Inversion of Shadows
BOOK ONE, CHAPTER SIX
That was it – they were all doomed.
Dende didn't even try to stop this morbid thought from cycling through his mind as he sat huddled next to the guardrail. He wrapped his arms around his knees and slowly rocked back and forth. This at least was a less destructive habit than his usual tearing of clothes, but it was also less satisfying to his nerves.
"Oh, pull yourself together, boy; it doesn't necessarily have to be the end of the world."
He got the distinct impression that Baba was not someone accustomed to comforting people. It might have just been her scratchy voice, but the words sounded so harsh, impatient. Needless to say, the tone was not very effective.
Still, of his own accord, he at least stopped the rocking. "Then what are we supposed to do? I don't see how . . ."
It all just seemed so hopeless. There was an ancient evil out there, one that had apparently been native to this and other worlds in millennia gone by before being cast away by higher powers. And somehow, it was starting to find its way back – presumably to reclaim what it had lost long ago.
And it had ways to do that. Some were frighteningly powerful, while others were not as much so. But these weaker ones could render a world's best protectors nearly helpless. Dende had already seen this with his own eyes: the wound on Gohan's leg. Whether it had affected him by the time of his visit to the Lookout, Dende did not know. However, there would surely be an adverse effect upon his power by now. And if too many of the others suffered a similar injury . . .
"Well, all of us can't sit around here and do nothing; that much is true," Korin said. The once-permanent smile upon his feline lips had shifted into a frown. It was as much of an unencouraging sight as anything else. "We're definitely going to need a little help on a couple of fronts."
"You don't mean go to the other plane, do you?" Dende asked nervously. In spite of his fear, he used his staff to help himself to his feet. He could at least look brave even if he weren't feeling that way. "That seems awfully risky . . ."
Of course, not doing anything would be even riskier. They had no guarantees that Earth's warriors would still be capable of turning back this threat. If he and the rest of the pantheon didn't try anything, then his little scenario of doom would no doubt come to pass.
Dende shook his head, stood a little straighter. "Never mind," he said before any of the others could remonstrate him. He was the planet's guardian, so maybe he ought to start acting like it. "I understand. So . . . Who goes?"
He shrank involuntarily as everyone's eyes came to rest upon him – even Korin's, which were always shut. The answer was clear in all of the expressions, and he could not help but swallow a lump in his throat. They were thinking . . .
"Me? But . . . I . . . I don't . . . you . . ." he tried, but a complete sentence failed to make it out of his mouth. In resignation, his head lowered and his shoulders drooped.
"Like it or not, boy, you have to go." This was Baba again, only she was clearly not even trying to be consoling this time. "You're the highest ranking deity on this planet. And it's not like you'll be alone there – I'm well-known in those parts, so it only makes sense that I go with you."
There was no way around it, was there? As much as Dende hated the idea of going alone, he didn't feel that much better with Baba at his side. He missed Nail; his warrior friend had always been a comforting presence, but couldn't truly speak to him anymore as he had years ago fused with Piccolo. Kuririn would have been nice to have around in a situation like this, but Dende couldn't ask him to go on a journey of this nature. He really was stuck.
"I guess you're right," he relented finally. Though he didn't feel like doing so, he raised his head. "But what about things here?"
Popo stepped forward at this. He had been mostly quiet during this meeting, which was not an unusual thing in and of itself; the man was friendly, but not much in the way of chatter. The only thing that had made this silence strange was his clear understanding of the situation in comparison to everyone else here. "It would probably be best for me to remain at the Lookout. Earth will need someone to watch over it in your absence."
"And speaking of the more earthly matters . . ." Korin's voice trailed off as his gaze shifted elsewhere. Dende followed his glance to the spot where Yajirobe had been standing – only the samurai was not there anymore. Korin sighed. "I should have seen that coming. Don't worry though; you and Baba should probably get going, Dende."
Korin's eyes turned back to him, and Dende started at the wickedly mischievous grin on the old cat's face.
"You've got your own business to attend to," Korin continued. "I can handle Yajirobe."
He may not have been the smartest guy in the world, but he could see a terrible assignment coming a mile away.
Hand under hand, foot under foot, Yajirobe climbed down the massive spire that was Korin Tower with the ease of long practice. Over the years he had gone up and down many times on a journey that could kill any normal man. It didn't phase him at all anymore. Just a part of his normal routine.
Not that terrible assignments weren't part of that same normal routine, but they were something that did still phase him. Getting a mission from Korin was like being audited. This time especially. World crises generally meant less appealing missions.
Which was why he had stealthily snuck off the tower's main platform when Korin had begun speaking of a defense on two fronts – he knew that he would end up as part of one of them. It wasn't a very fun prospect.
Not that he was afraid. No, certainly not that. This world had a slew of super powerful warriors, far beyond anything that he wanted to be. Let them handle things for a change; he was getting real tired of having to save everyone's butts. The others were just going to have to learn to get along without him.
A cold wind came over his bare arms, but he did not shiver at its touch. It was a more than welcome thing after spending the past forty minutes or so climbing down this stupid tower. The coolness was welcomed by his overheating body.
What wasn't welcomed, however, was what he saw when he took a brief glance upward. To most people, it would look pretty innocent – but anyone who knew Korin would know better than that. The small black cloud floated above him, its surface slowly undulating as if it were liquid water instead of gaseous water. Of course, it was a mystical cloud, so who said that it was actually made of that anyway?
Yajirobe just shrugged; he wondered at the random thoughts that wandered into his head sometimes. But he didn't wonder at the black cloud. He glared at it. "Forget it, cat. You're not getting me back up there; I've got trouble enough as it is without you adding more."
With that, he continued his journey down the tower. He steadfastly refused to acknowledge his last glimpse of that black cloud. For the smallest second, he could have sworn that the thing was laughing at him.
What in the world . . .
Gohan's attention snapped to his left, where he could abruptly sense several sources of non-ki. Strong ones, much more so than the ones that had touched his senses last week. Even though it was daytime his eyes had trouble piercing through the shadows cast by the trees at the clearing's edge; he still could not see the source.
He was relieved of that problem a little more quickly than he would have liked.
With a surprised yelp, he threw himself against the ground as a tall form shot out from the trees with a hand raised for a strike. The form sailed over his head, its raised hand clipping a few hairs. He didn't waste any time in kicking himself up to his feet, sliding by instinct into a defensive posture. Breath came in uneven gasps from his lungs, and he thanked goodness that his reflexes were still at an acceptable level; that blow could have taken his head off had he been even a second slower.
Now that it was in the clearing, Gohan could finally get a good look at this thing. What he saw disturbed him greatly, even if a large part of him had been expecting it. Perhaps eight feet tall, disproportionate arms, pale yellow skin . . . It fit the description of that news report almost perfectly. And it wasn't alone, either.
Tensely, Gohan glanced over his shoulder for a second to where he could sense the other presences. It was awfully close-quarters here, so fighting them all at once would be far too difficult should they try that tactic . . . He shook his head. Deal with a situation if it came – it was best to keep the mind attuned to the task at hand.
Which was all the easier now that the creature was attacking him again. He ducked under a swung arm, hopped over a lunging leg to drive his elbow into the thing's gut. It staggered backward, falling for a second . . . But it quickly regained its feet. In its eyes, there was clearly no intention of backing down. Gohan frowned at this; he didn't want to have to kill it.
A power raised up behind him, shooting in his direction with an almost alarming speed. He caught it in time, though, and dove to the side – the new attacker sailed past him and ploughed right into the first, claws tearing a hole into the first one's side.
Mentally, Gohan winced at this; that blow had been aimed at his head, too. These things might be a little incompetent, but they certainly did mean business. In these situations he liked to try and diffuse things by talking them out, taking away the other's desire to fight. He got the impression, however, that words were going to be pretty useless here.
A hissing through the brush caught his ears and this time he did not react quickly enough. A light splash of hot liquid grazed the side of his leg, the sound only intensifying now that it had made contact – and he hissed himself as this liquid ate through his pant leg and into his skin. While it didn't seem to be doing much more than burning him – the few drops on their own did not seem to be able to eat through his skin very significantly – the pain was more than a distraction.
He looked up too late to dodge the next blow.
The fist caught him full in the chest, knocking the breath from him and sent him hurtling across the clearing – and through a couple of tree trunks for his trouble. Gohan tumbled to the ground, instinctively tucking himself into a ball to prevent further injury. The pain in his leg had subsided a bit by now, and he used his rolling motion to regain his feet once more.
He took a deep breath, eyes on the clearing to catch any oncoming attack. There were getting to be too many of them out there for him to handle comfortably. Perhaps, though he disliked the thought, it was about time that he evened up the odds a little bit.
The power never completely left his consciousness anymore; it always remained there, even by the barest of threads, from long habit. He couldn't get rid of it if he tried – a fact known from experience. Thus he found it easily in its accustomed location and called upon it as he always did.
Only it didn't come.
"What –" was all that he got out before one of his assailants came charging through the brush after him. In too much shock to put up much in the way of a defense, Gohan merely shot upward, taking to the air to give himself more time.
Granted, he had never liked that he was as powerful as he was. Nobody deserved that much strength, least of all him. But not being able to call upon it was . . . He knew that his power would degrade now that he wasn't training, but this was ridiculous. Impossible, even. Something else had to be wrong.
He didn't have the time to consider it, though. The skies were no save haven; the creatures flew up to meet him – three this time. Their reach advantage made things awkward even though he was more than accustomed to fighting people much larger than himself. His body weaved in a jerky dance of evasions, careful to only scarcely get out of the path of one set of claws so as to avoid being impaled by another. Every so often, he felt the lightest of grazes against his skin and all the while, the back of his mind struggled to summon his power.
Gohan finally caught a break as one of his opponents left an opening and he rammed his shoulder into its chest; as it began to fall back, he shot his foot out to the same spot in order to speed the creature's trip to the ground. And at last the back of his mind touched upon his power and started to summon it forth –
An invisible force suddenly wrapped around his body, bringing the summoning to an abrupt halt. Every inch of him felt restricted and numb, though the latter sensation was not with him for long as a set of claws jabbed into his shoulder and pain poured into him as a substitute for the blood that now poured out. Still he struggled against his bindings, body braced for the next strike, one of what surely would be many.
But no new strikes landed.
It sensed the new presence perhaps even before the yashoku did and acted in accordance with its instincts – namely, it began searching for a quiet way out of here. This new presence was a powerful one indeed, and thus it should stay and do its job . . . but it would not be missed. Its brethren could handle things here.
Finding an opening, it shuffled along under the bushes, unseen by the others of its kind. Yes, it was time to vacate from this battle.
Normally, it would not have tried something like this. The inhabitants of the worlds they reclaimed meant nothing at all. Save for this time. That little one had gotten to it somehow, and the first warrior to show up had been the little one's protector. In some strange way, it didn't want any further part with this target.
That, and it wanted to get out of here alive. The sky flashed brightly above it, lit by the battle beginning anew.
Gohan would have smiled in relief, but he still was unable to move. He'd regained his motion for a fraction of a second before the bindings came across him in force once more. He could deal with that, however. The situation would be remedied within a few minutes.
It was convenient that the battle was going on directly in front of him, for he would otherwise have been unable to follow it. He watched with pure appreciation and admiration – in addition to a bit of smug thankfulness; he should have known that things would happen this way – as Piccolo-san fired a ki blast directly into the chest of one of the creatures, sending it tumbling from the sky.
The other one came now, but his mentor effortlessly caught it by its long skinny arm, smoothly whirling it about in a circle before hurling it to the ground. And he sent another ki blast down at one that had decided rather badly to join in the fray.
At the impact of the second creature, the invisible bonds around Gohan melted, and he nearly fell from the sky himself at the sudden relaxation of his muscles. Still a little numb in the extremities, he flexed his fingers and toes in an effort to get his blood flowing there again. When he finally regained feeling in them, he smiled up at Piccolo-san.
"You okay, kid?" Only one who knew the Namekseijin well could have detected the slight hint of concern in both eyes and voice. It was absent from both, however, by the next words. "You really need to grow up. Still can't get yourself out of trouble without me."
Gohan smiled brightly in spite of the harsh tone; this was simply his teacher's way. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, with a brief glance to his shoulder. The blood made it look worse than it was and he had fought through more serious wounds than this. "But I don't think this is done yet."
He could sense Piccolo-san's acknowledgement even though he was given no physical sign of it. Rather, his mentor dove toward the trees, where the last few non-ki signatures resided. Gohan wasted little time following suit, once again groping for the power that he'd been about to summon before he had been paralyzed.
As he burst down through the treetops, the world around him exploded into a fiery tint of golden light. Finally. The presence of his mentor and the familiar pulse of the Super Saiyajin power washed away the fears and doubts that had been plaguing him moments ago. It wasn't confidence – not quite. Reassurance was probably a better word for this feeling. He was reassured.
The speed of the creatures, which had caused him worry when this fight had begun, had been reduced to average at best. He darted under one attack, leaning into one of his own all in the same motion. And for safety's sake he added two more; the creature dropped to the ground before it could even attempt another strike.
There was still something wrong, though. Even after so short a time, his power was threatening to abandon him. He was keeping it active by sheer force of will, reminded disturbingly of when he'd only recently attained this form. Back then, maintaining it had been a great problem; his body had found it too foreign and had tried to expel it. Now, though . . . the form was practically second nature to him, even after four years of barely using it.
He caught a glimpse of one of the creatures before it was taken out by a ki blast from Piccolo-san, who was fighting beside him. Gohan nearly started at its appearance, for it had not been the tall form of those that he had battled, but a small and muscular one like Goten had described last week. So they were related . . .
Gohan landed carefully, taking an absent look around to ensure that the battle was concluded. With this confirmed, he allowed his power to leave him in a smooth, flowing rush. His left leg wobbled underneath him, reminding him of that harsh acidic substance that had struck him there. But he spared no more notice on this; he had more important matters to consider.
He didn't even hear Piccolo-san step closer. His mentor's shadow came over him, a most fitting complement to the sense of foreboding that grew within him. "I don't know what's happening, Piccolo-san."
For his part, Piccolo-san gave a grunt of acknowledgement, but did not deign to say anything as of yet.
"These creatures . . ." Gohan went on, not even speaking directly to anyone. It was more to sort out the tangle of thoughts that threatened to ensnare his mind. "And the Super Saiyajin form . . . it was tough for me to call upon, but I can't figure out . . ."
A sudden thought occurred to him, and he looked worriedly down at his leg. Not his left, where he had suffered that acid burn today, but his right, where he had suffered that claw wound last week. The wound that even Dende's talents had failed to heal completely. He was getting a terrible feeling that this was not the only disconcerting feature about it. Perhaps it might be the cause?
"Hey, Piccolo-san?" He finally turned to his mentor, who looked as tall and imposing as ever in his white cape and turban, with his arms crossed over his chest. Gohan was about to voice his question, but his throat went dry as he noticed something.
A set of four parallel scratch marks on Piccolo-san's arm.
