Namek

Chapter 61: From the Flames


Death. This is what it felt like, what it looked like- or, at least, what it seemed to be. Piccolo had no confidence in his ability to sense or understand anything. Like a great wave of water, confusion had swept over his mind, blanketing his thoughts, suffocating them, even as incomprehensible images and shapes flashed across his retinas. Focused thoughts became unfocused; any pretense of control over what he was experiencing melted away into the muted, blurred, darkened world around him. He was like a drop of water being taken up by a dry towel. He felt himself spreading so thin as to become nothing. He could make no sense of any of it- but he knew that he was dying.

A distant part of him stirred; air brushed past his consciousness, light and heavy, sweet and salty, as if his senses, fighting to last a little longer, began to sense anything and everything there was to the world. Even as he felt air futilely pass down his throat and fruitlessly spill out of the hole in his chest, he tasted things he had never tasted before in the wind- that of crisp, verdant life. It was the taste and feeling of Namek, of the place that he knew he should have been born and raised in. Earth, his father… all of it had fought against him and his potential. Nail was right. To die here, at this point, with the traits he embodied, make him broken.

He had already died once before, and he wasn't afraid of dying again. He could not remember every step of it, but he knew that Otherworld was the final destination. But there was a worry, far back and buried within his consciousness, that this time would be worse. He would have… regret.

I may not have been born here… his eyes, miraculously, began to work again. Directly above him rested two of Namek's three suns, shining down on him at an improbably perfect vertical angle. But perhaps it is fitting that I will die here… on the porch of the… wait… wait…

Shaking, Piccolo painstakingly twisted his head to his left. Gleaming in the sun, the white, round hall was still standing. It stands… so… darkened, mismatched shapes began to surge back and forth, left-to-right in between him and the hall. They may… still be alive. That PTO punk… didn't kill them?

A guiding force cupped his head and turned it upright. The shapes- no, a shape- was close enough now to block the sun's rays from him. It hovered above him, holding back, until a presence returned to his head. With that event, the shape incrementally began to crystallize. A vague outline of something. Of a person.

'You are dying.'

Telepathy. So Piccolo was not quite dead to the outside world yet, and beholden to more… whatever this was. Sniveling? Condescension? Kindness? Whatever it was, he wanted none of it.

'We have someone who can heal you,'the voice continued placidly. 'He is coming now.'

Even within his mind, Piccolo found it hard to put together a sentence. 'Who are you? I… saw shapes.'

'Peace, child. I am one of your own.'

Irritation laced Piccolo's next words. 'You lie. You all have made it clear; Nail has made it clear. I am not one of you. You will never see me as one of you.'

When the voice spoke next, it sounded considerative. 'I do not know what he has said to you, but Nail is but one Namekian. He does not speak for all of us. We have heard stories about you, lost child of Namek. How you came from a being now split in two, and that you represent that being's malice. Moori has said this speaks of your potential- no Namekian among us can claim to have the same auspicious origin as you.'

There was something suffused into the voice's words- but Piccolo was dying, and just noticing the presence of something, even if he couldn't identify what it was, sated his remaining curiosity. 'Stop talking…' Piccolo grumbled. 'Find… a healer…' He could feel this person on him, clasping onto his head to strengthen their telepathic connection. This Namekian's presence at his side suddenly became overbearing- it was if his entire sensory world shrank to him and this person. They were far too connected for his liking.

Without thinking, and impressed at his remaining strength, Piccolo felt his left hand grip the wrist of the hand at his head and drag it off of him.A strange silence took hold of Piccolo's mind- and he wasn't sure, between himself and the voice, who was responsible for it.

'... what is this?' the voice breathed- which fell to nothing. The sound left first, then the presence, even as Piccolo's mind deadened into a deeper void. The shape smothering him shimmered away from his mind, and with its disappearance, the narrowing force on Piccolo's sensory world loosened. What was left of his sensation returned to him, and then burgeoned past their limits, recovering to what they had been before he had received his fatal injuries. A sharp, piercing pain traveled from the very core of his being outward, exited his chest, and with a final, shocking blast of force, sprung his eyes open.

The sky above him was as detailed as he remembered it. His hands lifted off the ground without difficulty and patted his chest- my chest. His probing fingers found no gaping hole, or even a scratch besides the torn outline of the wound in his gi. He was whole. Once he realized this, it seemed that his strength rushed back to him, and within seconds, he was back on his feet. The presence, the Namekian who had been talking to him… Where is he?

'You… what have you done?'

Piccolo swung to his left. Gathered in front of the white hall was a cluster of Namekians, all tensed and hanging back as if ready to flee. The figure at the center, a round, shorter, older Namekian, looked the most appalled of them all. A name, unknown by Piccolo until that very moment, flashed through his head- Moori. Their expressions were foreign, unrecognizable- it was if he didn't have the ability to even begin to understandwhat they were conveying. Looking at them made his head hurt. Made his head throb.

No… that's not it! Piccolo's gaze swept upwards. High, high above them was a tiny splotch of red, darker than what should be possible for the planet's atmosphere. Piccolo's ki sense further added information to that point- the splotch wasn't from the planet nor in its atmosphere, but located beyond it. And the ki… the energy...

Before he knew what he was doing, Piccolo's burning gaze fell on the motionless Namekians. 'What are you looking at!?' he shrieked, causing everyone in the crowd to flinch. 'Get inside! NOW!'

Despite their odd behavior, they did what they were told and rushed back inside. Moori was the last the enter, and the last to send over a strange, alarmed look. But Piccolo's thoughts and feelings towards the Namekians- which were now filled with odd, out-of-place, and unexplainable bits and pieces of knowledge- were put aside by this point. His attention was singularly focused on the spot he felt energy gathering in high above the planet.

The PTO came in ships. So, this must be another ship, collecting a staggering amount of energy. Frowning, Piccolo closed his eyes and tried to get a better sense for the red point's strength. Massively strong… but not overwhelming. Judging by how fast energy is being added… it's close to firing.

Something clicked into place in Piccolo's mind, even though he had already been acting under the realized assumption already without knowing it. The blast is going to strike this spire- it's going to hit the Namekians. I might be fast enough to get away if I run now- but the Namekians won't have that chance. They're going to die here.

Piccolo's feet dug into the rock and dirt beneath him, finding gaps created by Burter's earlier assault to slot and lock into. Surely they can sense what's about to descend onto the planet. They expect me to defend them. To protect them. Or maybe they realize that their survival is out of their hands, now. Either way, they can do nothing...

An idea sprung into Piccolo's mind. During his training with King Kai, he had been piecing together a technique that could dispatch enemies many times stronger than him. But, now, like a puzzle snapping together, the form and shape of the attack revealed itself to him, and he felt a certainty growing within him. There was something pulling him to stay, something that told him that this attack could work and save him and the Namekians. He would have to focus the energy into one specific point if it was going to successfully defeat the imminent beam attack. But… if he did that…

Two green fingers, straightened and bound together as if tied, extended from Piccolo's right hand. Their sharpened nails came to rest against Piccolo's temple, and at the moment of contact, thin yellow sparks shot across and off them. Joined by a growing, piercing growl, a storm of ki began to jump, shake, and roll around Piccolo's body.

0o0o0

There were miles away from the spire now- which made the targeted landmark little more than a thin line leaping up from the horizon- but Burter was never one to lose his focus during a mission. As such, he walked backward alongside Appule and Zarbon, who together, due to Zarbon's injuries, struggled to keep a steady pace going. Farther out, the PTO army trudged on.

'How long, now?' Burter asked, not bothering to look at Zarbon.

'Minutes,' Zarbon growled back. The green-haired alien, still transformed, was beginning to look more alive than dead. His healing was better than the average soldier's, and most of his wounds from earlier had closed up. Still, as a sign of his exhaustion, he answered Burter's question without lifting his head.

Burter, without stopping, crossed his arms. 'You said that minutes ago,' he replied.

'And it was minutes then, too,' Zarbon pointed out, his voice scratchy from pain and annoyance. 'The destroyer will fire soon, and then…' Zarbon bit back the rest of his sentence. And then I promise we will never have to interact with each other ever again.

Appule shifted at Zarbon's side, slowing them. Burter had not offered to help Zarbon walk. Zarbon had not asked. Zarbon was not delusional. He knew Ginyu's men, as well as Ginyu, thought nothing of him or anyone else below them. If he wasn't their commanding officer…

Zarbon's mind jumped to a dark place. I need to leave this planet as soon as possible. Once the blast hits, I'll call the ship here and leave… and hopefully-

'The Captain should be here soon,' Burter remarked, interrupting Zarbon's thoughts. 'Just so you know, he'll want to give his report to you.' The blue alien looked over to Zarbon and Appule. 'Personally.'

His head hung, Zarbon made no indication whether he had noticed this. Yes; I need to leave very, very soon.

A minute had passed in silence- to Zarbon's surprise, Burter made no annoying comments about the passage of one- when a series of beeps rang out from Burter's scouter. The blue alien stopped. 'Weird,' he said while repeatedly tapping his fingers against his arms.

'What?' Appule asked, serving as a mouthpiece for Zarbon's thoughts.

'There's a reading coming from the spire again. Same as before. 33,000.'

'So you didn't kill him, then,' Zarbon accused, before coughing.

'No, he's dead- has to be someone else,' Burter replied. 'It's not 33,000. It's 36,000.'

'So it's a different person?' Appule deduced.

'39,000.'

'What?'

'42,000.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Just hit 45,000. The reading.' Burter reported in the most distant and detached manner possible.

Lodged underneath one of Zarbon's arms, Appule scratched his head. 'You sure your scouter isn't broken?'

Burter didn't reply; he didn't even move. Appule watched Burter's eyes fix themselves on the square visor resting over his left eye and stay there. After enough time, Zarbon yanked up his head, reopening the wounds surrounding his eyes in the process, and swung his gaze towards Burter. 'Answer Appule's question!' He commanded. 'Is your scouter broken? And what's the final reading on that power level, anyway?'

Burter's face, normally dark blue, was noticeably pale. 'It's… still rising.'

0o0o0

It was more power than he had ever felt in one place- this was power unbridled, unkempt, unleashed. This was enough power to put Krillin and his silly techniques to shame. This was enough power to overcome that dead man Roshi even. But, most importantly, this was enough power to wipe out that blue alien's cocky little grin from the galaxy. And he felt it coursing, surging, wrapping itself around him, like an otherworldly presence imbuing him with unassailable power. It was insane to think that all this was his. It was insane to think that he was ever weaker than he was now- his power now felt so whole, so complete, that accessing it felt like submerging himself in a horizonless ocean. It was intoxicating.

But his reveling would have to wait; in the sky far above him, he felt the final throes of a massive attack forming. He was smart enough to realize that he was drunk on power, and that any lapse of concentration now would cost him dearly. So even as his thoughts verged on manic, another part of his mind kept the energy coursing up his right arm to his fingertips steady. His sight slowly grew more and more clouded as arcs and cracks of yellow and blue rocketed away from his forehead and fingertips in every possible direction, forming a growing sphere of uncontrollable light. His feet crushed further into the ground as the force of his ki pressed further out in every direction, flattening previously jagged ground around him. Most tellingly, the sound of the wind gave way to a hissing, crackling sound which rode out in pulses.

As the entire spire began to shake, his body started to shudder. With a pained effort, Piccolo yanked his two fingers from his forehead and looked up. High above, a massive beam of energy rushed towards him, expanding further and further out towards the edges of his vision- a testament to how large it was.

Piccolo wondered if, from far away, he looked like a tiny speck of yellow light waiting to be consumed. He certainly hoped that was the case. Let them watch- and see.

There was no more time to hold back his attack, nor could he hold his attack back any longer. Drawing one foot backward, and arching his body towards what he guessed was the center of the blast, Piccolo tensed. Light and ki crackled out from a ball of ki held on his two fingers like tiny little bolts of lightning. With a push, he thrust out his arm and attack all at once towards the heavens.

'SPECIAL BEAM CANNON!'

Piccolo had expected the beam to launch from his fingers to be no wider than his palm- instead, most of it was as wide as him, and its pointed, sloped head rivaled the nearby hall in size. Once it left his hand, the attack started to spin and curve in its trajectory, twisting so much that a second line of yellow began to snake around its center. It was both mesmerizing and incredibly violent- his energy fought and slammed against itself, enforcing uniformity throughout his attack. Shots of yellow lightning only grew worse as the head grew larger, throwing themselves farther and farther out like a growing storm.

But this was nothing compared to the moment of impact. When the wall of red hit his yellow lance of an attack, a thunderous crash, like gods hammering metal, screeched down from above, Piccolo nearly let his hands shoot up to his ears to shield them. The auditory pain was astonishing, mind-boggling, and might have conquered his will if not for the fact that it began to lessen after a few seconds. Aside from the sound, light danced and skirted above him, making a visual mess… but the ominous red glow, which had suffused everything just moments prior, started to fade. The wall of red stalled, then retreated backward as Piccolo's attack speared right through its center, splitting the beam into incohesive shards that curled away from the spire and dispersed into the green sky above. An awe-inspiring maelstrom of energy slowly diluted itself across Namek's atmosphere. Through this all, a beam continued to spool out of Piccolo's two fingers, riding itself higher and higher off of Namek's surface.

When the red glow disappeared and the natural light of Namek's binary suns returned, Piccolo ceased his attack, dropping his arm and letting the last bits of his gathered ki flush out from his aura as a gust of wind. Just as it was before, only a single point of energy remained in the sky- but it was now yellow instead of red.

Huffing, Piccolo let steam curl up off his body before swinging his head towards the horizon. He felt PTO ki, meager, insignificant, gathered together not too far away. He took a second to catch his breath, filled his mind with cruel thoughts of retribution, and flew off.

0o0o0

'Ship's cores nearly spent, sir.'

A scrawny, long-limbed yellow alien with four eyes- two in his head, two stalks to its sides- leaned back in his chair and plopped his feet onto the console in front of him. His eyes were closed and he had a content expression on his face. Not many soldiers liked being stuck in what was essentially a box with a bunch of levers, but as for him, he enjoyed being the gunnery technician who had to interact with none of the other crew members and move his arms maybe once or twice a mission to fire the ship's main cannon. That instance, where he had fired the ship's cannon, had just passed, and he'd get back to his nap once he got a response from his CO. Zardon. Zargon? I can never remember the names of these pompous, self-conceited commander types. They're too similar.

After a moment, he tapped the scouter over his left eye. Communication in and out of his box was sometimes spotty, too- which he also appreciated. 'Cores are spent, sir,' he repeated.

Still no response. Without opening his eyes, his eyebrows lifted. 'Zarbon? You got me?'

His scouter continued to pump out quiet static. No change.

Must be too much interference from the blast. Oh well. With a yawn, he leaned further back in his chair. No one's gonna come down on me for that, anywho...

0o0o0

In the soundless expanse of space, a single ship skimmed across Namek's outline, holding itself steady as the last wisps of red energy emanated from a large gun lodged in its underbelly. The ship did nothing after this, and continued to do nothing as a smaller, thinner beam of yellow ki lazily moved towards it from the surface of Namek. First wreathed in red light, then by nothing, this beamspiraled deeper into space without a care in the world.

The ship offered no greater resistance to Piccolo's attack than its delivered beam. The yellow, spinning beam punctured it and detonated inside it, shattering what had once been one of the largest ships in the galaxy into galactic garbage in a matter of seconds.

0o0o0

Soaring high above the surface of Namek, Nail's eyes were tuned to spot anything appearing on the horizon- and soon enough, the presence he sensed coming towards him appeared in his vision. He slowed his flight and came to a halt. The distant dot of black did the same and by parts- red hair shone in the sun, followed by a thick and chiseled physique- transformed into a person. Easily identifiable by his armor, the PTO soldier was massive- twice as wide as Nail and a few feet taller. Nail would have been fazed by this fact if he didn't have a clear sense of the soldier's substantive, yet manageable ki and didn't have somewhere to be.

'And who exactly are you?' Nail asked, more irritated than curious. He made no effort to conceal his glare.

'Captain didn't tell me to give my name,' the soldier, grinning, replied as if reciting an order. 'Though…' He began to shift his arms and legs, stretching them vertically. With a pop, he formed two mid-air Os, one with his arms and one with his legs, and shouted. 'RECOOME POSE!'

Nail's glare deepened. 'How does that answer my previous question?' he growled.

'Captain told me to pose, even without the others,' Recoome explained. 'That was my pose.' He scratched one side of his face with one of his thick, white glove-clad fingers. 'Probably didn't look right, considering no-one else was around… I'm not very good with my individual moves.'

Nail had checked out of their conversation long before Recoome- he's implying his name is Recoome, at least- had finished speaking. If I'm reading what he said right, my first guess was true- this isn't that new group's leader, or captain- whatever. So, then… He began to back away. No need to deal with him now. I should be able to get away easily enough.

Just as Recoome looked up and noticed Nail's slow withdraw, the Namekian spoke. 'Well, this has been fun,' he drawled disinterestedly. 'Tell your Captain I said hi. I'm going now.'

A frown tugged at the corners of Recoome's mouth as he resumed a more natural pose. 'Huh? You don't want to fight me?'

'Correct,' Nail replied, curling his hands into fists. 'So now that we're on the same page-'

As soon as the word "page" left Nail's mouth, Recoome burst in action, charging forward with an overhead smash. Reaching Nail, he swung down, but his double-fist swung through the Namekian's outline and dispersed it.

Nail, having expected his opponent to pull something like this, appeared behind his afterimage and shot forward, ramming an elbow into Recoome's chestplate- but, to his surprise, the giant of a man didn't budge. His right hand had caught the attack. Grimacing, Nail pivoted and crashed his leg against Recoome's blocking left arm to the same effect. A ripple of air rode out from the spot of impact

'I gave you too little credit,' Nail said through gritted teeth, unmoving, as they pressed against each other. 'You didn't look like the type to block an attack.'

Bizarrely, Recoome's unsmart grin from earlier was back. 'You talk too much!' he shouted, before surging forward and swiping a fist across where Nail had been a split-second earlier. A few feet away, Nail narrowed his eyes and shot out two thin yellow beams of ki from them. The parallel lines rammed into Recoome's chest, but to Nail's shock, the red-haired soldier flew through them and clocked Nail on the right side of his face with one gigantic fist. From that one strike, Nail felt his jaw click out of place, and was pushed several feet back.

With a pained grunt and a wrench, Nail placed a hand to his head, pressed the bones in his face back together, and used his regeneration to heal their fractures. Stars briefly swam through his vision. When he could see again, he centered his gaze on Recoome and the holes in his chestplate. Beneath his armor two black marks were present and clear. Nail looked up at their owner's face; the grin he saw earlier was there, unwavering.

'Ouch,' Recoome said playfully, 'that stung...'

Nail glanced back at the wounds in Recoome's chest. They were deep enough to be painful, though too shallow to cause any real damage. His tolerance for pain must be freakishly high. No other way he can charge through a blast that's digging into his chest without stopping or flinching. But I don't-

Nail's internal monologue was cut short as Recoome rushed him again. Straining, Nail thrust himself backward just in time to avoid a fast-moving horizontal kick. 'I don't have time for this!' he yelled, before spinning and landing a flurry of quick chops to Recoome's midsection. On the last chop, just before making contact with Recoome's block, the hand halted.

Recoome waited for a strike that never came; he peeked his head over his block and looked at Nail. 'Huh?'

Nail was half facing him, one hand still extended as a chop. Suddenly, the Namekian grabbed onto one of Recoome's massive arms, pushed himself into the air above him, and spun. Nail's other side looked down on Recoome's head- and in his other hand, a humming, billowing ball of ki pulsed in Nail's hand.

Recoome's eyes widened. 'Oh!'

'HAAH!' Nail roared, as he thrust the hand downward and smacked its palm- and the ki blast- against Recoome's skull and his red, mop-like hair. Nail had intended the blast to be more kinetic than explosive; hence, while there was a minor release of ki that momentarily engulfed them, through the light Nail spotted Recoome's gargantuan outline rocket down to the ground with ludicrous speed.

That was all he needed to see- the next moment, Nail burst off into flight. He moved much faster than before. He was putting all his ki into his speed now.

His mind caught up in other things, Nail began to rub the welling, purple bruise covering most of the right side of his face. His regeneration was better at repairing major injuries than minor damage. Forget about the bruise- this is a full-out sprint, now. I need to keep myself as far ahead of him as possible. With any luck, I can get the drop on the next guy and stay in motion… Ugh, but what a nightmare… why did those humans have to get captured?

It was more of a formality, but just to be sure, Nail reached out with his ki to check behind him. Unsurprisingly, he sensed Recoome hot on his tail.

Great.

0o0o0

By this point, walking amongst his army- or what's left of it, anyway- Zarbon had long ago shrugged off Appule and resumed walking unassisted. A commander, especially a commander in the PTO, could not afford to look weak among their soldiers. It was bad enough that only half of his armor still clung to his body, and beneath what was left, his body was a bloodied, bruised, and marred mess. He was hurt enough that he feared transforming back to his more appealing, untransformed state- he was worried that reverting back would reopen his wounds. And the last thing I need to do is bleed more.

Appule, in proper deference, had trailed behind Zarbon, but Burter had made it a point to not leave his side as they descended from this planet's version of a plateau- it was maybe fifty feet higher than the flat grasslands that dominated the landscape- and looked out over his army gathered together in a plain. Despite his injuries, and despite Burter's obvious attempts to undermine his authority, Zarbon held his head high and waded into the mass of his soldiers. By now, the destroyer in orbit should have fired and turned that spire and the land for miles around into glass- though they were too far away to see this.

Around him, his soldiers were chatting with each other; consequently, when Zarbon turned to Burter, only Appule observed their brief conversation.

'Go check to see that the spire is gone,' Zarbon ordered, 'now.'

One half of Burter's mouth curled up. 'You want me to fly into space and check on the destroyer too, while I'm at it?' he mocked.

'Considering that there's too much interference from the blast's dispersed energy to contact its crew, yes,' Zarbon said, stepping closer, his gaze unflinching, 'I would.'

They held this position for a time, each one barely a foot apart from each other, each face staring into the other. Burter was the one to break it off. 'I'll check on the spire and report back in a minute,' he said, glaring as he stepped back.

'I expect nothing less.'

'Hmph.' With that, Burter spun away and blasted off back towards the spire.

As soon as this happened, Zarbon wasted no time in turning to his second. 'Appule,' he said in a more measured voice, 'bring the prisoner to me.'

To Zarbon's relief, Appule still had a healthy fear of him- his hand shot up to salute him. 'Sir, of course!' The purple alien broke off and ran deeper into the crowd, elbowing his way through soldiers when the situation required it. Zarbon had a moment to scan his army to see if anyone else had observed his conversation with Burter before Appule, pulling along Bulma, exited the crowd and made his way back to him.

'That was quick,' Zarbon commented as the blue-haired woman was shoved onto her knees by Appule.

'I made sure to keep her close and on-hand when we captured her,' Appule said with the slightest bit of pride in his voice. At least, Zarbon thought it was pride- it was such an unexpected thing to hear from his second that he doubted whether he was hearing it at all. 'I knew you'd want to talk to her as soon as things were wrapped up with the natives.'

An approving smile graced Zarbon's transformed face. 'Smart thinking, Appule. With that done...' He moved his attention back towards his prisoner. 'I have some questions for you.'

A laugh, sudden enough to rack her entire body, preceded Bulma raising her head to look straight into Zarbon's eyes. 'But I have no answers to give,' she chuckled wryly.

'You'd be wise to give them anyway,' Zarbon suggested cooly. He was in no mood for skirting around what he wanted to know. 'I'd rather not harm a pretty face.'

Another laugh, more forced than before. 'Pretty?' Bulma repeated back to him. 'That's a new one. You're nicer than the Saiyans.'

Bulma anticipated a quick retort from Zarbon- instead, what she heard instead was a long and drawn-out hiss. Looking up, she saw that Zarbon's face was so knotted and clenched that it was close to bursting apart. Crusted blood, framing his face like a painting, flaked off of his skin. 'By Saiyans- you aren't referring to Vegeta, are you?' he breathed, his nostrils flaring like the flaps of a lit furnace. 'Because, if so, I am very interested in what you have to say.'

'And I'm interested in what happened to my friends,' Bulma said back quickly, 'and yet, answers elude me.'

Zarbon's face refused to drain itself of its tension. 'I assure you- nothing will elude you for much longer if you don't tell me what I want to hear,' Zarbon intimated.

A look of discomfort appeared on Bulma's face and she began to move around on her knees; she was clothed in the same plain-colored and simple clothing that she had been wearing since escaping from the Saiyans, and while kneeling she had learned just how thinly they separated her body from the hard ground. 'You keep implying that- that bad things will happen to me if I don't cooperate,' she spoke up, all the while keeping her gaze trained on her shifting knees below her. 'But I don't see anyone else who survived that massacre around here. My friends and I were there at FP083, as I'm sure you know. You weren't.' She lifted her back towards Zarbon and tapped a finger to her head. 'No-one else knows what's up here- what happened at that base- but me. And you're going to mistreat your only witness?'

Zarbon fixed a dark look on her. 'And what of your friends?' He asked, feeling that he'd regained some control in their conversation. 'They were there. Whatever you know, they know too. You're interchangeable, at best.'

Bulma snorted. 'You think those two noticed everything that I did? You think they think about what happened as much as I do?' Feeling bold, she pressed her hands to the ground and stood. 'I didn't misspeak earlier- no-one, not even those two, know what's in my head.'

To the side, Appule felt himself getting angry on behalf of his commander. For a prisoner, she's certainly impudent!...

'Don't tie yourself up in a knot, Appule,' Zarbon said, cutting through the purple's aliens thoughts. His voice, which had been strained for the past few minutes, had regained some of its previous calm. '

Abashed, Appule's attention jumped from Bulma to Zarbon. 'She's being openly flippant!-'

'I prefer my captives like this,' Zarbon informed him. 'Clear-minded enough to note that what works best for themselves works best for me. In other words, what works best for everyone.'

Bulma's brows inched down her face. 'That's very forthright of you to say.'

'My mood and my circumstances prevent me from being subtle,' Zarbon replied, swinging his gaze back to Bulma. 'And I'll be honest- I detest using violence to obtain information.' He made a vaguely disgusted look. 'Bodily mutilation accompanied by probing questions produces fake memories, not real fact.'

'You're talking about torture, right?'

Zarbon's eyes widened. 'Yes, torture. I've used it so little that I even forgot there was a term for it! Haha!'

To Bulma's ears, Zarbon's laughs didn't sound natural, nor particularly happy, but she allowed the alien his moment before speaking again. 'So what I'm willing to divulge-'

'You'll divulge everything,' Zarbon said abruptly. 'Do that, and you won't die here.'

A cold look spread across Bulma's face. 'And why would I do that? You can't touch me, remember?'

'Incorrect,' Zarbon said, using an intolerable tone of voice that grated against Bulma's ears. 'You've singled yourself out for execution, dear- oh.' His face, mocking with its fake sincerity, hovered closer to her's. 'You didn't even realize that you were doing it, did you?' He gave her a hideous smirk, rife with smug satisfaction. 'I'll explain. If you know more than your two friends, then you're more dangerous to me. When the final report on today and the destruction of FP083 is written, I do not want someone else's thoughts in it. I want my own thoughts in it. You and your friends are valuable to me insofar as you all are my hapless passengers, beholden to my narrative, and sacrificed in place of my myself to those who want to destroy me.' Zarbon paused, and half-turned away from Bulma. 'So, in a certain way, I do and don't care about you as a person. And as long as you are alive and unwilling to tell me everything, I couldn't care less about what happens to you as long as you're not dying- that is, until my plan calls for that, of course.'

Rage and hatred sprung to life on Bulma's face, and wormed together into a single unsteady expression. 'You're wrong! You know nothing about what happened!' she yelled, causing a few soldiers nearby to turn their heads to them. A quick wave from Appule swatted away their attention. 'You know nothing about what the Saiyans-'

'You think that, don't you?' Zarbon said, rounding back on Bulma and looming over her. To Bulma, he seemed to grow taller with every passing second. 'You think that I know nothing about what happened on FP083.' He narrowed his eyes, shining his concentrated disdain at her through his eyes like shadows thrown on a wall. 'The lucky and the unintelligent do not get to where I am- they do not ascend as high as I do and hold this position for more than twenty years. I am the right-hand for the strongest man in the galaxy because my thirst for information, which enabled my ascendance through the ranks of the PTO in the first place, is ravenous. When Vegeta gave his account as to what happened on FP083- I can see from your eyes that you assumed as much happened- I did not swallow his information blindly. I pressed him, made him refine his lie, and weaponized his narrative against him. I wondered: what other Saiyans could exist in the galaxy outside of those that we know? Oh- I see confusion in your eyes. Another fact you aren't aware of? The Saiyans are nearly extinct, my dear; their home planet was destroyed decades ago. So imagine my skepticism when Vegeta claims that he was attacked by Saiyans.' Zarbon made a point of looking over Bulma's appearance. 'I am not and do not claim to be an expert on Saiyan physiology, but I've dealt with many Saiyans over the course of my lifetime. Suffice to say, you are not one of them. You lack a tail. And you're far too weak.'

As an insult to Bulma, Zarbon let weak hang in the air for a span of time. He savored the burning embers that were her eyes and continued. 'So meeting you, even though your two friends, as unlikely as it is, may still be Saiyans, confirms that Vegeta's claim of being attacked exclusively by Saiyans is bullshit. He lied. A fact that became obvious even to my master when Vegeta vanished from the PTO entirely. With his lapdog Nappa, Vegeta either destroyed FP083 himself or did it with you and your friends' help- though, considering that he subsequently blamed the entire event on you and gave over a means to track your ship, that last interpretation seems unlikely. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that Vegeta threw you three under the metaphorical spaceship. Regardless of whatever relationship you had with him, and whatever the conditions were for you coming to FP083 in the first place… that must sting.'

'But that should be the end of things, right?' Zarbon said, making an amiable gesture with his hands. 'Exposing Vegeta as a liar should be enough to clear you and your friends' names and call off this invasion!... And, yet, an army still occupies this backwater, miserable planet. The total strength of this army is sufficient to wage offensives across entire sectors of the galaxy, and I've just wasted it hunting for three random aliens. I have casualties and equipment losses to itemize. Real costs were extracted on not just my army, but my reputation. If you think Vegeta's lies only caused problems for you, hah- haha-' Zarbon laughed, sharp and shallow. '-you'd be wrong. My name is plastered all over this whole rotten endeavor. And the PTO's not in the business of wasting resources aimlessly. So I can expect that returning with you three and nothing else will lead to my execution. Such is the price of incompetence in the PTO.'

Zarbon's eyes were distant for a time. 'I obviously wish to avoid this outcome. 'So; I thought of a plan. While the pretext for my army coming here may be false- halfway across the galaxy, the real culprits of the crime we sought punishment for slipped away- by the time my business on this planet is finished, a reason for us coming here will exist. My master expects bodies. People to punish. But, beyond that, he expects a story. He hates the Saiyans- his hatred propelled this entire operation, created to chase just three supposed Saiyans, into existence in the first place. And while you and your friends may not be Saiyans, it is unarguable that you were working with them.' A smile, broad and ugly, smeared itself across Zarbon's transformed face. 'We have clear evidence that you fled FP083 at the same time that it was flattened. It is clear from what you've said that you three know Vegeta and Nappa better than almost any other person within the PTO, and furthermore, you three have an ambiguous reason for being at FP083 in the first place. I've had every tangible soldier and personnel roll of FP083 pulled, and not a single one includes a description of someone who matches your appearance. I imagine the same is true for your two friends. So, to recap, you three fled a ruined base, knew Nappa and Vegeta well, and never existed on any PTO record. And without the Saiyans- who would no doubt hurt you with their testimony even if they were still around- it will be your word against my report… and, as you already know, your word means very little to me or anyone else.'

Zarbon spread his arms wide and gestured to everything- the land, the sky, the two suns, and not least the PTO- around him. 'With this information, and with everything else I've gathered here, I'll construct a narrative so good that my master will chain himself to it. I'll turn the Saiyans into a specter, attribute to them to every unknown threat that accosts the PTO- by the Kais, I'll start a crusade against them if he desires it. I'll push a race off the cliff edge of extinction and into the abyss of history if it saves my life. And it will start with you-' Zarbon declared, pointing a finger at Bulma, '-you and your friends, who were the first Saiyans synthesizers to worship a near-dead warrior race. The first of a long line of dissidents who sought to replace my master, Frieza, with a brutal, rapacious species that would destroy every ounce of civility in the galaxy. The first, but undoubtedly,not the last.' He studied her face. After a time, he let out a long, deliberate exhale.

'So. I'll say this one last time,' Zarbon said, bringing his face inches away from Bulma's, 'do you have anything to say?'

Willful, brazen, and with her face turning red, Bulma kept her mouth closed shut. Her eyes, rigid as if glued to the back of their sockets, expressed what she had been communicating uninterrupted for the past few minutes- hatred.

Vaguely disappointed, Zarbon drew back his head. 'Hmm.' With a final look of disgust, he motioned Appule to take her. With the same look, he drilled into his second's thick purple head that what he had just heard was not to be repeated.

Bulma tried to shake off Appule's hands, but in the end, he succeeded in pulling her up and making her stand.

Zarbon studied her for a bit longer. 'So be it,' he said softly. 'Make peace with whatever deity you worship. My plan calls for you to die within the hour.'

As Appule led Bulma away, half pushing her, half carrying her, Zarbon observed her. Once turned away from him, she never once looked back and tried to throw one murderous glare at him- she simply trudged on without an ounce of attention paid to her executioner. It was unsettling, but it also made Zarbon feel more confident in his decision to kill her. If she isn't looking at me, she's thinking of a plan. Far too dangerous to leave her alive. Far too dangerous by far.

When Appule and Bulma finished melding into the surrounding crowd of PTO soldiers, Zarbon's interest turned to other matters. His attention moved away from his mind and the plan that would only become relevant if he survived the next few hours. Specifically, he looked out in the direction of where a former spire should be a burned out wasteland. It's been more than a minute- several, in fact. Where is Burter?

If Zarbon had to guess, there was a greater chance that someone in the Ginyu Force would try to kill him before mission's end than Frieza after everything was said and done. He knew that Ginyu's men should be interspersed around the planet by this point, and that Ginyu should be arriving here soon- but he didn't like the idea of laying the groundwork of his report with Ginyu with Burter still unaccounted for. For all Zarbon knew, the big blue idiot could have been hiding nearby, listening, and had run off to snitch to Ginyu once he had laid his plans bare. I was too indulgent with the prisoner… but someone would have noticed if Burter had returned. He may have super speed, but he doesn't have super hearing.

After a minute spent scanning the horizon in the spire's direction- which, as a backdrop, was as green and featureless as anywhere else in the sky- Zarbon snarled and spun to some nearby soldiers. 'Any of you have a scouter?' Zarbon barked. He got a number of blank stares in return. 'Any of you? Come now- one of you-'

'Uh, sir?' A pasty and balding alien moved to the crowd's front. He cradled a scouter in his right hand. 'You were asking-'

Without a word Zarbon's swiped the scouter of the soldier's hand and began attaching it over his left eye. There was a split-second delay before the balding alien's eyes widened and he yelped. 'Sir! Your speed is incred-'

'Shut up!' Zarbon yelled. His attention was fixed on his scouter. 'I need quiet!' The surrounding chatter ceased, and Zarbon tapped a finger to the scouter's power button on its side. Numbers from the surrounding area began to show up on the scouter's glass display, but after a few seconds this process froze.

'Damn scouter,' Zarbon grumbled, repeatedly poking the main button on its side. 'It's not- damn, it seized up-'

The scouter, interrupting Zarbon mid-sentence, spontaneously exploded. The surrounding soldiers' expressions quickly changed from surprise to utter terror. Zarbon's expression changed just as fast from confusion to pure malice.

Furious, Zarbon strode up to the balding soldier, gripped him by his armor, and yanked him into the air. 'You gave me a defective scouter, you bastard!' He said, shaking the soldier back and forth. Above them, a cloud, the first of the day, cast a shadow over the area. 'You think you won't be killed for this! Well- you will! I've killed subordinates for less!'

'Sir!' The balding alien cried. 'Please, sir!- that was the first time the scouter was turned on this mission! It can't be broken!'

'You're lying!' Zarbon growled, shaking the soldier even harder. 'You're-'

A crack, akin to a landmass snapping in two, ripped through the air, causing every person present to flinch and Zarbon to drop the soldier to the ground. Reacting faster than his soldiers, Zarbon turned towards the sound in time to see a blue smudge, screeching across the sky, pass over their heads and higher into the sky towards the red and steel-gray cloud.

Time slowed. Just before the moment of impact, Zarbon's perspective shifted, and he saw that the cloud above them wasn't really a cloud- it was a massive chunk of metal, burning red from falling through the atmosphere, and was close enough to smush Zarbon and his entire army into a paste. Then the blur hit the metal, and the force of the impact was strong enough to explode something. He wasn't really sure what happened, but fire and light consumed the sky, throwing the light on the ground into a riotous mess, and flinging down metallic debris, some small, some large, onto Zarbon's army.

When the first wave of metal fell like a shower of rain, Zarbon turned to face the origin of the blue blur's streak across the sky. With his heart beating fast enough to jump out of his chest, he was forced to wait until the light around him returned to a normal, vision-enabling level for him to see anything beyond his immediate environment.

He didn't have to wait long. Something smashed against the back of his skull, whipping his head and neck forward strong enough to pull his entire body to the ground. Disorienting light flooded his vision, blinding him, as he struggled through his wracking pain and rolled over. Even though he could see nothing once he was on his back, Zarbon heard the distinctive sound- tapp- of two feet touching down from flight onto the ground.

'Tsk, tsk…' a voice spoke. 'You should have asked for my name.'

The voice was unmistakable. It belonged to someone who should be dead. And Zarbon realized he was just as helpless as that blue blur Burter as soon as a kick lodged itself into his ribs and launched him gasping and heaving into the sky.

0o0o0

To Roshi's eyes, there was nothing unique about this patch of Hell. He had just spent Kai knows how long scanning the landscape below him for one specific troublemaker. Generic formations, such as plateaus, plains, and dark red lakes, became common enough for Roshi to stop noticing them after a while. The ridge he now descended to was no different- it was just as featureless as all the other ridges he had looked at today. This ridge sloped gently at its edges, hard near its center, towards the surrounding craggy plain. The bleached gray of the ground framed the browner, more jagged shape and its rise towards the sky. But, by itself, it was unremarkable. Its occupant, however, was another matter.

In response to his arrival, the cross-legged and seated figure, who resided at the center of the ridge's top, began to move, like an ancient guardian stirred to life by an intrepid explorer. Dirt and dust rolled off his black gi, held taught to his body by a blood red obi wrapped around his waist. Long, sinewy limbs uncurled and spread out, separating the figure from the ground. A billowing purple cloak, as dark as the rest of his clothing, filled the space behind him.

Steeling himself against the strong wind at the top of the ridge, Roshi suppressed an irrational, gripping pang. He couldn't shake the feeling that something of what he was watching was perverted. It was surreal; how could someone make an action as regular as standing foreboding?

When the figure straightened fully, and regarded Roshi with deep-set and formidable black eyes, Roshi kept his gaze steady. By seeing the figure's face, Roshi not only confirmed that this person was a Namekian- which he suspected as soon as he glimpsed the person's dark green, verging on green-brown skin- but also recognized something. He was surer than he'd ever been in death that this was not someone he had come across in life, and yet there was something familiar staring back at him.

Laughter, nervous and content-less, began to trickle out of Roshi's mouth. This was the most unsettled he'd been before a fight in a long time.

The figure didn't react, as if he'd expected Roshi to do such a thing. 'So the Kais' lapdog finally reveals himself,' he said with a heavy, deep voice. 'I have to say- you certainly took your time getting here.'

Roshi corralled his laughter and forced an antagonistic smile to his face. 'Lapdog to one Kai, actually,' he jabbed back. 'And, as for your other comment, perhaps you should have used more of your ki,' he suggested, his smile broadening. 'Burned your beacon a bit brighter.'

To this, the figure gave a laugh of his own, flashing the white, dagger-like canines hanging down in his mouth. 'I see you are not as inept as I'd assumed. So now I must assume that you are foolish- you willingly flew into a trap to fight me?'

'I've spoken to you for a grand total of thirty seconds,' Roshi said slowly, 'and in that time I've heard information come out of your mouth that no person in Hell should be capable of knowing. You're dangerous. I think I made the right decision in coming here.'

'And what do you hope to achieve by coming here?'

'To fight and kill you, of course.'

'Hah!' The figure let loose a harder, more cruel laugh. 'An ignorant claim. Do you know how many people said that to me while I was alive? Do you want to know?'

'I'm sure there were many,' Roshi conceded, 'but you're dead, aren't you? Someone must have been right.'

The figure's expression darkened. 'I was always wary of talkers like yourself, and thus was never troubled by your type. My death was caused by someone who was the exact opposite of you- they were the farthest thing from a braggart.'

'Braggart, huh?' Roshi paused; his eyes seemed to search the contents of the figure's face. 'You're a Namekian- you're related to King Piccolo, aren't you? You sound similar to him.'

'In a way,' the figure admitted. 'I am Katas- but I doubt that name has any meaning to you, considering how long I've been dead.'

'Should I be cowering and begging at the mention of your name?'

Katas scoffed. 'As if I'd tell people my name right before killing them.'

'Oh? Did you just let something slip?'

Katas frowned from confusion, then annoyance. 'It's been a long time since I've come across someone with as sharp a tongue as you.'

At that moment, with his robe-like black gi, gelled back black hair, and black shades, Master Roshi made a strange contrast to the darkened and tall Namekian not a few feet away from him. 'If you want to put a name to that tongue, my name is Roshi, by the way,' he said.

Katas said nothing, and with an apparent shift of his mood, his face returned to a more neutral expression. 'Fighting you will do well to alleviate my boredom. I have nothing else left to do in this realm, after all.'

'Now, why would you go and tell me that?' Roshi said, smiling again. 'Never a smart move to admit you've done something.'

'Don't try to patronize me, child,' Katas rumbled dismissively. 'It's obvious that you're here because you sensed my interference in the realm outside this one- otherwise, why would you be looking around Hell for a particular ki? I knew everything I needed to know about you once I felt you enter this domain.'

A ghost of a smile appeared on Roshi's face. 'So we've come full circle!' As he finished his sentence, the wind picked up, and Roshi's ki started to rise. 'I should thank you for humoring me, then! I didn't need to acquaint myself with the person I planned on pummelling into the bedrock of Hell itself, but it's a nice bonus!' A white aura, contained yet frenetic, blossomed into existence around him. 'But I will say this- once I break your spiritual container to a pulp, and before my holy clobbering disperses your evil energy into common air, you're going to tell me exactly what you were doing earlier. Understand?'

Katas bent low to the ground, scoring his feet into the brown rock of the ridge. A dark brown and blue aura, bigger and brighter than Roshi's, took shape around him. 'And when you're lying broken at my feet, and before I banish your soul from existence forever, I'll learn what I want from you. Fair?'

'Fair.'


A/N: Woohoo! First chapter of the Ginyu Arc! Shouldn't be super long… but we'll see. We'll see. And it feels good to be writing again! Life was a bit hectic for a little bit there, but I'm pushing for the weekly updates again! Stay tuned!

Also, in terms of what my story does differently with the Namekians and their background… this was an important chapter in starting to reveal what's going on there Just FYI.

Last thing! Lionheart261, who writes a very cool DBZ fic called Hermit, gave me some help in looking over this chapter. Throw some reviews his way!

Next week, some more throw-downs, and then a breather. See you then!

Reviews:

LWexe: I try my best!

Guest: And Zarbon's plan has. Pretty spectacularly, actually.

TienFan999: Well said. I agree that the story's focus has gotten a bit scattershot, so I'm condensing some stuff and punting everything else directly unrelated to the current arc down the road. I've also done some tweaks to Nail and Piccolo's scene- curious as to your thoughts on that, too.

And thank you for the detailed review! You gave me a ton of stuff to keep in mind going forward. A writer is only as good as their willingness to experiment and improve.

Titanfire999: What are your thoughts on this chapter, hmm? And, yeah, I'm compressing the narrative into chunks in the near future!

WilliamHDTV: Thank you so much for the review! Thank you for your love for the new characters, Nappa, and everything else!

Your question as to Frieza is definitely RAFO, but I agree that him getting to Namek in time to fight would be a tough thing for him to do.

Cell's character would depend on who was sampled for his DNA, so it's really a question of who's on Earth. So far, he's two-for-three (compared to canon) for his genetic sources- both Namekians and Saiyans have been running around. Though it seems that having a live Saiyan stuck in stasis in the lab might deviate Gero's plans for both Cell and the Androids ever-so-slightly… but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

As per Frieza's power and how well the humans would stack up if he arrived, that's going to be a very important question/thought/tension(?) going forward. Can't say anything more about it now, though, other than that it would be hard for the humans to win that hypothetical fight against Frieza on strength alone.