rage dissipated from the child, only to be replaced by shame.

"I... I'm sorry I acted that way, Neru. Will you let me up now, please?" Gohan stammered, and the tone in his voice suggested that he meant it. Slowly, warily, Neru stood up and backed away, idly rubbing his VERY sore nose. He kept his eyes locked on Son Gohan, and the child felt as if he was melting. The glare was exactly like the glare Piccolo would have given him had he disapproved of something. He tried to match it, and failed, eventually dipping his head to the ground and averting his gaze. It was a Namek thing.

Satisfied that the child wasn't about to fly off the handle again, Neru turned and nodded to Kuririn. Kuririn stood there thinking for a moment, trying to formulate a new plan in his head; he hadn't really had one to start with!

Fortunately, Bulma bailed him out, as the woman stood up. During the whole incident with Gohan, she had been thinking, tapping a finger against her chin, running through the thoughts in her head, but now a triumphant grin blossomed across her face, as she idly brushed a few strands of her (as yet, long) hair out of her eyes.

"Guys, I've got it! I bet I could modify the Dragon Radar to detect Nameksei-jin lifesigns! Then you'd be able to find Diamaou and Piccolo!"

Son Gohan jumped up, excited over this turn of events, and the thought that a surefire way to find Piccolo would surface had clearly banished his shame.

"Bulma! That's brilliant! How long will it take?" The boy inquired, even as Neru allowed himself a slight, skeptical smirk. It certainly seemed like a good idea, but there had been precious little regard about Bulma in Piccolo's thoughts, and he hadn't really come to expect technological miracles the way Kuririn and Gohan had.

The woman shrugged, but the smile on her face betrayed her confidence. "I'd imagine it would take about an hour or two."

An hour. A small bit of time in the real world, but Kuririn couldn't help but feel that every minute counted, especially when Piccolo might be getting farther away; and more vulnerable to whatever Diamaou might have in mind, by the second.

The man without a nose quirked an eyebrow, and regarded Neru and Gohan with stiff nods. "All right then, here's what we'll do. Piccolo can't have gone too far or we'd have sensed him, so I'll go north and look for him. Neru, you go west, and Gohan can go south. That way-"

Gohan had abruptly raised his hand, but interrupted his friend without being acknowledged. "Kuririn, can I go west? I should really check on my mom and the dragon... And that place is familiar to Piccolo anyway, so maybe he's heading in that direction?"

Kuririn smiled and nodded. "Sure, kiddo. In fact, maybe you should ask your mother if she can come to Capsule Corps. She'll be safer here. I don't feel that comfortable with anyone we know out there while Diamaou's... about."

"Thanks!" The child ran out the door with determined, light steps, and this time Neru did not have to tackle him.

A bead of sweat appeared on Kuririn's forehead, as he muttered, "I wasn't done..." He looked at Neru, and a small smirk was again etched onto the Nameksei-jin warrior's face.

"I suppose I'll be going south then? And isn't there anyone we can find to go east?"

Kuririn shrugged. "Well, most of the city is in the east, so I figured that if he'd gone that way, we'd just be hearing news reports about a strange green man running rampant through the streets. Tenshinhan and Yamucha are willing, but..." Kuririn lowered his voice.

"Well, Yamucha's out of commission for at least two weeks without senzu, and Tenshinhan isn't much better. Chaozu is watching them, but Tenshinhan would never forgive me if I put him in any danger...

Neru's grinned after nodding somberly at the condition of Kuririn's friends. "Come to think of it, when three strange, pasty colored fellows came to my planet, we heard all sorts of "news reports". You humans are the strange ones."

Had he been there, Son Goku may have hesitated, asking Neru a question about Nameksei-jin news reports, but Kuririn understood the joke, as sarcasm was a language evidently mastered by Nameksei-jin as well as by humans.

"C'mon, let's go. See you later, Bulma!"

The woman with blue-green hair hardly heard the farewell, as she was already busily dismantling the Dragon Radar, tweaking and poking it with a variety of devices that neither Neru nor Kuririn could guess at.

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