Hi folks, this is Onyx speaking. I've been noticing something of a
phenomenon on FF.Net lately - the brothers as I've recreated them are
turning up in a lot of fan fictions ^.^ This is even aside from the fic
that I'm co-authoring with Chaotic Souls - she's a friend of many years, an
outstanding author, and I'm honored to have met her. I promise you, you
won't regret reading any of her fics.
As for the occasional use of my characters, I'm both flattered and amazed to see such a thing happening.especially now, almost five and a half years after my first posting of this fic on a wonderful little site by the name of Mamono Shakuhachi. Meanwhile, I'll try to be a little speedier in my updates now that inspiration is knocking again. Lots of luck, and enjoy the next chapter ^.^
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Son knew that this was going to be the worst fight of his life even as he leapt onto kintoen.his companion since adolescence.his little orange cloud. He felt immediately comfortable once he set foot on the familiar surface, all of his doubts seeming to drop out the bottom as an unwholesome person surely would. This was one more battle, and he should be used to them by now. The way he had it figured, his energy reading would always be lower if he wasn't flying himself. It was a paltry, sick little advantage, but he'd take what he could get.
"Are you sure we can't come, Goku?" Krillen asked, hands limp at his sides, a clear expression of dejection on his rounded face. True, the little monk didn't really want to fight Raditzu.but he wanted his friend to go out there alone even less.
Goku forced a grin, managing to look as carefree as ever, though he didn't feel it. He felt like he'd just swallowed a block of lead. "Naw, Krillen, I'll be okay. You two stay here an' keep an eye on Chichi for me, alright?"
"Sure. Good luck, Goku" Yamcha responded a bit too quickly, giving him a thumbs up. The newly-realized Saiyajin almost wished that they'd try a little harder to talk him out of this. Then again, if they did.he'd probably take them along, and that wouldn't be good either.
Flashing a quick V for victory sign, Goku felt Kintoen rise under him, and he was flying - surfing on a breeze. To all appearances, he was in high spirits as he left; he only let his grin drop when he was out of sight of the house. He knew probably better than any of them how badly he was outmatched.but hadn't Daimao been stronger than he was? Hadn't the Red Ribbon Army? Hadn't Taopaipai? And every time, he'd come out on top, no matter that it had been harder than the time before.
He'd get his son back. He'd find a way. Even if that meant doing it all alone. Even if it meant that he'd die in the attempt. And even as he considered this possibility, he couldn't help but notice that his blood was racing so that it was singing in his veins, thrumming in his ears in an eager cadence as it always did right before a battle.but never so wildly as this.
Well, Raditsu had been right about one thing, anyway. Deep down, he loved to fight. What his brother hadn't thought of was that.he also fought for love, not bloodlust.
That was why he had always won, and why he was going to win.
* * *
Raditsu hadn't known exactly what to expect when his brother arrived.though deep down, he'd suspected that it wouldn't be submission. He was too Saiyajin for that. Even as warped and spineless as he was, there was a warrior's heart buried in there somewhere. Yes, Kakkarotto would have to be beaten at least once more before he'd even begin to consider killing those people.
Of course, that suited Raditsu just fine. It was about time he got to do some fighting for himself instead of for that undersized, pasty lizard thing.
Thus, he was ready for any number of things as he stood, knee deep in the grass that formed a waving, living ocean around him.flowing parallel to his hair in the wind. His arms were crossed and his feet shoulder width apart in a relaxed attention.
Only his expression wavered from the aforementioned stoic posture when he saw his brother riding up on a little puffball of a cloud. It morphed from stoic to disgusted. "Can't you even fly for yourself?" he snapped.
Son flipped from the cloud to land in a crouch before his brother.the orange gi bringing to mind the last leaf of fall, drifting to the ground. "'Least I can get people to fight me without kidnapping their kids."
At this, Raditzu found himself scowling so hard that his thick brows all but covered his eyes. With a deliberate swipe of the hand, he pushed the cascade of his hair over one shoulder and out of his way. "Shut up and fight," he growled, baring his canines at the other in open invitation.
The two did indeed close to fight, though they did NOT shut up.their cursing and hissing and growling and varying taunts carried on the wind for miles. .
* * *
Piccolo sat up so quickly that he cracked his head solidly on the window sill. With a self-deprecating hiss, he realized that he must have dozed off.in a bloody window, in plain sight of ground and sky.an easy target.
Gods, he was turning into such a fool.
But he'd berate himself later. Right now, he wanted to know what had awakened him. It must have been something immense to.to.the horizon was glowing. This was not the light of dawn nor of sunset nor even of the northern lights that had so often eased his sense of loneliness as he'd tried to accustom himself to so much snow after so much sand. They had reminded him of the colors of the desert streaked through the.Ye GODS what was the matter with him, he didn't have time for this.
The glow was like that of a distant fire.and sometimes like flashing lightning.bright enough to blind, and then deadly dark. There was the mother of all energy battles going on in the foothills.most likely near the plains.
He didn't need to think twice to realize who it was.
He smirked.though he had to FORCE his lips to go up. This was a perfect battle so far as he was concerned. No matter who won, they would kill the winner. No matter who lost, they would lose an enemy. Perfect. At least.it had sounded perfect when Tambourine outlined it.
Thinking about it now, he felt sick.
It was cowardly of him, cowardly and foolish. He tried several times to drum up some enthusiasm by envisioning his longtime rival getting impaled.blasted.beaten until he bled from a thousand places. It did no good. All he could see were a pair of dark eyes arching in pain, and a child crying brokenly as he lost his father.
"You seem troubled, brother," a familiar voice hissed over his shoulder. Again, Piccolo jumped.feeling every inch of skin on his body crawl.
"Would you care to unburden yourself?" Tambourine continued.a faint thread of amusement in his voice at having startled the other.but also a thread of what sounded like compassion.
Piccolo returned his eyes to the flaring lights. "I don't know."
"You do not know if you wish my help, or you do not know what you might want help with.or you do not know which way is up? You know better than to be vague with me, brother."
Piccolo opened his mouth to reply.but closed it without saying anything at all. He could hear a soft whisper of cloth as the other came up beside him.peering out the window with an odd expression of expectation. "Something like this cannot last long.it will cease to trouble you soon."
The younger demon nodded. Of course it would.but the memory of that wink came back to him, and he couldn't help but wonder if his brother was really.
He felt a hand brush his cheek - a hand free of the thick leather gloves that Tambourine usually wore. "You are confused, brother.let me make it clear for you."
Any other time, Piccolo would have disagreed. His brother was empathic.and the thought of having someone else reading not just his thoughts, but his feelings, his innermost workings.made him feel horrifically vulnerable. Still in some cases, it can only help. After a moment or two, the hand withdrew.though he felt no different..
"It's the younger Saiyajin, brother," Tambourine murmured.tone faintly regretful. "You're rather fixated on him, I'm afraid. It's an easy thing to fall into, as much emphasis as we've placed upon him, but."
Piccolo twisted to face the other, offering him a crippling glare. "I am NOT fixated. I want the sonofabitch to die, alright? I hate him more than I hate.more than I hate Cymbal!"
The younger demon heard his brother sigh.and when next Tambourine spoke, his voice was almost soothing. "Of course you do, brother.of course you do. But still you have this fixation. The man is insane.as such, he confuses you with the strangeness of his thoughts when he manages to think at all. You continually try to determine the way in which his mind works and cannot.as such, he makes you feel as though YOU are the one who makes no sense..." the demon shook his head. "That is why you do not kill him, Piccolo.you wait to understand, and you never shall."
Piccolo blinked, leaning back against the stone. It sounded right.he DID feel confused around Son.always felt confused around him, especially on the occasions where he'd tried to kill him.or had wakened to feel the other nearby, doing him no harm, helping him when he could.
The younger demon shook his head to clear it.even the chill wind wasn't doing that for him anymore. For some reason, his head was buzzing.his vision ever-so-slightly blurred. "And that's all it is?"
"That's all it is, brother."
"If he dies.will that fix it?"
There was a long silence at this as the older brother turned his eyes again to the light.flashes reflecting perfectly in silver-gray irises. "Most likely not."
Piccolo bit back a snarl. "Alright.what will?"
As Piccolo watched, seconds seemed to stretch to minutes, minutes to hours, and hours to eternity.like the sand in that blasted hour glass. "You must accept that he means nothing by his gestures.that there is nothing to understand. He is an idiot. Of course.he is also about to die." silver eyes flicking to the window. "So perhaps you'll never have the chance to accept this." And his tone, at the last, is sorrowful.
With a deep breath, Piccolo climbed wholly into the window sill. "No.I'm going to accept it. I'm going to go.and I'm going to watch him die. I'm going to watch him fight and see that he's everything you say." at this, his tone dipped, "and then I'm going to finally let go of the bastard. Forever"
Tambourine's voice again.heavy with concern. "Brother.this is dangerous.I'll have to advise against it."
"No." Piccolo's voice was firm.almost a snap. "I have to do this. Now." And with that, he flung himself into air cold enough to bite through fabric and skin alike, chilling to the bone. The wind was harsh against his face as he flew, tearing furrows into his cheeks.
He could not see his brother lounging still in the window. He could not see the barely perceptible lines of concern around the mouth shift to a delicate smirk. He could not see the other shake his head at how easily that was done.could not see him draw the shutters on the window closed and click them shut like the doors to a tomb.as they may well have been.
* * *
For the first time in his life, Son Goku was giving moderate consideration to just lying down and dying. This impulse lasted only a moment or two, but was enough to shake him nonetheless.
He'd never heard of anyone being slammed into the ground this many times and surviving, much less getting up to fight again. He wasn't proud of this fact. He was just tired. Nonetheless, he found his feet, turning his head to cough out the dust that clogged his lungs and matted his eyes. Trembling hands helped him to scramble out of the crater which he had created with his own body as he'd landed.
His brother - no, Raditzu.that man was no brother of his - stood facing him. Ankle-length raven locks fluttered in the breeze, a tumultuous ocean whipping as a background. "Haven't you had enough yet?" the Saiyajin warrior asked in a bored tone. There was barely enough sweat on his bronzed skin to create a gleam.
Goku growled, the fine hairs on his tail standing straight up. Normally, he'd divest himself of his weights at this point, but he'd already taken them off. He'd begin using his more advanced chi attacks.but he had already been using them.
There was nothing to do but try harder.so again, he launched himself at his brother.
* * *
Piccolo arrived on a nearby bluff just in time to see Son Goku plow yet another trench with his shoulder. He couldn't help an involuntary little wince as the other man rebounded off a rock, even as he mentally chalked up points to Raditzu for efficiency.
Drawing partially behind a rock, the demon noted that the battle must have been very one-sided. Son's frame was a mass of scrapes and bruises; the thick hair was lackluster from dust. And still he was getting up again.
As Piccolo continued to watch, the two warriors closed. They danced around one another for several breaths before Raditzu seemed to disappear.though he was merely moving far faster than he could follow.and reappear behind the smaller warrior. A sharp blow to the spine bent the earth-born Saiyajin nearly double.and Piccolo was moderately surprised that the blow did not snap his back.
Funny.he'd expected this watching crap to be a lot harder than it actually was. He'd expected to want to participate in the fight. From this distance, though, the sounds and vibrations of the explosions were muted, the flying forms were far away. It didn't seem real at all.just a light show.
Well, except that he'd heard bones crack even from this distance as Raditzu delivered a sold, surprising sidekick to his longtime rival's ribs.
It was an immense relief to Piccolo that he felt almost no desire to jump in. Why should he have? He'd just attack the winner as planned.it wasn't such a bad plan, now that he thought about it. It was clean and simple and made sense. Too little of his life had made sense for a long time. It was nice to have just one thing be black and white.
And this was as black and white as it could get. His only moment of real disquiet came when Raditzu and Goku looked one another in the eye, and he recognized the hardneess of it, the suppressed hatred - he and Cymbal had often shared looks such as that. The similarity was eerie.but that wasn't important, now was it?
Blinking as the Saiyajin faced off against his brother again, he had to wonder, how many times that man could get up. Piccolo watched with one eyeridge raised as Son Goku staggered out of a crater.obviously punch-drunk and exhausted..hitting a stance more by falling into it than by design. Tambourine was right.the man was insane. Piccolo could see fighting until collapse or death when he stood a chance of winning, but Raditzu wasn't even breathing hard. The man was just throwing his life away for no reason whatsoever.
For the life of him, the demon didn't know why he was staying. It was the most senseless thing he had ever seen..
And then his ear flicked.
A child had suddenly started crying.as though he had just at that moment seen what was going on outside the pod. From that distance, even Piccolo could barely make it out, though he definitely heard the words "Daddy" and "don't leave me."
"I'll get you out, Gohan, don't worry!" The Saiyajin yelled back.and while doing so, he completely missed the fact that Raditzu was attacking again. By that time, Piccolo had lost count of the times he'd seen the man flung away.an aggravating orange-hued gnat that had had the audacity to attack a mastiff.
"Leave him, fool," Piccolo snapped under his breath, tone dripping impatience. "If he were my son, I'd leave him. It's not like you can help him by dying here. Anyone with any SENSE would cut his losses and run."
.like my father did.
.wait a minute.
Piccolo might have had a serious moment of introspection just then, but the wild light from a chi blast jolted him out of it. He felt his eyes widen unconsciously as the entire world seemed to blaze with fire plucked from the heart of the sun. His head swam, and he was forced to look away for fear that his eyes would be burned out of his skull.
When he looked back, he saw two things. He saw that Raditzu was unharmed, and he saw that Son Goku was sprawled facedown in the dirt. He did not move, nor did he seem to breathe. If he had chi, Piccolo could not feel it.
The realization seeped into him slowly.dark tea into light cloth.little tendrils moving up and up until they encircled his thoughts. He had just seen Son Goku die. And he took no joy from it. There was just that strange, sick feeling.and a sudden realization that chilled him to the core.
Now that he's gone.what use am I? What am I going to do?
Then his spine stiffened. Perhaps later this would be a problem. For right then.he had a duty to perform. Raditzu had to at least be winded.he would fight him next. Trusting that Tambourine was keeping tabs on the fight and would inform the others that it was time, Piccolo launched himself from the bluff.prepared for the fight of his life.
* * *
Tambourine's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.a fine glaze settling over them.frost on a morning-grey lake. For just a moment, he saw through his brother's eyes, saw the warrior that the other was poised to face.
Ah, Piccolo was expecting him to inform the others.he'd always been a bright boy. A little warped and repressed, perhaps, but bright.
The demon took a deep breath, mentally reviewing his plans - not the plans he had given Cymbal, but his plans - as though with a fine-toothed comb. He found them sound. Airtight. And very, very reliable.
Deliberately, he reached over.picked his book up..and set it on his lap. He resumed the chapter where he had left off when he was so unfortunately interrupted. The time would come.but perhaps not for many, many hours.
Meanwhile.he may as well take advantage of the time off and FINALLY finish this blasted chapter.
* * *
Raditzu never saw him coming. Piccolo managed to land a flying kick to the back of the other man's head, sending him airborne.just in time for the Saiyajin to catch a chi blast between the shoulder blades.
The demon was fairly sure that the monkey flew a record distance that day. It was really a pity that it didn't incapacitate him.
Still, the Saiyajin was just a bit slower getting up.from his stance, Piccolo figured that he'd twisted the man's knee badly. He felt a grim little smirk curve his lips even as the other snarled some random insult at him.
He had a chance. Or at least a better chance. A pity that Son hadn't been around to.ye gods, the man was dead, and he was STILL plaguing his thoughts.
Fortunately, they were interrupted as Raditzu attacked again.and from then on, life was a blur of flying fists and flying hair and the smell of singed skin.
* * *
Son Goku had to try several times to open his eyes.and when he did, all he could see was an incessant, throbbing light. Ah, so there really WAS one of those.he'd always sort of wondered. It sounded like a really weird way to introduce people to the afterlife.he'd always thought that a "Welcome" mat would've had a much nicer effect with a lot less effort. Then again, he guessed that it was their afterlife.they could run it however they wanted to. With that in mind, he settled in patiently to wait for the harp players.
When they didn't come after the first few moments.unless he counted an odd ringing sound.he began to suspect that something was wrong. Then he began to hear things.like thuds and whirrs and a familiar, deep baritone using language that would melt most battleships.
.PICCOLO!...was he dead too? No.not possible, being dead wasn't supposed to hurt.so he must be alive.
Funny.he'd been fighting his brother.he'd lost, so he should be dead. Which meant that.Piccolo had saved him.and was now fighting Raditzu alone.Son growled..forcing the numbness from his mind.and fumbling at a pocket. With much effort, he managed to cradle a small, smooth object into his palm. With equal difficulty, he managed to force it into his mouth. His big brother was about to get the shock of his life.
As for the occasional use of my characters, I'm both flattered and amazed to see such a thing happening.especially now, almost five and a half years after my first posting of this fic on a wonderful little site by the name of Mamono Shakuhachi. Meanwhile, I'll try to be a little speedier in my updates now that inspiration is knocking again. Lots of luck, and enjoy the next chapter ^.^
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Son knew that this was going to be the worst fight of his life even as he leapt onto kintoen.his companion since adolescence.his little orange cloud. He felt immediately comfortable once he set foot on the familiar surface, all of his doubts seeming to drop out the bottom as an unwholesome person surely would. This was one more battle, and he should be used to them by now. The way he had it figured, his energy reading would always be lower if he wasn't flying himself. It was a paltry, sick little advantage, but he'd take what he could get.
"Are you sure we can't come, Goku?" Krillen asked, hands limp at his sides, a clear expression of dejection on his rounded face. True, the little monk didn't really want to fight Raditzu.but he wanted his friend to go out there alone even less.
Goku forced a grin, managing to look as carefree as ever, though he didn't feel it. He felt like he'd just swallowed a block of lead. "Naw, Krillen, I'll be okay. You two stay here an' keep an eye on Chichi for me, alright?"
"Sure. Good luck, Goku" Yamcha responded a bit too quickly, giving him a thumbs up. The newly-realized Saiyajin almost wished that they'd try a little harder to talk him out of this. Then again, if they did.he'd probably take them along, and that wouldn't be good either.
Flashing a quick V for victory sign, Goku felt Kintoen rise under him, and he was flying - surfing on a breeze. To all appearances, he was in high spirits as he left; he only let his grin drop when he was out of sight of the house. He knew probably better than any of them how badly he was outmatched.but hadn't Daimao been stronger than he was? Hadn't the Red Ribbon Army? Hadn't Taopaipai? And every time, he'd come out on top, no matter that it had been harder than the time before.
He'd get his son back. He'd find a way. Even if that meant doing it all alone. Even if it meant that he'd die in the attempt. And even as he considered this possibility, he couldn't help but notice that his blood was racing so that it was singing in his veins, thrumming in his ears in an eager cadence as it always did right before a battle.but never so wildly as this.
Well, Raditsu had been right about one thing, anyway. Deep down, he loved to fight. What his brother hadn't thought of was that.he also fought for love, not bloodlust.
That was why he had always won, and why he was going to win.
* * *
Raditsu hadn't known exactly what to expect when his brother arrived.though deep down, he'd suspected that it wouldn't be submission. He was too Saiyajin for that. Even as warped and spineless as he was, there was a warrior's heart buried in there somewhere. Yes, Kakkarotto would have to be beaten at least once more before he'd even begin to consider killing those people.
Of course, that suited Raditsu just fine. It was about time he got to do some fighting for himself instead of for that undersized, pasty lizard thing.
Thus, he was ready for any number of things as he stood, knee deep in the grass that formed a waving, living ocean around him.flowing parallel to his hair in the wind. His arms were crossed and his feet shoulder width apart in a relaxed attention.
Only his expression wavered from the aforementioned stoic posture when he saw his brother riding up on a little puffball of a cloud. It morphed from stoic to disgusted. "Can't you even fly for yourself?" he snapped.
Son flipped from the cloud to land in a crouch before his brother.the orange gi bringing to mind the last leaf of fall, drifting to the ground. "'Least I can get people to fight me without kidnapping their kids."
At this, Raditzu found himself scowling so hard that his thick brows all but covered his eyes. With a deliberate swipe of the hand, he pushed the cascade of his hair over one shoulder and out of his way. "Shut up and fight," he growled, baring his canines at the other in open invitation.
The two did indeed close to fight, though they did NOT shut up.their cursing and hissing and growling and varying taunts carried on the wind for miles. .
* * *
Piccolo sat up so quickly that he cracked his head solidly on the window sill. With a self-deprecating hiss, he realized that he must have dozed off.in a bloody window, in plain sight of ground and sky.an easy target.
Gods, he was turning into such a fool.
But he'd berate himself later. Right now, he wanted to know what had awakened him. It must have been something immense to.to.the horizon was glowing. This was not the light of dawn nor of sunset nor even of the northern lights that had so often eased his sense of loneliness as he'd tried to accustom himself to so much snow after so much sand. They had reminded him of the colors of the desert streaked through the.Ye GODS what was the matter with him, he didn't have time for this.
The glow was like that of a distant fire.and sometimes like flashing lightning.bright enough to blind, and then deadly dark. There was the mother of all energy battles going on in the foothills.most likely near the plains.
He didn't need to think twice to realize who it was.
He smirked.though he had to FORCE his lips to go up. This was a perfect battle so far as he was concerned. No matter who won, they would kill the winner. No matter who lost, they would lose an enemy. Perfect. At least.it had sounded perfect when Tambourine outlined it.
Thinking about it now, he felt sick.
It was cowardly of him, cowardly and foolish. He tried several times to drum up some enthusiasm by envisioning his longtime rival getting impaled.blasted.beaten until he bled from a thousand places. It did no good. All he could see were a pair of dark eyes arching in pain, and a child crying brokenly as he lost his father.
"You seem troubled, brother," a familiar voice hissed over his shoulder. Again, Piccolo jumped.feeling every inch of skin on his body crawl.
"Would you care to unburden yourself?" Tambourine continued.a faint thread of amusement in his voice at having startled the other.but also a thread of what sounded like compassion.
Piccolo returned his eyes to the flaring lights. "I don't know."
"You do not know if you wish my help, or you do not know what you might want help with.or you do not know which way is up? You know better than to be vague with me, brother."
Piccolo opened his mouth to reply.but closed it without saying anything at all. He could hear a soft whisper of cloth as the other came up beside him.peering out the window with an odd expression of expectation. "Something like this cannot last long.it will cease to trouble you soon."
The younger demon nodded. Of course it would.but the memory of that wink came back to him, and he couldn't help but wonder if his brother was really.
He felt a hand brush his cheek - a hand free of the thick leather gloves that Tambourine usually wore. "You are confused, brother.let me make it clear for you."
Any other time, Piccolo would have disagreed. His brother was empathic.and the thought of having someone else reading not just his thoughts, but his feelings, his innermost workings.made him feel horrifically vulnerable. Still in some cases, it can only help. After a moment or two, the hand withdrew.though he felt no different..
"It's the younger Saiyajin, brother," Tambourine murmured.tone faintly regretful. "You're rather fixated on him, I'm afraid. It's an easy thing to fall into, as much emphasis as we've placed upon him, but."
Piccolo twisted to face the other, offering him a crippling glare. "I am NOT fixated. I want the sonofabitch to die, alright? I hate him more than I hate.more than I hate Cymbal!"
The younger demon heard his brother sigh.and when next Tambourine spoke, his voice was almost soothing. "Of course you do, brother.of course you do. But still you have this fixation. The man is insane.as such, he confuses you with the strangeness of his thoughts when he manages to think at all. You continually try to determine the way in which his mind works and cannot.as such, he makes you feel as though YOU are the one who makes no sense..." the demon shook his head. "That is why you do not kill him, Piccolo.you wait to understand, and you never shall."
Piccolo blinked, leaning back against the stone. It sounded right.he DID feel confused around Son.always felt confused around him, especially on the occasions where he'd tried to kill him.or had wakened to feel the other nearby, doing him no harm, helping him when he could.
The younger demon shook his head to clear it.even the chill wind wasn't doing that for him anymore. For some reason, his head was buzzing.his vision ever-so-slightly blurred. "And that's all it is?"
"That's all it is, brother."
"If he dies.will that fix it?"
There was a long silence at this as the older brother turned his eyes again to the light.flashes reflecting perfectly in silver-gray irises. "Most likely not."
Piccolo bit back a snarl. "Alright.what will?"
As Piccolo watched, seconds seemed to stretch to minutes, minutes to hours, and hours to eternity.like the sand in that blasted hour glass. "You must accept that he means nothing by his gestures.that there is nothing to understand. He is an idiot. Of course.he is also about to die." silver eyes flicking to the window. "So perhaps you'll never have the chance to accept this." And his tone, at the last, is sorrowful.
With a deep breath, Piccolo climbed wholly into the window sill. "No.I'm going to accept it. I'm going to go.and I'm going to watch him die. I'm going to watch him fight and see that he's everything you say." at this, his tone dipped, "and then I'm going to finally let go of the bastard. Forever"
Tambourine's voice again.heavy with concern. "Brother.this is dangerous.I'll have to advise against it."
"No." Piccolo's voice was firm.almost a snap. "I have to do this. Now." And with that, he flung himself into air cold enough to bite through fabric and skin alike, chilling to the bone. The wind was harsh against his face as he flew, tearing furrows into his cheeks.
He could not see his brother lounging still in the window. He could not see the barely perceptible lines of concern around the mouth shift to a delicate smirk. He could not see the other shake his head at how easily that was done.could not see him draw the shutters on the window closed and click them shut like the doors to a tomb.as they may well have been.
* * *
For the first time in his life, Son Goku was giving moderate consideration to just lying down and dying. This impulse lasted only a moment or two, but was enough to shake him nonetheless.
He'd never heard of anyone being slammed into the ground this many times and surviving, much less getting up to fight again. He wasn't proud of this fact. He was just tired. Nonetheless, he found his feet, turning his head to cough out the dust that clogged his lungs and matted his eyes. Trembling hands helped him to scramble out of the crater which he had created with his own body as he'd landed.
His brother - no, Raditzu.that man was no brother of his - stood facing him. Ankle-length raven locks fluttered in the breeze, a tumultuous ocean whipping as a background. "Haven't you had enough yet?" the Saiyajin warrior asked in a bored tone. There was barely enough sweat on his bronzed skin to create a gleam.
Goku growled, the fine hairs on his tail standing straight up. Normally, he'd divest himself of his weights at this point, but he'd already taken them off. He'd begin using his more advanced chi attacks.but he had already been using them.
There was nothing to do but try harder.so again, he launched himself at his brother.
* * *
Piccolo arrived on a nearby bluff just in time to see Son Goku plow yet another trench with his shoulder. He couldn't help an involuntary little wince as the other man rebounded off a rock, even as he mentally chalked up points to Raditzu for efficiency.
Drawing partially behind a rock, the demon noted that the battle must have been very one-sided. Son's frame was a mass of scrapes and bruises; the thick hair was lackluster from dust. And still he was getting up again.
As Piccolo continued to watch, the two warriors closed. They danced around one another for several breaths before Raditzu seemed to disappear.though he was merely moving far faster than he could follow.and reappear behind the smaller warrior. A sharp blow to the spine bent the earth-born Saiyajin nearly double.and Piccolo was moderately surprised that the blow did not snap his back.
Funny.he'd expected this watching crap to be a lot harder than it actually was. He'd expected to want to participate in the fight. From this distance, though, the sounds and vibrations of the explosions were muted, the flying forms were far away. It didn't seem real at all.just a light show.
Well, except that he'd heard bones crack even from this distance as Raditzu delivered a sold, surprising sidekick to his longtime rival's ribs.
It was an immense relief to Piccolo that he felt almost no desire to jump in. Why should he have? He'd just attack the winner as planned.it wasn't such a bad plan, now that he thought about it. It was clean and simple and made sense. Too little of his life had made sense for a long time. It was nice to have just one thing be black and white.
And this was as black and white as it could get. His only moment of real disquiet came when Raditzu and Goku looked one another in the eye, and he recognized the hardneess of it, the suppressed hatred - he and Cymbal had often shared looks such as that. The similarity was eerie.but that wasn't important, now was it?
Blinking as the Saiyajin faced off against his brother again, he had to wonder, how many times that man could get up. Piccolo watched with one eyeridge raised as Son Goku staggered out of a crater.obviously punch-drunk and exhausted..hitting a stance more by falling into it than by design. Tambourine was right.the man was insane. Piccolo could see fighting until collapse or death when he stood a chance of winning, but Raditzu wasn't even breathing hard. The man was just throwing his life away for no reason whatsoever.
For the life of him, the demon didn't know why he was staying. It was the most senseless thing he had ever seen..
And then his ear flicked.
A child had suddenly started crying.as though he had just at that moment seen what was going on outside the pod. From that distance, even Piccolo could barely make it out, though he definitely heard the words "Daddy" and "don't leave me."
"I'll get you out, Gohan, don't worry!" The Saiyajin yelled back.and while doing so, he completely missed the fact that Raditzu was attacking again. By that time, Piccolo had lost count of the times he'd seen the man flung away.an aggravating orange-hued gnat that had had the audacity to attack a mastiff.
"Leave him, fool," Piccolo snapped under his breath, tone dripping impatience. "If he were my son, I'd leave him. It's not like you can help him by dying here. Anyone with any SENSE would cut his losses and run."
.like my father did.
.wait a minute.
Piccolo might have had a serious moment of introspection just then, but the wild light from a chi blast jolted him out of it. He felt his eyes widen unconsciously as the entire world seemed to blaze with fire plucked from the heart of the sun. His head swam, and he was forced to look away for fear that his eyes would be burned out of his skull.
When he looked back, he saw two things. He saw that Raditzu was unharmed, and he saw that Son Goku was sprawled facedown in the dirt. He did not move, nor did he seem to breathe. If he had chi, Piccolo could not feel it.
The realization seeped into him slowly.dark tea into light cloth.little tendrils moving up and up until they encircled his thoughts. He had just seen Son Goku die. And he took no joy from it. There was just that strange, sick feeling.and a sudden realization that chilled him to the core.
Now that he's gone.what use am I? What am I going to do?
Then his spine stiffened. Perhaps later this would be a problem. For right then.he had a duty to perform. Raditzu had to at least be winded.he would fight him next. Trusting that Tambourine was keeping tabs on the fight and would inform the others that it was time, Piccolo launched himself from the bluff.prepared for the fight of his life.
* * *
Tambourine's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.a fine glaze settling over them.frost on a morning-grey lake. For just a moment, he saw through his brother's eyes, saw the warrior that the other was poised to face.
Ah, Piccolo was expecting him to inform the others.he'd always been a bright boy. A little warped and repressed, perhaps, but bright.
The demon took a deep breath, mentally reviewing his plans - not the plans he had given Cymbal, but his plans - as though with a fine-toothed comb. He found them sound. Airtight. And very, very reliable.
Deliberately, he reached over.picked his book up..and set it on his lap. He resumed the chapter where he had left off when he was so unfortunately interrupted. The time would come.but perhaps not for many, many hours.
Meanwhile.he may as well take advantage of the time off and FINALLY finish this blasted chapter.
* * *
Raditzu never saw him coming. Piccolo managed to land a flying kick to the back of the other man's head, sending him airborne.just in time for the Saiyajin to catch a chi blast between the shoulder blades.
The demon was fairly sure that the monkey flew a record distance that day. It was really a pity that it didn't incapacitate him.
Still, the Saiyajin was just a bit slower getting up.from his stance, Piccolo figured that he'd twisted the man's knee badly. He felt a grim little smirk curve his lips even as the other snarled some random insult at him.
He had a chance. Or at least a better chance. A pity that Son hadn't been around to.ye gods, the man was dead, and he was STILL plaguing his thoughts.
Fortunately, they were interrupted as Raditzu attacked again.and from then on, life was a blur of flying fists and flying hair and the smell of singed skin.
* * *
Son Goku had to try several times to open his eyes.and when he did, all he could see was an incessant, throbbing light. Ah, so there really WAS one of those.he'd always sort of wondered. It sounded like a really weird way to introduce people to the afterlife.he'd always thought that a "Welcome" mat would've had a much nicer effect with a lot less effort. Then again, he guessed that it was their afterlife.they could run it however they wanted to. With that in mind, he settled in patiently to wait for the harp players.
When they didn't come after the first few moments.unless he counted an odd ringing sound.he began to suspect that something was wrong. Then he began to hear things.like thuds and whirrs and a familiar, deep baritone using language that would melt most battleships.
.PICCOLO!...was he dead too? No.not possible, being dead wasn't supposed to hurt.so he must be alive.
Funny.he'd been fighting his brother.he'd lost, so he should be dead. Which meant that.Piccolo had saved him.and was now fighting Raditzu alone.Son growled..forcing the numbness from his mind.and fumbling at a pocket. With much effort, he managed to cradle a small, smooth object into his palm. With equal difficulty, he managed to force it into his mouth. His big brother was about to get the shock of his life.