They say that once you end up at the bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. That's fine and all, but the fall takes a lot out of you. Some will find the resolve to get up and scale up again, some will not. It happens, it's the way things are and forever will be. Unfortunately, you can't always rely on people acting the way you hope they do once they hit that bottom. Not in times of crisis.
The stakes are simply too high to reveal the true nature of the beasts the Earth will soon fight. Not even the re-emergence of King Piccolo had the potential to be this dire. If the Earth's heroes don't find a way to win, there won't be a planet to defend any longer.
In all likelihood, the combined might of the earthlings won't be enough. Goku, realistically, is the Earth's best chance for salvation. There isn't a point denying it, but relying on one man is foolish. Fallibility lies in all, especially the mightiest. And it's besides the point. There's nothing left to teach him, not here anyway. His fate is not in my hands.
His friends? Well that's another matter.
It's the solemn duty of the Guardian of Earth to protect the Earth in any way they can. Long time ago, the precautions being taken as of right now wouldn't have been necessary. Old age strips a lot away though, sadly. Strength being one of these things. The young displace the old however; it's the nature of life itself and you come to accept that as one grows older. And only then does one learn to teach. To learn how to guide.
Deception isn't something a teacher often should commit against there disciples. Especially when he as complete trust in there abilities and faith in their convictions. They've all faced hardships, some fatally so in certain cases. Mistakes were made along the way, but they all came through them to become better people in the long run. They've all done honor to the world that bore them.
What's the point in adding unnecessary doubts and cynicism now? They know, probably just as well as anybody, how deadly these enemies are. They don't need to be told they are outclassed; they don't need to be told to train harder. Hope now is far more needed than cold hard reality. You don't kick a downed man, you offer him a hand up.
Musing has its place, but that time has came now. Slowly, the collective consciousness of the earthlings came back away from the plane of existence they had inhabited for those visceral moments. Blankly they stared at me in that vacant period. It wasn't something I was unaccustomed too, especially among first-timers to the room. Still, the empty stares could be unnerving.
Fortunately, true consciousness came back to them almost immediately. Eyes gleaming back to life, I smiled softly at the scene. Visibly hobbled by the nature of their experiences they clearly were, but a flame of hope was emanating from all of them. Hopefully, they would learn from what they saw and put it to good use.
"Um...Kami," mumbled Krillin, shaken and utterly confused by the chaotic events of the recent past. "What happened in there?"
Scanning the other Z-fighters, I noted they were also curious about what happened as well. Understandable given the strange circumstances they faced, along with the fact they hadn't the time to digest it properly. There probably wasn't any harm in disclosing anything now.
"You were attacked by a rogue group of Saiyans. Thankfully, due to your resourcefulness, you were able to defeat them," I stated, alert to the changes in the eyes of my disciples upon learning of their victory.
Almost immediately, a chorus of hoots and holler erupted. Krillin and Yamcha turned and gave each other a high five. Tien and Chiaotzu looked at each other and smiled pleasantly. Overall, it was a scene of great joy but, to my pride, it lacked the hubristic sentiment that commonly came with such victories.
"Sweet!" exclaimed Yamcha, lifting up his fist triumphantly. "We got those punks!"
Clearing my throat to interrupt the celebratory mood, I instantly got the attention of all my students. This next part was going to hurt them, but they needed to hear it. "You defeated very dangerous foes in that room and for that you should be proud. That being said, the enemies you will face for the fate of this planet will be at least twice as strong."
As suddenly as cheers erupted, groans of despondency replaced them. It hurt sensing the sting that my words brought out of them, as truthful as they were. "But these Saiyans aren't invincible. You learned that yourself in that room. With enough hard work, I'm confident that all of you will be more than a match for the Saiyans pretty soon."
The words provided at least a bit of solace, judging by the fact that most of the Z-fighters perked up a bit. They still remained a bit doubtful of their chances, but hopefully they wouldn't let their doubts fuel their drive. Uncertainty is a great motivator, especially when stakes are high.
My attention was so devoted onto the condition of the earthlings that I almost forgot the presence of Mr. Popo. My faithful friend had seen everything that transpired, and knew full well that my actions weren't like me. Gratefully though, he trusted me enough to not blurt out his confusion at this most inopportune time. Still, it was very easy to see that he wanted an explanation and I wasn't going to deny him that. All that was needed was an opportunity.
Everybody dispersed shortly thereafter, Popo and I amongst them. With the tension in the room gone, there was nothing keeping anybody tethered to the area. Before long, me and my assistant had walked to the back of the lookout and stood over the outer edge, gazing below us at the sweeping panorama of the majestic Earth.
It was time. Neither me nor Mr. Popo had came this way to admire the scenery, as lovely as it may be. All actions have justifications, be they good or bad—petty or deep. Thankfully, we had chosen a spot that was pretty recluse. Had we not done so all of this secrecy would've been pointless.
There was no point in beating around the bush. He wanted to know what was going through my head, and I wanted to tell him. "Good morale is more important now than painful truth. The earthlings know they are outclassed, and that they'll need to improve to survive. Perhaps they aren't as strong as the Saiyans for now, but they have the knowledge that these foes aren't unbeatable, which is more important."
Expressionlessly, Mr Popo listened to me. His composure was nearly unflappable; his true thoughts veiled and safeguarded in his unchanging eyes. Still, for all his poise, I knew the man almost better than he knew himself. The slightest hint of a frown was on his face, barely traceable, but there nonetheless. It was clear to me that he wasn't in exact agreement with my intentions.
Undoubtedly, he wouldn't object to my thoughts openly. Over the years, Popo had been conditioned, both by his training and by the past, to trust my judgement completely. Even if he didn't agree with me, it didn't matter. He had faith in me. That being said, it would've been pointless to start this and not finish it. I wanted to know what he truly thought, and I wanted to make him truly at peace with my decisions. If not for his sake, than for the mine.
"I sense that you're not satisfied with what I've said," stated I, levelling my gaze softly on my companion. "Please do speak of your concerns."
Taking a punctuated deep breath, the genie turned to me, frowning slightly in reflection and contemplation. "It's not like you, Kami," admitted my friend reluctantly, not sure of himself whether he wanted to continue. But press on he did. "You're not the kind of person to mask the truth, even in times of crisis."
"You speak the truth, Mr Popo." It was the truth. This wasn't common behaviour by any standard: from me or by any guardian before me. "Probably in the past, I wouldn't have made this choice. Outside of the destruction brought by King Piccolo, my reign over this Earth has been peaceful, plentiful and prosperous."
"My actions are probably unfounded, but I fear that if I showed them now the odds they are really facing, it would only bring them anguish, not realization. That they would view their efforts as inconsequential and resign themselves to fate. As a guardian, that's the last thing I would want to do to them."
Popo frowned solemnly at the concept, but I could tell from his expression that he at understood my point on a more personal level. He didn't seem to have trepidation with my thoughts to my relief. Still, I couldn't quite settle a sense of foreboding about the days to come. A dreadful lingering sensation that told me my days were numbered.
But whether this meant that everybody was going to die or merely I, I couldn't quite say. Life ends so new life can begin. Seasons end and generations pass away; old blood begets new. For me, life is but in the dusk of death, waiting for the last flicker of light to flick off. I've accomplished what I've set out to do, lived the life I've wanted to live.
I'm the exception, not the rule. For most, life is just beginning—a fable yet recorded. It's my job to guide it, to carve a plain that allows each soul to write it's own path. Surrender, whether to foreign foes or to a fate they only think exists, is my solemn duty to resist. Although I will forever question the way I tried to serve my people, my heart was in the right place.
Now, it's up to the people to make their own way.
Gohan wasn't the only one braving the cold that night. Perched atop a cliff, in the very heart of the blistering winds and blasting snow, was a lone figure. Clad in purple and white, the creature's silhouette was barely noticeable amongst the stormy conditions pelting the plateau. But where many would shrink or even die from such exposure, this being braved it without even batting an eye.
Piccolo hardly even felt it, such was the power of the trance he entered upon meditating. Very little mattered except the feeling of energy circulating throughout his body, slowly undulating from one place to another as his mind bridged two planes of existence together. It was a liberating and transcendent sensation: a chance to find out more about the nature of himself and everything around him.
Since the moment he was born, the young demon was always unsure of exactly who he was. Subconsciously, he knew how to carry himself, but a solid picture of his identity always eluded him. His "father's" memories were very much prevalent in his mind, vivid and sharply defined. But whenever he had a vision of his ancestor's action, he always had a feeling that these weren't his actions. That there was more to this than just him being his direct reincarnation.
Still, his intuition was far from certain about anything. Whenever he looked at himself, he didn't just look like his namesake, he was virtually indistinguishable from him. A carbon copy in the truest sense of the term. That wasn't even factoring in the presence of his memories or even the link to Kami that both he and King Piccolo supposedly had. There were just as many reasons to support his link to the demon as there were to deny it.
Granted, this wasn't exactly something he thought about much. Pragmatic concerns always overruled emotional ones, and he had plenty things to do that were practical. Such as defeating Goku and the Saiyans while eventually realizing his lifelong goal of conquering the Earth. Despite that though, he hadn't the faintest clue why he wanted the things he did. They were just...there. It confused him when he put his mind there, and he generally tried to avoid such existential moods if he could. They weren't very conducive to intense training.
And intense training was what he needed. Every day, the Saiyans got closer. Every day, the end came nearer. Like Kami, Piccolo felt a deep darkening dread linger around him, like a plague about to descend upon a town. Difference was that Piccolo was by no means ready to entertain, acknowledge or embrace such thoughts. And so he trained, and trained like no other.
Nevertheless, no matter the intensity; no matter the duration; Piccolo never felt that he was getting anywhere. Regardless of the number of things he tried, he felt like he was on a treadmill to nowhere. Strength wasn't what was going to make him feel more comfortable with the tension enveloping him, deep down he knew that to be true.
Yet it was all he knew. Training was his treatment for most things, and when that didn't work, intensive meditation was his next go-to. And so, he just resolved to work harder to defeat the strain besieging his mind.
In this trance of powerful reflection, the Namek only felt one other thing. Gohan. That troublesome boy had finally had enough. Contrary to what he said to the boy, he did keep tabs on him from time to time. Wasn't really impressed with him to be honest. If it took him about a month just to learn how to properly feed himself. He probably wasn't going to be much use in the battle to come. Shame though. A lot of potential wasted that could've been used.
On a deeper level though, he was disappointed as well. The boy was fighting something too, something familiar to him even if he couldn't identify it. Whatever it was though, the Namek didn't see the point in running. You faced your problems, and you eventually beat them. It could take years, it could take a lifetime. But you don't give up.
Subliminally, sensing a soul give up perturbed him. It didn't make him angry; it didn't make him sad. What it did do though was make him solemn, moreso than normal. Would he have done the same thing, provided he was a different person in a different place? Of course, the minute that thought even slightly pierced through his head, it was ruthlessly squashed by the powers that be in his mind. They weren't of any use in the chaos to come.
He needed more power. Power was the cure to all of this. Power to defeat the Saiyans, power to defeat Goku and his pals, the power to reclaim the Earth. It was the only thing to calm this madness; the only thing that could make all of this stuff go away.
Paradoxically though, he knew there was a way to get power. Just...
All for one and one for all
None for two and two for none
From whence before, comes again
And the true life will renew
Well, there was that too.
Piccolo was confident, no certain, that he was completely sane. Didn't make him any less concerned though; in fact, it probably unnerved him more. Madness would at least be a reasoning for why it happened. Disembodied voices that rambled in riddles were generally never good things.
Sadly, it wasn't something that he wasn't at least somewhat familiar with. Throughout his life, since his very first moment of consciousness, that insufferable voice was there: sputtering on about...whatever it was babbling about.
At first, Piccolo didn't mind it. He didn't bother it and it didn't bother him—just the arrangement he wanted. And that was the way things were at first until the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament changed everything.
Ever since then, it had came on strong, growing stronger at the passing of every season. Irritating wasn't a strong enough word to describe how aggravating its constant prattle was to his nerves. Tolerate it he did though. Ignore it and curse it beneath his breath he did on occasion, but he didn't react to it. Until one day not so long ago.
That was the day that he decided enough was enough. The day where he deemed that he must get the answers he desired from it personally. Sadly, by the time he was ready to confront it, the infuriating specter had vanished.
As it turned out, when the thing wanted to make itself scarce, it could. And nobody could make it come out either. Heaven knows Piccolo tried that one frustrating day to no avail. Eventually, after a lengthy period of fruitless searching, Piccolo opted to return to his usual activities and let the piece of crap fester in peace.
In the days that followed, the thing wasn't nearly so annoying. It did come by, said a couple words when he mused something particularly macabre, and then disappeared before Piccolo could process it's emergence. It's presence was a bit disconcerting after the fact, but hunting it had already proved to be a royal waste of time. Not worth the effort.
One day though, Piccolo was just a bit sharper than normal. Right before the thing could vanish, he caught sight of it. Dear lord, he wished he just ignored it.
Appearances were deceiving. At first, it looked like nothing. Transparent as the air itself. Only a slight ripple in the air gave it away. Even then, it was only a patch of air slightly darker than the lighting around it. Unimpressive visages aside though, it's aura was malicious to a degree that even Piccolo found a tad excessive. Whatever it was, it was bad news and it couldn't be gotten rid of.
So he grunted and tolerated it. Story of his life.
Gohan was somewhat expecting not to awake. Exposure, infection, wild animals – something really should've done him in to be honest. Running off like a temperamental child was probably ill-advised in more than one way, but he survived. That must mean something.
But that was neither here nor there. Time to get off his butt and do something. His journey was far from over.
After a more proper inspection of where he was, Gohan could proudly say he had not a clue where he was. Wherever it was, it had a nice sandy beach enclosed by a thicket of fir trees that stretched parallel to the shore as far as the beach went and beyond. It was clear that he wasn't in the wasteland any more. In fact, this place wasn't even remotely like the wasteland. Just how fast was he moving through that storm?
The cold was still there though. Although the blizzard had tapered off, his skin was already beginning to clam up. Rubbing his hand together roughly, the boy proceeded to cup his hands together and blow hot air on them. The feeling was pleasant. It stopped him from shivering for a moment.
Still, he would have to do something about the chill. He wouldn't be able to do anything if he was shivering like a leaf every couple of seconds. Fortunately, he knew how to cure himself of that ailment now. Fir trees made good firewood.
Chopping down a tree and setting the wood alight was trivial affair. Before long, he was huddled by the small fire, the warmth radiating into his skin slowly. Turning around to stare at the sea, the boy frowned at the sun's low spot in the sky. Night was eminent, which meant he wouldn't be doing jack for the rest of the night. Shame. He had just figured out what he was going to do now that he was warm and lucid.
It was clear that he was going to have to cross the seas. If he wanted to get back home, there was no way around it. Goku had to cross the sea to get to Kame House and Raditz carried him the rest of the way. It was clear in his mind that the sea was the way back home. But he wasn't daft enough to think he could just swim in it – dear lord, he got in and damn near caught a cold. Burr. How could anybody swim in that?
Yah, he'd need to get a boat of sorts. Thankfully, there was plenty of timber around and his mother had insisted on him reading a book about ship-craft at one time. He thought it was a waste of time when he had read it, but now he couldn't be more appreciative of the knowledge now. He was confident that he could create a raft at least. At least when the sun came up.
Seeing no reason to stay awake, the boy dropped to the ground and curled himself into a ball beneath the tame campfire humming close by. With the relaxing warmth of the fire sponging into his skin, it wasn't long after that he found himself snoring quietly as darkness claimed the skies.
The boy woke up just before dawn. Although slightly peeved that he couldn't start moving immediately, Gohan was a very patient soul. Noticing the fire was out, the boy immediately re-lite the tinder to restart the fire while he gathered the rest of the wood from the tree he had chopped down the night before.
Waiting for dawn didn't take long. In no time, the earliest light crept up over the plains to the east, illuminating the beach in a cold morning light. Knowing that time was of the essence, Gohan dragged the log away from the fire to inspect how much he wood he had? Whether he'd need more? And what kind of craft he found it prudent to build.
As much as it pained him to admit, the only things the boy could think of building where super simple structures—stuff like inner tubes or flat platforms. Maybe a canoe if he wanted to devote the time to it. Anything else would've been without doubt more complex than he could hope to build.
Mulling over his options for a quick second, the boy settled to build himself a flat buoyant platform. The canoe would take too long (there went his patience) and an inner tube would leave him completely helpless if something bad were to happen out at sea. It probably wouldn't, but it was good to keep some things in mind. That wasn't event mentioning he wouldn't have a place to store food.
An idea firmly set in his mind, the demi-Saiyan finally got to work. Although he needed to chop down another tree or three for him to complete his raft, the task was done fairly quickly. All he needed to do was slice off the bark from a couple trees to form flat planks which were glued together using the melted tree sap and charcoal that he also made for himself.
But this raft by itself was useless, and Gohan knew it. For this thing to be operational, he needed to craft some oars and a sail. Thankfully, he had more than enough spare wood to sculpt makeshift oars but sadly he couldn't find any materials to make a sail out of. Oh well, he was just going to have live with what he got. Beggars can't be choosers.
Naturally, the process of getting all of this stuff together took all day. By the time everything was complete it was dusk. A part of the boy almost impulsively wanted to set sail that very moment, but not even Gohan at his most impetuous was that dim. With a resigned sigh, the boy went back to fire and curled himself back into a ball to fall asleep.
Morning came once again and the boy was up and at em' in a jiffy. Since his craft was finished, the boy figured that he needed one final thing: food. A lot of food if possible. There was no way he was going to go on an ocean voyage without a least some food stock with him. Sure he could fish, but going out into the ocean when it was this treacherously cold should be left as something you do as a last resort.
Fortunately, food was almost easier to come by around these parts than sand or timber. It took all of the morning, but Gohan found enough food to last at least a couple days out at sea from that forage alone. He hoped it last – it was all he was going to scavenge for.
It was high noon by the time all preparations were made. His raft already stocked with food, the boy quickly dragged the barge to the end of the beach before pushing it out to sea while jumping onto it simultaneously. Not to long afterwards a current carried the boy out past the horizon.
Miserable. He was utterly miserable. Somewhere in his haze of enthusiasm, his haste to be home, he had been dumb. Monumentally so. What in the world possessed him into thinking that paddling across the ocean was a good idea?
It had been days, weeks possibly. Everything had became a nasty haze after awhile – starvation does that to you. If somebody asked him how many fingers they were holding up, he'd probably say something stupid like your foot. He had eaten through his food stock a long time ago and now he merely subsisted on the random fish that he could catch from his perch atop his pontoon.
Honestly, the boy wondered if he was going to make it out of this alive. He had hope, after all he had inherited his father's confidence that everything ended well. Still the unceasingly teeth chattering winds, nauseatingly choppy seas, frigid sea temperatures and the endless expanse of water in all directions had been slowly fraying his nerves to the breaking point.
Probably the worst part was that didn't have any choices any longer. There wasn't anything he could do now to amend his mistakes, now all he could truly do was hope. Pray that his errors weren't repaid with his life. That was all he could do now, powerless as he was.
Powerlessness. His dad was never powerless. At least, not in his estimates. He always found a way – some path out of the darkness and into the light. There must be a way out of this somehow, some option he wasn't considering. Just what was it?
Look on the bright side. For as flimsy as it was, his raft was holding up beautifully. He was dry for the most part and at least not cold enough to be getting hypothermia any time soon. Although he was famished, he doubted that he would be keeling over from hunger pangs either. For as bad as things looked, there was plenty of reasons to keep your chin up. Most important of all, there was no major storms that had buffeted him yet either.
Until he looked at the sky that was. In an instance, one of the nastiest storm clouds the boy had ever laid eyes on stared at him, ominously floating towards him. The boy gulped while staring fearsomely as the water started to swell in the distance. This was going to be a long night.
Why did he have to be right? Dear god, why did he have to be right?
Next to the dinosaur – no, worse than that – this storm was the most terrifying ordeal he had ever lived through. And that live part was debatable.
Frankly thinking, the elements had been holding back from him before. The admittedly frigid winds had reached hurricane speed, spinning him around like the tea-cup ride at a local amusement park. To add to his disorientation, the eddies beneath his raft were moving in circles – not harsh enough to form whirlpools, mind you – but enough so that they made him want to throw up his lunch. Kami be thanked for making him very averse to vertigo and nausea. They were godsends now. Last thing he needed was for a sneaker wave to shove him into the briny deep while he was puking his guts out.
Gifts though are always double-edged swords. Perhaps it would be better to die while he was in a haze of dizziness or pain rather than the panic that lucidity etched onto his skin?
Gohan held hope. He always held hope – it was in his genes, he guessed. Still, the constant howling of the seas and dance of lightning flashing across the skies had long since ate away at any nerves that had survived up until that point. He just knew this was going to be the end, he just knew it deep down.
Then as if God affirmed his thoughts, a streak of lightning slammed into his craft, snapping the barge in two like a Kit-Kat bar as the raft haemorrhaged debris. Concussive force of the strike stunning Gohan, the boy hit the water before he even had the time to blink. Ignoring the mouthful of salt water that he got upon being dunked in, Gohan acted fast to get back up to the surface and latch hold of the driftwood that remained of his craft before it floated away.
Holding onto the life-saving piece of debris like his life depended on it, the demi-Saiyan stared in horror as he was lifted up and down by tide, bouncing up and down jarringly as water slithered into his eyes, stinging them remorselessly. But he didn't dare rub them, not when life or death depended on him gripping onto a piece of wood like a termite.
Was this a punishment? Was this a warning? Was this a price he had to pay? No matter what he did, he supposed this terror was going to follow him. It wasn't necessary for him to run away and get mired in this. He could've stayed and tried to fight those Saiyans, but he wasn't Goku. He wasn't his dad. Death was the only certainty in that engagement, and he wanted to live.
Ironically, he wasn't going to be given a choice in the matter. He had run this far and death still plagued him, eyeing him in its ivory tower build on misguided whimsy. Who was he to resist fate? Who was he to abandon people in there time in need? Who was he to not heed the call? Not his father. Nope, just his pathetic son.
You know what stung worst? That he didn't even try. So what if he wasn't his father, he was still cut from the same cloth. Sure, he may not have dealt the final blow – that was his father's job, but he could've still made a difference if he set his mind to it. Maybe the world needed him, and he was too much of a coward to do his part? Was his treachery going to decide the fate of the Earth? The mere thought damn near made him sick.
At least if his worst fears would've been realized, it would have been better than this. He was going to die and never be found. Nobody would have any explanation, no body would ever be recovered. Dying on the battlefield would've at least meant that he went out having done something with his life, as short as it was. Doing his father proud and all that. What's existence if it's hollow? Was that the lesson he was supposed to understand from this?
Once again, the weather hammered the point symbolically. Out of the blue, a rogue sneaker wave crashed into his flank swallowing him whole long before he could even think of putting up a defence. Suddenly deep underwater, the boy started clutching at his throat as he started to run out of oxygen. The half-Saiyan may have been a good swimmer for his age, but there was no way he could battle the currents and get back to the surface before he drowned. Death was truly coming this time.
So, this was where it was supposed to end. Cut down before his time? Expected to accept the cold embrace of death passively? Supposed to accept the fact that he had wasted his life? That neither his mother or father would ever see his face again? No, he couldn't swallow all of that. Desperation seeped through his veins, blood started pulsing in his arteries. Claustrophobia griped his vision; the wall of water boxing him into a corner with no way out.
Gohan with no way out was a very scary person.
Power flooded through his body, lighting him up like a Christmas tree. Unable to keep his mouth shut, salt water slithered into his mouth choking the scream he would've yelped. Body trembling from the strain of the might flowing through him, Gohan felt the pressure of his energy bubble beneath his feet, threatening to explode at any moment.
And erupt it did, eventually. Shooting up out of the water like a rocket, the boy howled as he levitated over the stormy seas. Lightning danced around his form and monster waves were rend in two the second they tried to crash into him. Nothing could stop him now, especially not some stupid storm.
Pushing his energy outwards, the seas parted, forming a bowl beneath his feet. In an instance, the boy had lowered his head and blasted off like a jet about to take off, flying out of the storm and out of danger in one heart-stopping thrust.