I don't own anything from DB, DBZ, DBGT, DB Super or Super DB Heroes.
A/n: It feels good to be back here after covid and college. Now, I got a story to finish.
Pan: 12*
Chapter Twelve: Lies, Love and Crazed Saiyans
For many years throughout Earth's unknown history, this singular planetary body possessed protectors from differing background, species and strength. Moreso, behind every guardian ever gifted to the world governing from The Lookout, Mr. Popo served diligently coupled with mere words, mimicking this fortress playing host to another epic battle, ready to weather it all.
A dark creature contrasted by a pure heart, Popo knew everything for any task within the jurisdiction on this towering platform— and he knew in this instance something was afoot. It was Marron, the half human-android being whom located Popo at the door of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. His typically emotionless features skewed with a blacked palm arisen yet indecisive, hovering over the handle of the sealed door.
Initially the partial android was on a search for a purple haired hybrid. Suddenly, the maze of the white buildings pushed her towards Popo's silent dilemma and that was enough for her to raise an alarm to the other parties pocketed across The Lookout. Gohan's smiled instantaneously disintegrated, pulling the curtains closed on his intense battle with his younger brother Goten, and Android 17. He was still mystic form, blanketed in a white aura, updraft over his strengthening physique as concerned swamped, and the first born hybrid translocated, now rooted beside Mr. Popo with many questions in mind and tumbling from his lips.
Many of the Z-gang, alike ChiChi, wanted to probe the mental stability of Mr. Popo's actions— or should she say, the ones he have yet to choose. She heard stories of this door leading into that white, ever-turning world. It was another dimension, her sons described and they both entering at differing periods, years adrift. It was Goku, her Saiyan husband, prior to these unprecedented events, that explained the door was essentially a portal— never to be open from the outside when parties are still within.
They can be lost; trapped in the unforgiving loop for all entirety. ChiChi was afraid to lose her only grandchild to a place that has separated her— for lengths of time on end— from her loved ones. But shockingly, possibly given recent events, the typically snappy woman perused her lips straight and pinned her fears, allow others to speak instead of attacking with an onslaught of rapid fire words.
"Popo," Gohan visibly gulped, gently laying a hand on the being's shoulder and simultaneously withdrew Popo's outstretched limb before advancing, "What's wrong that you want to open the door? They aren't finished yet."
The remainder of the group paused, all silent and observing the interaction that many hoped brew anything which patterned an image of an explanation but Mr. Popo only shook his head, solemn darkening his phenotypic features. Back of the crowd, it was the older Namekian whom glanced across his successor with great ponder and Dende sensed Piccolo's heated steer to only relinquish a great sigh in response.
"Should we fear another one has been controlled? Is Popo's now an enemy, like Goku?"
Dende wished he could prayed to a being higher than himself as he could only shrugged at Piccolo's internal monologue. Popo's heart is as clear as Namekian finest waters— but many thought that way about Goku and look at what time has revealed.
"I know Popo will never intentionally attempt to inflict harm on Vegeta or Pan regardless of being controlled. But maybe Piccolo, before it becomes too late to act, we need to relocate to a safer space."
Piccolo jerked, surprised by the comment, "A space that is safer than The Lookout? This is a sanctuary."
Dende nodded, his features almost pained to vacant another home,"We need a space safer than Earth."
Refocusing, the Namekians noted the continued absence of sound drifting across the platform. It was a graved sight. Pending verbal devastation swarmed their minds and squeezed at their hearts with an tighten, unforgivable fist. All but a few did not recognize Trunks reappearance, grimmed and frazzled with conflict. His own issues bubbling to the surface as he craved assistance. Always known for having all the answers, the Saiyan hybrid simply wanted to be gift with one for his scenario. For how he saw her fears through his own eyes or on where would this turning point would direct him next. Most importantly, why he did not believe anything said by the mysterious woman.
Trunks felt a great deal of aid necessary and for once in his life, he desire his father's presence and indestructible mindset. But his world only tumbled more, alongside the rest of the Z-gang, as they were all succumbed by the sight and felt the weight of Mr. Popo's indecisiveness, perched at the doorway when he finally uttered damning words.
"Vegeta has wondered into the lost lands of The Hyperbolic Time Chamber— and the only exit is to through."
"And Pan?" Bulla asked aloud, worried already splash across her face for her father, but her inquiry only prompted more bad news to come atow as Popo's head fell, magnifying the eerie stillness.
He did not know.
At 10 years, a person does not perceive much outside the realm of pieces of details. Mirroring the collection of droplets free-falling from the limitless blue skies that can only be collected by a cup. No, on the cusp of preteenage years, one is constantly brimmed with knowledge and emotional exhaustion. Viewing the world and whom lives within becomes excessive for the mind— too much in too little time— and the glossy glasses falls from our child-like eyes.
Awakening that cursed day as Pan bloomed to double digits, she was no different than any other 10 year-old as she did not noticed much, beside her fill of emotions: anger, agitation and regret. Urged to train due to her recent shortcomings, but simultaneously, that episode was also the reason for that sudden blockage.
This magnified, blooming and building a wedged within. It was also the reason why the young hybrid planted firm, guarded by the walls of a blank bedroom space and sat with her thoughts, feelings and dove into her subconscious to carve a path forward. Vegeta's lasts words on her restrictions, due to her finite reserves of Sayian blood, echoed throughout almost painfully. Pan knew little, howbeit she believed with the heart of a purebred that she would achieve the legendary status someday soon.
So she sat for hours in mediation hoping to ease the weight of failure that conflicted her mind and heart. As nonetheless of her power dilemma, Pan did not forget her bitter words spewed, nor the fact that something internal wept as a result of it— and to the point the girl was unable to comprehend or dismiss. In hindsight, perhaps she should venture and seek to questioned these new emotions that were unboxed, instead of suppressing.
Conversely, as recounted, at 10 years, Pan's mental capacity were on overdrive and ridiculously occupied. The girl's focus was caged in, halting to a task at a time. So what Pan failed to realize was the unusual absence of Vegeta's ki presence within the Chamber, in that moment and days into the future.
—And unfortunately time was valued and differ in here.
Whereas, as quick as two days forward outside of this realm would not bring about stir. Two years triggered the growth of a void which plummeted throughout her very being with a gasp, as if she shoot at with electricity. Elevating, the hybrid then stood at a greater height, grown and grooming, becoming unrecognizable even to herself— but she never supplied time to observe those miscellaneous details, as she bursted out of the space in a fury with one thing in mind. One person; Vegeta.
It was then that the Chamber was upturned by unrelenting destruction. Unable to control herself, feeling completely out of body and almost viewing her damaging actions from birdseye perspective, Pan cried and crawled, checking every crevice for him that did not crumble under the weight of her fluctuating ki. As panic seeped into her heart and she could no longer smell his indistinguishable scent anywhere in the distance, doubt crept into her mind. Green coloured iris flickered at the door; the only exit way, wondering if he abandoned her and the mission afoot, commencing only more misfortune inside and turmoil, unbearable for the soul. Every piece of hybrid refused to process that action would be taken by the Prince.
So the girl pivoted unnaturally towards the world of white and did the unthinkable.
She dashed off into the light.
Beneath the mercy of ablaze suns, the brightest stars within their planetary boundaries, supplied a timeline where Vegeta finally learnt the wealth of knowledge about mating and Saiyan bonding. He was no longer a child, rather a ruler with a throne waiting to be claimed as he listened to his father's advice.
It was in the throne room of an ancient Saiyan fortress and this was the third year since the Saiyan race revival. Vegeta felt as settled as a toddler, swallowing each task verbally explained and expected of a mate. His features solidified as King Vegeta recounted the tragedies of a rejected Saiyan and the grief that duplicate hundred folds, via a mere thought of it. Vegeta wanted to be strong still, never to be weaken by a broken heart— but he did not doubt it could happen to him.
It occurred to his father after all, and tragedies were typically hereditary.
Unknowingly, as time progressed into the future, to this moment, and similar to Trunks, Vegeta desired for his father's strength, as he was bombarded and sunk rapidly, mentally. His white tipped boots platted against the floor, bringing about the only blaring echoes to his heighten hearing— and he wished something this simple stayed absent. Vegeta knew his movements should have lulled the moment the environs shifted, but every action felt preprogrammed and he could not stop.
The Prince of all Saiyan persisted and wonder as white faded and was overcome by a dominant, permanent darkness and accompanying bitter chill. It was within nanoseconds of many footfalls for Vegeta to snap out of his dazed phase, as something pierced through his chest and back furiously, pioneering a bloody waterfall along his stiffen frame.
As quickly as the attack commenced, it concluded, and the mighty Prince fell unconscious to the blacken surface, staining over previous layers with fresh blood.
He was not alone, nor the first.
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