Some battles are lost before they begin - and some things you can't
make up for.
People will tell you that size doesn't matter. They'll tell you that technique means more than strength or speed. These people are wrong. Technique makes the difference between two people of equal size, speed, and skill. Technique cannot make up for half a foot, a hundred pounds, and well nigh two thousand points in terms of raw chi.
Piccolo's first kick proved utterly futile.the Saiyajin absorbed it with barely a grunt. His first punch was deflected. His second, the same - all steered aside by the simplest of gestures, as if Raditzu's arm were a sword being used to parry. He jerked back quickly when those things happened, sliding out with feet together or while throwing random kicks to give the other no chance to grab him. Technique. Otherwise he would have been dead much sooner.
Some things cannot be changed. One is the Law of Averages. Piccolo felt a hand close around his wrist - it hurt, wrenching a snarl from him as he was jerked forward. Automatically, his other hand came up to try to snap the elbow-joint of his assailant, but he could only curse as he felt a hand close around his thumb, wrenching it up and around, twisting his arm behind his back as if by magic. He stumbled as his momentum was thwarted, nearly losing his feet for a heart-stopping, stomach-turning moment, remaining upright more by luck and stubbornness than by skill.
At a second twist, pain shot through his shoulder, and too-warm breath brought words to the delicate curve of his ear. "I'm getting bored, Namek" the Saiyajin all but purred. "Don't make me bored." Piccolo could feel his arm being rotated farther, near to snapping, a branch forced back too far.
He turned his head sharply, snapping teeth almost into the face of his opponent. The Saiyajin recoiled like surprised viper, even as he wrenched harder - and Piccolo DID feel something snap, swallowing a gasp right along with the blood he drew from his cheek when he bit it to keep quiet. Blood and gasp were equally bitter. "Damn you," he snarled, trying to lean forward to upset his assailant's balance.but the Saiyajin was bigger, stronger, and he was pulling back. It was like trying to upset a redwood with a shovel.
"Thank you." And even this relatively childish taunt was delivered with an odd, laughing sort of lilt that made the demon's skin crawl. He wondered briefly - very briefly - at the odd chance that had made this thing brother to Son Goku. The hand that wasn't being used to hold on to Piccolo's wrist was bracketed around his torso, securing the demon's other arm firmly against his side.and Piccolo could feel the Saiyajin's massive hand knotting into the fabric right over his midsection, pinning him against the other. A bear's paw could not have been more solid.but he didn't panic yet. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a hold, far from it.and if anyone should know how to get out of one, it should be him.
"So tell me," Raditzu murmured, lowering his head until it came over Piccolo's shoulder.an action which let the other's hair cascade down Piccolo's back. He'd never actually felt hair before.it tingled like cobwebs, and he barely stifled a shudder. "What's it take to make you scream, huh?" And the hand over his abdomen clenched a bit more, tugging material taut, a faint, static vibration promising a budding energy blast.
For the first time in years, the demon swallowed his pride entirely- gods, but the blood went down easier - and relaxed in the other's grasp, letting his head droop in an attitude of defeat. This seemed to suit the Saiyajin. He chuckled as though he'd been expecting as much and, much like a cat with a mouse, loosened his grip just slightly. Piccolo knew full well what he was doing - he was taunting him. Encouraging him to struggle, daring him to try to get away. He ground his teeth, but did not move.
"Should've known a slug wouldn't have any real fight to him." The Saiyajin sounded more amused than disappointed.twisting his arm a bit farther.but he did something else as well. HE relaxed.Piccolo could feel an immediate difference in the muscles behind him.feel the other settling, flat-footed.thinking that his captive is spent, and getting ready to play.
Which was exactly what Piccolo had been waiting for.
* * *
A second is a lifetime in a chi-battle; a fact that was driven home to Son Goku while he waited for the senzou to work. Twenty seconds to find one in his pocket. Ten seconds to chew. Two to swallow. Five waiting for it to work.all seconds that he wouldn't have if Piccolo weren't fighting Raditzu.
An eerie silence descended then, stifling cotton all around him just as the senzou worked. Son very carefully opened one eye to see what was happening because.it was so very quiet. Battles shouldn't be quiet.
It took his eye a minute to focus, and when it did, his heart immediately jumped through the roof of his mouth at what he saw. The two of them locked together, the demon (or whatever he was) snarling, straining, trying ineffectually to writhe his way out of the other's grasp - all of which Raditzu seemed to find terribly amusing.
Goku bit back a very furious, very unfamiliar, very Saiyajin sound with more than a little difficulty even as he felt a sort of twist in his gut that he'd long since come to expect in a fight.a sudden, near-crippling dose of worry as he realized that, with the two of them so close together, he could do nothing to help. An energy blast would definitely hurt Piccolo more than Raditzu if it hit both of them.and attacking his brother would probably just make Raditzu kill Piccolo to give himself one less opponent to worry about.
It was the same feeling that Goku had gotten when he and Tien were fighting Daimao. The same feeling he'd gotten when Tien was fighting his own, one- sided battle with Cymbal, the same one he'd felt for Krillen when the smaller warrior had been taking on Taopaipai, and in many ways the same one that he'd felt when Raditzu had been attacking his family.
Funny, he'd never really expected to feel it for Piccolo.but there it was, a block of solid lead, driving in right between his stomach and his heart. Get away from him, Pic, he mouthed, hand flexing and unflexing as he began to gather his chi. Just get away, and I can help you.
Goku knew that Piccolo couldn't hear him, probably couldn't even see him given which way they were facing, but he could see that he was trying to do just that.twisting left and right, snapping teeth at his assailant, even trying to pitch the larger man forward over his shoulder, all to no avail.and Goku was in an excellent position to hear a distinct snap as the Saiyajin twisted the green warrior's arm farther in response. Let him go! He wanted to shout, but managed not to - that would only make it worse. Piccolo had to do this himself - all HE could do was lie very still, hope not to be noticed, and wait for an opening.
He would wonder later why what he saw next had effected him so strongly - wonder about it for years afterward.
He saw his arch nemesis of well on to ten years.give up. And it was a terrible thing to see. All the fight left him in a weary sort of sigh as he almost seemed to shrink back into himself, a fern leaf collapsing for having gone too long without seeing the sun. Even his head drooped, antennae falling down in such a way as to hide the normally penetrating eyes, which were clenched shut anyway. It seemed to Son that he could even see him shaking - in fear or impotent rage, anyone's guess - though at this distance, such a thing should be impossible to see.
He hoped - hoped so much - that the green warrior was just taking a breather, but as the seconds stretched together, he realized that this wasn't the case. Son bit his lip hard, feeling an odd sort of burning at the corners of his eyes for the other.practically grief. Come on, Pic, you can't quit now.just get away from him.I KNOW you can, Pic, come on.
Son could hear Raditzu's chuckle very clearly from where he was lying - hear it with a sense of utter outrage - but still, he couldn't change it, and the helplessness was worst of all. He could do nothing but watch as the older Saiyajin drew his captive a bit closer, murmuring in his ear.and something about it seemed wrong to Goku in a way that he could never have explained. Something about it made his stomach lurch like it always did right before someone he cared about died.but differently. This seemed.worse, somehow.
Then it happened, and happened so quickly that he nearly missed it - Piccolo lashed out with a back kick that struck Raditzu's knee cap, even as he twisted in a way that would have made most gymnasts blanche, wrenching himself away. Ton could see trails of indigo falling like flower petals down his arms, Raditzu's nails having left their marks as he tried to hold on. But he was free - and the smirk that he flashed the Saiyajin was enough to tell Son that he'd been planning it all along.
Son burst into a grin borne entirely of relief even as he let fly the Kame Hame Ha.
* * *
"Come along boy - this really is no place for children."
Gohan had heard a voice like that before, but only when he was having nightmares.it was the sort of serpentine hiss he would associate with the boogey man. He looked up from his quiet sobbing, brushing his dampened hair away from his eyes, and squinted blearily through the rose-colored glass.
There was a man standing there who was both very like and very unlike Piccolo.
He was green like Piccolo, if a little darker in tone, and he was very tall - he had the same, delicately curved ears, the same antennae, probably the same fangs - but there, the resemblance ended. He was as slim and quiet as a lamppost's shadow, though perhaps less expressive, and the hand that he used to motion Gohan toward him was as supple and scarce as a skeleton's.
Still, he was better than Raditzu, so Gohan eased forward, putting his hands against the deceptively-cheery glass that made the man outside seem closer to black than to green. "I can't get out," he whispered hoarsely.
The man smiled oddly, and Gohan fell through the glass, landing in a heap outside the ship. He would have cried, but he was out of tears, only managing a sniffle or two.
"Come along, child," the man said again - and this time the voice was more soothing.
Gohan's mother had been very firm on the "don't talk to strangers" part of his education. Piccolo had been different because he'd heard of him before.but this was the strangest stranger that Gohan had ever seen. The boy was visibly torn between fear and what he'd been told was right, settling on a compromise. "W.will you take me to my dad?" he asked hopefully, trying to blink some of the tears out of his eyes.
The man tilted his head toward a nearby ridge.eerie lights flashed above it in shades of blue and orange. "Your father's quite busy, child."
"Will he be okay?"
The scarecrow man seemed to think about this. "More or less.but he'd like you to come with me. He wants you very far away from his elder brother."
Under the circumstances, Gohan was more than willing to believe him.
People will tell you that size doesn't matter. They'll tell you that technique means more than strength or speed. These people are wrong. Technique makes the difference between two people of equal size, speed, and skill. Technique cannot make up for half a foot, a hundred pounds, and well nigh two thousand points in terms of raw chi.
Piccolo's first kick proved utterly futile.the Saiyajin absorbed it with barely a grunt. His first punch was deflected. His second, the same - all steered aside by the simplest of gestures, as if Raditzu's arm were a sword being used to parry. He jerked back quickly when those things happened, sliding out with feet together or while throwing random kicks to give the other no chance to grab him. Technique. Otherwise he would have been dead much sooner.
Some things cannot be changed. One is the Law of Averages. Piccolo felt a hand close around his wrist - it hurt, wrenching a snarl from him as he was jerked forward. Automatically, his other hand came up to try to snap the elbow-joint of his assailant, but he could only curse as he felt a hand close around his thumb, wrenching it up and around, twisting his arm behind his back as if by magic. He stumbled as his momentum was thwarted, nearly losing his feet for a heart-stopping, stomach-turning moment, remaining upright more by luck and stubbornness than by skill.
At a second twist, pain shot through his shoulder, and too-warm breath brought words to the delicate curve of his ear. "I'm getting bored, Namek" the Saiyajin all but purred. "Don't make me bored." Piccolo could feel his arm being rotated farther, near to snapping, a branch forced back too far.
He turned his head sharply, snapping teeth almost into the face of his opponent. The Saiyajin recoiled like surprised viper, even as he wrenched harder - and Piccolo DID feel something snap, swallowing a gasp right along with the blood he drew from his cheek when he bit it to keep quiet. Blood and gasp were equally bitter. "Damn you," he snarled, trying to lean forward to upset his assailant's balance.but the Saiyajin was bigger, stronger, and he was pulling back. It was like trying to upset a redwood with a shovel.
"Thank you." And even this relatively childish taunt was delivered with an odd, laughing sort of lilt that made the demon's skin crawl. He wondered briefly - very briefly - at the odd chance that had made this thing brother to Son Goku. The hand that wasn't being used to hold on to Piccolo's wrist was bracketed around his torso, securing the demon's other arm firmly against his side.and Piccolo could feel the Saiyajin's massive hand knotting into the fabric right over his midsection, pinning him against the other. A bear's paw could not have been more solid.but he didn't panic yet. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a hold, far from it.and if anyone should know how to get out of one, it should be him.
"So tell me," Raditzu murmured, lowering his head until it came over Piccolo's shoulder.an action which let the other's hair cascade down Piccolo's back. He'd never actually felt hair before.it tingled like cobwebs, and he barely stifled a shudder. "What's it take to make you scream, huh?" And the hand over his abdomen clenched a bit more, tugging material taut, a faint, static vibration promising a budding energy blast.
For the first time in years, the demon swallowed his pride entirely- gods, but the blood went down easier - and relaxed in the other's grasp, letting his head droop in an attitude of defeat. This seemed to suit the Saiyajin. He chuckled as though he'd been expecting as much and, much like a cat with a mouse, loosened his grip just slightly. Piccolo knew full well what he was doing - he was taunting him. Encouraging him to struggle, daring him to try to get away. He ground his teeth, but did not move.
"Should've known a slug wouldn't have any real fight to him." The Saiyajin sounded more amused than disappointed.twisting his arm a bit farther.but he did something else as well. HE relaxed.Piccolo could feel an immediate difference in the muscles behind him.feel the other settling, flat-footed.thinking that his captive is spent, and getting ready to play.
Which was exactly what Piccolo had been waiting for.
* * *
A second is a lifetime in a chi-battle; a fact that was driven home to Son Goku while he waited for the senzou to work. Twenty seconds to find one in his pocket. Ten seconds to chew. Two to swallow. Five waiting for it to work.all seconds that he wouldn't have if Piccolo weren't fighting Raditzu.
An eerie silence descended then, stifling cotton all around him just as the senzou worked. Son very carefully opened one eye to see what was happening because.it was so very quiet. Battles shouldn't be quiet.
It took his eye a minute to focus, and when it did, his heart immediately jumped through the roof of his mouth at what he saw. The two of them locked together, the demon (or whatever he was) snarling, straining, trying ineffectually to writhe his way out of the other's grasp - all of which Raditzu seemed to find terribly amusing.
Goku bit back a very furious, very unfamiliar, very Saiyajin sound with more than a little difficulty even as he felt a sort of twist in his gut that he'd long since come to expect in a fight.a sudden, near-crippling dose of worry as he realized that, with the two of them so close together, he could do nothing to help. An energy blast would definitely hurt Piccolo more than Raditzu if it hit both of them.and attacking his brother would probably just make Raditzu kill Piccolo to give himself one less opponent to worry about.
It was the same feeling that Goku had gotten when he and Tien were fighting Daimao. The same feeling he'd gotten when Tien was fighting his own, one- sided battle with Cymbal, the same one he'd felt for Krillen when the smaller warrior had been taking on Taopaipai, and in many ways the same one that he'd felt when Raditzu had been attacking his family.
Funny, he'd never really expected to feel it for Piccolo.but there it was, a block of solid lead, driving in right between his stomach and his heart. Get away from him, Pic, he mouthed, hand flexing and unflexing as he began to gather his chi. Just get away, and I can help you.
Goku knew that Piccolo couldn't hear him, probably couldn't even see him given which way they were facing, but he could see that he was trying to do just that.twisting left and right, snapping teeth at his assailant, even trying to pitch the larger man forward over his shoulder, all to no avail.and Goku was in an excellent position to hear a distinct snap as the Saiyajin twisted the green warrior's arm farther in response. Let him go! He wanted to shout, but managed not to - that would only make it worse. Piccolo had to do this himself - all HE could do was lie very still, hope not to be noticed, and wait for an opening.
He would wonder later why what he saw next had effected him so strongly - wonder about it for years afterward.
He saw his arch nemesis of well on to ten years.give up. And it was a terrible thing to see. All the fight left him in a weary sort of sigh as he almost seemed to shrink back into himself, a fern leaf collapsing for having gone too long without seeing the sun. Even his head drooped, antennae falling down in such a way as to hide the normally penetrating eyes, which were clenched shut anyway. It seemed to Son that he could even see him shaking - in fear or impotent rage, anyone's guess - though at this distance, such a thing should be impossible to see.
He hoped - hoped so much - that the green warrior was just taking a breather, but as the seconds stretched together, he realized that this wasn't the case. Son bit his lip hard, feeling an odd sort of burning at the corners of his eyes for the other.practically grief. Come on, Pic, you can't quit now.just get away from him.I KNOW you can, Pic, come on.
Son could hear Raditzu's chuckle very clearly from where he was lying - hear it with a sense of utter outrage - but still, he couldn't change it, and the helplessness was worst of all. He could do nothing but watch as the older Saiyajin drew his captive a bit closer, murmuring in his ear.and something about it seemed wrong to Goku in a way that he could never have explained. Something about it made his stomach lurch like it always did right before someone he cared about died.but differently. This seemed.worse, somehow.
Then it happened, and happened so quickly that he nearly missed it - Piccolo lashed out with a back kick that struck Raditzu's knee cap, even as he twisted in a way that would have made most gymnasts blanche, wrenching himself away. Ton could see trails of indigo falling like flower petals down his arms, Raditzu's nails having left their marks as he tried to hold on. But he was free - and the smirk that he flashed the Saiyajin was enough to tell Son that he'd been planning it all along.
Son burst into a grin borne entirely of relief even as he let fly the Kame Hame Ha.
* * *
"Come along boy - this really is no place for children."
Gohan had heard a voice like that before, but only when he was having nightmares.it was the sort of serpentine hiss he would associate with the boogey man. He looked up from his quiet sobbing, brushing his dampened hair away from his eyes, and squinted blearily through the rose-colored glass.
There was a man standing there who was both very like and very unlike Piccolo.
He was green like Piccolo, if a little darker in tone, and he was very tall - he had the same, delicately curved ears, the same antennae, probably the same fangs - but there, the resemblance ended. He was as slim and quiet as a lamppost's shadow, though perhaps less expressive, and the hand that he used to motion Gohan toward him was as supple and scarce as a skeleton's.
Still, he was better than Raditzu, so Gohan eased forward, putting his hands against the deceptively-cheery glass that made the man outside seem closer to black than to green. "I can't get out," he whispered hoarsely.
The man smiled oddly, and Gohan fell through the glass, landing in a heap outside the ship. He would have cried, but he was out of tears, only managing a sniffle or two.
"Come along, child," the man said again - and this time the voice was more soothing.
Gohan's mother had been very firm on the "don't talk to strangers" part of his education. Piccolo had been different because he'd heard of him before.but this was the strangest stranger that Gohan had ever seen. The boy was visibly torn between fear and what he'd been told was right, settling on a compromise. "W.will you take me to my dad?" he asked hopefully, trying to blink some of the tears out of his eyes.
The man tilted his head toward a nearby ridge.eerie lights flashed above it in shades of blue and orange. "Your father's quite busy, child."
"Will he be okay?"
The scarecrow man seemed to think about this. "More or less.but he'd like you to come with me. He wants you very far away from his elder brother."
Under the circumstances, Gohan was more than willing to believe him.