Black Despair
Original Concept by: JacobKingston10
Written by: LastationLover5000
"Son...Gokū?" Trunks repeated the words, his brain refusing to process the information like it should. He looked around at the destroyed city — buildings collapsed into
rubble, citizens, women, men, young and old alike, lay scattered. Some dead, the lucky were wounded, and the luckiest were the ones who were fleeing the scene in terror. Water mains had been shattered, and the streets were flooding. "It can't be...this isn't something he would do!"
The man claiming to be Gokū smirked, and it was an expression so foreign on Gokū's face that Trunks' blood ran cold. "You believe only what you want to believe, Trunks; ignoring what you see right in front of you. That's simply another weakness of humans. But tell me this — if I'm not Son Gokū, then how can I know your name?"
Undeniable truth the stabbed Trunks and forced back any retort; the man who bore Gokū's face knew clearly who he was, and his voice was the exact as well, even if the hybrid could pick up distinct subtle differences in the way he spoke. Yet he was here, bearing Son Gokū's name and voice, and his actions had been very real. But if he knew Trunks' name...then he couldn't be the Gokū of this world. "But then...why!?" Trunks shouted up at the black-clad form of Gokū desperately. "We've worked so hard to rebuild what we lost...why would you destroy it!? And how... you died a long time ago — in this world, and another! — how could you even come back!?"
"All intelligent questions, Trunks," replied Gokū. "You are right that I am not from this world, but how I got here and where I'm from aren't things I'll simply tell to a mere human. And why would I, Son Gokū, do something like this?" He gestured theatrically around to the destroyed city. "This is merely a single step in my greater battle to protect peace!"
"What sort of peace is this!?" howled the half-Saiyan angrily. "We had peace! I finally defeated the Androids, Babidi, and Dābura! With the sacrifice of so many, I've worked hard to uphold this peace! What you've just done is the furthest thing from it!"
The Demon-With-Gokū's-Face chuckled mirthlessly. "It's amusing, Trunks. How to those with opposing ideals, the other is an antagonist." He flexed his fingers, extending a hand towards Trunks. "However, I see things from far higher than you." A yellow-green orb formed in front of his palm, and within the ki sphere was a black core. "But I think I've talked to you far too much, Trunks." Moving his arm in a wide-sweeping arc, releasing a quintet of these spheres towards Trunks.
Trunks may have not had a real battle in over a decade, but he had been training for these ten years; the half-Saiyan leapt over the array of spheres. They collided with the cracked and flooded ground, exploding in a vibrant flash. But Trunks wasn't focused on the city anymore; talking to Gokū had given nearly everyone time to escape, and the real enemy was in the air.
Closing in, Trunks spun in the air, slamming his right leg down towards Gokū's skull. The demented Saiyan let out a grin, raising a black-clothed arm to block the blow. Now that he was close in, Trunks noticed something odd about Gokū's attire; it wasn't the black gi, though that had caught his attention when he first arrived. There was a green earring dangling from Gokū's ear, like the ones that Lord Kaiōshin, Kibito, and even he had worn.
The distraction, however, cost Trunks, and Gokū slammed a fist into his chest. The blow was powerful, and Trunks was flung with force into the nearest ruined building. He crashed into it, hard, and the wall gave way. Trunks found himself sprawled out onto a office, the desk and computer in ruins. Groaning, he shoved the rubble off himself, standing back onto his feet.
"Are you losing your focus already?" jabbed Gokū. "Your father would be disappointed to see you that sloppy, Trunks. And I thought Gohan had trained you better than that."
A vein throbbed in Trunks' forehead at the casual mocking of his estranged father and deceased master. If this Gokū was good at anything, it was hitting Trunks where it hurt; emotionally and physically. Dust falling from his lavender tresses, a white aura erupted around him. He had been curious about the earring, but that was thrown out the window. Gohan was his mentor, and his father was, in his own unique way, an inspiration. And Trunks couldn't stand for them to be insulted.
"Haaaaaaah!" Immersed in a vibrant white ki, Trunks launched himself from the office building, destroying more of it in the process, and rushed at Gokū. His fist struck true this time, colliding firmly with the smug face of this black-clad Gokū. Face pulsating with anger, Trunks pushed his free fist into Gokū's stomach, and slammed a knee into his torso. Repeatedly, the half-Saiyan unleashed blow after blow against this new enemy, and he unleashed a powerful Double Axe Handle, sending Gokū careening downward.
Gokū crashed into the street, creating a large crater that made their battlefield only more of a wasteland. Rising to his feet, he dusted himself off, looking up towards Trunks. With simple grin, he laughed, clearly amused. "Anger? Is that the source of your strength? How fitting — an ugly method for such ugly creations."
"You keep saying things like that!" Trunks snapped. "'Justice'. 'Humans'. 'Saiyans'. 'Ugly creations'. You come here spouting your twisted ideas of justice; I don't care if you call yourself Gokū, I will kill you to protect this peace! I won't let you commit any more wrongs than you already have!"
"And yet that is where you've got the misconception, Trunks," replied the Gokū look-alike. "Humans decide for themselves what is right or wrong, but your human preconceptions don't apply to someone of my station. I can do no wrong."
"What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?" Trunks spat incredulously.
"That isn't something that a mere human like yourself should concern yourself with," replied Gokū with a casual air.
"Don't give me that shit!" Trunks shot back, and dashed downward towards the black enemy. He remembered suddenly that he had a sword at his back, and gripped the hilt of his trusted weapon with his primary hand. It wasn't the original sword he had — that one had been a gift from Gohan, hand-crafted by his teacher — but a new blade. He'd had to replace it when it was broken by No. 18 in the past. Inwardly, he still wished that he had the Z-Sword, but that was ancient history; Dābura had broken it and there was no way of mending that holy blade.
He drew the sword with an audible metallic noise, and as he descended on Gokū, swung the blade down. His strength behind the swing was tremendous, but Gokū sidestepped it easily, surprising Trunks.
He's...getting faster!? The half-Saiyan thought, a slight panicked edge to his mental voice. Trying to keep his edge, Trunks spun on his heel, swinging the blade in a wide arc. Gokū, however, took a step back, avoiding a clean cut from Trunks' blade, and he grinned, even laughing now. With an upward swing, the de facto Saiyan prince missed his target again by mere centimetres. Am I just that close...or he is taunting me by staying within my range!?
It was this bit of self-doubt that decided everything. Gokū flickered inward; it wasn't teleportation, simply speed that Trunks couldn't perceive. A powerful elbow strike to his abdomen stunned him; with a palm strike, Gokū disarmed Trunks, sending his blade skittering off to the side. Trunks eyes widened in pain, just as a powerful rumbling could be heard in the skies overhead.
Gokū delivered a powerful kick to Trunks' jaw, white boot connecting with the young man's skin. Extending a palm, Gokū generated a large orb of ki, the same yellow-green hue with black core, but much larger this time. The blast exploded at point blank range, sending ripples of pain throughout Trunks' body. The force of the blast sent him careening backwards through the streets, and into a nearby alley, where he crashed into garbage and other waste that had survived the destruction of the city.
His body felt wet, and the sound of rain filled his ears. That rumbling must have been an incoming storm, and fresh rainwater melded with the water from the water main, flooding the streets further. Trunks was slumped against the garbage, his body numb from the pain, and Gokū approached him silhouetted by a vivid flash of lightning and a powerful thunderclap.
Gokū's face still wore an expression of arrogant amusement, and he contemplated the broken form of Trunks for a moment. "It looks like you're in luck. You put up a good fight after all — I haven't had to work this body like this in a long time. So I think I'll let you live today, Trunks. Get stronger while I'm giving you this chance, because the next time we meet—" Lightning flashed in the sky again, and thunder roared; Gokū's face was illuminated again by the electricity in the sky, but his voice carried well over the thunderclap.
"I will kill you."
Turning away from Trunks, Gokū laughed again, and immersed himself in a flaming black aura. He took off from the spot, leaving Trunks where he lay. The man remained conscious for only a moment longer, and then blackness overtook his vision.
Warmth.
He had felt so cold, but now warmth was filling his senses. It took Trunks another moment to register that his back was no longer against the pliant trashbag, but a firm mattress. His eyes were closed, but he could detect familiar scents all around him. And this led him to one conclusion before he even opened his eyes.
I didn't...die.
It was some small consolation. He might not have died, but he wasn't able to save the people who had died in that attack on the Eastern Capital. He had lived, at the cost of so many other lives — again. It was the Androids all over again. Not moving from the bed, he sighed, and it was then the young man noticed that there was the slightest bit of extra weight on the bed.
Opening his eyes, he was greeted by incredibly bright lights. Squinting, the half-Saiyan tried to sit up, wincing in pain as his body reminded him that he was indeed still recovering from that quick and crushing defeat. Several new pieces of information were flooding to him; his torso had bandages wrapped around it, he could at least move, and he was not alone in the room.
He'd expected to see his mother, Bulma, the most intelligent woman in the world. She was a talented inventor, and after Trunks had settled the debacle with the Androids, became president of Capsule Corporation — or at least what was left of it, in the wake of years of destruction. Yet, sleeping in a chair with her head on the mattress was an entirely unfamiliar woman. Trunks didn't recognize her, but she seemed to be about his age with fair skin, and long black hair. She was beautiful, and her sleeping face had a kind of peaceful quality that made him sad — remembering that black Gokū, he knew that simple joys like this were in danger once again.
He wondered if he should wake her, or if it would be more polite to simply let the woman sleep. Clearing his throat, she gave no reaction. Blinking, Trunks prodded her shoulder gently, and the young woman began to stir. Her eyes opened slowly — onyx as her hair but they had shimmered in a way that most eyes couldn't — and she looked around in confusion, as if she was trying to remember how she'd gotten here. Then the girl's eyes fell on Trunks, and his shirtless bandaged form, a small pink blush crept onto her face as she sprung from her chair.
"O-Oh! I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean...I...sorry!" She bowed quickly, and made a rush for the door to the left, fleeing the scene in embarrassment and leaving behind a very bewildered Trunks who hadn't a chance to say a single thing.
"What...did I do?"
Trunks had gotten out of bed, slipping a dark green sweater over his bandages, and making his way towards the living room. Bulma had rebuilt a lot in the past ten years, both inside and outside their home. The living space had been completely restructured, and they finally had comfortable accommodations. The lavender-haired genius woman was sitting on a forest green sofa, looking at the television.
Sitting in a chair a ways off from his mother was the young woman was before. Her hands rested in her lap, and she looked nervous simply to be in the house.
"Um...hey," Trunks said, speaking to both of them directly. His mother was the first to answer, turning to look at her son, a stern expression on her face.
"Nice to see you up and about, honey," said the single mother. "How are your wounds?"
"I'd love to say fine, but my body still hurts," replied Trunks, casting an eye towards the television set. It was the news broadcast, and on the screen he could see the form of the black-clad Gokū hovering above the Eastern Capital. In a wave of purple ki, most of the city went up in a large explosion.
"Damn him...that...Gokū Black..." Bulma muttered to herself, having turned back to the television set with an expression that was a mixture of anger and pain.
"I'm sorry, who?" Trunks blinked rapidly, confused.
"Gokū Black," replied Bulma simply. "Or just Black. It's what I've decided to call him. No matter what he says, he isn't Gokū. The Gokū I knew wouldn't have done anything like this."
"Gokū...Black..." Trunks repeated. The name matched. It fit his appearance, and it gave them something different to call him — something to separate that man from the hero that Trunks knew from the past, and from his mother's long-time friend. He noticed that the black-haired woman was staring intently at the screen as well, and remembered he still did not know who she was.
"Mom, while we're talking about names..." He inclined his head pointedly at the woman sitting in the plush recliner chair.
"Oh, I suppose introductions are sort of in order," shrugged Bulma, who was smirking slightly. She wasn't getting so old that she couldn't be amused by the antics of the younger generation — the young woman had just come out of the hospital wing only a few minutes before, blushing furiously. She didn't know what Trunks had done, but had settled for laughing herself silly for another two minutes afterwards. "This is Mai. Mai, this is Trunks. She's the one who saved your life after that little...scuffle...you had with Black in the Eastern Capital."
On television screen now, Trunks was visible.
"O-Oh!" Trunks' eyes widened. So she was the reason why he hadn't simply died there on the ground. "T-Thank you, Mai!" It was his turn to give a bow of gratitude, but the black-haired woman shook her head.
"It was the least I could do," she replied. "You didn't have to...go that far when you fought him. I'm not used to seeing heroes like that."
"She's going to be living here now," added Bulma. "According to her, she was in the Eastern Capital, living there with her friends, when Black attacked. She was one of the lucky ones — her friends didn't make it."
"I'm...sorry to hear that," said Trunks. He was unable to offer any words of comfort beyond that. He knew well what it was like to lose someone close to you, but everyone's situations are different, and thus he kept his mouth shut after that lame offering. Something triggered in the back of his head, however, and he was spurred on to ask his mother another question. "What about the injured!? Gokū...no, Black, didn't kill everyone! I know there were survivors."
"Calm down, sweetie," said Bulma soothingly. "Mai's arrival saved more people than just you; I was able to make it to the Eastern Capital in time, and we retrieved many of the wounded before it was too late. They're in the Western Capital Regional Hospital right now."
Trunks breathed a sigh of relief. Lives had been saved. It was another small consolation to his survival in that battle; his actions, no matter how small, hadn't been pointless. He tried to smile, but it came off as weak.
"Don't go down that road again, son," Bulma warned. "I can already tell — we're going to have to deal with a whole new patch of trouble, and you're about to shoulder that entire burden yourself, aren't you?"
Trunks was silent.
"Aren't you?" His mother pressed.
"Yes, but—"
"No buts," replied Bulma, getting up and jabbing a finger into her son's torso. He winced, and she smiled triumphantly. "If that hurt you, then you're in no shape to do anything. So why don't you sit down and get some rest. We don't even know where Black went after he left you for dead, so you can't do anything blindly. Meaning..."
"I have to wait until he attacks again," replied Trunks bitterly.
"Not the words I would have chosen, but yeah."
Sighing, Trunks collapsed into the recliner adjacent Mai's. He hated this; it was truly the Androids all over again. Having to sit around and do nothing, waiting for Black to claim more victims. At least with the Androids, he'd had an excuse — he couldn't sense their ki, so he couldn't track them. He didn't have that same excuse with Black. But his mother was right about one thing — Black had done a number on his body, and if he went to fight him now, he would be killed.
"That's the way," Bulma pumped her fist into the air. "Now, I'll go make you two something to eat, so just relax. Try and watch anything but the news." She stressed the last bit, knowing how reckless Trunks could be if he heard something that bothered him. So similar to Vegeta...
Leaning back in the recliner, Trunks closed his eyes. Vivid images flashed within the darkness. A face, so similar to Gokū's, but sinister in ways that Gokū could never be. A glinting green earring. The explosion of the Eastern Capital.
"I think I'll let you live today, Trunks. Get stronger while I'm giving you this chance, because the next time we meet, I will kill you."
Laughter, high and cold, echoed in his head. Trunks' eyes snapped open, and the half-Saiyan was gasping, having broken into a cold sweat. Not since he was a child had he been defeated so completely. Not since the Androids. Part of him wished Gohan were here; it was natural, to wish that a deceased loved one was still with you, but this was different.
The way Black handled Trunks made the man feel like a child again, and he was always able to turn to Gohan back when he was an up-and-coming fighter.
But he was on his own now.
"Are you alright?" A soft female voice caught his attention. Looking to his left, he saw the beautiful black haired girl — Mai — whose wide eyes were looking at him with worry and concern. She held a towel in her hand, offering it to him.
Trunks took the towel gratefully, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Calming down, he looked at her and said — as much to himself as it was in answer to her — that he was indeed alright. Most would find that sort of question to be inane, but he didn't; during the time of the Androids, the survivors had been torn between those whose empathy came out naturally, and those who simply hardened their hearts.
Trunks had come to appreciate people with that former quality, and it appeared Mai was one of them. He set down the towel and smiled. "I really am alright; I just have a lot on my mind."
Mai looked at him seriously, trying to size him up and get the measure of him. With a small sigh, she smiled herself. "You're a tough guy, aren't you? I don't have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, but I read a book or two about it; you don't need to hide everything under that mask of self-confidence. I'm sure anyone would be a bit battered after what just happened."
"I...well..." Trunks was left at a loss. He didn't want to admit she was right, but it was more how dangerously close to his father that profile sounded for his comfort. He let out a smile of his own. "You're right," he admitted, against his better judgment. "I'm just...hung up on memories from the past. I don't usually get like this, not in the past ten years anyway — and I really shouldn't now, at least not with a guest in the house."
"I'm not much for therapy, but I'm certainly someone you can talk to," Mai replied. She remembered the Androids fairly clearly. It was a very long story, but she'd grown up a child during their siege on Earth — what many could call a miracle survivor during that time — and finding people to trust had been hard. She'd had her two friends back then, but Black's attack on the Eastern Capital had killed them. "It still feels like the Androids were yesterday...and this 'Black' fellow is drudging up bad memories."
"Tell me about it," replied Trunks with an exasperated sigh. "I've been trying to clear my head after all of this, but Black keeps coming back. I fought so hard for peace...but this will throw the entire world into chaos again."
"You were the one fighting?" Mai voiced her amazement.
And so, Trunks launched into an explanation about exactly what he was and how he was able to fight against the Androids. It was a long-winded tale, and it kept Trunks speaking for the better part of an hour. He didn't know why he was telling Mai all of this — about Gohan, about ki, about the Saiyans, and everything the Time Machine his mother had created let him experience in the past — but she was simply easy to talk to. Mai had an innocent quality that Trunks found welcoming, and it had him speaking to her casually for the better part of the hour.
Bulma peeked in every now and again, and a broad, sly smile. It had been quite a long time since she'd ever seen Trunks speak this much with someone that wasn't herself. Speak so openly with someone that wasn't herself. Not since Gohan. Trunks had never grown up with friends — the Androids made that impossible, and Gohan was the closest thing he'd had to a confidant.
Mai made for a decent audience. She showed genuine interest, and gasped at proper intervals. Her expression grew truly somber when Trunks reminisced about Gohan's death. It was a powerful memory, and his worst nightmare — but that moment was what kept him driven, and he had grown well past the point of being unable to talk about it. She was skeptical of the Time Machine at first, but after seeing Black blow up an entire city, on top of the numerous atrocities committed by the Androids, she was willing to believe anything.
By the end of the next half hour, Trunks had exhausted more than half his story, and his mother came into the living room.
"I'm glad you two are hitting it off, but the food's ready! Why don't we get a bite to eat, hm?"
The chatting duo looked up at Bulma, jolted into remembering that she was still in the building.
"Y-Yeah," agreed Trunks, getting out of the recliner and making a stretch.
"Trunks, I wouldn't mind hearing some more about all of this," suggested Mai. "Later?"
"Sure!" Trunks nodded, smiling, and the two followed Bulma into the kitchen.
It had been a month since Trunks had engaged Black for the first time, and his wounds had recovered nicely. Perks of Saiyan biology, a quicker recovery time than Earthlings. The victims of Black's first attack on the Eastern Capital were still recovering in the Western Capital Regional Hospital; several were even in comas. What remained of the Eastern Capital had been eradicated by Black, but when Trunks had arrived merely two weeks prior, the black-clad Gokū was nowhere to be found.
"It's like he's taunting me!" snarled the half-Saiyan angrily. "Appearing, destroying, and drifting back out of sight! What's he playing at!?"
Despite Mai and Bulma's insistence that Trunks calm down, the half-Saiyan found that he was more worked up than he had been before, and he went outside into the yard to calm down. It was a miracle that his sword had been retrieved when Trunks was rushed out of the Eastern Capital for the first time. Practising kendō was an easy way for the young man to vent frustration, and the two women let him calm himself this way.
The next few days passed uneventfully. In need of food, Mai and Trunks went out to the shopping district, grateful that the Western Capital was still intact. Trunks had offered to either go alone, or carry her while flying, but Mai insisted on coming, eager to help, and yet refused to be carried with an embarrassed flush. So, Trunks took one of the Capsule Cars that Bulma still kept, and drove through the newly refurbished streets with Mai in the passenger's seat.
Fiddling with the radio as he made his way to the local supermarket, Trunks turned the dial, passing up a few music stations — it appeared that country music was attempting to make a resurgence in the ten years since the Androids' defeat — and settled for a news channel.
There wasn't anything of note for the first trip to the store, and Trunks and Mai were able to purchase the necessary rations without much incident. It was only on the return trip did something pique Trunks' interest.
"This just in! The black-clothed figure who attacked the Eastern Capital has been spotted directly over the Southern Capital! This is an urgent message to all inhabitants! Flee! Immediately!"
Trunks hit the brake on the car so hard that several bags flew forward; asparagus, carrots, and plastic-wrapped meat sprawled across the center divider, and landed close to the windshield. Trunks' hands were trembling against the wheel. The Southern Capital. He could make it; if he went now, he could make it. He could save the people there.
Mai looked at him, her dark eyes boring deep into his blue ones. "You're about to go there, aren't you?"
"I have to..." replied Trunks. "I can't...I can't just go home and pretend I didn't hear any of this." With a thin smile, he added, "Apologize to Mom, please Mai?"
"...You're going to come back," she said firmly. "I won't have to do that. Be safe, Trunks."
With this reassurance, Trunks stepped out of the car, and Mai slid over into the driver's side. A white aura immersed his body, and he rocketed off into the sky towards the Southern Capital. At top speed, he could make it in five minutes.
Please! He found himself praying desperately to gods that could no longer hear him. Let me make it in time!
A/N: So, where has this story been for the past six months? Um...places. I've been busy writing, and JacobKingston has been busy with just life in general. So I took it upon myself to keep this story going. I was going to delete it, but its amazing what being bored at work inspires you to do. So I decided I would continue to write it. It won't be that long of a story; after all, it is meant to tie into my Erased Chronicles, and as such, I can't let it take too much attention away from the main spectacle. But here it is; the second chapter after six months. I had a lot of fun writing Black, and had a lot of fun writing Trunks and Mai as well. Changing characters is something that I find amazing; I love Gohan and Erasa but it is a breath of fresh air to write something new, anything new (and yes, I know that as of this writing, I do indeed still have other stories in the works, but only this one, the Erased Chronicles, and Heart of Adventurers have anything resembling definitive direction.
So I hope you all enjoyed this chapter of
The Future is Black and I shall see you soon. While Jacob is a bit too busy to write, he isn't above reading, and serves as my editor for what was originally his project. See you soon!