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Chapter 22

Somewhere in space

Alternating red and blue light swept through the inside of the attack pod. Hidden nozzles sprayed an opaque white mist into the chamber. As Goku and Gohan began to awaken a small hammer began striking a bell, and whistles began to screech.

"What's going on?" Gohan sank into his father's lap.

Goku frantically looked through the pod. The typically white back lit buttons were flashing red. The screen that displayed coordinates, heading, and speed, was flashing "ALERT". The window that opened to the dark, star filled, tapestry of space was a series of colorful streaks, blue, green, red, and brown.

Taking a guess Goku pressed the brightest blinking button under the monitor. The screen turned black for a moment before a bright green number 45 appeared. As Goku watched it turned to 44, 43, 42. "Inertia dampener unresponsive. Prepare for impact. Inertia dampener unresponsive, prepare for impact." Frieza's voice repeated.

"Hold on!" Goku yelled as he wrapped Gohan in an arm and used the other to search for a seat belt. He muttered under his breath. "We're going to hit the planet."

38, 37, 36.

Gohan looked over his shoulder, out the window. The pretty streaks of color were gone, instead he saw shadows down below, and a lightening blue sky. In a flash blue turned to green, as they passed from one cloud into another. As he watched green faded to red, and red back to blue.

28, 27, 26.

Goku realized they were in the atmosphere. They were running along it, not straight through. They were going to hit the planet, but not smash into it. At this rate the impact, hopefully, wouldn't be too much.

15, 14, 13.

Gohan saw the shadows turn from colored shapes to brown protrusions. Mountains, valleys, and villages were below them, rising up towards them, going to grab them. He turned his back on the planet.

9, 8, 7.

Goku spun in the pod, throwing his son into the seat, and wrapping himself around him. He braced his legs against the door, and his free hand against the head rest. He considered destroying the pod, using his ki to stop their fall, but it was too late. They were going to crash.

3, 2, 1.

As it fell through the atmosphere the pod shifted from cold white to a blend of red and orange. The physics defying landing system had failed, but the gyroscopic stabilization system was still online. The planet rotated west to east. The pod plummeted east to west. If the ship had a glass floor Goku would have seen the circular shadow come into existence and grow.

As the shadow touched the metal the ships stabilization failed. The bottom wanted to stay still, the rest wanted to keep moving. Due to the shallow angle of approach the ship was thrown dozens of feet back into the air, and hundreds of feet past their first drop zone. Goku had never used a washing machine before, but if he had, he'd imagine that the punishment his dirty socks went through was nothing compared to what he and his son were experiencing.

Goku was thrown against the shell of the pod, and despite his gravity training he couldn't fight against the force. His son was being crushed against him. How strong were these pods that his body didn't just rip through it? His stomach tried to evacuate, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out but a scream.

The pod hit the ground again and was thrown off course. The slope of a hill sent it flying in a new direction, a new rotation, a new hell for its occupants to endure.

Out of reflex Goku tried to power up. The spinning, the dizziness, was too much of a distraction though, and he couldn't control his energy well enough.

Another, harder, bounce flung them in the opposite direction. Thankfully the spinning had mostly stopped, and they were seemingly slowing down. Moments later another impact sent Goku's head bouncing off the ship, and falling onto his son. A third, small, impact signaled the end of their ride.

At the bottom of a valley the ship sat. Its red and blue lights turned to green and white. Its count down shifted to a portrait of Frieza. Its alert changed to one of doom "You have landed. If alive, begin mission. If not ..."

On a ridge overlooking the valley a big headed and big eared figure popped into reality, two fingers on his forehead. Without moving he appeared on a branch, half way down the valley, and two more creatures similar to him appeared at his original post. As he appeared next to the ship, the two additional figures appeared by his side, and three more appeared on the ridge.

"Someone's alive inside." The first figure said. "Erboa, spread the word." At his command a shorter, rounder, alien blinked away, and the ones on the ridge appeared in his stead.

The aliens were a rainbow of colors and a variety of heights. The only common features they shared were a pair of thick whiskers, large ears, and large heads. Their skin was tight on thin bodies, but wrinkled over their scalps.

"What is it, Erbil?" A shorter blue alien asked the first.

"It's a UFO. I told you aliens were real. I told you all." Erbil, a taller yellow creature touched the pod. It was warm to the touch, but not painful. He walked around the outside of the ship, feeling for a seem, but finding none. "Someone is alive, can't you feel them?"

The blue yardratian focused his perception forward, and a pair of energies were shining brighter than any he had felt before, despite their stillness.

Erbil sighed as he finished his lap of the pod, not finding an entrance. "It's solid." He touched his forehead and appeared on top of it. "Ole, should I go inside?"

"You're too big." The blue man said. "Let me check it out." He touched two fingers to his forehead and the rest of the group reappeared on either ridge overlooking the ship.

Ole vanished for a moment, reappearing as quickly as he left. At his feet was a large orange clothed, pale skinned, black haired, brute of an alien. With another quick trip Ole produced a child of the species.

"Aliens." Erbil said, popping back to the pod. "Actual aliens."

"Why aren't they moving?" Ole asked, fleeing back to the ridge.

Somewhere odd

Oolong didn't know how long he had been falling for, but he struggled to remember a time before he fell. He was alone in the darkness, the light of the pots opening long since faded. Hot, wet, air buffered his face, while icy wind blew against his back. He was getting cooked on one side, and frozen on the other. He didn't know when this would end, but he knew it would eventually.

Purple lined the side of his vision as the darkness in front of him turned red, and the cold behind turned blue. The colors were dark, nearly non existent, but they were there. For an eternity Oolong watched as they slowly lightened, until they were a blinding white.

An elbow poked Oolong's ribs and he sat up at his desk. Baba Yaga thankfully didn't realize the pig had fallen asleep. Oolong nodded his thanks to Puar.

Yajirobe frantically reached out in all directions. Arms and legs flailing, he felt no solid surface. His movements were slow, labored, yet relaxed. He let out a scream and bubbles broke through the warm liquid surrounding him and rocketed behind his head.

He spun in place and reached for a shrinking, wavering, light. A field of green turned to blue as it darkened. The sphere of light, the sun, or moon, or Korin, was slowly fading, and decades later it was gone.

Yajirobe let out another yell, bubbles again shooting out, this time towards his toes. He curled into a ball and kicked out, using the rush of the fluid he was falling through to reorient himself again. The moon was in front of him, through an unmeasurable amount of water, but it was there, and he was approaching it.

A life time later Yajirobe had reached the surface of the river he was floating in. He had kicked off the bottom, but white water was difficult to swim through. He clawed at the surface, trying to lift himself, at least his head, free, but failed.

As he began to sink again an ashy gray hand grabbed his wrist. With a painful tug on his arm Yajirobe was pulled free of the rapids. A painful snap rang out from his wrist as he was thrown to the shore by his unexpected guardian angel.

Piccolo knew the pot would be large enough for himself and the others, but it didn't feel like it. The ceramic sides closed in on him, folded him, and crushed him. It shrank, condensed, and sealed around him.

Piccolo wasn't.

An infinite amount of time later he was once again aware of his existence. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, and he couldn't smell, but he was there, alone, in the dark. He felt a wall on his back, and its cold hard surface kept him safe from the outside world.

Piccolo felt a pulling, growing, sensation, and his connection to his shell grew longer. His first hint that the world was in motion was a pulse, blood, he felt it circulating through his body. He felt the blood behind his ears, he tasted a salty fluid in his mouth, and smelled sulfur. Piccolo let his arms float in front of him, and felt his fingers separate from the paddles they had been, his legs shortly followed, no longer fixed to the wall.

Piccolo took a deep breath, and with a satisfied sigh he emptied his new lungs. He clinched his fist and was excited to feel nails graze against his thin skinned palms. An unknowable amount of time passed and the clay pot began to crack. Piccolo pushed at it, kicked and clawed, and he had hatched.

As Roshi fell the walls around him lightened into sky, and the pot below him transformed into a large forest. He reached out behind him and grabbed onto Korin's Tower. He tried to catch himself but only succeeded in slowing his fall. With a harsh impact he landed.

Kicking the ground he looked back up at the massive column, shrugged, and began crawling again. It wasn't easy, it wasn't fast, and it wasn't safe, but four days later Roshi could see the top, the deck, the end. His weighed a thousand pounds, and his legs had given up days ago, but his arms kept pulling, climbing, improving. His mouth was dry, he ran out of water on his first attempt and he didn't refill. His stomach growled, as even on his prior attempt he brought no food.

He blinked and was there, on top of the tower. Korin was sleeping on the tile, and the Sacred Water was at his feet. Half a second is all it would take, he could grab it, drink it, and end this torture. Roshi turned his back to the cat and looked at the one of a kind view. He couldn't cheat, it wasn't his masters way, and it wouldn't be his way.

Korin hissed and struck at Roshi with claws extended. They cut through nothing but air. Roshi laughed as he threw the container of Sacred Water over the southern edge, and threw Korin to the northern rail. Before Korin hit the ground Roshi was already out of the tower, pulling his arms in close to accelerate his free fall, the water was his. He caught it in one hand, and used the other to force himself back towards the tower.

Back at the top he hooped, he hollered, and he shimmied and shook. Three years, three years it had taken him, but the Sacred Water was his. Korin smiled as Roshi drank. When nothing changed, Korin told him the truth. Roshi stood there, contemplating every decision that had lead him to this point. He smiled and asked the question that would shape the rest of his days. "Where do I go from here?"

At school

A short brunette straightened her skirt and walked into the building. She walked quickly, and while a few eye brows were raised, no one spoke to her. Seeing the two silhouettes, a small smirk crossed her lips, and she pushed open the heavy door.

Around a corner two rows of benches were separated by a line of lockers down the middle of a large room. A small arch lead to a slightly tighter room, sinks lining one wall, and stalls faced them. The girl threw her bag into one of the full height lockers, closed the door, and entered a stall.

Ten minutes later the school bell rang, and giggling voices entered the locker room. Oolong waited a few minutes before flushing the toilet and exiting the stall. He washed his hands, noticing the blue nail polish he thought up wasn't consistent across all his fingers. Assuming no one would notice he dried his hands and walked into the large room where girls were preparing for, what appeared to be, a day in the pool.

He looked around, enjoying the view. Finding the locker he put his bag in, he took his time stripping naked, watching his, and others, in his locker's mirror. He bent over to take off his sock, and when he stood up he was struck, hard, on the back of the head.

"You pervert!" A high pitched voice squeaked as a towel wrapped around his face.

Oolong protested, but his words were muffled by the thick fabric. He felt another punch, this time to his ribs, and he felt himself losing control. He was yanked backwards by the head, and an arm wrapped around his waist. Someone slapped him, and while it was dulled, it was enough for him to lose the transformation.

Not everyone noticed at once, but soon each girl in the room was screaming, and many were running out, calling for the teacher. The one who held him didn't let go though. She walked him, in all his naked pig glory, forward. He felt the material under his feet change, from slick tiles to textured stone, and the towel was lifted.

Oolong squealed and tried to cover his bacon bits. He had been marched out to the pool. The girls were pointing and laughing. The boys were taunting. Worst of all, the teacher was glaring.

"Oolong, to the principal's office." She said. "Puar, would you escort him?"

"Of course, Ms. Yaga." Puar turned Oolong around and marched him towards the double doors. "You may want to shift some clothes on, if you can."

In the woods

Yajirobe sat on one of a dozen large stones arranged around a fire. His savior sat two stones to his left. Empty dwellings surrounded the fire, and weapons lay scattered around the clearing. "Thank you."

"That is enough." The man smiled. "No thanks are required. Please, let me end your mortal hunger." He studied the flames, desiring their warmth. "You are tired." The man was tall, lanky, and bald. He wore a small cloth around his waist, and sported a large pair of antlers atop his head.

"Yeah." Yajirobe agreed. "That's fair. I didn't sleep at all last night, these woods were giving me the creeps. And I can't remember the last time I had a good meal."

"You are a stick." The man frowned. "I will fatten you up." He pushed himself up and slowly walked to a nearby basket. Opening it he studied its contents.

"You're one to talk." Yajirobe chuckled. "You look like someone painted skin onto a skeleton." He forced himself to his feet. "Can I help with the food?"

"No, no." The man shook his head. "Rest, sleep. I will have food when you awaken." He dipped one of his antlers towards an open door, and Yajirobe followed his gaze.

The inside of the hut smelled, but Yajirobe was used to it. Over the last few weeks he had gotten used to a lot more than he ever thought he would. He was no stranger to difficulty, but he had never been without food, without shelter, without company, not before he left his ancestral home anyway.

He pulled back the blanket and felt how soft the mattress was. Not wanting to dirty it he undressed quickly, setting his clothes and katana on a woven mat, and slid into bed. Moments later he was asleep.

Weeks later Yajirobe's strength had returned. He was still skinny, but not due to lack of food, but instead due to the incredible number of calories he burnt each day. His savior didn't leave him much time to train, but he sneaked it in whenever the stranger was off hunting by himself. Yajirobe didn't know why he insisted on going alone sometimes, but he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"It has been nice getting to know you." The man told Yajirobe one evening. "Tonight I am going to hunt again. I will be back by morning."

"May I come with you?" Yajirobe asked. "I'm not the best hunter, I know that, but I think I could help."

"I hunt alone tonight." He said. "You eat well, but not enough. Soon though you will be ready to join me. Sleep well." With that the man stood, grabbed a spear from the ground, and slipped into the woods.

Yajirobe smiled as piled stones around the fire, and cleared sticks from near it. He was earning trust, and improving skills. It wouldn't be long now. He could catch rabbits, squirrels, and fish, but soon he'd be hunting for big game with his new friend. He went to sleep that night full and happy.

In the earliest part of the morning, shortly after the moon had set, Yajirobe heard footsteps in the camp. He sat up in bed, stretching, and looked out his door. The antlered man was standing on the far side of clearing, hanging something from a tree. Yajirobe was glad the hunt was successful. He didn't know what he caught, he never did, but now that he'd be allowed to join him, he thought he'd go help clean the catch.

He threw his clothes on and exited the hut. "You got something!" He cheered. "Can I help prepare it?"

The stranger froze, half way through a stroke of his knife. "Yajirobe, go back to sleep. I will take care of this, and we will have a good breakfast."

"Screw that." Yajirobe grabbed an unlit torch and set the head into the fire.

The stranger watched as the torch lit. He let go of his catch, leaving it to sway from the branch, blood dripping to the ground. "Yajirobe, go back to bed. After your next meal, we will hunt together. Until then, you are not ready to participate." He walked towards the man he rescued.

"Come on. I'm capable." Yajirobe walked towards the stranger. His torch lighting 20 feet around him.

They met half way between the fire and where the body was suspended, 30 feet to either. The man put a hand on Yajirobe's chest, trying to stop him, but Yajirobe dodged the touch and kept walking. As he approached the tree, the savior adjusted his grip on the knife.

The first thing Yajirobe saw were the limbs. The corpse was hung by two, with its head and arms hanging down. Blood covered its skin, but it wasn't alone. The second thing he saw was the short red robe, trimmed with black stripes, identical to the one he wore. The third thing he saw was the ground, as he sank to his hands and knees, vomiting.

"You should have gone back to bed." The man approached Yajirobe. "You were so close."

Yajirobe used his tongue to free the half digested meat from his teeth before spitting it out. When he heard his friend step forward he whirled around, getting to his feet. "What the hell are you. What the hell is going on here?"

"I will need to restart." The man brought his knife forward, preparing to strike.

Yajirobe stepped back and to the side, trying to get around the maniac. "What are you, man? What do you have to restart?" He raised his hands.

"I am what happens when hunger is filled." He gestured to his gaunt figure and tilted his antler. "From one full moon to the next, willingly eat the flesh of man each day, and you become me."

"Flesh of man?" Yajirobe heaved. "That's what you've been hunting? That's what you've been feeding me?" He continued circling around the man, and putting an additional inch between them whenever he could.

The man nodded. "I do not wish to restart. You will finish the transformation."

"That's my dad!" Yajirobe shouted. He didn't really know that, not for sure, not with the blood hiding the facial features, but it was close enough. If not his father, then his brother, if not his brother, then his cousin. "You're sick!"

"One bite." The man stepped forward, making Yajirobe jump back. "One bite, and you will be complete."

"Never!" Yajirobe continued to shout. "I hate you! I will never be like you! You're a monster!" Yajirobe had his shadow and the man lined up, the fire was behind him, the camp, the weapons, were behind him. He stepped backwards.

The man took another step towards Yajirobe, causing the samurai to stumble back onto a stone seat.

"It was you, you attacked my father's people. You caused the fear. You caused the uprising, our overthrow." Yajirobe felt the stone and tried to scoot around it while the man laughed.

"I see food, I eat food." The man widened his stance and continued approaching. "Will you eat, or will you go hungry?"

Yajirobe thought back to the previous evening. His katana was in his hut, no way he could get it before being attacked. He had more light, and a torch, but the stranger still had a knife. "We're done." Yajirobe said. "I'm going to get my things, and leave. We're going our separate ways."

"No." The man said. "You eat, or you go hungry." He smiled as Yajirobe looked for a weapon, but came up empty handed. "The ritual has started. If you do not complete it, you will never be satisfied, The hunger will drive you man."

"You are mad!" Yajirobe stopped his retreat. "You, eat, people! I'd rather die!"

"The day has changed." The stranger said. "One bite, and you will join me. Eternal life, eternal satisfaction. One bite." He gestured to his victim. "You don't want to leave now. You couldn't leave now, but, if you could, you wouldn't want to."

"Why not?" Yajirobe demanded.

"The ritual is almost complete. Your hunger will be infinite, until you finish the ritual. No matter what you eat, it will not be enough, not until the first bite on the second full moon."

Yajirobe tightened his grip on his torch. He couldn't join this creature, he knew that. He couldn't leave either, not without a fight, and he wasn't armed. What did he have? The only thing he had was the element of surprise, and he used it well. He bowed his head. "Okay."

"One bite." The man's lips cracked as he smiled. "Just one nibble, and it is done." He looked back at his partially skinned catch. "Come, the last step of your change should be your best. Nothing is better than fresh meat." He licked his lips and turned his back on Yajirobe.

Yajirobe considered rushing for his katana, but he didn't want to warn the stranger. He kept his torch low and followed the man. As they neared his relative Yajirobe pushed the torch forward, touching it to the mans exposed back.

The savior howled in pain, stumbling forward and grabbing for his burnt flesh. Yajirobe swept a kick into the man's legs as he stumbled, and sent him to the ground. The samurai pounced on the downed man, grabbing his antlers.

The man pushed off the ground, trying to stand, but Yajirobe dug his knee into his raw burn and the pain paralyzed him. Yajirobe twisted the man's antlers to the right, struggling against his monstrous strength.

The man howled in agony as he slowly lost the fight against the man he saved. He fell face first into the bloody dirt, and fell silent as he was forced to make eye contact with his unrealized companion.

Inside a cave

Piccolo held a large egg between his clawed hands. He felt its contents, the rage, the hatred, the simple minded stupidity. This still wasn't right, it wasn't enough. He cracked the shell and reabsorbed its contents.

He discarded the broken shell pieces onto a pile of a dozen more like it. "Why?" He demanded. "Why is everything I create so, so BAD!" He shot a small blast at the disappointing pile in the corner and wished he could be scattered to the wind as easily as they were.

"It's not." A voice spoke in Piccolo's mind.

He flared his aura and put up his guard. "Who's there?" He looked around the dark cave. "I am Piccolo, final spawn of the Demon King. You do not want to be here."

"I am Kami, the other half of Demon King Piccolo." The voice said, behind him this time.

Piccolo spun in place and came face to face with his father, or, someone who looked like his father. Kami hovered in the cave, lighting it with a pale blue glow. "I am not physically here." He looked around. "But, I heard your question. I am here to tell you that you are mistaken."

"What would you know of it!" Piccolo struck at Kami, but his hand passed through the figure.

"You say everything you create is bad. This is wrong." Kami looked over Piccolo's shoulder.

"I don't mean they're evil. Of course they are." Piccolo turned his back to his father's other half. "They're, they're weak though. They're simple. They are useless."

"You are still mistaken." Kami said. "Your creations aren't all bad, evil or weak. They aren't useless either."

"Spare me." Piccolo spat. "I don't need a lecture about how all life is sacred."

"Killing." Kami sighed. "It's not the best choice, but it's an understandable one. Your spawn, they would need to be killed. They serve no purpose except pointless suffering."

"They're useless." Piccolo said.

"Your spawn, but not your creations." Kami said.

"Explain yourself." Piccolo demanded.

"The boy, Goku's son." Kami said. "He is strong, he is smart, and he could be the difference between life and death."

"He's the son of my enemy." Piccolo said. "I would have killed him myself if I didn't need him."

"He is Goku's son, but does that matter?" Kami hovered forward. "Under Goku he was kind, he was smart, but he was weak. Under you he will grow strong."

"He's simple." Piccolo said. "He sees his father as good, and anyone else, anyone that his father fights, as evil."

"He is in your care." Kami said. "Show him. Teach him that life is not black and white."

"You, Kami, are telling me to turn Gohan to my side? To use him against his father?" Piccolo looked over his shoulder at the guardian.

"No." Kami shook his head. "I am suggesting that you consider all your creations failures, and that Gohan, while not your spawn, is both your creation, and someone you could consider a success."

Atop Pepper volcano

A trio of men hiked up a winding, steep, obsidian trail. The gray haired, white gi wearing, Master Mutaito walked in front of his students. Roshi was the furthest back, guard raised, wound as tight as a spring. Shen walked in the middle of their group, a rice cooker under one arm and a finger on the other hand sweeping left to right, ready to launch a dodon ray at the first sign of trouble.

As the summit came into view, so to did the demonic King Piccolo. Mutaito held up his hand and his students froze in place. He held two fingers over his head and slowly scissored them open. Shen approached his right side, and Roshi stood to his left.

"It is time." Mutaito said. "The beast sleeps now, and soon he shall sleep forever." He nodded to Shen.

Shen sat the rice cooker on the stone and opened the lid. Reaching into his gi he pulled a tightly woven white cloth free, "SEAL" written boldly across the front. Roshi took a step forward, studying their target.

"Are you ready?" Mutaito asked. "Once we start, there is no going back."

"Yes, Master." Shen and Roshi spoke in unison.

"No matter what happens here." Mutaito put a hand on both student's shoulders. "I want you to know that you have made me very proud." He turned his students to face each other, face him. "When this is over, the real work will start. Fighting is easy, second nature. Rebuilding civilization, that is the real job, and not one I look forward to."

"Repopulating the Earth." Roshi smiled.

"Reshaping the future." Shen smiled.

"Why are we here?" Mutaito asked his students.

"For the good of others." The students answered in unison.

"Correct." Mutaito nodded. "My hope, in a hundred years, two hundred years, however long it takes. My hope is that we will be forgotten, boys. My dream is that Earth, after we are done, will return to normality, and King Piccolo will be nothing but a bad dream that someones great grandparents heard rumors of as a child." He squeezed Roshi's and Shen's arms. "

"Yes, Master." Roshi and Shen spoke in unison.

"Okay, Shen, are the preparations complete?" Mutaito inspected the rice cooker one final time, as well as the cloth Shen stood ready to slip over it.

"Yes." Shen nodded.

"Roshi, are you ready?" Mutaito studied his students posture, his breath, his spirit.

"Yes." Roshi nodded.

"Okay, then, on your mark, Roshi." Mutaito gave each student one last smile. "I am ready."

Roshi and Mutaito closed a third of the distance between Shen and Piccolo. Roshi completed the last third by himself. He looked back and Mutaito was in place, ready to dance. Shen had the hinged lid of the cooker over his toes, ready to close at the flick of a foot, and the cloth stretched between his hands. Now, it was on him, thirty seconds and it would be over.

Grabbing a rock from the ground Roshi concentrated his energy into it, fusing it with his ki. "Hey, Piccolo, I took a poo this morning the same color as you, except it smelled better!" He chucked the rock, hitting the enraged demon king in the side of the head.

Immediately Piccolo was on him, probing his defense for openings, ripping his clothes, his skin, to shreds. Roshi was overwhelmed, he didn't stand a chance. All he could do was block a majority of the hits, but dodging was out of the question, and countering was impossible.

Ten seconds into the assault Roshi was bloodied and ready to pass out. Twenty seconds in and Piccolo had began playing with him, picking him apart, breaking bones in sequence, starting at his toes and grinding his way up. At thirty seconds Piccolo had taken Roshi's pride and joy, and was close to dealing a fatal blow. Fortunately, before he could, a whirlwind of blue energy had been summoned around the demon king, and fourty seconds after the battle began, it was over.

Roshi grinned from ear to ear. He was in the worst pain of his life, but Piccolo was sealed. Shen was just enthusiastic, he had faced the greatest threat to humanity, and he had survived unharmed. Mutaito, Mutaito was dead.

Author's note: I've had a few of these scenes planned out for quite a while, and while one of them was a struggle to get out, I think they all turned out pretty well. Let me know your thoughts, leave a review, follow, and favorite, if you'd be so kind. Next chapter, time has passed, and after confronting key moments from their past, thanks to Korin, our heroes will return to Korin's Tower.