Ginyu

Chapter 62: The Enemy in Death


The two Saiyans, clambering out of a rocky dip in the land that separated two wider and larger spans of flat land, abruptly froze. The one in front ducked down to the ground and turned to his companion.

'You sense that?' Bardock asked while nodding back his head in the direction they were going.

Kakarot, eyes jumping towards the indicated direction, nodded. 'Hard to miss.'

'The fight's begun,' Bardock said, motioning Kakarot to crouch down next to him. 'Looks like he's going through with it, after all.'

'Which one are you talking about?'

'Both,' Bardock grunted, before swinging his body to face away from Kakarot. They were, thankfully, too far away to be caught in the present battle. 'Both could have done something to avoid this fight. Both did nothing.'

Kakarot grunted. 'One of them must be confident. Probably both.'

'I agree, though... ' Bardock's eyes continued to search the horizon. Beyond the flat section of gray plain in front of them, the sky turned pink and white. 'Judging from what I'm sensing right, that human must be more than confident. He's cocky.'

'Didn't you say earlier that he held back a significant chunk of his power while fighting you?'

'Doesn't matter,' Bardock said bluntly. 'I have to hope that he can't put up a real fight against that monster.'

'You have to?' Kakarot questioned.

'Yeah. I don't want to be retroactively embarrassed when I sense that human was holding an entire attack force's worth of power when he fought me.'

Kakarot shot a look towards Bardock. 'Attack force's worth of power?'he repeated. 'What's that?'

'Saiyan term,' Bardock said vaguely. 'Or, probably, a PTO term given to us- I don't know.' he finished grouchily. 'You're grilling me on a decades-old saying, son.' He threw a look at Kakarot. 'Please don't.'

'Fine,' Kakarot said, relenting. 'So we just…'

'Sit here and wait.' Bardock flopped back onto his butt. 'We've got nothing else to do- might as well enjoy the show. And, after that… we do some more waiting.' He flashed a crooked grin at Kakarot. 'Get comfortable.'

0o0o0

When the signal came- which was nothing more than a blink and a shift in posture from both fighters- the co-mingling of white and darkened shades of blue and brown split apart. Launching himself forward, Roshi rammed into Katas head-on, forming a spear of white that pierced through the Namekian's surrounding dark and threw himself on the offensive. His smaller stature allowed him to move quicker at close-range, buzzing around Katas's body like a silhouetted bullet. After a series of quick blows to Katas's back- all of which were blocked by Katas's arms bending backward- Roshi hopped back on the ridge, releasing the tension his and Katas's aura had made in the air around them. A slow hiss of wind, like the world exhaling, sounded as he moved away.

When Katas turned around to Roshi, the expression he wore was similar to his more haughty ones from their conversation. 'You amuse me with your flitting around,' Katas mocked. 'Do you expect your speed to be an asset?'

'I expect a lot of things of mine to be an asset,' Roshi parried back, 'with my speed being one small, yet essential item.'

'Your blind confidence is cute,' Katas continued. 'How many battles did you fight before you died? Two? Three?'

Roshi flashed a brilliant smile. 'Now who's being cute?'

Katas drew back a leg in the ground, propping himself up as if to charge ahead. 'I wonder what you'll think in a few minutes…'

Having anticipated Katas's next move, Roshi tracked Katas speed away to his right even as his outline remained in place- but he was caught flat-footed when the Namekian appeared at his side, swinging a heavy elbow towards his ribs. Roshi barely dodged the blow by jumping to his right.

He moved a foot before he smacked into what felt like another person. This time, confused as well as surprised, Roshi wasn't fast enough to avoid a knee from crashing into his back and launching him towards where Katas's outline still stood. The blow was so well aimed that his body passed through Katas's afterimage and dispersed it.

When he landed and rolled to a stop, Roshi spent a few heartbeats, crouched, facing away from his opponent. He registered the sensation of blood rushing towards the forming bruises on his back. His heart thudded in his chest. 'I should have expected that, if King Piccolo knew an annoying technique, you'd know it, too,' Roshi said as he stood and patted the dirt off of his black gi. When he turned, his assumption was proven true- two copies of Katas were looking over at him with identical, amused smiles. 'I should also expect that, given that you're probably more experienced than King Piccolo, you know the drawbacks of the Multiform.'

Both copies arched an eyebrow. 'Drawbacks? No- no, no,' they said in unison, chuckling. 'There are no drawbacks to using this.'

'You're joking, right?' Roshi said, laughing. 'Your power is divided among every copy you have. You're twice as weak as you were before.'

'Oh, that quibble?' The copies' shared expression sharpened. Without any warning, they glowed and merged back together. 'Yes, I suppose that would be a drawback- under normal circumstances, that is,' Katas replied with one voice. 'This fight, however, does not fall into that category.'

Roshi took the break in fighting to dab at his mouth with his sleeve. It came back damp from a drop of blood. He realized that he had never bled while dead. He put that fact from his mind. 'I'd like to hear you elaborate on that,' he said, looking over to Katas.

'From our brief exchange, I've determined that this is not a fight. This is… more like you jumping around and trying to irritate me.'

Roshi snorted. 'You're more arrogant than King Piccolo.' He flared his ki, not quite to his natural limit, but enough to demonstrate that he wasn't currently at his peak power. No need for him to know about the Kaioken at this point, however… 'I could be hiding away any amount of power.'

'Perhaps. But the fact remains that your present level is laughably below mine.'

'Really?' Roshi's interest in their banter nudged up. 'How far below, exactly?'

'Far enough that you might die if I sneeze on you,' Katas jeered. 'And that's after accounting for whatever lock this realm puts on my power while I'm down here.'

Roshi's gaze on Katas was steady. 'You've noticed that, then,' he stated. 'Most people in Hell don't realize that their power is suppressed.'

'I am not most people,' Katas rumbled, wrinkling his nose with disgust. 'The fact that you're here now proves that.' Before Roshi could respond, Katas went on. 'You know what? I've just decided- I'm going to do something highly irregular.'

Roshi narrowed his eyes. 'Irregular? Compared to what?'

'Compared to what I would have done while alive,' Katas replied. At the same time, he bent down to the ground and picked up a handful of dirt. 'The gap between us is big enough to be criminally funny. If I were to use my full power, or anything even approaching it, this fight would be over faster than the time-' he spread the fingers of his hand wide, letting dirt pour out and fall into the wind- 'it takes for my hand to empty.'

'What you're saying is very prideful,' Roshi noted. 'But, please, continue.'

Katas smiled, as if happy that his boasting was being noticed. 'I'm going to give myself a handicap. A sizable one, in fact, but large enough to make it a fair fight between us. I'll be about as strong as what I peg your maximum to be.' Katas paused. 'You can sense that the power I'm currently using is nowhere near my maximum, correct?'

'I can,' Roshi answered, not fond of where their conversation seemed to be going.

'Then I'm going to outright reveal what my maximum, is- I'm going to use the multiform as many times as necessary to equalize my power to your own. That way, all you'll need to do is multiply the strength of one of my copies by how many there are.'

'You don't need to explain basic math to me,' Roshi said, somewhat annoyed. 'I'm your opponent, not a child.'

Katas smirked. 'Forgive me. I just want to make sure you'll grasp what I want you to grasp.'

'Fine. I have one last question, then: why?'

'Why, what?'

'Why turn this into a circus act,' Roshi said. There was no amusement left in his voice; he looked decidedly unhappy. 'Never before has an opponent treated me with such disrespect. Frankly, I'm beginning to hate you. Do you see me as nothing more than a joke?'

'I think you'd prefer if I didn't answer that question,' Katas said without a drop of feeling in his voice. 'And as to your first question, I answered it earlier. I have nothing else to do in this realm. And doing anything less than what I'm about to do would make this painfully boring…' A dim light started to surround Katas as he curled his hands into fists and dug his feet into the ridge. 'As a fighter, I'm sure you can understand this…'

The light grew too bright- shielding his eyes, Roshi looked away as the entire ridge was bathed in white. It was only like this for a few seconds, but during this time, Roshi's anxiety steadily grew. When the white light finally dispersed, and Roshi looked back towards Piccolo's side of the ridge- he nearly choked on his breath.

An army of copies, all wearing the slight smile of Katas, stared at him. Roshi counted them. He got a number at the same time as one of Katas's copies spoke.

'30.' With long, slow strides, one of the copies moved forward and separated himself from the larger crowd. 'There are thirty copies including me,' this copy repeated for the sake of clarity. 'So my total power is now distributed among thirty of me. I'll let that soak in.'

Roshi was thankful for his shades. Without them, Katas and his army of copies would have seen his eyes bulging out of their sockets. 'You must be very proud,' he said, maintaining a level of calm in his voice. 'Of your copies, that is. They're very impressive.'

'Immeasurably so. But, now then…'

Roshi, like before, anticipated Katas's rush before it occurred. With a burst of his own power, he sped forward and clashed forearm-to-forearm with the lead copy. The soundwave their clash caused, strong enough to send rocks skittering down the ridge's sides, indicated the resumption of combat.

To Roshi's horror, and just before the copy ducked underneath his guard and smashed him away, he realized that their powers were nearly equal.

0o0o0

Bulma was tipped off to something going wrong before she knew who or what was happening; prodded forward by Appule's occasional shoving, it became harder to move within the mass of soldiers. Bodies pressed tighter against her. As the space around her shrank, she grew more frightened. She didn't want to be trapped in place in any situation where she might need to run. She was still considered running.

Slowed to a near stop, she began to use her elbows and knees to push herself forward- which, of course, was a waste of her time, as everyone around her was stronger than her and could shrug off whatever meager strength she had.

Hands smacked painfully into her back. The force behind them would have staggered her if she wasn't pressed to the back of the soldier in front of her. 'Hey!' Appule yelled from over her shoulders. 'Keep moving!' There was anger laced with something else in his voice. 'Out of the crowd!'

She tried to turn around; she found she couldn't. Twisting her head back instead, she made eye contact with Appule.

The image of his eyes, simmering, burning, but most importantly, fearful, burned into Bulma's memory even as the world around her flipped. She heard nothing while the ground beneath rolled and threw her and everyone else around her into the air. Something hard hit her head.

Bulma opened her eyes. She blinked and realized that her face was inches away from a dead soldier's ruptured abdomen. Guts spilled out.

Oh, Kami… Slowly- because, now, she felt a horrible pain radiating from the back of her skull- Bulma lifted her body inches off the ground and pushed herself away. Once she had scooted back a few feet from the repugnant corpse, she placed a hand to the back of her head. There was a bump; it was painful, but it felt like nothing more than a bruise. Alright. So I can trust my brain on this one...

She had been knocked unconscious. And, looking around for the first time since coming to, she saw what had caused that.

The land around her was broken. Ragged edges of rock and dirt jutted into the air, forming a haphazard maze. She couldn't see in any direction for several feet. And from what she could see…

She tore her attention away from her surroundings and focused on the ground underneath her hands. She was still on her hands and knees. The dirt and grass underneath her, thankfully, still looked normal. Alright… Think, Bulma. That's the only thing you've got going for you right now. Thinking. Your mind. Think.

Someone must have attacked the PTO. And considering what she knew of current events., it didn't seem likely that it was someone she was friendly with. Yamcha and Tien had been captured. Nail had, presumably, either been defeated or fooled if she had been captured. Which left-

A hand patted her on the back. Under more normal circumstances, and if the pat had been any harder, she would have yelped and scrambled away. Instead, the pat felt familiar. Her expression blank, she turned her head.

'You did this,' Bulma deduced, staring at Bez crouching next to her. 'You attacked this army.'

Bez gave her a wild look; he patted her again, and after this, grabbed one of her arms. 'Funny,' he said quickly, before yanking her to her feet. 'Real funny.' Without letting her speak, he pulled her into a run and began navigating them through the maze. 'I'll go tell that to the green guy. I'm sure he'll laugh.'

'Green guy?' Bulma asked, feeling disoriented from running. Either that, or their conversation. 'He did this?'

'Sorry,' Bez said, glancing back at her, 'I misspoke. He's still doing this.' Just as Bez said this, a blast of energy sounded in the not-too-far-off distance, sending a wave of rushing wind over them. 'Which makes it important that we get out of here as soon as possible.'

The farther they moved out, the less debris she saw, bodies or otherwise. It appeared that she was at the center of whatever attack had hit the area. Which meant… hmm...

'I don't understand,' Bulma muttered after some time spent being tugged along by Bez in silence.

Bez slowed, but did not stop, and glanced back at her again. 'What'd you say?'

'I don't understand why I'm alive,' Bulma repeated, louder this time. Her eyes focused on Bez. 'I don't-' She really looked at Bez for the first time. He was injured- badly, actually. His armor looked like it had seen half a dozen fights by now; it was tattered and scorched in the places it still stubbornly clung on. The black jumpsuit underneath was much the same. As they ran, she saw bits and pieces of the armor's white coating flake and be swept into the wind, while frayed strands of black fluttered in the air around them. Beyond that, she saw bruises, cuts, scrapes- everything to indicate that he was in a lot of pain. She frowned.

'I don't understand,' Bulma repeated once more, struggling to piece together her thoughts.

'You're not thinking clearly,' Bez replied crisply. 'You were unconscious- right? No way you were awake for that entire first attack. Sudden waking or blacking out will scramble your brain.'

He may have been right. The bump on the back of her head didn't feel nearly as painful as before. She felt dizzy, too. But then her thoughts came together.

'I don't understand why you're here,' she asked. To this question, Bez stopped.

Bulma missed whatever initial look was on his face- before he finished turning his head, an arm gripped her left shoulder and yanked her backward. She yelped as that same arm curled and crushed around her abdomen. She was pinned.

Straining to keep himself upright, Appule worked Bulma's arms behind her and gripped her wrists with one hand. Relieved, and a little delirious from the associated adrenaline and pain he had felt over the past few minutes, he let out a long, exaggerated sigh. 'You don't know how much trouble you just saved me,' he said, looking over Bulma's shoulder to Bez. 'Do you know?'

Slowly, Bez's gaze moved from Bulma to Appule. 'I don't,' he admitted.

'My life. You just saved my life,' Appule stressed. 'I don't know what the hell is going on right now,' he said, tipping his head backward at the greater mass of rubble and chaos behind them, 'or if there will even be a PTO army on this planet at the end of this- but Zarbon would have flayed me alive if I had lost this one. So thanks.' A small, appreciative smile spread across Appule's cylindrical face. 'I didn't get your name-'

One quick punch knocked Appule away- his arm lost its tension and his grip on her slackened- and onto his back. He didn't stir once down. Blinking, Bulma tracked the outstretched fist to its owner, Bez, who looked down at Appule with a strange expression on his face. In a better state of mind, Bulma felt she could have identified it. For now, all she was certain of was that it was mixed.

'You ready to go again?' Bez asked without looking at her.

Bulma didn't answer. A second later, against her will, her legs crumpled beneath her. Hitting the ground with her butt felt more disconnected than it should have been. 'I don't feel great,' she uttered, in her best approximation of what was going through her body and mind.

Bez stepped in front of her. He had a sour look on his face. 'Alright, then…'

A few seconds passed where Bulma was aware of nothing more than jostled, untrackable movement. Eventually, she realized that she was being cradled in Bez's arms and that they were moving. Another soundwave flashed over them, and once it died away, Bulma heard Bez speak.

'I hope I didn't kill him,' Bez said flatly. Looking up, Bulma saw Bez was looking forward- it seemed he was thinking out loud as much as he was talking to her. 'His injuries were bad- bad enough that I was surprised he was able to chase after you and catch up with us. The amount of pain he must have been in… the amount of fear that must have pushed him... ' Bez closed his eyes and breathed out through his flat, squarish nose. 'He wouldn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve to die.'

Bulma, eyes glazed, let her neck relax and her head fall further back. Consciousness was proving tough to hold onto. 'He would have killed me if ordered to,' Bulma said. Her own voice sounded foreign and dreamy to her. And yet she was still holding a conversation.

'He's a PTO soldier, without a doubt.'

Again, Bulma felt there was something more to that sentence, but as she was, all she could do was note it and slip a little further into sleep. The bouncing of her body as Bez ran across the ground became normal, if not comfortable, and she felt her mind start to dip into sleep.

'For the record,' Bez said, his voice plucking her away from the wrapping warmth of sleep, 'I don't like you or your friends owing me anything. I feel just as uncomfortable as you right now.'

'Is that how you feel?' Bulma muttered, not bothering to open her eyes. 'I feel pretty comfortable right now.'

'You're not the one running,' Bez grumbled. 'But if you're okay… I'll keep my mouth shut and let you sleep.'

Bulma almost did that, but a niggling thought refused to let her until it was broached. 'I wouldn't worry about debts,' she said, her voice a low murmur now. A part of her mind wondered whether she could be heard over whatever chaos they had left behind. 'Personally, I would be more concerned with where we stand if I had any hope of leaving this planet unimprisoned.'

'You're still alive, aren't you?'

To that, Bulma said nothing. She let her usually active mind rest for a change and slept.

0o0o0

Perched high above the battlefield, Piccolo commanded an impressive vantage point of the area. Directly below him was the labor of his hard work; rows of rock and rubble rose and dipped across the entire plain. Once the strongest two- the ones he had fought- had been temporarily punted away, it was laughably easy to launch an attack at soldiers who were too slow to dodge and too weak to live. Flooding his energy beneath the ground had been a particularly good touch on his part; there was no better way to confuse a soon-to-be-extinguished army than to pull the rug out from under it.

But his perch had more important purposes- for the past few minutes, he had been tracking the passage of two people from the battlefield. It was only now, however, did he look far-off to his left and see, represented by one amorphous smudge in his vision, Bulma be carried away by an unknown alien.

He wasn't bothered by this development. At the very least she would now be unaffected by whatever he wished to do to what was left of this army. And he could easily track down and kill whoever had run off with her if necessary later on, though he doubted that he would need to. Not many PTO soldiers punched other PTO soldiers to the ground and ran off after. If he had to guess, an alien ally of the Earthlings had run off with her. Cute.

Regardless, Bulma leaving was for the best. If he was being honest, he hadn't known Bulma had been taken captive. He hadn't intended for her to be right smack-dab in the middle of his attack. But if he was being even more honest, he didn't care. He didn't move to defend her from his attack once he sensed her- not like that purple fool of a soldier with a tube for a head who had thrown himself between her and the attack and had been tossed halfway across the battlefield. Simply put, if Bulma had got in the way of his business, then the Earthlings would have to revive her. His revenge didn't have exemptions. Still, with her gone, he wouldn't have to answer any grating accusations later on.

'HEY!' The voice that addressed Piccolo was scratchy and ragged.

Ah, yes. A smirk tugged up on the demon's face. Eager, he turned back to the matter at hand.

Hanging in the air across from him, Burter, a self-proclaimed "pride" of whatever ridiculous force he was a part of, was bruised, battered, and bloodied to the point of turning his blue skin purple. His frustration might have enhanced the effect- Piccolo saw that the alien's face was the purplest part of his body by far.

'And what happened to you?' Piccolo asked, goading his opponent. 'You were so calm before. So smug. What happened to your earlier bravado?'

Briefly, words eluded Burter as a long string of growls left his mouth. 'Don't you ignore me, or mock me, you… you!...' he forced through his teeth. 'You should be dead! I killed you!' Burter flexed his right leg up and down as if he was stomping the air. 'And, for sure, you shouldn't be this strong! You're a cheat!'

Piccolo leaned into his grin. 'No more calm, then? No more smugness? Good to know. As for my power- you want to check that flimsy device on the side of your head again?' Piccolo mocked. 'What'd you call it? A scouter?'

'Grrr!...' Burter, against his better judgment, tapped the side of his scouter again and triple-checked the number flashing to his left eye. 55,000- the same as before. But that's impossible! He was no more than 33,000 before! It doesn't make sense! None of this makes sense! People this strong don't exist in the galaxy without us knowing about it!'

'Are you finished stewing?' Piccolo jeered into Burter's thoughts. He crossed his arms. 'Or do you need more time?'

Burter, his gaze steady on his opponent, bit back a hasty reply. If the reading is accurate, I can't take this guy on my own… not without help. Burter felt his fingernails stab into his palms. This guy wouldn't be so haughty if someone from the Force was here to back me up. Jeice, Recoome, even puny Guldo could have been of some help… or the Captain, by himself, could have taken this guy easy. He'd only need one strike.

A frown, more determined than dismayed, took hold of Burter's face. But the Captain isn't here, not yet, and I need to survive until then. I just need-

'Hyaaaagh!' A battle cry erupted from behind Piccolo- eyes narrowing, the demon spun around and edged back, avoiding a deranged and frantic swing from a battered Zarbon. Burter was just fast enough to see disappointment flicker onto Zarbon's angry, taut face, even as a green elbow swung from the right towards his head.

It was a rare opportunity, and if Burter hadn't been thinking about this exact circumstance, he would have failed to react in time. But he was thinking about it, and consequently, he rushed forward and crashed a knee into Piccolo's side, pushing the green fighter away.

'Zarbon, get behind him!' Burter rasped, even as he sped into flight and appeared behind the careening demon, one leg cocked. The first strike had neither the surprise or the strength to really stun Piccolo, however, and he righted in time to spin towards Burter and flash a grin. Before Burter could rocket out his leg, a different leg rocketed into him, crashing against his midsection and causing him to wheeze. A fist, followed by another, slammed into his armor, sloughing off chunks of white plating at a time. A third strike, intended for his dazed, bruised head, stopped just short; Zarbon had grappled Piccolo from behind, restraining him.

Fighting through his dizziness, Burter surged forward in response, knocking Piccolo's outstretched arm away and hammering a string of blows into Piccolo's body. They were more quick than heavy, in the style Burter had learned to fight, and jabbed at every possible place where the demon may have been injured. Burter was hoping to hit something vulnerable.

But this approach was lacking when facing an opponent who was significantly stronger than him, and did nothing more than annoy Piccolo. From the outside looking in, the whirlwind of blue hands, feet, and elbows pushing into Piccolo was impressive, but it was ended by a great tensing; Piccolo broke Zarbon's grip and surged forward, gripping Burter by his arm and tossing the blue soldier over and above his head. He swung him into Zarbon, fast and furious enough to sound a dummph from their impact, and let go.

Traveling together, the two PTO soldiers plummeted down and crashed with a storm of dirt and dust. Looking down from above, Piccolo grinned.

0o0o0

Dashing across the jagged edge of the ridge, Roshi avoided a shower of energy blasts and threw a ball of white ki up towards the darkened Namekian in the sky. The copy, surrounded by nothing except the gentle pink of Hell's sky, stopped his barrage and swung a leg across their body. His heel whacked the ki ball out of the way and into the distance. The resulting far-off detonation, white and bright, indicated the strength of the blast.

On the ground, watching this, Roshi struggled to catch his breath. His mind was oddly bisected- half of him was terrified of this battle, of this opponent, while the other half was wildly and outrageously confident in his strength. He, of course, could fight at a much higher level than his present one. His mastery of the Kaioken made sure of that. But for all its benefits, he wasn't sure how far he could take the technique in this battle. Under King Kai's tutelage, he had taken the technique to untested heights- King Kai himself had said to him that he had never used the Kaioken with the same multipliers that he had. He achieved, over the many years he spent on King Kai's planet, a level of comfort with the Kaioken at two times, three times, five times, and finally ten times his own base power. Comfort enough to fight at that level for an extended fight, at least.

King Kai had told him to never go above the tenth level. He said that Roshi's prowess in using the Kaioken multipliers was already impressive enough, and that more gains would be achieved by increasing his base strength. He had done that to the best of his ability. He had reached peaks of strength he thought impossible while alive. King Kai had told him he was now strong enough to challenge all but the strongest in the galaxy.

Roshi's vision centered on his opponent. High in the air above him, separated from the twenty-nine copies that hung on one end of the ridge and watched, Katas moved his gaze from the explosion of white ki to him. A soft, flickering white light covered the half of his body closest to the blast.

Roshi pouted. The strongest the dead has to offer, and more than a match for me. Shame I'm not still alive.

The light faded away. Katas charged towards the ground.

Even as Roshi leaped to avoid a leg sweep and pivoted, slamming a fist into a shoulder block, his mind continued whirring. Uncertainty, he decided, drove his ambivalent approach to this fight. He was uncertain how far he could push the Kaioken. He was unsure of how much pain he would bring on himself by using it- and how much he'd be able to tolerate. But he was certain that he would have to use it eventually, and that both perspectives would be needed to do what he planned to do. Caution and boldness in equal measures. A calculated risk, one that may hurt him significantly, but a necessary one.

Slipping, Roshi stumbled backward and received a heavy punch into his gut- his body bucked and hacked, and spat out saliva and blood onto Katas's shoulder. A final hit rammed into the bottom of his jaw, knocking his brain around his skull, and he stumbled further back, clutching his stomach. The blow dislodged his shades from his face: he heard them clank and land behind him and slide down one of the ridge's sides.

Roshi saw, through now too-bright vision, Katas regard the fluid on his gi with mild disgust before using one hand to swipe most of it off. The coagulated mixture, red-white, hit the ground and splattered.

Hmm. Roshi stared at the spot where his fluids hit the ground, and inhaled deeply through his nose. He had been waiting for the best moment to put his plan into action. The past few exchanges, however, made it clear- it was now or never.

Katas, somehow, must have sensed something then; creases filled his forehead just as Roshi finished inhaling. 'You're about to do something,' he said, as if stating a known fact. 'I see it in your eyes. I've seen it before. In the eyes of every one of my enemies when they realized the odds were stacked against them.' A pinched expression rose on the Namekian's face, and Katas glanced over to his copies, 'Long past, then, to end this-'

He didn't finish his sentence; His mind didn't even finish the thought. The blow from Roshi, when it came, was more crushing than Katas could have imagined. It swung right through him, shooting out a fist-sized section of his flesh like punched metal, before the copy's viability collapsed into itself and it disappeared. The twenty-nine other copies, alerted, saw a burst of red envelop their dispersed brother and an ever greater flame not too far off.

Every inch of him burning- in his mind, his body, his energy, his focus- Roshi retracted his fist through the swirling mist the copy had broken into. He had summoned the Kaioken and had used only the most basic times two level to dispatch his immediate enemy. But he would need far more than that for the twenty-nine others. So looked over to the twenty-nine others, and embraced pain.

'Times Twenty.'

No amount of training or preparation could have prepared him for the flood of pain that consumed him. It was worse, he remembered, while white-hot energy flashed through his mind, than the pain of death or the type that would have made him black out in life. His body was not failing- it was horribly empowered, had its senses heightened, and every part of it was made stronger, which only enhanced the acuteness and clarity of the pain that floored him. Mastering lower levels of the Kaioken had taken will- the mental energy used to block out the constant grinding and grating felt from the body that signified the technique doing damage to it. Now, at this level, it took everything he had to keep even a little part of his mind separated from the overwhelming and outrageous amount of pain he felt.

He struggled for no more than a split-second. It dragged on much longer in his mind. But the pervading, intense pain he felt did not grow, and because of that fact alone, his will rose to meet it and contained it. A little part of his mind had survived untouched.

It was all he needed. That little part put the plan into motion.

With a blistering flash of red, Roshi spun into motion. Leaving a trail of light in his wake, he appeared above and behind the mass of gathered copies. His superpowered senses showed him that the copies, moving far too slow, had not yet tracked him to where he was.

The moment he had been waiting for arrived then- they were unaware of where he was and what he was doing. Which meant they couldn't dodge.

Wreathed in curling, roiling red swirls of aura, Roshi punched his arms out to either side, palms open, and focused yellow ki into his hands. This was another part that his training had not prepared for him- there was so much more energy available to him, and so much more risk if he didn't handle it properly. With as much care as he could, he began to pump yellow ki out of his body. Two constructs- thick sheets of yellow- formed inches away from his hands, and strained to burgeon out further.

It took no more than maybe a second to charge his attack- the energy had nearly been too much, actually, and he had tightened the flow of his ki before the constructs exploded in his hands. Below him, appearing to him to be in slow-motion, Katas's copies were still tracing his red outline in the sky towards him, and were grouping up together. They still didn't know where he was. His plan, kept alive by frightful energy and barely tolerable pain, was ready to go.

Appearing above the copies with a blink, Roshi threw the two constructs from his hands towards the ground. Once the sheets of yellow started sailing through the air, they expanded rapidly and curved, forming two halves of a hollow circle that danced downward. The halves, resembling walls, staked themselves into the ground and linked together, forming a 3-D tube, closed at the bottom by the ground, and open at the top where Roshi was. And in the center of that tube, hemmed in on all sides, were all twenty-nine of Katas's copies.

Roshi laughed, short and cuffed, which was the best he could manage with everything the times twenty multiplier of the Kaioken brought. Caution and boldness. Then he tipped to the face the ground, lifted two sparkling, crackling hands high above and behind his head, and filled his lungs with whatever passed as air in Hell.

'SCORCHING BLAST!'

The hands swung down and released a heavy, wide attack, so laden with ki that it didn't move any further than a few feet before exploding. Storms of energy roared down to the bottom of the tube loud enough to be heard from the heavens.

0o0o0

He had dropped the times twenty multiplier, and the Kaioken entirely, once the blast finished firing from his hands. Reverting to his base state was nearly as bad as entering the Kaioken in the first place- the whiplash from twenty times his power to this was strong enough to knock him unconscious. Again, it was a test of his will against the visceral experience of the Kaioken, and again, he edged by barely. He may have fallen a few feet in the air once he reverted, but he did not fall.

A good thing, too. Even after expelling every ounce of energy he could muster for that attack, the scene below him, penned by his yellow sheets of ki, raged and crackled for some time after. He was made aware, again, that the power he possessed previously was truly unfathomable. Nearly unapproachable. Consuming.

His mind settled on consuming. At that level he had used, the Kaioken was consuming. It was fitting, then, that the power that rose to meet it was consuming, too.

Minutes after his attack, and with smoke trailing off the blackened, scorched ground, Roshi watched a single body, unmoving for some time, begin to stir. Its gi was ripped, the skin was burned, blood wrapped around it, and dirt covered it- and yet the body rose, shaking off the dirt, dust, damage, and destruction thrust upon it as best it could.

Katas, turning, looking up at Roshi hanging in the air. In the same moment, the yellow constructs around him dispersed.

One unmitigated emotion dominated the Namekian's face. 'I saw you as nothing more than an annoying, if not clever, pest, but, now- you should have stuck to being annoying,' Katas snarled, every part of him twitching with fury. Though he looked damaged and felt less powerful, neither of these observations prevented Katas's entire body from convulsing with unbridled power. 'Because what you just did was not clever.'

Reflexively, a red aura burst into life around Roshi. He dipped back into the Kaioken at the times ten multiplier. From here, a place of relative comfort, he could prevent any further unnecessary damage to his body and judge how deep he had dug his grave.

Judging by the roar of energy that greeted him, which surprised him with not only its strength but its depth, it had been dug very deep.

0o0o0

He wasn't sure how he had approached apparently unnoticed. To keep himself ahead of his pursuer, he had stopped trying to conceal his energy long ago. Anyone who was paying even the least bit of attention to the energy on this planet should have noticed his conspicuous power level from a distance. Perhaps they were distracted. Perhaps they were arrogant and didn't care to check. Either way, his objective, appearing as an oddly-shaped blotch due to the three bodies it encompassed, entered his sight as a slow-moving target. Perfect.

With a burst of speed, he zoomed forward and rammed into a red soldier's back with his head. Tipped with ki, his blow knocked the yelping soldier away and was strong enough to break his grip on the two bodies he carried. In the same fluid motion, Nail appeared in the place the soldier had held a few moments earlier, grabbed the two unconscious bodies in an identical fashion, and rocketed back into flight.

The entire motion had cost him a few seconds of his lead over his pursuer. But, to his relief- as he now moved slower with two un-aerodynamic bodies tucked under his arms- his pursuer stopped next to the soldier he had ambushed. He lingered there long enough for Nail's lead on them to become insurmountable. Mid-flight, he breathed a sigh of relief into the wind, and aimed himself towards where he sensed the other Namekians still lived.

He noted that fact. They still lived. He didn't allow himself to smile, but he worried that, if someone else was present, they would have seen something in his eyes.

0o0o0

Slowing, Recoome lowered himself to the ground. In a featureless plain, two red legs stuck out of the ground, twitching. Once he landed, he strode over to this strange landmark, gripped one leg, and yoinked up. Jeice, coughing and blinking dirt, swung helplessly from his arm.

When he saw Recoome, the eyes of the second-in-command of the Ginyu Force tried to leap out of their sockets. 'Bloody hell…' he muttered. 'What the hell happened? Why is everything upside down?'

Recoome hesitated, and deciding it was for the best, dropped Jeice. The red-skinned soldier landed on his back and started to cough again.

'Oh.' After rubbing his eyes, and staring out at the sky, Jeice frowned. 'Thanks, mate. I got turned around for a bit there. Can I get a hand?'

With a nod, Recoome extended him one. A moment later, both of them were standing. Considering that he had been buried upside-down in the ground about a minute earlier, Jeice resumed an air of competence amazingly quick. 'Well, I got got,' Jeice said, patting his armor off of any dirt. 'I assume you were chasing him?'

Recoome nodded. 'Captain sent me to intercept him. I did that, but then he pulled a sneaky one on me and rushed ahead. He's fast for sure- I couldn't catch up to him before he got to you.'

'I see,' Jeice murmured, frowning again. 'Bad luck on our parts.' Jeice looked up fully at Recoome, who was nearly twice as tall as him. 'Guess we'll- err.'

'What?'

Jeice's mouth opened, then closed. 'Well…'

'Well, what?' Recoome's voice was curious, but patient.

'Well… your hair, mate.'

Recoome's eyebrows lifted. 'My hair?'

Jeice reached up to his head and unclasped his scouter. 'Here,' he said, giving it to Recoome. 'Look at your reflection in the glass.'

Obliging, Recoome lifted the scouter and reflected the top of his head against its visor. In the center of his scalp, and reaching his forehead in the front, there was… nothing. No hair at all. All singed away to give him one of the ugliest haircuts Recoome has ever received. And Recoome, on account of his boxish head and unruly hair, had received many ugly haircuts in his life.

Recoome processed this for a second. 'Huh. Must have been that green guy.' He shrugged and handed the scouter back to Jeice. 'It'll grow back,' he said, unfazed.

Jeice looked at him while he re-equipped his scouter. Specifically, he looked at the nonexistent hairline for his forehead. 'Right... well,' he said after a time, scratching his cheeks. 'My scouter says the bugger who fought you and jumped me is heading in the direction of the Captain,' he said after studying his scouter. 'I figure that we might as well meet up with the Captain, own up to our mistakes, and ask for forgiveness now instead of later.'

Recoome's gaze moved past Jeice and focused on the distance. His face was pinched. 'Can we wait until after the mission to tell the Captain?' Recoome suggested. 'Tell him when he's happy? I don't see why we need to tell him right now.'

'Don't you remember the last time we pulled a stunt like that?' Jeice sniped, drawing back Recoome's attention. 'Captain damn near evicted us from the Force when he heard we had forgotten to kill that bureaucrat! Plus, the situation's changed now that we've lost those two. Captain'll probably have some new orders for us.' Jeice paused. 'I don't know about you, but I for one don't want to rush into battle with old orders.'

Recoome frowned. Recoome rarely frowned. 'I get that. I just don't like the Captain when he gets mad.'

'Listen, Recoome: as a fellow commanding officer,' Jeice said, puffing out his chest, 'I want the Captain to have every ounce of relevant information at his disposal so he can make the right calls! And telling him that we messed up is relevant information! He might have to plan another kidnapping operation, now! We need to give him the time to plan that!' And, besides: you really think he'll do anything bad towards us? We're his pride! We'll get a reprimand and nothing else- I guarantee it!'

'Alright, alright…' In a sign of defeat, Recoome's head dipped. 'Well, I guess you're right… Captain it is.'

'Aww, cheer up mate!' Jeice said, clapping an arm around Recoome's waist. It was about as high as he could reach comfortably. 'Captain'll see your sorry head and take some pity on us- we suffered for our loss already! I mean-' Jeice's mouth did a little dance at Recoome's expense '- just look at your hair!'

Before Recoome could frown again, Jeice continued. 'Tell you what: you won't have to say anything. Just leave all the explaining to good ol' Jeice- how about that? You stand in the back and you won't have to bleat a single word!'

As Jeice spoke longer, more and more of Recoome's usual grin returned to his face. As a sign of affection, he placed one massive hand on top of Jeice's head and patted him. 'That sounds okay,' he said, nodding slightly.

'Alright, then!' Jeice cheered. 'Off to the Captain- let's roll!'

0o0o0

Beneath him, surrounded by sprays of his own dark blue blood on the ground, the blue alien was as close to being pulp as any living person could be. Satisfied, Piccolo unlatched his hand from around his bruised neck and stood. This one had put up an honorable, if not futile fight. It was, at least, entertaining. And it was certainly better than what the other one had offered him.

Piccolo looked over his shoulder. He had left the green alien, more mangled from his previous injuries than the ones Piccolo had inflicted on him, ten feet deep in a cliffside in the distance. From here, he could see dust trailing up into the sky.

Beyond these two, there wasn't anything else of note left here. The army that had been marshaled on this plain had been decimated. Very few were left alive, and those that still lived would soon be dead. Along with the ship he assumed he had destroyed with his beam attack, he alone had defeated the bulk of the PTO invasion.

A wheeze reached Piccolo's pointed ears. With an air of finality, he turned back to the blue, barely living soldier at his feet. His eyes were shot with red and shrouded by flickering eyelids. Weakly, one of his hands raked across the ground.

Piccolo saw this and reconciled it with his previous thought. So- I have no reason to stay here any longer. He decided that he would check-up on the planet- the kis and energies of everyone else running around- and finish up here once that was done.

A few seconds later, Piccolo grimaced. Two things he particularly didn't like were drawing closer to his slice of the planet. One was a powerful ki, at a bare minimum stronger than the defeated soldier beneath him. Piccolo suspected that the person this ki belonged to was the leader of whatever group the blue soldier had claimed to be a part of. For all of Piccolo's confidence in his newfound power, he didn't want to meet this ki immediately. Too many unknowns. It would be better to withdraw for now and plan his next move.

Because of that, and because of the second thing he sensed. Not too far off, he recognized Nail's ki rushing back to the Namekians. He was carrying what felt like an unconscious but alive Tien and Yamcha. So his little journey was successful, then.

It wouldn't look good on Piccolo if he wasn't present with the other Namekians when Nail arrived. He-

Piccolo's hands shot to his temples. An aching, piercing jolt rushed through his thoughts, completely frazzled his thinking, and had passed on without any evidence of having happened. His feelings towards the Namekians- something wasn't right. His surge of energy on death's door, at the top of the spire-

A flare of ki pushed away dirt and dust, and flew into the blue soldier's near-dead eyes. With a huff, Piccolo blasted off back towards the spire.

0o0o0

Both before and after Roshi and Katas- moving together, fists flying, with red and blue and brown colors splashing in the air around them- landed on the ridge before jumping back into the air, a quake shook the landscape of Hell. There was a key difference between these two, though. The quake that preceded them threw boulders twice their size tumbling down the side of the ridge; the quake that followed them collapsed the ridge entirely.

Rocketing forward, a shimmering Roshi chased Katas and blanketed him with an onslaught of red-tinged strikes and blows. The Namekian's blue-brown aura pulsed faster as his exertion increased- his limbs flashed in front of him to guard against his opponent's brutalizing offensive. A score of blows skidded across him and stretched his defense. Some rebounded painfully off of his forearms; some found their mark and twisted into his flesh.

Eventually, an opening came for Katas- Roshi overextended, lancing past him with all his force behind his right elbow. The Namekian pushed his ki to his max, flaring his aura strong enough to flatten the ground around him, and threw his arm forward. His fist landed cleanly against Roshi's back.

He saw it. He felt it. But, somehow, immediately after this, the human's black-robed body vanished from Katas's sight. In the next instance, Roshi appeared behind Katas, muscles rippling and near-bursting, and thrust his hands into the Earth. Katas was half-turned to him when Roshi's legs slammed upward into his sides, bending him sideways and catapulting him into the air.

On the ground, Roshi pulled his hands out from the earth, throwing up a storm of small rocks past him. He bent low to the ground- and halted for a second, aura wobbling- before launching up into the sky after Katas.

The brief delay cost him his advantage- Roshi's spinning kick crashed resoundingly against one of Katas's legs, generating enough wind to stretch their gis taut to their bodies. Their high-speed exchange resumed, with each fighter zipping around in the air fast enough for their auras to mix into the pink sky around them.

A blow landed against Roshi's abdomen, and for the first time, a heavy, stabbing pain shot through him. The shock of the unexpected hit threw him off- his next intended attack, a sideways swipe across Katas's chest, never materialized. He looked at his arms- veins swollen, with a red glow flickering on and off of them- and hesitated.

Then his instincts kicked back in, and his body moved. Shrouded in his own flickering red aura, Roshi thrust himself backward and avoided a speeding, dark-green fist aimed at his face. Boosting his Kaioken, Roshi zipped around to Katas's backside, hammered a number of kicks into the Namekian's back, and finished by firing a two-handed, point-blank blast of yellow-red ki.

A flare of blue-brown ki buffeted Roshi, warping back his red aura, and froze his attack. The blast hung in the air, a foot away from either of them. It exploded there.

The world slowed down, then shook: a shockwave, large enough to reach all the way down to the ground and scoop layers of the land away, enveloped them and spit both of them out. Each one wrapped in their own ki, they exited the mass of energy from opposite ends- Roshi careened further into the pink expanse that lorded over Hell, while Katas traveled a short distance before crashing deep into another nearby ridge. The sound of energy roiling and rock cracking filled the air.

Calling on his enhanced energy, Roshi painstakingly brought himself to a mid-air stop. Once this was done, his red aura blinked out, and he visibly sagged. Long, deep breaths began laboring in and out of his chest.

By the Kais… Roshi tried, and failed, to lift his twitching right arm. Looking closer, he saw tiny cuts and bruises spreading across it. King Kai hadn't exaggerated the toll prolonged use of the Kaioken- or short bursts of it at the higher levels- inflicted on the body. He was literally powering himself to death. At the rate he was going, his body would tear itself apart. Or spiritual container, or vessel- whatever it was, it wouldn't matter that his form in Otherworld was stronger and more durable than his living body. It had limits, just like a living body, and pressing up against them for too long would break them.

Roshi hadn't taken Katas seriously enough at the beginning. He had expected a tough fight, but he didn't think he would be straddling the line between existence and oblivion as much as Katas had boasted. He would give the Namekian that.

Huffing, Roshi found that he could use his left arm. He began loosening the ties and laces at the top of his gi. There came a time in some fights where your back was against your wall and any option you could think of looked like a better alternative than losing and probably dying. This, regrettably, was one of those times where he had no ready-to-go option. Roshi shrugged off his gi from his left arm, and then agonizingly inched it down his uncooperative right one. Spasms raced up and down the limb- his right hand kept clasping and releasing the fabric, vice-like, like a broken clamp. Pain, enough to make Roshi hiss and bite and bleed the inside of his cheek, accompanied every cycle.

Eventually, with a toss, Roshi threw his black gi over his shoulder. It fell half the distance to the ground and floated down the remainder. A pair of short black pants he wore underneath his gi became the sole guardian of his decency. Disrobed, Roshi's chiseled physique- gratuitous, in his opinion, because even in his prime he had never looked this good without a shirt- spasmed in some parts in a similar way to his right arm. Similarly, the surface of his chest and back was just as worn, cut, and exhausted as the rest of him was.

He couldn't risk anything more than one more use of the Kaioken, at any level- he wouldn't be able to move, otherwise. A stillness settled on Roshi's mind. So: one last move.

His gaze flickered down to where Katas had been gouged into a ridge. From a long, deep ditch in the earth, he saw the dark-green Namekian slowly hover out, his aura billowing down his limbs. I have one move left, he has… three, maybe four. He's hurt, for sure, but his power isn't reliant on him destroying his body- or spiritual container, or vessel-

Roshi shook his head, trying to shake away his confusion. Not- important… hmm… He looked at his right arm again. He examined the cuts and bruises, and the blood vessels swelling under the skin. Damage made to look real… but he knew it wasn't really. It was all appearance, no substance, maintained by whatever magic governed Otherworld and Hell. Dig deep enough into his body, and he'd be pop, like a balloon-

An idea, unprompted, rushed into his head fully formed. He had the Kaioken. He had his bulky, max-power form, something he hadn't used since he'd been alive, and he knew something about how souls worked in the afterlife. He knew that his body was wrapped around his soul, meant to protect it, and that this was true for any other person who was dead. Including his opponent.

As Katas moved closer to him- a neutral expression, shown whenever he wasn't actively avoiding or throwing strikes, was on the Namekian's face in place of his earlier anger- Roshi weighed his options. His back was against the wall. He could either go with this option, or most likely be erased from existence. It was an easy choice to make.

Growling from the back of his throat, Roshi hunched and raised his arms. He gathered himself, exhaled, and his muscles grew to twice their previous size. He gasped- the pain that he had pushed to the back of his mind momentarily slipped back to the front- and balled his fists even harder. Wounds opened up in his palms where his nails pressed into his skin, and he felt blood leak out of his fists.

To his relief, his spasming from earlier didn't return.

Katas was close enough now that Roshi saw one of his antennae flicker up and down. 'Another technique? Will this one finish the previous one's work and destroy what's left of you?' The Namekian brandished a taut, knowing grin.

Energy swirled around Roshi. His white aura, brighter than it was at the beginning of their fight, hummed in his ears. 'I hope,' Roshi said, his voice sounding as haggard as he felt, 'that the universe has forgotten about you. Be at peace.'

Katas's mouth curved. He braced himself.

Red swirls of light erupted out of nowhere, forming a red star in the pink sky, and Roshi surged forward, cocking back a massive arm. The first blow, traveling with enough velocity to shunt away the air around it, swiped through Katas's afterimage, violently dispersing it- and traveled further, slamming flush against Katas's guard. The Namekian's eyes bulged; the human's first move, like his own, had been to use an afterimage, and he had flown forward fast enough to catch him backpedaling.

With an emphatic boom, Roshi's massive right arm swung up and wrenched Katas's arms up and above his head.

Katas saw Roshi's left arm, curled and sheathed in crimson. travel towards him, He saw it impact his chest, even as his knee swung up and rammed the arm to no effect. And he did and could do nothing as Roshi plunged into him. A great shudder swept over his body.

Roshi's arm, still wrapped in crimson, was suddenly pushed back- a blue-brown fog, thick, sprayed out of the fist-sized hole in Katas's chest. Katas made a weak face, grunted softly, and began to fall in the sky.

Roshi hit the ground first. His Kaioken had given out when Katas's ki, expelled in all directions, had crashed against him and stunned him. A crash rung through the air, and his body formed a small crater. Katas's body landed a second later, softer, and made no crater.

The storm had ended abruptly. Without the sounds of their fight, Hell was quiet. The land around them, flattened and chipped, borne the scars of their fight. A thick, dark fog remained in the sky in a trail, tracking from where Katas had been impaled all the way to his resting spot on the ground. A cold wind blew over the area but did not disturb the fog.

Feeling cold, Roshi groaned, opened his eyes, and shivered. With some difficulty, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked around. Katas laid on the ground, unmoving, a few feet away from him. Roshi watched for any movement. He saw none.

With more difficulty, Roshi got to a kneeling position. From there, his will, pushing through his agonizing pain, forced himself to stand. Every part of him ached. Bruises, blood, and cuts, overlaid over sagging or twitching muscles, weighed on him. He felt heavy and his breaths were shallow. As he staggered over to Katas, he felt blood habitually separate from the tips of his fingers.

The Namekian's eyes were open, bright with life, but his lips quivered and shook without sound. He opened and closed his mouth slowly, but couldn't talk. He looked at Roshi.

Roshi looked back. He was tired, and he couldn't spare any time trying to guess the dying words of a long-dead fiend. What was happening to Katas- where his bodily container had been pierced, and his spiritual energy was slowly leaking out from it- could easily happen to Roshi if he lingered here. The atmosphere of Hell encouraged it- the weakening of the will, of the control one had over their strength and soul. His injuries were severe enough that he was in real danger here.

Yet… Roshi continued to watch Katas futilely shape his mouth. It was frustrating, on top of all the pain he felt. The strongest opponent I've ever encountered. Strong enough to disregard the magical barriers between this realm and the next. And I will learn… nothing from him. No explanation for what happened. For all my power, I was just barely able to defeat him.

Obliteration. That's what's happens in every close fight, right? It can never end with one side extending mercy or justice; it's always too close to take risks like that. Mercy can be rebuked. Justice can be punished. People die to make sure they can't steal victory at the last possible second.

Roshi flushed; he discovered that he was incredibly angry. Damn him. He's dying, at least.

Dredging up the last remains of his ki, Roshi resummoned his soft white aura. He wasn't going to bother trying to find his gi.

Katas looked at him, once more, appealing for something. Roshi, understanding this much at last, returned an empty stare and turned. He lifted into the pink sky a second later, heading for the thick yellow clouds beyond.

0o0o0

From the instant Roshi turned into a white speck in his clouded, deteriorating vision, his antennae began to twitch. Katas feebly twisted his neck to the left, resting his head on a flat, hard rock. At the bottom of his vision, he could see fog wafting away from his body.

No thoughts; no feelings. He was motivated by nothing more than a grasping, flailing compulsion. His antennae twitched faster. His eyes began to water.

There was no movement on the slope next to him for a long time. He couldn't move. Fog continued to trail away from his body. He watched. His antennae twitched.

'... What's happened to you?'

The voice was muted. Katas's antennae pulled his head up and to the right. King Piccolo, his face a mixture of pity, horror, and disgust, stood over him.

'Is this what the end is?' King Piccolo asked, distaste clear in his voice. His eyes were fixed on the gaping hole in the middle of Katas. There was emptiness, nothingness there- no substance. Around this hole, pieces of Katas were flaking away and condensing into fog. 'You melt into this infernal realm… even someone as great as you.'

A scornful, if tottering, smile gripped King Piccolo. He squatted down onto his heels next to Katas. 'All your self-proclaimed power. Your strength. For all your talk of the legacy you inherited and created- here you lay, dying.' King Piccolo grinned harder. 'You called me weak. You called me a fool. And yet you threw yourself at a stronger opponent- and for what? Your plan wasn't threatened. That human had no means to undo your work. No-one in this realm does, now- and yet, you fought him, and will die by his hand.' King Piccolo's confidence, in the face of a supposed ancestor who had denigrated him since their meeting, grew with every word that left his mouth. 'You fought for vanity. For pride. No goal, no purpose to it- just your arrogance. And while you did that, your "broken branch" hid and survived,' King Piccolo mocked, creeping closer to Katas. 'Someone weak survived where you did not. And I will survive to reap the benefits of your designs, while your soul is purged from the fabric of reality. How does that make you feel?' King Piccolo taunted, jostling his antennae and staring down Katas. 'Come on- speak!'

Katas tried to. His mouth opened and closed, and no sound came out. His eyes looked tired. All the while, his antennae continued to twitch.

'Oh? You have nothing to say?' King Piccolo leaned over and examined the hole in Katas's body. 'You soon won't have the chance.' King Piccolo swiveled his attention back to Katas's face. 'Nothing? Really? Can you even admit that you were wrong?'

Katas's mouth had stopped moving. His eyes pleaded- or demanded something of King Piccolo. He couldn't tell. He didn't care.

King Piccolo slapped his hand across Katas's face, then gripped the darker Namekian by the bottom of his jaw. 'I'll help you,' King Piccolo said as he began moving Katas's mouth up and down. 'Go on, talk! Apologize! Admit you were a fool!' A different hand slapped Katas on the side of his head. 'Go on!' King Piccolo said, louder. 'Apologize! Apologize!' The slapping sped up, accompanying the growing volume of King Piccolo's voice. 'Apologize! Apologize! Apologize or DIE!'

A final slap cracked against Katas's head, more of an actual strike than a slap, and the darker Namekian's head rocked to the right. King Piccolo hovered over him, one hand still clamped around Katas's jaw, fuming. 'Dead yet!? Huh!?'

As expected, there was no verbal reply. Something did respond, though- Katas began turning his head back to face King Piccolo. There was pressure pushing against his hand. Vigor. Life.

King Piccolo saw that a weak smile had taken hold of Katie's face. He saw his eyes. They were bright. They were alive. He thought of was his hatred for this stubborn and ancient Namekian, and then lost touch with the world.

With a flash of light, King Piccolo's color turned from green to white, features blurring together, and he was sucked into a single stretch of skin- the length of Katas's jaw where he had been touching the dying Namekian. The weak smile on Katas's face fled and was replaced by a much stronger one.

It finished quicker than it started. A final surge of white light flew into Katas, shaking him. The handprint on Katas's jaw glowed for a few seconds before fading away entirely.

For a time, Katas laid in that crater, motionless, excluding his twitching antennae. The hole in his body was gone; fog no longer trailed off of him. He was also alone.

Bliss. He was in be pulled from the waters of non-existence, to grow his strength, to gain firsthand knowledge of a universe that had gone on without him for two hundred years- but most important of all, to be given a more complete perspective by his "broken branch", was rapturous. Katas could easily see it now- he had been vain and arrogant to fight that human. His boredom in Hell had dulled his sense of self-preservation. As accused, he had fought for no particular reason other than for the fight itself. And that had been a mistake.

Perhaps it was good that this mistake had been made and learned from now. After all, he had called his spawn to him originally for this very occasion- to rescue him from the brink if needed. Better to have done this now and not later, after his efforts to free himself of his imprisonment had come to fruition. But a time and place for that. Soon. Very soon.

Katas surged to his feet and took a deep breath. He stood a little taller, thought a little bit clearer, and felt more whole. He had missed this.


A/N: Heyo! Sorry about the delay. This chapter ended up being a longer one. Tuesday morning ain't that bad a replacement for Saturday, though, right? A lot of important things happened in this chapter, so I'm looking forward to what you guys think in the reviews!

Also, to clarify for the middle scene between Roshi and Katas, Roshi was able to do as much damage to Katas as he did because Katas was, for some portion of the attack, divided in power by his copies and unprepared to defend himself against a power of that magnitude.

Anyway, another week, another chapter! See you in a week or so's time!

power levels:

Nail: 45,000

Piccolo: 55,000

Burter: 47,000

Zarbon (transformed): 32,000

Katas: ~800,00 to 1,000,000 at full strength, suppressed by Hell

Roshi (base): 40,000

Roshi (Kaioken X10): 400,000

Roshi (Kaioken X15): 600,000

Roshi (Kaioken X20): 800,000

Reviews:

Perfect Carnage: The divider between this arc and the last is, admittedly, pretty flimsy. After writing this chapter, I kinda want to start the Ginyu Arc next chapter and put this and last chapter under Namek- this felt like a better cap to all the events of that arc than chapter 60.

Dunno. Gotta think about it.

TienFan999: Thank you for the kind words! Every part of my story should, at a bare minimum, be doing two things, so I'm glad that scene did it!

As for the Namekians, I agree with what you've said- I like to stick to canon as much as possible except for the parts that diverge or change because of events within this story, obviously, or for parts that aren't fleshed out and have no greater purpose in the larger narrative. I.e., how the Namekians became irrelevant to the canon story and universe halfway through the Androids Saga. As the creators of the dragonballs and as powerful as they can be (along with some really interesting techniques), they have a lot of storytelling potential IMO. Hopefully, my story can bring that stuff out more.