Author's Note:
I know, the villains 'just happening' to have the Dragonballs is pretty cheap. But if the show can get away with it, I figure I should too. It will hardly be the largest lump to swallow in this fic, but hopefully it'll taste good even if you choke.. XD
Things have a way of speeding up if you aren't careful. Get too carried away with the events of the world and suddenly those lazy seconds are blurring into hours and days. Much like stepping onto the garden path might just lead you anywhere in the world; consider the future – even for a moment – and time begins to become very important.
Oolong didn't worry about what might happen, he had no curiosity or occupation to drag his attention forward, and would soon be one of the only members of an extremely extended family to think rationally. Of course Oolong was just – for the most part of the day – a pig. Having forced himself through a relatively unpleasant experience, Oolong had given his hands a good wash and was doing what he did best; lazing.
Not much he could be bitter about there..
To Goku and the gaggle of heroes and 'hangers on' the minutes were definitely beginning to quicken. Generally when Bulma Briefs was acting smug and self-indulgent the only possible conclusion was that something would rapidly be going awry. Yamcha, one hand scratching at his empty shoulder, was shocked to note that he had already missed an hour. Were it not for the absence of Puar, whom Bulma had insisted would be 'happier' left in the main building, he wouldn't have known at all.
And Pilaf?
The little lord had intended a short meal, but time had quite escaped him. He fell into day dreaming, fork mashing a collection of vegetable and meat products that could have bought a small country, about what it would be like. The ability to not only match Goku, but to defeat him with simple combat. The whole thing had seemed horribly undignified when the monkey-child had been there, tearing through his defenses, but Pilaf was willing to give anything a try.
Finally, as the last warrior, shaken but glowing in the invisible aura of possibility, moved back across the Briefs lawn, as one small figure rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and as Oolong whistled the afternoon away, Lord Pilaf stepped down from the expanse of his untouched meal and glanced towards Mia.
"Time to change."
So came the end of this world..
"Yamcha?"
Ever since they had met, Puar went with Yamcha and that was that.
Few people could be together permanently for so long – and it had been more decades than Puar wanted to consider – without some over powering bond. Marriage or family or anything supernatural; an excuse to be with someone who could no longer surprise you.
Yamcha and Puar needed none of that.
Back in the early days, when Yamcha was bouncing along behind Miss Briefs on a hormone-driven high, Puar had fallen under some heavy suspicion. 'Just why does that cat have to follow us around, Yamcha?' 'You spend more time with that thing than me, Yamcha!' 'Any form! As long as she likes!' It was some kind of laughable compliment to be considered competition in Yamcha's first love-affair, but Puar found it hard to bear.
Of course, eventually, Bulma had mellowed some and after that Vegeta appeared, leaving Puar safe from randomly flung cutlery. And Puar learned the difficult lesson of giving her companion space – a lesson the man himself found just as hard to hold to – on his dates.
The two remained bachelor and bachelorette, both finding most relationships outside of their own flimsy by comparison. If there were any implications about this, neither explored them.
So Yamcha, in spite of several well meant flirtations, never really got a girl. Puar, who could be considered quite attractive in cat circles, left the screeching to her girlfriends. And upon waking on a sofa, the Brief's cat snuggling mutely up against it, Puar was alarmed to discover Yamcha wasn't nearby.
'Okay, calm, he's probably..'
That was a problem, 'probably..' what? She had fallen asleep against his chest, rocked by whatever bobs he made as he crossed the ocean towards Krillen's. If something had happened – and the Brief's house rarely implied anything else – it'd have to be pretty serious for him not to wake her.
She gave an absent-minded purr, stretching back against the petite black cat, then rose apologetically into the air. The cat gave her a sleepy, disgruntled, yowl, then fell back against the sofa. Puar, meanwhile, set to tracking.
Yamcha's scent was second nature to her; she could date it to the hour if necessary. The newest trail led back out the front door and, adding to her already twitchy nerves, it was accompanied by the strongest warriors of the planet.
'Yamcha..'
The group moved out onto the garden and, for a few moments, hesitated at the bulk of the Gravity Chamber. Here her examination was disrupted by the sheer stench of Saiyan sweat, which practically coated the area, and as a result she missed the sounds of a group moving on the other side of the chamber.
Instead she continued on, closer and closer to one particular warehouse.
It wasn't often that Yamcha felt he had contributed something to the group. In fact, on his more cynical days, he got the impression that the grandest title he'd ever attain was 'Detailer of Monkey-Boy'. And even that he'd have to keep to himself, lest Bulma or Chi-Chi expect him to pin down two pre-adolescent Saiyans.
What a girl that Briefs was! He had always thought of himself as one of the more knowledgeable of the group, but she left him standing.
Everyone had thought the only way to concentrate the energy of two warriors into one was by fusion. They had all just taken that as being the one and only way of doing it, but there was Bulma thinking and tinkering. New kind of alloy that tends to do odd things around biological matter? Makes you feel drained after holding it for a while? Well, says Bulma, let me see that..
The group was large and already feeling the ill effects of being too close to Gohan who, with that sheepish grin, was generating more energy than a Super Saiyan by just.. standing. A Ki Warrior's natural instinct was to be open to the energy of the planet, but even Vegeta was dampening down the ability with a scowl.
They fidgeted, not unlike school children from Bulma's point of view, which was almost always unconsciously superior, in a darkened warehouse and waited for the explanation with varying levels of patience.
"Woman!"
Pursing her lips, Bulma shot her husband a glare that the others were glad not to receive, then flicked on the light. Immediately, as the group's adjusting vision was bombarded by pure light, the energy levels of all present spiked and the monstrosity leaning against the far wall growled hungrily.
Krillen, peering through his fingers, was first to comment.
"Bulma.. if you brought us all here to say you were pro on the electric chair.."
Groaning at the general idiocy of men, the genius strode to the front of the group and, concrete floor crunching under her sensible boots, cast a hand towards the device.
"This is not an electric chair."
The comparison was unfortunate, but hardly surprising on reflection. It was a chair, a futuristic design of molded metal that, by means of cables hooked into the base, connected to two massive turbines that rose up on either side. In fact, to the morbid, it looked almost capable of murdering one of them.
"This Device absorbs Ki and stores it for later use."
The group had just managed to hold their ground in the face of the first revelation, the second forced all but Gohan and Android 18 to take a sharp step backwards. Of course all involved were attempting to make the move as nonchalantly as possible, which would have worked had they not all done it simultaneously.
Gohan, on the other hand, stepped forwards. 18 remained where she originally stood, eying Bulma's creation with little more than mild interest.
"Human scientists have never been able to even detect Ki," murmured Gohan, mostly to himself, before turning goggle-eyes on the proud scientists, "Gosh, Bulma, you really are a genius!"
"Was there any doubt?" Bulma's smirk widened.
"You can't absorb Ki," snapped Piccolo from a corner of the group, "life force goes beyond gadgets and.." he trailed off, his terminology for technology temporarily drained.
"Cell could," offered Goku, smiling in puzzlement as the Namekian turned a murderous glare upon him. "You remember, don't you, Piccolo?"
"Fine, fine," Vegeta took a brave pace forward, "say you can do this.. monstrous, ridiculous, ignorant thing. What would be the point?"
"Well," retorted Bulma, voice buzzing in the tones of a woman dropping a full house onto the table, "if I can take some huge amount of energy from you guys, who says I can't pour it all back into one?"
This made them pause.
"Still," continued Vegeta, significantly more thoughtful with the image of him, empowered beyond his wildest dreams, "this creation.. it's untested."
"Don't be stupid, I tested it on myself!"
In spite of it all, Vegeta opened his mouth to argue again.. and then Goku chimed in. Grinning cheerfully, he stepped beyond his eldest son and poked at the chair. Then he glanced back and, quite possibly without meaning to, shamed the entire lot.
"Come on, Vegeta, what's the worse that could happen?"
And he sat down, ready for it to begin.
An hour or two later, the warriors understandably weary, the warehouse was vacated. The last out, still feeling the thrill of actually creating something that just might save the world one day – through science rather than brute force – Bulma made two key mistakes.
First, she set up the machine ready to transfer all it's energy into the next occupant. Second, she left the door unlocked.
Puar arrived and, confused by the muddle around the entrance, followed the strongest scent inside. Cat eyes picked up everything, the turbines, the chair, and, on a whim, she bobbed inside.
(Pilaf, bitter fantasies over defeating his rival slowing him just enough, arrived at the courtyard and dismissed both servants. They disappeared into the shadows, not daring to ask what he planned to wish for. Shu's eyes trailed over him, but he put the fox from his mind and cast one hand to the glowing orbs.)
One of many, but still there, Yamcha's scent traveled forwards and settled on the outlandish chair. He wasn't there but the scent was, and she truly did miss him. So, on a habit too old to even be considered, Puar shifted into the form of her friend and, as Yamcha, sat on the chair.
("Dragon! Come out and grant my wish!")
For a moment s/he just rested back against the chair, the scent a mere memory on sinuses that did not truly exist in her/his current form, and rested. S/he was really quite tired. And then, beyond the range of human ears, the terminal on the far side of the room blinked into action.
(It rose and rose, dark clouds rolling into appearance around its stretching green form. Coils writhed into existence, haloed by bright energy and red light, amongst the crashing of lightning and the shuddering of Pilaf's mighty castle. The dragon, an incredible sight even for the educated, towered upwards.. then turned its attention towards the summoner.)
Then everything went wrong. It was something akin to having transformed once too often – Puar could technically do it as much as she liked, unlike some uneducated swine, but even she could get tired. Except the opposite, she felt like she could transform a thousand times in a second and still be fine! It was euphoric!
("Speak your wishes, mortal, or release me!")
It lasted barely a moment, then it was too much. Far too much, that feeling kept rising and rising until her Yamcha body felt full to the brim and, working on instinct, she became Goku instead. Sparks begin to form around her/his body and Saiyan fingers gripped the metal armrests, feeling them shift slightly under strength s/he should not have been able to use.
(Pilaf smirked up at the monster, floating on self-confidence that could have supported any deity over the most storm-ridden expanse of water.)
The changes flickered through her, faster and faster, blurring her form into something unreal. Goku, Gohan, tiny Gohan, tiny Krillen, Krillen with hair, 18, Yamcha, Bulma, Vegeta, young Trunks, old Trunks, and on, and on, and on, seeking a form that could handle what they suffered. Of course they were all Puar in some way or another, but that hardly mattered to mindless instinct. And still the power rose, a fully-fledged aura burst into life around her.
("I wish to fuse!")
Finally, as all hurt things do, she returned to the most natural form of all, her own. The little cat, surrounded by an inferno of power she could not hope to control, began to wail.
("Hmm, with whom?")
The chair buckled and strained against her. The turbines began to smoke. The very walls shuddered and shimmied like ponderous dancers. The floor cracked and splintered like glass.
("With.. with.." Pilaf hesitated, at the key moment, then grinned at his own brilliance, "With the strongest creature on this planet!")
Puar's mind fled into the dark recesses as it was pressed back by energy and knowledge. Knowledge of men who had felt and hurt and fought for most of their lives, ways of moving, ways of thinking that were alien to her. A solidity that frightened her. And, amongst it all, the knowledge that her hero, her friend, her brother, was moving towards her now.. too late..
("It is done! Name your-")
When something new appeared, something definite even in the midst of the horror, and it was with almost gratitude that her mind caved in before it. The screams, echoing from a figure hid in brilliant energy, took on a victorious tinge.
(The dragon was left staring down at an empty court-yard. It was nearly impossible for the creature to be shocked by anything that happened as a result of its wishes, but here, on this one occasion, things had not happened as it would have preferred.)
The energy spread outwards, warehouse and machine as much ash in the face of the explosion, and left one distinct figure hanging in mid-air. It was small and blue, covered by a dense layer of fur, from the tip of it's pointed ears down to the long tail. It was also dressed in the manner of a Lord, wrinkled by age and cackling gleefully.
("Bugger.")
Then, with barely a twitch, it was Pilaf again. Or, rather, it was a Pilaf whom had kept growing. His arms and legs muscled and long, body lean but tapering outwards as it rose, jaw chiseled even as he grinned with joy. In other words this creature of malevolent beauty was exactly how Lord Pilaf viewed himself.
There was no confusion, he knew where he was and why. He knew that Goku, along with a group of powerful companions – yamchayamchayamcha – were on their way. What's more, along with this newfound ability to float, he could feel their approach.
He – she – had gained a lot in such a short period of time. A lot to take in. The wise course of action would be to retreat and consider his position.
Then, of course, the air before him shimmered and Son Goku appeared out of nowhere. And the rule book went right out of the window.
"Eh, this is kinda short noti-"
Looking up from his reclining position on the sofa, Oolong caught the welcome sight of an indignant Roshi being forced backwards, followed by the less welcome sight of his sister hovering into the room on a crystal ball.
"Ugh, not the crone.."
"I heard that!" she snapped, casting an upset eye in the pig's direction. "But no matter, I've got bad news!"
"No hello, no how are you, no present, no-"
"Oh do be quiet, brother, it's important!"
"How important?" asked Oolong, head poking up over the back of sofa, "World going to end?"
"The-" the old woman hesitated, "Well.."
"I knew it!" the pig wailed, falling backwards, "I knew, I knew, I knew!"
"Then why're you here?" piped in Roshi, seriousness tightening his wrinkled face, "shouldn't you be on the 'Other-Side'? Or speakin' to Goku?"
"I.." she hesitated and, her voice dropping from a piercing cry to a mere whisper, continued, "I don't know.. just.. I'm meant to be here."
All business, Roshi nodded in Oolong's direction even as the pig began to back away.
"Call the girl, give 'em a heads up. I'll-"
"Uncle Roshi?"
And, from her bedroom, Maron appeared, rubbing her eyes. The old man forced a grin, waving the pig towards her.
"Change of plans, you keep Maron busy, I'll call. And Oolong?"
The pig glanced over his shoulder even as he began to lead Maron back to her room, intent on keeping as far from any dangerous stuff as possible. It was unlikely that a monster could get you through the phone, but he wasn't the type to risk it.
"Yeah, old man?"
"Keep cool.."
"Yeah, yeah.."
The two disappeared, Oolong's voice directing Maron towards a selection of stuffed animals before the door closed. Then, already dialing, Roshi turned his attention towards his sister.
"Is it Maron? Is she in danger?"
"Honestly don't know," Uranai Baba poked at her crystal ball, gaining a snowstorm of static for her troubles. "Just that something happens here.. or someone does something. It's a feeling, Roshi, nothing more."
"Pretty strong feeling for you to come all this way.."
"Hmph, you try to contact your people, brother. I'll keep trying mine."
It mightn't have happened. In so many realities, for so many reasons, it didn't. Here and now, however, in this world and this place, with these people.. it did. And, as unlikely as it was, the outcome rested squarely on the shoulders of one stout, shape-shifting pig; currently sipping on his imaginary namesake.
It's true that that which goes up will always come down.
But, every so often, on the knife-edge that these people live on, the fallen can rise.
