Chapter Seventeen: The Message
Pain rippled over Trunks relentlessly pulling him under the deep waves of air. His thoughts were jumbled and only partly clear in short spurts of consciousness. His nose and throat were burning from invisible flames of the strange scent. He gasped and thrashed momentarily crying out for water but it was all in vain. Shortly, his strength had failed him and he was through in the darkness once again to be tortured in empty abyss. His mind became lucid in the darkness allowing him to retain a small grip on his former self for a brief instant. And in that those painful seconds, Trunks wished a horrible thought that eased him back into rest.
I wish I would die already...
"Let him go," Pan hissed arriving in front of the two strange warriors.
The female carried the limp Trunks in her unforgiving arms with a mocking look of guilt about her face.
"Let who go?"
"You know damn well who," Pan snapped finding it hard not to lash out at them.
"Isn't this cute, Master?" The woman spoke to the dark faced man now. "It's Gohan's new girl friend. Come to save little lilac top."
Pan blushed slightly at the comment of her having a love interest in her father. It was so bizarre that Pan couldn't help but partially gag to herself.
"I'm his daughter," Pan retorted.
"Oh…" She smiled. "So Gohan has been busy."
"You'll pay for your moment of fun," Pan shouted as her energy spurted about her.
Gohan rammed himself into the door of the partly collapsed building finding the wood splintering beneath him quite easily. He stumbled into the kitchen facing the very thing that made everything else much worse. Frozen in sheer horror, Gohan watched Bulma whack a heavy frying pan repeatedly over one of the villain's heads as he tried to approached her. It was one of the weaker ones much to Gohan's relief but it didn't mean he was any less dangerous to Bulma. He had backed Bulma to the corner of the small kitchen forcing her to release her grip on the frying pan. Bulma let out a shrill scream as she reached for the phone that dangled only inches out of her reach.
"I'm calling 911!!!" Bulma shouted slamming her fist over the head of the turban headed scoundrel.
Buujin seemed oblivious to the blows she dealt to his skull, yet no less irritated. He gripped the struggling woman by her throat and slammed her against the kitchen window above the sink.
"If you just told me where Gohan was I would leave you alone, banshee," Buujin growled tightening his harsh hold.
"G-Gohan's d-de-dead," Bulma sputtered still reaching for the phone cords. "H-he d-die-died t-t-thre-three d-da-days ago…"
Gohan finally found his feet working again. He stumbled out onto the tiled kitchen floor trying not to step on the broken plates and glasses. Bulma was the first to catch sight of the boy and tried to distract to Buujin, hinting for Gohan to escape.
"O-on s-second though-thought, h-he is in the-the-the at-attic."
But Gohan didn't take this time to flee. He knew if he did, the person he could protect would be dead. He would not allow this timeline to be any more damaged.
"I'm right here, Buujin."
Buujin released his grip on Bulma's neck and spun about to face the boy. His smile widened at the sight of finding his prize.
Bulma, on the other hand, did not quite understand the true identity of Gohan yet. And she wasn't ready for her newest addition to the family to be slaughtered.
"Argh! Goten, run while you still can!" Bulma cried hoping to knock some sense into the child.
But Gohan did not budge from the spot which he had firmly placed himself, staring down the villain, Buujin.
"Ah, a nickname? If you wanted one all you had to do was ask Buujin," Buujin cackled. "Mr. King of Rice."
"Goten?! What is he talking about?" Bulma hissed putting herself between the two. "Who are you?"
"I am Buujin," Buujin said simply as if introduction to his victims was required.
"What are you doing here, Buujin?" Gohan hissed angrily. "And threatening Bulma? She has done nothing to you."
"I didn't come to pick a fight," Buujin said darkly glaring spitefully in Bulma's direction. "But your banshee forced me to resort to violence. I have only come to give a message."
"Which is?"
"If you ever wish to see your lavender haired pal again, blah, blah, blah, middle of town, midnight, so on and so forth," Buujin said.
"You kidnapped Trunks?" Gohan snapped. "You're lying!"
"Oh really?" Buujin smirked tossing a slightly crimson stained rope that was could only be identified as the leash that was once about 'Gohan's neck.
After a few painful seconds of the blood pounding in Gohan's ears, he looked up at Buujin with rage written across his face, "You're sick..."
"You have 'till midnight, or else Trunks will join the puppy dog.
Gohan found his rage bellowing to the maximum. He cried out in angst releasing his power as his eyes flashed into a deep sky blue. His hair reached upwards frosting over in a bright gold. His muscles bulged and his power sky rocketed almost enough to frighten the bravest of things.
Buujin stared at the haunting golden warrior in slight amusement getting used to the child's unique abilities, "Save it for later. You'll need it."
Buujin shot out the back door as Gohan tailed after him with ki blasts in hand. He glared up at the foe as he flew out of sight allowing his anger to subside. He transformed down back to his normal form and turned to face a teary eyed Bulma.
"Gohan…"
Before Gohan could try and explain Bulma interrupted rashly, "Please… just save my son. Go. Go now."
With only one last look of concern to the woman who had given him such consolation the last couple of days, Gohan shot off into the hazy orange sky leaving a white transparent trail of remaining energy.
"Just come back alive this time, Gohan."
Gohan could no longer see Buujin and for some reason he had a feeling he had been set up to lose him for awhile. Only relying on his senses and the remaining sun light for guidance, Gohan trailed on not knowing if he would make it back in time. Suddenly a spurt of energy shot up to his right. Gohan halted in the air hoping to catch the feel of the energy. His heart leapt into his throat at the realization of the owner, "Pan!"
To Be Continued
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