Undiscovered Territory
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Dragon Storm
Never before had the darkness truly frightened him. It had made him a little bit nervous, though no more than that, even if his elders had not believed him. But now the darkening sky scared him, for it seemed only to magnify the ordeal that he had just endured.
Forked spears of golden energy cracked forth from the clouds. In some cases, it seemed to fall just short of striking the ground; one such case was directly in front of him, and he jumped back in fright. Terrifying as this was, Scargo could not tear his eyes away from the sight of the same bursts of golden light blasting upward from the distant ground. And these bursts gradually became one, moulding together in blinding sparks of power, and then spiralling skyward.
But they did not stay a stream of golden light for long. The colour solidified, tingeing to a green that rivalled the leaves of Ajisa plants in its vibrance. And the top of it widened, expanded until it took on the shape of a living being. Seconds more was all it took before the light died and only the creature remained. A creature supremely imposing, even though it was being observed from a great distance.
He had seen him twice before, but even if he never had, Scargo would have needed no one to tell him what this being was, what it represented. This was Porunga.
"How did they . . ." Whelk spoke in a soft voice, which was not the norm for him. And even less normal for him was being unable to complete a sentence.
How indeed? The aliens didn't know the Namekian language. He had seen proof of that earlier. So how they had gotten the Dragonballs to work at least up to this point was an absolute mystery. He wished that Dende were here; surely he would have an explanation for all of this . . .
"Dende!" Scargo gasped, his hand covering his mouth in shock. The explanation was a very logical one, and though it brought some measure of relief to him – this meant that Dende was alive and not trapped somewhere in the ruined ship – it also stirred up a great deal of worry. What had those aliens done to his brother that he would speak the words to summon Porunga for them?
"What?" the tallest one near him, Limpet he believed, leaned down to ask him.
"If . . . if they summoned Porunga, then . . ." Scargo's words were halting, the breath fleeing from his body in a panic. He swallowed, and calmed his nerves a little before continuing. "Then, Dende is probably over there, too."
Silence followed this, as dark and eerie as the sky above. Scargo had never been comfortable with silences, and this one was the worst that he had ever experienced in his life. He wished that somebody would say something, just say anything even if it was bad. He couldn't stand the quietness.
"Then the goal is clear," Whelk said at last, his voice now the strong and confident one that Scargo remembered. "We've got to get over there, and hurry. There's no time to waste!"
One of the others, not part of the small group in which Scargo had found himself, spoke up. "All of us, Whelk? It may be necessary."
Whelk shook his head. "No. There are things to be taken care of here. The bodies need proper disposal, and it would still be wise to investigate what is left of this ship." He closed his eyes for a moment, his arms relaxing. "There aren't that many of them. My triad will take care of things over there."
Without thinking, Scargo climbed up onto Whelk's back, lightly encircling his arms around the warrior's neck. "All right then. Let's go!"
A sigh, then a gentle hand prying him off and setting him back upon the ground. Scargo looked up into Whelk's stern face. "You're staying here, young one. Your share of danger is finished for the day. The others will watch over you."
Of course it made sense. It was without a doubt one of the most sensible things that he had ever heard, but he wanted none of it. That was his brother out there, the big brother that had always protected and watched over him, and he was in trouble. More than anything, Scargo wanted to be able to help him just the same, to repay everything that Dende had done for him. "But –"
"Stay here, child. There is nothing more for you to do." These words came from Chiton, he was surprised to find. Surprised because Chiton never talked much. And that made these words quite special indeed.
He didn't put up any further protest, and it would have done no good if he had. The triad of Whelk, Limpet, and Chiton took to the air after the final one's words. It was an impressive sight, that merged blue flame against the blackened sky, one that gave him a small sense of hope to carry around in his heart.
"Bring him back safe," he whispered, though the targets of this statement were already far beyond hearing range. Just because he had hope did not mean that he was absent of any worries.
A hand on his shoulder drew his attention, and he looked up to one of the remaining warriors; the face was blood-streaked, but firm and sombre. "Come along now, Scargo. You may help us here if you wish."
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Muuri shivered at the sight of the sky, once a lovely muted green, now converted to a mass of rolling, tumbling black. All on this world knew what that signified, for though storms did exist on this planet, the heavens were never darkened to this absolute tone. Only one thing, and it was certainly not nature could account for this particular turn of events.
The presence invaded his body, spoke to his soul. He was attached to it now, just as Saichourou had been before he had passed the Dragonballs onto him. Muuri had felt this presence back on Earth, both times they had called upon Porunga to help them and their saviours. A heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, almost as if he had drunk too much water too fast, but not exactly unpleasant. In fact, he rather enjoyed the sensation; it gave him the feeling that he had the power to help his people when they needed him the most.
He enjoyed it anytime but now. How could he, when the Dragonballs were in the hands of an enemy? They must have forced one of the children to initiate the summoning. Both Dende and Scargo knew the words – all Nameks did. It was among the first things taught to all. In any given emergency, it was more than prudent to have someone present who knew how to activate the Dragonballs.
But what happened when the emergency was because all knew the words?
Muuri paced around his house, something that he had been doing with regularity ever since the children had gone missing. Were he to look, he would have seen the beginnings of a shallow tread being worn in the floor. But he didn't look. Too many worries cycled through his mind for him to have any thoughts for more mundane things like the state of his dwelling place.
There was little time left, now. The end was drawing near, for good or for evil. Muuri wished that he could do more for this situation, but things were now in the hands of the warriors that had sought out this new threat. All he could do for them now was pray as powerfully as possible. Porunga was closer now, so maybe it would be easier for him to hear.
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He hadn't meant to do this. It had all just been a terrible accident.
Dende was as frightened as anyone else when the Dragonballs had begun to glow and sent a tide of black clouds across the sky. The words . . . he had slipped up and said the proper words. How could he have done such a terrible thing?
Certainly, the new dizziness brought about by his recent blow to the head had something to do with it. That had partial blame, though to Dende this was a supremely weak excuse. His head had been muddled before, and he hadn't screwed up like this. No, his half foggy mind was not the culprit here.
The culprit was himself. He had panicked, plain and simple. Basalt's suddenly brutal treatment of him had conjured up a powerful fear for his life, and his instinct, like that of all living creatures, was to preserve himself. So he had done what he felt would be his preservation, and blurted out the proper incantation to summon Porunga.
He hated himself as soon as he realized what he had done. Was he really as much a coward as all that? Sure, he wasn't one of the bravest people in the universe, but he thought – he had been certain – that he possessed more courage than this. Well, that was what he got for having any confidence in himself. He had now learned better than that.
Dende didn't even have the will in him anymore to stand up; it definitely wasn't that he had a lack of physical strength remaining for the job. He didn't deserve to be on his feet. No, he belonged on his knees, like the coward that he was.
And thus it was that he did not lift his head to look upon the immense form of Porunga that had sprung forth from the now activated balls. The eyes, though Dende had noticed that they always bore the very same expression, would be an open accusation.
It was strangely silent around him, but he guessed that even evil aliens would be awed at their first ever sight of a creature like Porunga. He wished all the world would just remain silent now – no more harm would be done. They would all be frozen in time, and any previous mistakes would hold no consequences. A grim fantasy, perhaps, but it was better than the reality that crashed upon him. Atoning for one's mistakes could be a very frightening prospect, as it certainly was here.
But the silence only lasted for a moment, and unsurprisingly, it was Basalt's voice that broke it. "Fascinating." It was barely more than a breath, as if even now the alien could not suppress a sense of wonder.
And then a new voice, deep and booming like a thunderclap, rose into the air. "You who have summoned me, I will now grant you three wishes within my power."
"So," Basalt spoke up once more, voice still soft. "This is how it works. Well – Hm?"
At this, Dende did raise his head, staring curiously up at Basalt. There was an odd, low beeping sound coming from the device that he wore over his left eye, and he turned his head sharply to one side. Confused, Dende followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes for better focus. And then he saw it.
He could have leapt for joy, but settled for merely climbing to his feet. That mass of approaching blue light: it had to be his people. He had not condemned himself as he had thought. What he had done was stall effectively, and now the situation could be put into older and far more capable hands. Whatever guilt he felt now could be healed in time over his life, rather than lamented in death.
A sharp, vile sound came out of Basalt's mouth, probably some curse in his native language. "They just can't do anything right." A growl came through his lips. "And I'm so close. If those idiots could have just lasted for a few minutes more . . ." He turned around to face the other aliens, whom Dende had almost forgotten all about. "Are you waiting for something? Get out there and intercept them!"
No more words were spoken among the aliens; the seven of them flew off after brief obligatory nods. Their combined aura was a solid white, sharp contrast to the supremely black sky, rather than the blue of Dende's people which seemed to blend with it.
He didn't have much time to observe this, though. Basalt's hand was back on his collar in a matter of seconds and his face harsher and more demanding than he had ever seen it before. "And don't think that you're going anywhere, brat. We're not done here."
"How long do you intend to keep me waiting?" Porunga's voice thundered suddenly. "Speak! Tell me your wishes now!"
The grip on Dende's collar tightened, and Basalt frowned darkly. How he was going to stall this one out and not end up dead was a little beyond Dende's comprehension at the moment. Things like comprehension had a nasty habit of fleeing when they were needed the very most.
"Well, brat, it seems that this beast is rather impatient. And I think its about time that we give it what it wants so much."
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There were no surprise attacks this time, just a hard, straight to the point battle. It was exactly the way that Whelk liked it.
And it was even more suitable considering the time constraints that they were under. The aliens getting their wishes was something that could not be afforded, so anything that sped up the current circumstance was a good thing. It seemed indeed that Dende lay just beyond them, and once they finished this they would be able to put a stop to this before any extra damage was done. Hopefully, the child could survive on his own for at least a few minutes more.
He jabbed an elbow into one attacker's gut, then shot his leg back as another one tried to take him from behind. In a smooth, elegant motion, he whirled about in a roundhouse kick, knocking one attacker into the other and sending them both falling from the sky.
No breather was granted to him as a third came flying at him from the side, and he dodged backward neatly, bringing his knee up to the new assailant's stomach. And while in this motion, his hand charged a ki blast – one of decent strength but nothing altogether remarkable. Again, a time-saver. He put his hand against his enemy's back, and fired point blank.
The resulting flash obscured what would have been the sight of a hole being torn through the alien's body. A scream, as horridly sickening as the smell of seared flesh that it accompanied, rang through the air. It sliced through his eardrums, and for a second he thought that they might burst. But like the rest of him, they were strong and held firm even before the noise died off with its creator.
Whelk wiped a fist across his forehead, and glanced to his rear. Each Limpet and Chiton were there, trying to handle two opponents apiece. While Whelk felt the desire to help them, it was more important that he reach the summoning site before much longer. Regardless of how they annoyed him sometimes, the other two members of his triad were capable enough warriors. They could handle things here on their own.
He did not bother informing them of this decision. Why give it away when the enemy would receive it just the same? Instead, he merely turned ahead once more, and took off at the fastest speed that he could manage.
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How to live? That was the question before him now, and still no answers came to roost in his mind. Oh, not that there wasn't a way to extend his life even a little, he just didn't like the choice that would grant him this. If he could only somehow stall a bit longer . . .
"What are you waiting for, brat?" Basalt hissed. "I've told you what I want, now hurry up and translate it! I know this has to be done in your native language."
"Um . . . Well . . . Uh . . ." Dende fumbled for words. Some excuse. He needed to come up with some sort of plausible excuse or he would be history in short order. But this was not an easy task, all things considered. Dende didn't know how Basalt had figured out so much about the Dragonballs – it just seemed impossible to his mind – but he had already shown that he would not be easily fooled on this matter.
"Would somebody just speak up about a wish already? I'm tired of standing around here and doing nothing."
Ah, yes. Basalt was not the only impatient one here. Just as he had shown the first time Dende had summoned him, Porunga had a penchant for being easily bored and somewhat cranky. Two here who wanted him to hurry up and speak, while he wished that he no longer had that capability.
"Ungh!" Dende found himself thrown to the ground as Basalt let out a frustrated growl. He picked himself up quickly, rubbing at the pained area in his back, but froze, eyes wide, the sight before him and the words that came forth from it.
A more furious face Dende was not sure he had ever seen, not even on Doctor Gneiss after he'd bitten her hand. Lips were held in a tight, thin line, seeming to have almost disappeared. Eyes were narrowed to slits so thin that he could see the pupils and irises no more. Wrinkles dug deep into the skin, almost like tilled fields of blue soil.
"That's enough." Basalt's voice was quiet and flat, but somehow more frightening than it had been while yelling. "You're obviously too stubborn to co-operate any further. Thus, you have no more use to me. That 'put you out of your misery' logic has come into play."
Dende's mind kept yelling at him to move, yet he just could not. He knew that his legs were below him, but they had gone completely numb and he could no longer feel them there. They would offer him none of their vital assistance, leaving him resigned to the terrible fate that he had managed to inflict upon himself.
Fear thrilled through him, sending a chill through all of the body parts that he could still feel, hollowing out his veins just as surely as that ki blast days ago had hollowed a spot in his left leg. He had died once before, and he found himself wondering if it would be in the same manner as the first time. It hadn't hurt, really – only for about an instant and then it had been gone. Actually, he rather hoped that it would be in the same manner as that; all the easier for him to bear.
And it seemed indeed that this life would end just in the way that the previous one had; a ki blast gathered in Basalt's hand. So that much was a consolation, at least. And so was the fact that he had refused to give in completely, that Basalt would never get his wish now. It was, Dende supposed, a rather good thing to take to the grave.
But the blast was never fired.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Dragon Storm
Never before had the darkness truly frightened him. It had made him a little bit nervous, though no more than that, even if his elders had not believed him. But now the darkening sky scared him, for it seemed only to magnify the ordeal that he had just endured.
Forked spears of golden energy cracked forth from the clouds. In some cases, it seemed to fall just short of striking the ground; one such case was directly in front of him, and he jumped back in fright. Terrifying as this was, Scargo could not tear his eyes away from the sight of the same bursts of golden light blasting upward from the distant ground. And these bursts gradually became one, moulding together in blinding sparks of power, and then spiralling skyward.
But they did not stay a stream of golden light for long. The colour solidified, tingeing to a green that rivalled the leaves of Ajisa plants in its vibrance. And the top of it widened, expanded until it took on the shape of a living being. Seconds more was all it took before the light died and only the creature remained. A creature supremely imposing, even though it was being observed from a great distance.
He had seen him twice before, but even if he never had, Scargo would have needed no one to tell him what this being was, what it represented. This was Porunga.
"How did they . . ." Whelk spoke in a soft voice, which was not the norm for him. And even less normal for him was being unable to complete a sentence.
How indeed? The aliens didn't know the Namekian language. He had seen proof of that earlier. So how they had gotten the Dragonballs to work at least up to this point was an absolute mystery. He wished that Dende were here; surely he would have an explanation for all of this . . .
"Dende!" Scargo gasped, his hand covering his mouth in shock. The explanation was a very logical one, and though it brought some measure of relief to him – this meant that Dende was alive and not trapped somewhere in the ruined ship – it also stirred up a great deal of worry. What had those aliens done to his brother that he would speak the words to summon Porunga for them?
"What?" the tallest one near him, Limpet he believed, leaned down to ask him.
"If . . . if they summoned Porunga, then . . ." Scargo's words were halting, the breath fleeing from his body in a panic. He swallowed, and calmed his nerves a little before continuing. "Then, Dende is probably over there, too."
Silence followed this, as dark and eerie as the sky above. Scargo had never been comfortable with silences, and this one was the worst that he had ever experienced in his life. He wished that somebody would say something, just say anything even if it was bad. He couldn't stand the quietness.
"Then the goal is clear," Whelk said at last, his voice now the strong and confident one that Scargo remembered. "We've got to get over there, and hurry. There's no time to waste!"
One of the others, not part of the small group in which Scargo had found himself, spoke up. "All of us, Whelk? It may be necessary."
Whelk shook his head. "No. There are things to be taken care of here. The bodies need proper disposal, and it would still be wise to investigate what is left of this ship." He closed his eyes for a moment, his arms relaxing. "There aren't that many of them. My triad will take care of things over there."
Without thinking, Scargo climbed up onto Whelk's back, lightly encircling his arms around the warrior's neck. "All right then. Let's go!"
A sigh, then a gentle hand prying him off and setting him back upon the ground. Scargo looked up into Whelk's stern face. "You're staying here, young one. Your share of danger is finished for the day. The others will watch over you."
Of course it made sense. It was without a doubt one of the most sensible things that he had ever heard, but he wanted none of it. That was his brother out there, the big brother that had always protected and watched over him, and he was in trouble. More than anything, Scargo wanted to be able to help him just the same, to repay everything that Dende had done for him. "But –"
"Stay here, child. There is nothing more for you to do." These words came from Chiton, he was surprised to find. Surprised because Chiton never talked much. And that made these words quite special indeed.
He didn't put up any further protest, and it would have done no good if he had. The triad of Whelk, Limpet, and Chiton took to the air after the final one's words. It was an impressive sight, that merged blue flame against the blackened sky, one that gave him a small sense of hope to carry around in his heart.
"Bring him back safe," he whispered, though the targets of this statement were already far beyond hearing range. Just because he had hope did not mean that he was absent of any worries.
A hand on his shoulder drew his attention, and he looked up to one of the remaining warriors; the face was blood-streaked, but firm and sombre. "Come along now, Scargo. You may help us here if you wish."
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Muuri shivered at the sight of the sky, once a lovely muted green, now converted to a mass of rolling, tumbling black. All on this world knew what that signified, for though storms did exist on this planet, the heavens were never darkened to this absolute tone. Only one thing, and it was certainly not nature could account for this particular turn of events.
The presence invaded his body, spoke to his soul. He was attached to it now, just as Saichourou had been before he had passed the Dragonballs onto him. Muuri had felt this presence back on Earth, both times they had called upon Porunga to help them and their saviours. A heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, almost as if he had drunk too much water too fast, but not exactly unpleasant. In fact, he rather enjoyed the sensation; it gave him the feeling that he had the power to help his people when they needed him the most.
He enjoyed it anytime but now. How could he, when the Dragonballs were in the hands of an enemy? They must have forced one of the children to initiate the summoning. Both Dende and Scargo knew the words – all Nameks did. It was among the first things taught to all. In any given emergency, it was more than prudent to have someone present who knew how to activate the Dragonballs.
But what happened when the emergency was because all knew the words?
Muuri paced around his house, something that he had been doing with regularity ever since the children had gone missing. Were he to look, he would have seen the beginnings of a shallow tread being worn in the floor. But he didn't look. Too many worries cycled through his mind for him to have any thoughts for more mundane things like the state of his dwelling place.
There was little time left, now. The end was drawing near, for good or for evil. Muuri wished that he could do more for this situation, but things were now in the hands of the warriors that had sought out this new threat. All he could do for them now was pray as powerfully as possible. Porunga was closer now, so maybe it would be easier for him to hear.
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He hadn't meant to do this. It had all just been a terrible accident.
Dende was as frightened as anyone else when the Dragonballs had begun to glow and sent a tide of black clouds across the sky. The words . . . he had slipped up and said the proper words. How could he have done such a terrible thing?
Certainly, the new dizziness brought about by his recent blow to the head had something to do with it. That had partial blame, though to Dende this was a supremely weak excuse. His head had been muddled before, and he hadn't screwed up like this. No, his half foggy mind was not the culprit here.
The culprit was himself. He had panicked, plain and simple. Basalt's suddenly brutal treatment of him had conjured up a powerful fear for his life, and his instinct, like that of all living creatures, was to preserve himself. So he had done what he felt would be his preservation, and blurted out the proper incantation to summon Porunga.
He hated himself as soon as he realized what he had done. Was he really as much a coward as all that? Sure, he wasn't one of the bravest people in the universe, but he thought – he had been certain – that he possessed more courage than this. Well, that was what he got for having any confidence in himself. He had now learned better than that.
Dende didn't even have the will in him anymore to stand up; it definitely wasn't that he had a lack of physical strength remaining for the job. He didn't deserve to be on his feet. No, he belonged on his knees, like the coward that he was.
And thus it was that he did not lift his head to look upon the immense form of Porunga that had sprung forth from the now activated balls. The eyes, though Dende had noticed that they always bore the very same expression, would be an open accusation.
It was strangely silent around him, but he guessed that even evil aliens would be awed at their first ever sight of a creature like Porunga. He wished all the world would just remain silent now – no more harm would be done. They would all be frozen in time, and any previous mistakes would hold no consequences. A grim fantasy, perhaps, but it was better than the reality that crashed upon him. Atoning for one's mistakes could be a very frightening prospect, as it certainly was here.
But the silence only lasted for a moment, and unsurprisingly, it was Basalt's voice that broke it. "Fascinating." It was barely more than a breath, as if even now the alien could not suppress a sense of wonder.
And then a new voice, deep and booming like a thunderclap, rose into the air. "You who have summoned me, I will now grant you three wishes within my power."
"So," Basalt spoke up once more, voice still soft. "This is how it works. Well – Hm?"
At this, Dende did raise his head, staring curiously up at Basalt. There was an odd, low beeping sound coming from the device that he wore over his left eye, and he turned his head sharply to one side. Confused, Dende followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes for better focus. And then he saw it.
He could have leapt for joy, but settled for merely climbing to his feet. That mass of approaching blue light: it had to be his people. He had not condemned himself as he had thought. What he had done was stall effectively, and now the situation could be put into older and far more capable hands. Whatever guilt he felt now could be healed in time over his life, rather than lamented in death.
A sharp, vile sound came out of Basalt's mouth, probably some curse in his native language. "They just can't do anything right." A growl came through his lips. "And I'm so close. If those idiots could have just lasted for a few minutes more . . ." He turned around to face the other aliens, whom Dende had almost forgotten all about. "Are you waiting for something? Get out there and intercept them!"
No more words were spoken among the aliens; the seven of them flew off after brief obligatory nods. Their combined aura was a solid white, sharp contrast to the supremely black sky, rather than the blue of Dende's people which seemed to blend with it.
He didn't have much time to observe this, though. Basalt's hand was back on his collar in a matter of seconds and his face harsher and more demanding than he had ever seen it before. "And don't think that you're going anywhere, brat. We're not done here."
"How long do you intend to keep me waiting?" Porunga's voice thundered suddenly. "Speak! Tell me your wishes now!"
The grip on Dende's collar tightened, and Basalt frowned darkly. How he was going to stall this one out and not end up dead was a little beyond Dende's comprehension at the moment. Things like comprehension had a nasty habit of fleeing when they were needed the very most.
"Well, brat, it seems that this beast is rather impatient. And I think its about time that we give it what it wants so much."
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There were no surprise attacks this time, just a hard, straight to the point battle. It was exactly the way that Whelk liked it.
And it was even more suitable considering the time constraints that they were under. The aliens getting their wishes was something that could not be afforded, so anything that sped up the current circumstance was a good thing. It seemed indeed that Dende lay just beyond them, and once they finished this they would be able to put a stop to this before any extra damage was done. Hopefully, the child could survive on his own for at least a few minutes more.
He jabbed an elbow into one attacker's gut, then shot his leg back as another one tried to take him from behind. In a smooth, elegant motion, he whirled about in a roundhouse kick, knocking one attacker into the other and sending them both falling from the sky.
No breather was granted to him as a third came flying at him from the side, and he dodged backward neatly, bringing his knee up to the new assailant's stomach. And while in this motion, his hand charged a ki blast – one of decent strength but nothing altogether remarkable. Again, a time-saver. He put his hand against his enemy's back, and fired point blank.
The resulting flash obscured what would have been the sight of a hole being torn through the alien's body. A scream, as horridly sickening as the smell of seared flesh that it accompanied, rang through the air. It sliced through his eardrums, and for a second he thought that they might burst. But like the rest of him, they were strong and held firm even before the noise died off with its creator.
Whelk wiped a fist across his forehead, and glanced to his rear. Each Limpet and Chiton were there, trying to handle two opponents apiece. While Whelk felt the desire to help them, it was more important that he reach the summoning site before much longer. Regardless of how they annoyed him sometimes, the other two members of his triad were capable enough warriors. They could handle things here on their own.
He did not bother informing them of this decision. Why give it away when the enemy would receive it just the same? Instead, he merely turned ahead once more, and took off at the fastest speed that he could manage.
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How to live? That was the question before him now, and still no answers came to roost in his mind. Oh, not that there wasn't a way to extend his life even a little, he just didn't like the choice that would grant him this. If he could only somehow stall a bit longer . . .
"What are you waiting for, brat?" Basalt hissed. "I've told you what I want, now hurry up and translate it! I know this has to be done in your native language."
"Um . . . Well . . . Uh . . ." Dende fumbled for words. Some excuse. He needed to come up with some sort of plausible excuse or he would be history in short order. But this was not an easy task, all things considered. Dende didn't know how Basalt had figured out so much about the Dragonballs – it just seemed impossible to his mind – but he had already shown that he would not be easily fooled on this matter.
"Would somebody just speak up about a wish already? I'm tired of standing around here and doing nothing."
Ah, yes. Basalt was not the only impatient one here. Just as he had shown the first time Dende had summoned him, Porunga had a penchant for being easily bored and somewhat cranky. Two here who wanted him to hurry up and speak, while he wished that he no longer had that capability.
"Ungh!" Dende found himself thrown to the ground as Basalt let out a frustrated growl. He picked himself up quickly, rubbing at the pained area in his back, but froze, eyes wide, the sight before him and the words that came forth from it.
A more furious face Dende was not sure he had ever seen, not even on Doctor Gneiss after he'd bitten her hand. Lips were held in a tight, thin line, seeming to have almost disappeared. Eyes were narrowed to slits so thin that he could see the pupils and irises no more. Wrinkles dug deep into the skin, almost like tilled fields of blue soil.
"That's enough." Basalt's voice was quiet and flat, but somehow more frightening than it had been while yelling. "You're obviously too stubborn to co-operate any further. Thus, you have no more use to me. That 'put you out of your misery' logic has come into play."
Dende's mind kept yelling at him to move, yet he just could not. He knew that his legs were below him, but they had gone completely numb and he could no longer feel them there. They would offer him none of their vital assistance, leaving him resigned to the terrible fate that he had managed to inflict upon himself.
Fear thrilled through him, sending a chill through all of the body parts that he could still feel, hollowing out his veins just as surely as that ki blast days ago had hollowed a spot in his left leg. He had died once before, and he found himself wondering if it would be in the same manner as the first time. It hadn't hurt, really – only for about an instant and then it had been gone. Actually, he rather hoped that it would be in the same manner as that; all the easier for him to bear.
And it seemed indeed that this life would end just in the way that the previous one had; a ki blast gathered in Basalt's hand. So that much was a consolation, at least. And so was the fact that he had refused to give in completely, that Basalt would never get his wish now. It was, Dende supposed, a rather good thing to take to the grave.
But the blast was never fired.