Chapter 13


Apparently, he may do as he pleases.

It's laughable that apparently -as permitted by the servant- he may do as he pleases. He wonders if he should let out a fitting laugh. If only to respond appropriately to the servant's lack of respect. Also, this one ought to surpass simply 'fitting' - he wonders if he should stare right up to the ceiling -to nothing, keep his stare fixed there and then gradually curve the corners of his lips up, to oppose the way in which the servant seems to believe that there's an imbalance in power, thus his tenacity to 'grant' him permission.

Something to do with mirth and expression of tickle, he feels is appropriate to show them, because they've obviously mistaken his inaction for weakness. It's no wonder really; what sort of sense could he have expected from the two? Their posts as gods can't possibly do anything for their intellect, except diminish it in the fold of power that they are unfortunately afforded. That's a detail about having power. A detail that even he should be careful about – he's learning. That's no matter for the moment, however.

His focus now is on how they will soon see that he doesn't care to; do as he's 'permitted' to, that is. He is who is he is, after all, and as it so happens, besides remaining with his back pressed to the floor, he's not bothered to do anything other than be unbothered. There is the little push inside of him, he'll admit, that's ready to retaliate with laughter as he'd just been thinking, but that's minimal, not nearly enough to dominate him. What's really fitting, he believes, is to thoroughly bother them by being unbothered.

The unfortunate fools; they aren't aware of anything, not a thing at all.

It's retribution, what he's choosing to do; quite intentional, with a very precise purpose, and so very beautiful, especially while they remain completely oblivious to it.

What they don't understand, and how they've constantly failed in grasping him, is that he is not an unintelligent being. For supposedly being gods, they don't seem to understand that he's caught all of the injustices that they've been inflicting on him since the beginning. Not a single one was lost in the sequence. By law of his supremacy, as is descriptive of his stature and calibre, he immediately saw everything for what it was. Equally, as balance dictates that opposites should exist concurrently, by virtue of their godliness, as is descriptive of them, they foolhardily underestimated his entire supremacy.

Obviously, they don't understand that his excellence is whole and existent in every part of his functioning. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been believing that their plan wasn't transparent to him, and much less that he is beneath them. If they only-

'Hm-hm,' the soft sound of a throat being cleared when it's clearly devoid of anything unceremoniously interrupts his thoughts.

Already knowing who made the sound, he carefully turns his face towards the supposed door just in time to catch the servant's presence cast a cloudy figure over the empty spaces between the bars. Their eyes don't meet, and even so, there's a sour taste that sullies his mouth at the miss. Make no mistake, he's not bothered by the appearance of the servant, no, it's that he despises that being.

'Tell me,' the servant starts, his head tilting to an angle where their eyes can finally meet, 'Do you have any request for your break? Lord Beerus would like you to know that he is willing to allow almost anything.'

Despise or detest, which of the two is it?

How does he decide?

Would it be easier to decide, if he tilts his head in the same way that the servant did to him?

Yes? No?

He'll do it.

It's quite an angle to have a view from, he decides once he's bent his head. Like this, the servant isn't in his precise line of vision, which means that he won't have to waste any of his thoughts on him. He likes this angle, and he thinks that he'll stay this way. Like this, he won't have come eye to eye with the servant.

The bliss.

'Very well,' he seems to resign to the fact that he won't be answered, 'if you have no request, we will be leaving you alone for now. Please do enjoy your break, then.'

And you stop existing, he thinks as he rights his head into position again.

Unfortunately, he does it too soon, that he catches a glimpse of the other one's face. That, he did not want, but really, what did he expect to happen when he lost his composure? No matter now, because for his part, the servant spares him a serene look, quite angelic in design. It's a look that is made of acceptance and nothing else, and as it should, it bothers him.

It bothers him quite deeply, because as opposed to only hearing his deceptively calm voice, seeing him face to face is so very different.

Just him standing there, looking on inside, most likely expecting to receive an eager response, is different from the sound of an intruding voice, spewing tasks. His ability to move back as he does, with the bars following his lead, is. That he can see the servant offer a smile to him, as though it's a polite offering, and then turn his back to leave, disappearing from sight just as though he had never been there to begin with, is so completely different, when compared with the results that came about in response to his spoken words.

The difference is too attacking. A pressure something close to draining –weakening-, if he is being honest with himself. Accurately put, that difference easily translates into his misery. And if he spends time thinking about it, he will sink. But he will not, for he is in control. Being in control, he carefully directs his movement to be perfectly elegant, so that when his back reaches the cold surface of the ground, it will do so flatly. Long before the contact with the floor happens, he smiles to himself, already proud of his own precision.

He should have done this in the very beginning, actually. Not that the effect would have been better then -he wonders, perhaps- though, he could have attempted it. He'd been too overwhelmed by the one within at the beginning, to fully process anything beyond resisting the frantic internal reaction. It's no longer as such and thus, for every single one and a half of injustice that they've brought onto him, he will in turn it on them. Under the guise of being unbothered, he'll indulge in his retribution, knowing all too well that it'll bother them.

If he were really able to, he'd instead constrict the air surrounding them, just so they wouldn't be able to breathe, and when they were properly bothered in that way, he'd relieve them for just enough time, only to force them to become bothered once he constricted their air again. That would be something close to sufficing for a portion of what they've been doing all along. It would truly be a beautiful retribution for all the little details of injustice that occurred from the very moment that they changed his clothes.

But regrettably, for a start, he can only lay on his back.

At least eat before sleeping!

What's this; flesh over mind?

How very weak and how it shouldn't be happening right when he's in the crux of his plan to bother the gods. Can he not tell, especially after all the endurance, that there are far more important tasks, than sustenance? How so very weak, the want for trivial things!

Be quiet, he lazily responds, for he will continue precisely as he was.

You can't just stay here!

He will, and there will be no discussion about it. Should he be reminded how his emotion and instability caused him to be debilitated upon entering into the room? He'd had his moment to be frantic in the beginning, he'll receive no more moments, for he cannot be trusted. If, even a little bit, he wanted to lace internal emotions, sensations and expectations into his plan -other than the fuel of hatred, that is- he'd have made sure to include it into his plan.

That's not fair.

He dares to insist. Such ill discipline.

It's just not fair.

Momentarily, he is stunned, his already closed eyelids pressing closer together. He's stunned with himself mostly, to have expected the other one to not be at odds with him. The experience that he's so far, has taught him that in sporadic, unpredictable and most inappropriate moments, does he like to voice his thoughts. Why didn't he predict that his plans would to be met with a rebuttal? In any case, now how should he proceed?

Get food.

No. He will not move from his place. It's something that'll simply not happen, no matter how persistent the insistence.

Up until he'd entered the room, he'd ignored the one within. Despite that whispering voice, he'd moved on, pushing through, and not being deterred in his course of action. Upon entering the room, however, a line cracked within, and while he was able to push it aside during the tasks, it never went away. Will it ever go away or will he always be a slightly torn whole?

Hmm, perhaps the time has come for him to deconstruct himself. Outside of knowing that he is all powerful, does he truly understand himself? And full control of himself, does he have that?

Suddenly, with perfect agility too, he jumps off the floor, to perfectly land on his feet. One unnecessary scan around the room confirms what he already knew, leading him to begin his exit from the room. He never would have thought that he would be doing this, and yes, he'd planned on bothering the gods, but whoever said that plans cannot change along the way? He is anyway above being confined to rules and regulations; as he wants, when he wants it, he will do.

His steps are steady and measured, not at all the steps of someone who has been given a time limit for a break. He of course keeps his eyes open for the gods as he steps out of the room, only to falter with great relief at the immense pressure that leaves him. He knows why that happens, it's only that he doesn't have time for it. He has something more important than to start recalling all the injustices that have been inflicted on his since he entered this room.

Still keeping his steps deliberate, he makes his way along the way that had originally brought him here. When he eventually makes it into the dwelling place of the gods, he goes to the nearest room, his eyes searching for the thing that he needs at the moment. He finds it almost at once, all the way on the other side of the room, that he has to use his special ability to appear right in front of it.

There he is.

His own reflection is looking back at him, as though waiting to pull him into it, and he smiles. To his own eyes, the smile apparently on his face, seems almost hungry. There's something very distinct about seeing himself, smiling in revel at the very first look at his own glory, that makes him want to cut himself, and then watch as he bleeds. The sight would be so wretchedly beautiful, he imagines; his own superior blood, flowing out of him…

Ooh, he loves this mirror.

It isn't pain that he's looking for, neither is it power nor recrimination, it's deconstruction in effect that he yearns for. He wants to see, needs to know, rather, just how much he can pull himself apart before he surrenders to rebuild himself even stronger than before. As he stands, he's a whole and supreme entity. Granted, he's an entity with a thin crack within, but an entity entirely. If he does what he's thinking to do, there's the possible threat of coming apart.

So then, what is he willing to lose?

Or rather, what can he not lose?

There are two of them, with him being the dominant one. That cannot be denied. The other one is the weaker and the result is that the stronger will always overcome the weaker - it's indisputable.

It's never been like that in my experiences.

That, he will not pay attention to.

That weak attempt to silence him, to lead him astray from his goal is no other than the other one expressing his fear of being smothered. It's exactly that. The rival, as named by the servant, has a strong sense of remaining who he is, a sense of never ever changing. The initial screaming that he'd done when they entered the room, had been in retaliation of feeling that his essence was being consumed by something else. It hadn't been that the something else had been a power greater or purer than him, just that it wasn't him and his own power. The rival's fear had been in losing himself, to become something that wasn't him as he knew himself.

Truthfully, between them, he could admire such a trait, if only it wasn't such a soft route of limitation.

What about evolving? Why hadn't that protest been present at the formation of who he is now? Limiting weakness is what it is, nothing more.

I'm not weak. You were afraid too.

Yes, he'd had his own fear, he'd wanted to leave the room, but it'd nothing to do with being consumed. As if he could be consumed! Awakening was what had him looking to escape, because unlike his rival, his mind is transcendent enough to understand the cost awakening. In nearly exact proportions, the weight of knowledge can be as deadly as it is empowering. It was due to being awakened to the other truth, that worthlessness began to creep in, reminding him that what he believed about himself, would never amount to what surrounded him. That was where his fear had begun, at that enlightenment. The lack of certainty of who he could be anymore violently tore at his ego. The thing about the ego, though, is that as essential as it is to have, it's as fragile to the slightest of attacks.

'Hmm,' he hums as he begins to roll his head from one side to the other. 'There it is.'

Having found a fine point for deconstruction, he stops looking rolling his head, to once again look at his reflection. If he has to fall to rise back improved and thriving, then that's what he'll do.