Chapter 8: God Eraser
The blood pumping through Kakarot's veins turned to ice. Tears of frustration and confusion pooled in his eyes, barley being held back by his pride. For the first time in the young saiyan's life, he felt truly helpless. Nabokov's nasally laugh flooded the air. An insult to Kakarot's pride. Though he spoke no words, Kakarot felt the rat's macabre message.
I win.
"How...how the hell are you still alive. I shattered your ribcage," Kakarot shouted out in anger. Touching down on the ground, Nabokov got back into his battle stance.
"What? Does it piss you off that I'm not dead," Nabokov mockingly asked, "If you can beat me, maybe I'll tell you, brat."
The pain coursing through out Kakarot's chest flared up in response. He was in no shape to fight. If he went on…
Then he'd die. The tears that Kakarot had tried so hard to hold back within himself broke through his defenses, leaking down his face and onto the sandy floor. Once again, Nabokov's insulting laughter deflowered the air. It made Kakarot want to vomit.
"I told you, rat," Kakarot threatened weakly. Nabokov thought for a moment, bringing his mind back through the insults each warrior had tossed to the other.
"I'm going to make you suffer…"
Before Nabokov could throw back any sort of response, the battle exploded once more. Kakarot's broken body disappeared, forcing Nabokov to search desperately for the child. Small sounds went off all around him. But he was too slow. Kakarot, revealing himself, dashed appeared above Nabokov and prepared a devastating attack onto the rat's head. Swiftly, Nabokov pivoted his weight to his back leg, allowing him to barely dodge the attack. The saiyan's fist collided with the ground, cracking it and sending up a cloud of dust. Nabokov charged a small ball of yellow energy in the palm of his hand and threw it blindly into the cloud of dust. A large explosion followed, allowing time for Nabokov to retreat backwards. He waited for any sign of Kakarot. Any noise. Any movement. Anything. Kakarot rushed out of the dust cloud, screaming out a pained battle cry. Though he'd barely blocked most of that attack, his previous injuries were taking a heavy toll on him. His blue gi was burned and torn, only weakly holding onto his body. Blood poured from the open wounds on his chest and arms. His bones and muscle cried out in pain.
Stop.
Please stop.
You'll die.
Kakarot pushed the thoughts from his mind. There was only the battle. Nabokov raised his forearm in defense, expecting the hard right that usually followed after one of Kakarot's assaults. Instead, Kakarot ducked his head down, driving his fist into Nabokov's unprotected stomach. Saliva rocketed from the rat's mouth as the wind was forced out of his lungs. Raising his elbow, Nabokov slammed it into Kakarot's skull. But it didn't hurt. Kakarot was stunned. The pain never came. Screaming in rage, Kakarot continued to force his fists past Nabokov's defense into his soft underbelly. Nabokov forced all his strength into his arms, pushing Kakarot off of him. He was sent a few meters backwards, finally allow Nabokov a moment to think.
But only a moment.
A plan quickly formulated within his head, the gears finally turning within his skull. Kakarot saw his moment to strike, trying to dash forward and attempt another desperate assault. His legs wouldn't move. The pain from Nabokov's attack finally registered, almost calming consciousness from his mind. Nabokov, seeing his own moment to strike, jumped forwards. He outstretched his leg, attempting to finish this fight with one last attack. Kakarot couldn't move.
The adrenaline fueling his body stopped.
It was over.
The rat's foot collided with his chest, knocking the wind out of him, and throwing him back. He slid across the ground, ripping and tearing at the soft flesh that covered his back. Laying on the ground, Kakarot stared up into the sky. Out there in the sky lived that monster.
Frieza.
His father had rarely mentioned that devil's name. When he did speak of him, Kakarot heard the tales of the pain and suffering that he inflicted on the saiyan race. Destroying his homeworld. Robbing the saiyan's of their powerful pride, out of fear of the terrifying potential that they held.
The super saiyan.
"That's really all the fight you have in you, brat," Nabokov mocked, popping his broken bones back into place. Kakarot was barely conscious. That last attack had knocked all the fight out of him. There was nothing left. As he floated in and out of his mind, he looked over at his father. He watched as Bardock fought, blood caking every part of his body. A saiyans never gives up, that's what you told me, Dad, he thought.
I'm sorry.
I'm not a saiyan like you, Dad.
I'm too weak to be your son.
Please, he silently prayed, please. I don't want to die. I need to get up and fight.
"I'M A SAIYAN," he shouted, blood flying from his mouth. Nabokov looked stunned. The kid should be dead, he thought, there's no way someone with a power level like that could still keep up with me. Shakedly, Kakarot rose to his feet.
"You want to go another round, saiyan? I wouldn't recommend it in the state you're in."
"Shut up…"
Nabokov laughed.
"What did you say, monkey. You're going to need to try harder if you're going to try to intimidate me."
"I SAID, SHUT THE FUCK UP," Kakarot screamed. He placed one of his hands on his forearm and aimed his other hand at the rat. White ki shocked the air, sending sparks of lighting out from his hands. Energy pooled in his hands as the ground around him began to shake. Nabokov's eyes widened. There was no way that this kid still had enough energy to do that.
There was no way.
It was impossible.
Hurriedly, Nabokov began to charge his own attack in response. The two warriors both stood strong as the aura around them began to grow, painting the sky white and yellow. Kakarot could feel the bones in his arm screaming out in pain. They yelled at him,
Not this technique.
You'll die if you use this techniqueI don't care, he responded.
Balmont was stunned at the child's power. As he charged ki, Balmont had grabbed a scouter, lazily checking his power.
4500.
5000.
5500.
And still rising. Balmont laughed. Silently, he said his final goodbye to his crew member.
Kakarot could taste the power in the palm of his hand. It was electrifying. Orgasmic. There was no other way to describe it. It was incredible. He watched out his only eye that hadn't been filled with blood as Nabokov prepare his own attack in response. But it was too late.
Kakarot was ready.
Stepping forward and putting his weight onto his forward foot, he screamed out,
"GOD ERASER!"
The white ki exploded out from his palm. A sharp flash of pain shot through his arm as the bone deep within the muscle cracked and shattered. Screaming out, Kakarot stepped forwards, pushing his final attack further and further forward. Nabokov barely had enough time to send back his own attack. It collided with the pulsating mass of white energy and push back with all it's might.
But it wasn't enough.
White absorbed the yellow and dashed towards the rat's body. Instantly, his fur and flesh set alight. His armour was evaporated by the attack, letting his weak flesh absorb the full force of the attack.
He couldn't even cry out in pain.
Kakarot watched as his final attack destroyed his opponent. A faint smell of cooked flesh wafted towards him, signaling the end of the battle. On the arm that he fired with, his gi had been burned off, letting his blood soaked and mangled arm be shown in it's full glory. Kakarot felt an overwhelming sense of pride.
But only for a second as he fell to the floor, finally losing himself to sleep.
Tolstoy went white. The fear only now settling into his soul. Bardock felt a small tinge of sadistic satisfaction at that sight. There was nothing more intoxicating than the sight of a opponent who knows that they are so outclassed. Bardock grabbed hold of his arm, lifting him up into the air before slamming the bull directly into the ground. Instantly, he was out cold.
Goddammit, I was hoping for at least a little enjoyment from these jokers, Bardock thought.
"You're going to die, monkey," Woolf shouted, weakly standing after the punch Bardock had just dealt to him.
"Is that right," Bardock said with feigned surprise, "If you couldn't tell, let me spell it out for you. I'm kicking the shit out of the two of you."
Woolf laughed as he threw of the armour covering his chest, showing off the various battle scars that lined it.
"Tolstoy and I haven't even begun to get serious."
"Well, don't back on my account."
Woolf dashed forwards, locking Bardock in a trading of light blows. They both collided their attacks, sending of shock waves as they both rose up into the sky. Bardock was beginning to tire of the fox's weak attacks and dealt a blow directly into his face, forcing him to recoil.
"This is truly a waste of both our times. Just lay down like your friend did," Bardock mumbled.
"This fight hasn't even begun yet, monkey," Woolf weezed. Dashing forward again, Bardock lazily raised his arm in defense.
"Impact…"
Woolf's hand dodged past Bardock's arm and lodged itself in his stomach. Before Bardock could react, a explosion of pain rocked through his body. Spit shot from his mouth as Bardock clutched his stomach in pain.
"W-w-what the hell d-did you do to me?"
Woolf laughed a weak laugh before responding,
"I told you this battle wasn't over yet."
Bulma collected all the Dragon Balls that she had collected over the last week with the saiyans and prepared to leave the place that they had made camp. Even from this far away, Bulma could hear and feel the intense battle that was raging between the saiyans and who ever those aliens were. She didn't really care. The rage that she felt towards Bardock was still fresh in her mind. How could someone be so heartless and still laugh about it, she thought. Before she was unsure but now she knew.
That man was pure evil.
She did feel bad for Kakarot. Deep within her heart, she harboured some sort of appreciation for the young boy. Without him…
Bulma didn't know how she would have survived so long. But she was sick of it all. The hatred. The rage. And the damned pride. She was sick of it all.
So she was finally going to take some of the advice that that monster gave her.
Be strong.I hope you like me when I'm strong, Bardock, she thought.
I hope you fucking like it.
Turning away from the bruised and bloodied bodies of the people Bardock had killed for their Dragon Ball. The vomit was still fresh in her mouth. But there was something deeper in her soul that she didn't think would go away.
Ever.
She took one last look over at where the saiyans had run off to but she wouldn't let herself look for too long. She had to move on from them.
They were evil.
Jumping onto a bike she had produced from one of her capsules, Bulma jumped onto it and started the engine. Riding off into the harsh sun, Bulma tried to remember any good times she had had in the company.
It was a waste of her time.
Woah, what a crazy chapter. I have a lot to talk about in his post-chapter section. Firstly, we just passed 1000 views which I think is pretty insane. When I started this story, I didn't think that I would reach anything like that in such a short period of time. So thank you all for reading my weird story about some fucked up saiyans. Secondly, I would like to personally thank the user by the name trlchstEr99. Your comments on 'Saiyan Regret' have been very helpful and also very motivational. As for your question about the first super saiyan, I can't spoil the fun that quickly. But seriously, thanks.
Now for some power levels…
Kakarot: 2000
Nabokov: 2500
Kakarot (God Eraser): 6000
I know in chapter 6 I stated that Kakarot had a power level of 3000. During that moment, Kakarot artificially increased his power level by exerting more energy in the hopes of scaring them all off. As we can see, it didn't work very well. That's all from me.-mAskMaN09
