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AN: I really don't like using the word 'Jr.s'.
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Thunder rumbled and the wrecked buildings shook as Trunks decisively punched one of the Jr.s in the gut, promptly blowing it in half from the force of the blow alone. Staring in shocked horror at the lower half of its body, still standing in place, the little monster couldn't avoid the next attack, which all but disintegrated it; the unrestrained power behind the fist being too great.
Briefly observing the smoking crater that had been his momentary opponent, now nothing more than a memory and a pile of dust, the half-saiyan looked up at the rest of the clones/spawn with the same icy malice and anger in his eyes.
"Next," he growled lowly, though they heard him just fine.
With that, there were seven Jr.s hurtling at him in a single wave, murderous intent shadowing their faces and coloring their wordless shrieks. It was more than enough combined raw muscle to overwhelm any of the Z-Fighters, present or in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and from a continent over, the actual Cell stopped mid way through absorbing an airport security guard, head cocked to the side as it sensed the unexpected unification and tried to figure just what that other enormous power was.
Not waiting for his opponents to cross the distance, Trunks once more erupted forward, fist extended before him like a guided missile. Seeing this, six of the Jr.s split apart to flank him while one continued with the straight charge. Deciding on the most direct course of actions, the son of Vegeta didn't deviate from his flight path and plowed headlong into the Jr. and carried both of them forward, well away from the injured Z-Fighters.
Grabbing ahold of the the blue monster's head in between the protruding horns, Trunks forcibly slammed the creature into the ground, carving a trench into the cement while also slowing them down enough for the Acended Super Saiyan to twist himself around and bury both feet into the stomach of a Jr. that had immediately perused after him.
Close behind the would-be ambusher were the rest of its brethren, those not presently jammed into the street. Thinking quickly, the saiyan gathered a large amount of energy into one hand and flung it out to the side, making it into a very thin wave rather than a thick beam. Missing every single one of the Jr.s, it instead hit the skyscraper closest to them, golden ki slicing through metal and concrete like cloth. A single blast followed right behind it, detonating on contact with the crumbled building, but that was all he had time for as the six chasing Jr.s had engaged him in melee combat all at once.
He managed far better than all the other Z-Fighters had, able to attack and defend faster than the Jr.s could manage, but he still couldn't cover all angles at once and a few of their blows landed. Disheartening for the Cell's, he didn't feel them at all and for the clones it felt like they had hammered their knuckles against the hide of a tank, more than a few even managed to crack a bone or two in the process. Knocking one away only to find another had taken its place, Trunks quickly surmised that, as long they had numerical superiority, they could keep switching out and make this into a very inefficient fight.
But that was why he had a Plan B. And it should be taking affect any second now…
With a rumble befitting a dying giant, the assaulted skyscraper finally lost the unseen struggle for balance and began to topple forward towards the combatants, a shadowed silhouette against the cloud-covered sky that became larger and larger alongside the terrible screeching and grumbling every passing second. Looking up and seeing the felled monolith, the Jr.s attempted to scatter, to clear the anticipated crash sight, but Trunks moved to intercept, punching and kicking each of them back down into the ground. When he had made sure that all seven weren't going to be able to dodge in time, the half-saiyan brought both of his hands together and fired off several beach ball sized globes that roughly encircled the assortment of clones before the skyscraper crashed down with an earthquake sized tremor directly onto the demonic spawn.
A beat later, the sensitive ki orbs exploded under the immense pressure, almost all of the energy being directed inwards and down, catching the Jr.s in a roaring inferno that was barely even seen beyond the carcass of the once mighty building. It was a trick Gohan had taught him years ago, to trap your opponent with a double hazard and then make your escape while they were debilitated. But this time he wasn't running, and he vowed never to run again - not while he had life in his body.
Soaring straight up until he was high above any of the rooftops and was only a solid gold sunburst against the inky clouds, Trunks again brought both hands together, this time above his head so he wasn't restricted by space. Growling from the exertion, he began to form another energy sphere between his clawed fingers, but this time he just let it keep growing until it was soon larger than his body twice over. Stopping the expansion before he made something that would in all likelihood kill all of his friends on accident, he waited for the Jr.s to reemerge from their concrete casket, knowing full well that the trap blast hadn't had enough 'oomph' to take them out permanently.
Sure enough, with bursts of their auras that blew apart whatever remained of the collapsed building, six of the miniature Cells came hurtling towards him with more than a little damage to their bodies. One of them was even missing its leg from the thigh down. The seventh one wasn't showing up on his senses, so Trunks guessed that it had been knocked unconscious or at least senseless by the explosion.
"Alright you little bastards," the demi-saiyan growled, readying the amassed ki hanging above him for what he was about to do, "if you want a piece of me, then you might as well get three!"
With that, he performed a technique that he had never had the confidence to attempt. It was based on the guesswork he had made on the guesswork that his master Gohan had made after only witnessing the move a handful of times, usually from a distance. But saiyans were nothing if not adaptable. So, with only that shoddy background, Trunks managed to initiate the Multi-Form technique, dividing himself into three separate bodies with commendable execution, only a few things getting altered in the splitting of spirit energy. For one, neither of the other two Trunks' had golden hair, instead bearing sunset orange and grapefruit red, respectively. Another imperfection noticeable was thatof one of them had only four fingers on one hand while the other had six on the opposite appendage.
Regardless of slight details like rearranged anatomy, there were now three Ascended Super Saiyans hovering there, each maintaining a degree of control over the orb directly overhead. The oncoming Jr.s, having th knowledge of the same echnique from their progenitor, recognized the threat and frantically tried to clear the firing zone.
But alas, it was not to be. Even with the division of power amongst them, the Trunks' were all incredibly capable, and as such were able to simultaneously throw their hands downwards at the panicking clones, the charged ki blast splitting neatly into thirds and then sixths to crash into one of the monstrosities before detonating.
Several of them were unprepared for the attack and were outright destroyed in the fireballs that consumed them. A few of the others managed to somewhat put up a defense and only suffered numerous burns that differed in intensity according to the distance from the contact point. The very last one of them, unsurprisingly the farthest one from the saiyans at the time, grabbed onto the projectile as it neared and successfully shoved it to the side, allowing it to sail on for another few feet before releasing the pent up energy and blossoming into an explosion that lit up the ground below like a particularly zealous firework.
The other Jr.s, those injured by their separate blasts, weren't given much more time to wallow; the three Trunks' (I just dare you to say that five times over and three times fast) quickly zeroed in on them and fired off wide beams of ki - each one matching the color of that quasi-saiyan's hair and aura - which engulfed their target and easily incinerated them without much resistance.
Unfortunately, the unharmed one was already making its move, once more zooming towards the Trunks' at an angle, fully intent on crushing the life out of them one by one.
Spotting the remaining Jr., Orange Trunks blurted out a yelp of surprise an instant before a small blue fist crashed into his jaw and sent him reeling. With the full power of the ASSJ split up, the Jr. was now actually on near equal footing with them, and there was no telling what kind of damage it could cause before they managed to put it down.
In its haste, it forgot, quite understandably but also quite foolishly, to pay attention elsewhere.
'-Canon!"
The spiraling beam of multi-colored energy came from out of nowhere and neatly destroyed the entire head of the abomination, never even being seen by the undersized menace. Its body continued upward for a few moments, carried onward by its momentum, but it soon petered out and began to fall back towards earth. A potshot from Orange Trunks finished the job - the split saiyan rubbing his jaw in a very pointed manner.
"Good shot Piccolo," Red Trunks cheerfully congratulated, planting both hands on his waist as he beamed at the namekin who was a dozen or so meters below them. Gold Trunks looked at his doppelganger with a little surprise, thinking for a second, before addressing the former Guardian himself.
"Yes, thanks for the assistance. It almost had us there for a moment." The fury of his new ascension seemed to have died off with the Jr.s, leaving him somewhat neutral about the whole thing and speaking in a slightly unnerving monotone. The same could not be said for Orange Trunks, who was still glowering at where the last of their enemy had perished.
"Yeah yeah, but I for one wouldn't have minded a little fun with the creep. After the beating all of us took down there, it seems only fitting that they should get some payback. Then again, there's still the original bug for us to squash, so I can always look forward to that. Creepy bastard think it can just run around and screw with our minds all it likes, but a saiyan isn't exactly know for being very tolerant of mind games, now is he? They are know, however, for crushing the skulls of their enemies between their hands like overripe fruit and setting fire to everything else!"
Piccolo stared in open-faced shock at the vengeful rant. Red Trunks simply hummed to himself while apparently fretting over the clothes still stretched tightly over his expanded musculature and Gold Trunks tilted his head slightly to the side, as though examining an interesting new piece of machinery in his mother's lab. After a moment, it was this saiyan that came up with an explanation.
"I think the Multi-Form technique did a bit more than just split up my body and power; it also separated my emotions among the three of us. See, he's my anger and frustrations," he pointed towards Orange, then at Red, "and he's the happiness and positive aspects, leaving me the calm and analytical part."
"Perhaps you should get a better hold over that technique before you try it again," Piccolo advised, tired smile hinting at the humor behind his words.
"You're probably right; three separate versions of me with different aspects sounds too much like a cheesy fantasy story," Trunks agreed as he called to his two copies. Without complaint they all reformed back into one whole being.
Blinking slightly, he readjusted to the familiar emotions and feelings before looking down at the carnage that the entire battle had wrought. What had once been a respectable city square had now been reduced to rubble and ash, brought to ruin by the incredible strength each of the combatants had wielded. A lot of the surrounding city had also suffered collateral damage, though mostly at a lesser extent than the epicenter of the showdown.
Feeling the fatigue catching back up to him, Trunks allowed the pulsating power of his new form to slide away and he reverted straight back to base, his muscles deflating almost comically without him experiencing any discomfort. Together, he and Piccolo descended back towards where the other Z-Fighters still lay. Touching down next to the extinguished husk of the demolished truck near where Tien and Yamcha recovered, the two standing warriors knelt down to help the mostly full-blooded humans back to their feet.
"Hey kid, just what was that back there?" Tien inquired over to where Trunks was helping the scar faced ex-bandit hobble a few steps to test for any serious damage. "I never saw Goku or Vegeta do anything like that when they transformed."
"Yeah, I was gonna' ask the same thing," Yamcha affirmed, eyes half closed. Trunks tried to sum up his thoughts and speculations.
"Well, I think that it's another aspect of the Super Saiyan form; pushing farther over the limit than I believed to be possible and making the power sort of stretch to accommodate."
"If you can become more powerful than a regular super saiyan once, can youpush it any further?" Piccolo asked, though the way he said it made it sound more like a hypothesis phrased as a question.
"If I can," Trunks started, now feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time since he arrived in this time, "then you can be sure that I'm going to do everything I can to accomplish it. It's what my father would have done, after all."
The other martial artist only nodded in understanding. They knew that for the young man, it was about more than just beating the androids; he also had to prove himself against the memory of his father's achievements, to prove himself worthy of being the the Prince's heir.
Suddenly, before they could further discuss the matter, all of their ki senses lit up in an instant as something very close by let its full power out all at once.
Bursting up through the center of the street behind them, the last surviving Jr. sprang from its hiding place in the sewer and leered down at the shocked fighters, cackling insanely. It had waited patiently until all of them had lowered their guard before striking, knowing full well that they would be far too drained to put up a fight in time to stop it from killing all of them.
Yes! Now would be the Jr.s' moment of glory, to succeed where all the others had failed miserably in the task that their progenitor had set for them. It alone would be the one to receive acknowledgment for bringing down the Earth's mightiest defenders, standing over their cooling corpses and laughing to its hearts content. They would all perish at the hands of the – whatwasthat!?
A flash of yellow energy had just shot out from nowhere, apparently from behind it, and had passed on in front of it before winking out of existence. Nothing had apparently happened, so just what had it been? Puzzling on the matter, the Jr. barely noticed the fact that its vision was becoming disjointed, half of it going upward while the other went down. By the time it did, the Cell Jr. was well and truly bisected vertically, exactly reminiscent of what had befallen the mechanized Frieza three years before. The last thing it ever saw was a bemused looking group of ragged Z-Fighters, all of who were straight up ignoring it in preference to staring at something behind it. Then another golden glow shone in its peripheral vision and oblivion was its.
For those not caught up in dramatically describing their own demise, Krillin's unexpected appearance was met with upraised voices of cheer (well, In Yamcha's case it was louder coughing, his lungs still being slightly collapsed from all the punches he had taken to the diaphragm an' all). Standing uneasily on he debris that had been the collapsed building, down the block from the unexpected reemergence, the bald fighter grinned and laughed alongside them, thankful that he had woken up in time to throw the kienzan and catch the last Jr. by surprise.
"Hey, the rest of you guys got at least one of em', seemed fair to chip in a bit more than having a a few hundred tons of brick fall on me." He laughed at his own joke, working wonders on the post battle stress level for the others.
Finally allowing themselves to relax, they all regrouped and made their way down the road until the damage from the mini war wasn't so apparent before sitting down against the outside wall of a fashion boutique. Once again, Piccolo supplied what healing magic he could to his comrades, but even with the boost of Kami's influence, he could only mend some of the damage, and that drained him to the point of blacking out as it was.
Simply resting in silence, the five of them didn't move for a good stretch, looking back down the road to where the cataclysmic consequences of their fighting was still easily visible. Somehow, it struck a chord in them that a city like this, so empty and silent when it should have been filled with people and noise, had been half demolished in their attempt to save it. Trunks had come from a future where almost every metropolitan area resembled their battlefield, so the loss of such an innocence born of ignorance stung him the worst.
"You guys," he spoke up, getting the attention of the half dozing warriors," whatever happens, whatever the final outcome of this whole nightmare is, I just want you all to know that it's been incredible to fight beside the legendary heroes I was told about since I was a boy. You're all great friends and you've inspired me so much. Thank you for that."
Taken aback by the sudden outburst of feeling, the others were speechless for several seconds, only able to stare at the youthful saiyan as he unabashedly leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Finally, Krillin managed to speak for all of them.
"Trunks, why are you saying this now? I mean, yeah, we've enjoyed our time with you as well and you'll always be one of us; but man, that all goes without saying. Is something eatin' you?" Almost the second the words were past his lips, a dreaded notion came to Krillin. "Is it about Vegeta?"
"No, that's not it." Trunks opened his eyes again and looked up wistfully into the sky. "I think with all the running around and fighting that we've been doing, I haven't really faced the sadness of losing my father for the second time before I got to know him. But I won't let that slow me down and get me killed; from what I do know of him, Father wouldn't much approve." Krillin chuckled slightly, though there wasn't much humor behind it. "No, the reason that I'm telling you about this is because I learned long ago that you should never hold back something you want to say; you never know when you'll never get another chance."
The sensation of being on a sappy talk show was starting to get to Yamcha and he quickly got back to his feet, lungs helpfully reinflated by his namekian buddy, and paced back and forth in front of them – trying to interrupt the touchy-feely moment for the sake of the group sanity (and masculinity) level.
"C'mon kid," Tien spoke up, still using the nickname to refer to the time traveler, "you don't need to be so pessimistic. With that new transformation of yours, what chance do the androids have?"
Trunks shook his head, but reconsidered it a moment later and merely shrugged before carrying on.
"We still don't know just how strong these androids are, but I get the feeling that I might be able to take on Sixteen now, if only just. When we fight them again, I can possibly take him on, but the other two will still be able to fight all of you. Just like with the Jr.s, their numbers give them the advantage." Clenching his fist tightly until the knuckles popped, the lavender haired warrior looked straight ahead as an iron resolve filled his chest. "But that doesn't mean we won't give it everything we've got. We are the first and only line of defense for Earth, and our duty to this planet, of any time, will keep us strong, We will fight until we can't fight any longer..and then we'll fight some more!"
Yamcha paused in his pacing, glancing sidelong at the half-saiyan. A moment later, a wide grin appeared on his face.
"Trunks, I believe you just found your Saiyan Spirit."
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Mount Paozou was, by and large, an isolated area, not even a tourist attraction in any way.
For the most part, only the Son family ever went up and down the mountain road, sometimes their friends or relatives would stop by and check in on the nearly sitcomesque matching of Goku, Chi Chi and Gohan under the same roof.
But whenever it was time for the next apocalyptic threat to rear its head, visitors dwindled down to just Chi Chi's father, the Ox King, who would come over to comfort and support his daughter while her son and husband were off fighting to the death against space Vikings or galactic tyrants. He hadn't come around yet this time, simply because he didn't rightly know that there was a threat to the world right then. This made it all the easier for the three of the androids to stroll right through the front door (well, Sixteen had to stoop over to fit through the portal, but if you expect me to say that every time he goes through an entryway of any kind then you are sadly mistaken my friend).
The first Chi Chi saw was a brunette teenager, or a really young adult, rudely poking through a cabinet near the kitchen, looking over the contents within like he was some kind of census taker. Chi Chi hated census takers.
"Excuse me, but just what are you doing in my house?!" The strongest human woman on Earth demanded, placing her hands on her hips, the purple flower patterned apron and wooden mixing spoon clenched in one fist doing little to detract from the threatening aura she was exuding.
"Ah-" Seventeen blurted, having expected to just straight up demand to know where Goku was hiding. But the housewife to end all housewives' instant hostility threw him for a loop, causing a momentary flash of embarrassment and anxiety to fill his head before he could muster himself. Slouching nonchalantly against the lintel of the open passageway as though he owned it, he regarded the affronted woman with the same eyes that had made the mightiest warriors on the planet tremble in fear. "We're here to find Goku. Mind telling us where he is?"
"Are you kidding?" Once again, her response shocked him to no end. "Even when he's not gallivanting with his little gang I never know where the big brute is. He should be fighting the androids, after he begged to take Gohan along so he could get some 'firsthand experience'." She made over-exaggerated air quotes to show her disdain towards her spouse's excuse.
'Holy crap,' Seventeen thought to himself, 'we might just be doing the guy a favor by killing him.'
"Actually," Eighteen interjected, walking in through the living room door with far too great of timing to suggest anything but waiting just outside for the opportune moment, "we are the androids."
"Oh." Chi Chi lost her bluster and looked down at the floor for a second, thinking. Seventeen was gratified, and more than a little relieved, that it had finally sunk for this woman that she was talking to two of the most dangerous beings in the-
"So why the hell don't YOU know where he is?! Huh?!" Yet again caught off guard, Seventeen actually flinched back from the explosion of skeptical accusation, male survival instincts kicking in. Eighteen looked surprised at the return as well, but she seemed to be less inclined to fear this inexplicably terrifying creature. "You're the ones supposed to be out for his blood and you can't even find him? Pah!"
Eighteen narrowed her eyes dangerously, obviously not taking the insult lightly. Fortunately, before either side of this bizarre confrontation did something stupid, Sixteen made his entrance, having paused for a few minutes outside to admire the beautiful landscape. With a good deal of the room now taken up by the unmistakable bulk of the ginger android, Chi Chi decided that she just might want to hold back on the snippy comments for the time being.
"Please, we are only looking for Goku; we do not wish to harm you." The raw timber of Sixteen's voice was still prominently felt in the air like a bass drum, but his tone and inflection were sincere and apologetic, completely belying the immeasurable strength hidden beneath the gentle surface.
"You…what?" Chi Chi blurted, surprised by the declaration of intent. Everything she had heard of the terrible androids for three years was about how they were evil and utterly ruthless, killing thousands of people a day just for the sport of it. But these androids that stood in her kitchen struck her more as runaway children in adults clothes - trying to hide their insecurities under bravado and attitude.
"No, we will not harm you. We are not evil, but Dr. Gero's programming is impossible to refuse." Sixteen graciously knelt down so Chi Chi didn't have to crane her head back to look him in the eye. "Dr. Gero hated Goku more than anything else, and that hatred has caused him to create horrors in the name of revenge, even going so far as to turn himself into one."
Eighteen picked up the line of conversation, moving further into the kitchen so that the table was between her and Chi Chi.
"He made it irrefutable for his creations," she spat the word out, "to refuse the mission or they would immediately self destruct thanks to a fail-safe he imbedded in all of us. Seventeen and I have them as well, but Gero hadn't yet reprogrammed our guiding parameters after upgrading us so we pretty much have free will."
Seventeen was the next to continue the explanation, though he stayed at his spot by the exit, just in case she went ballistic again.
"But Sixteen here isn't so lucky: he's stuck to the mission. The three of us are family, and we will protect each other no matter what, even if that means having to kill Goku so Sixteen won't die himself. It isn't a matter of 'want' anymore," he grimaced, recalling the long and exstensive argument he and Eighteen had had on the subject shortly before arriving, "but only a matter of 'must'." He waved his hand vaguely in the air. "These two wanted soooo badly not to go on a explosion spree, and a two-to-one vote is how democracy rolls - not that I'm going to complain too hard about it." He tried to keep playing off the 'too cool for school' persona, though not much effort went into it this time around.
Chi Chi felt like she was watching the news footage of the Z-Fighters defending against the invading saiyans all over again – unable to do a thing to help while being forced to merely see the whole thing happening. It was how she felt whenever Gohan went off on one of their fights, often against insurmountable odds where survival was a long shot.
She would never, ever give up her own family to anyone, especially this trio of androids, but that didn't mean she didn't feel for them.
After a few seconds of silence, she looked back up at the giant android, fear still burning inside of her but now tempered by almost motherly concern.
"I honestly don't know where Goku is, and even if I did I wouldn't tell you. Just because I feel sympathetic doesn't mean I'll just sit back and let you kill my loved ones. But if you can find someway of putting off fighting him as long as you can, perhaps you can find some way of defusing the bombs, or deactivating them." She sounded far less hopeful than she had intended, betraying her sense of impending doom and death. "Please, just…find some other way." She was awkwardly wringing her hands in anxiety, still unclear on where these androids stood in all of this; she had never been good with impossible situations, and this one was a doozy.
The three modified, or completely robotized, warriors looked among each other for any kind of answer to that beside the obvious one, but even Sixteen failed to come up with any words of comfort. They had only just decided that life after Goku wouldn't be about indiscriminate destruction and mayhem, thanks largely to the unsubtle hints dropped by the towering redhead, but it was still a fuzzy topic point for them.
"Um, Eighteen, was it?" They all looked back to Chi Chi, who was eyeing the blonde with an out of place look of befuddlement. Warily, despite the chance of physical harm being less than zero, Eighteen nodded in answer. "What exactly are you wearing?"
Like that, the attention of the entire room went to the extremely gaudy cowgirl getup that she had casually shop lifted a few hours before. A flush of indignation and embarrassment swept over the female android and she self-consciously straightened the hem of her cowhide jacket.
"…it was the best they had," she managed to mumble, trying like her brother to maintain her cold as ice exterior while brushing off the implications contained in the question. She didn't do so well, not when her cheeks were acting like miniature stop signs.
It came as an annoying surprise when Chi Chi laughed shakily at her response, quick to slap both hands over her mouth to stifle any further acts that may very well still lead to her painful deconstruction by laser beams. Composing herself, though still obviously biting her lip, the wife of their main target stepped up beside the peeved android and seemed on the verge of laying a hand on her shoulder – thinking better of it before actually attempting it.
"Maybe…maybe we can find some of my clothes that would better suit you," she proposed, obviously still strangling down any excess mirth for fear of her own strangling.
"Uh-" Eighteen tried to make a scathing remark, but not even she was cold enough, or at least act cold enough, to refuse help in replacing the humiliating ensemble she had put up with only through completely ignoring it. Wordlessly, she nodded stiffly and let Chi Chi lead the way towards her bedroom.
The two women departed, leaving the android brothers alone in the rustic kitchen. After several painful seconds, Seventeen couldn't keep his straight face up any longer and burst out laughing, a hyena like cackle that somehow sounded nothing like anyone would expect from him. He had to lean his shoulder against the doorway to stop himself from simply falling to the ground, his dignity still somehow managing to hold firm even as he laughed hard enough for black spots to dance at the edges of his vision.
Sixteen just smiled warmly and turned his head to look out the closest window to where a family of birds was nested in a tree just outside. He watched as the mother bird fed her young with the worm she had found, caring for all of them equally as they restlessly cheeped at her and stretched upwards for more food. It was a tender scene of natural instincts.
Could that be what he had picked up on during his brief fight with Goku and the Z-Fighters: a resolute determination to protect their loved ones even at the cost of their own lives? Could his two siblings possibly ever feel the same way towards anyone but each other?
Only time would tell, but Sixteen had the uncomfortable feeling that time wasn't something they had on their side. If robots could get gut feelings, then he was sure that his would be telling him that they had all just stumbled into something bigger than any of them could have imagined.
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The outlaying borderlands of Hell were, in almost every way, identical to the heartland - the area nearest to King Yemma's palace and more or less continuing onward under Snake Way high above, though the heavenly path was obscured by the pee colored clouds/barrier. The only real distinction between the red rock and soil here and the red rock and soil there was the complete lack of good will.
Where they had the largest authority, the security ogres were professional in their duties, treating most souls with courtesy and dignity, often being downright casual in their demeanor. But when the imaginary border was crossed between their home turf and the neighboring 'hood, the primary colored ogres became drastically scarcer to find, even more rare to be seen upholding whatever law Yemma expected upheld. It was here that the far more powerful souls tended to reside, preferring the miserable isolation to the unbearable presence of 'lesser wretches'. It was here that the ideal of Hell was realized.
Frieza and his father, for example, had amassed a good deal of the deceased Planet Trade Organization members and then entrenched themselves in a bare bones semblance of royalty, as though military might meant jack all in this pit (Cooler hadn't had anything to do with his family after his death; most probably due to the lingering contempt and bitter rivalry that continued between himself and the younger arcosian. That, and nobody could take being called 'Kool-Aid' or 'Barney' by the little twit for very long at all).
Looking down at the frost demons last fiefdom from the top of a nearby mountain range, Vegeta's soul withdrew inwards slightly at the pathetic sight. Had he really wanted to be the so-called Galactic Overlord just a few years ago? Would his final fate have been the same as his former tormenter?
'At the very least,' Vegeta thought dryly, 'I would have had a damned body to spend eternity in.'
Mentally sighing, the Prince moved on, careful not to overtly draw attention to himself. If he appeared to be anything more than an aimless puffball, the other denizens would doubtlessly enjoy peppering him with energy blasts for at least an hour. He had seen just such a display not too long ago - an actual regular soul the hapless victim - and he didn't much care for the experience. It wouldn't kill him, or as killed as a soul could get, but it would take far too long to rejoin his swishy form so as to continue on his way, and then they might just do it again for kicks.
So discretion was the name of the game, something the saiyan was an old hand at fortunately. Looking as unobtrusive as he could, he had scoured across great leagues of the Underworld in search of a hidden exit or loophole in the already asinine logic of this reality; so far he had obviously been unsuccessful in his endeavor, but that failed to deter him. He had been nothing if not (and here he was brutally honest with himself) blindingly and often stupidly stubborn in the living realm, so the same translated here as well.
But trying to investigate a land that was literally infinitely expanding to meet the demands of the current population was not exactly a run to the local pizza parlor (if there was one thing Vegeta missed about being alive besides his body and, admittedly, Bulma, it was probably pizza). Nothing was permanently stationed in this dimension, often meandering away from where he had left it a short while before only to end up several miles away. It was almost like everything was the reverse of what he knew of planets; instead of the globe orbiting a star, it felt like the entire surface of Hell was orbiting over something at the core of this place.
Nervously casting a glance down at the maroon gravel he hovered several feet above, Vegeta tried not to imagine some kind of condensed star made of dark energy, or something, at the center of this dimension, likely to implode at the slightest provocation.
That did nothing to help his concentration.
Though it did speed him up a bit, admittedly.
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Though he was physically incapable, Vegeta started to hum in an attempt to help wile away the long and empty hours. He tried to remember some kind of traditional saiyan tune, but his people had not been a very musical race and the only songs he had ever heard from them were usually drinking shanties. Those lasted about half an hour before he decided that 'crack me brain, scab me feet, crush my heart, give me drink' didn't have enough appeal to get stuck in his head.
Still trying to entertain himself, he briefly picked up a game; for every soul he passed, he needed to come up with some kind of damning sin that had sent them here. It was kind of enjoyable at first, but eventually he realized that he was more than likely just reciting facts than make believe, and that was depressing.
"Alright, alright," he said to himself within the confines of his mind, trying to make it sound like actual talking as opposed to rambling, "let's see if I can count all the reasons that I'm going to punch Kakarot, really, really hard, in the face as soon as I get back."
He soon lost count and didn't feel like starting over.
"God, this place is dull. Is that the real eternal punishment? 'Cause if it is, it sucks."
Obviously, isolation wasn't suiting the Prince very well at all.
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The first time Vegeta saw Pikkon, it was in a dazzling display of strength, speed and power.
So obviously he disliked him the moment he laid eyes on him.
As best he could put together, Gero and his lovable albino killer-droid had started a ruckus with some of the other inmates of Hell, wanting for the exact same thing as the saiyan himself, but going about it in the completely opposite manner.
He nearly overlooked the fact in the face of the excitement, but he soon realized that the androids he had fought against were now both dead. So the Z-Fighters had triumphed against them in the end without his help. That was both a sour truth to accept and a gratifying relief all in one.
But something he had overheard Gero saying had caused his happiness to shrivel up: he had mentioned a 'Seventeen' and 'Eighteen' that he vowed to get back at for their impetuousness. That meant still more androids on Earth, so his search for an escape became no less anxious as it had been before. But for the moment, he followed the nefarious professor in hopes of being led to some kind of opening for him to squeeze through.
So they had started a rampage, though the term was a generosity if anything, heading vaguely towards where the Check-In station was located. Their intent was probably to bust their way through; confidant that they could all succeed where billions of years of other denizens of the Underworld had failed. If nothing else, Vegeta had to admit that it was a surprisingly commendable saiyan style plan.
But the evil entourage (best band name ever, by the way) was brought to a dead stop when what appeared to be a cyclone of fire arced down from the sky and landed directly ahead of them. As the neatly directed flames flickered out, a tall figure was left at the heart of the scorched landing zone.
Standing head and shoulders over Gero, he was garbed in billowy white pants with a matching vest over a purple long-sleeved shirt, rather simple looking martial arts boots, and a headpiece that looked not dissimilar to that of a bishop's, though several strands of white material were wrapped around the base and the rest was dark and rigid. Most notably of all, the newcomer had skin of a sour apple green shade and possessed nothing at all in the way of a nose.
Slowly, like he had all the time in the world, the tall alien opened his eyes and calmly observed the deceased villains, giving off more than a hint of boredom. Vegeta couldn't help but feel a shred of pity for the guy: he was no doubt about to face off against both Gero and Nineteen, and he didn't have the faintest idea what he was getting in to. The Prince might have warned him, if he could communicate in any way, but he thought it better just to wait and see what happened.
Due to his distance from the confrontation, Vegeta couldn't hear whatever it was that Gero was saying, though it looked like he was amused by this show of resistance. Vegeta used his own knowledge of villainy to fill in some of the lines.
"Your power blah, blah, blah, our power, blah, blah, blah, greatest ever, blah, blah, blah, join us or die, blah, blah, blah, futile, blah, blah, blah."
A stormy grimace would have been his expression of choice then. He really had been inches away from slipping into that pit of pure evil and becoming what he hated most. The notion of what he may have become didn't sit well with the Prince and he did his best to banish the thought – but a hint of it remained, just as he knew it always would.
The stalemate between the mysterious newcomer and the assembled villains broke like a ruptured balloon. Nineteen roared as his power exploded into the 'anti super saiyan' level that Vegeta had dealt with before and charged the remarkably impassive stranger. Expecting an execution, Vegeta was consequently stunned to see the green skinned person simply extend a hand and completely halt the albino giant's reckless flight cold, as though he was simply catching ball.
Before any of the other rebellious souls could rush him as well, the odd creature simply gestured with his free hand and a bolt of electricity, not yellow hued ki energy, erupted from around his body and speared through Nineteen's chest like it wasn't even there. The behemoth fell back, fused pieces of machinery scattering from the melted hole like some kind of sick facsimile of a blood spurt. The blank eyes stared in unabated shock at the carnage that had been wrought on it in barely a second.
After that, it was a flurry of bodies as all of the rouges leapt like frenzied animals towards the green fighter, intent on ripping him limb from limb and then beating him to a pulp with those limbs. But he merely watched their approach with an emotionless stare, waiting for them to cluster up close before making his next move. Literally moving too fast for the observing saiyan to see, the mysterious warrior shot like a missile into the crowd of degenerates, flames once more encircling his body like an inferno wreath.
The heat and power of the blaze was enough to blast back a good deal of the weaker villains, sending them flying away across the landscape like refuse. Those that remained looked to be in mixed states of shock and anger at the unexpected resistance, likely unsure of what they had gotten themselves into. Regardless of common sense, they tried again, opting this time to spread out and attempt to flank him and crush him between them.
This time, the green fighter didn't wait for them, stretching his arms out to the side and starting to spin in place like a top. Only this top kept accelerating and accelerating until he was a blur, and yet going even faster still until a cyclone had come to life around him. The suction of the raging wind was too much for the villains to dodge away from and were all sucked into the opaque grey funnel, swirling around in it like detritus in a whirlpool.
As suddenly as he started, the strange warrior stopped his spin and spouted a sizeable kiai wave that blasted the tornado outward. The result was incredible: the rouges that had been sucked up were no spat back out, but this time at uncontrollable speeds and crashed painfully into the ground and mountains all around them. Two of their number were even shot into the sky to collide with the impenetrable cloud barrier.
Unconsciousness claimed all of the insurgents, leaving them sprawled where they had landed on the ground. Gero was visibly damaged, a good deal of his mechanical body now sporting ugly rents in the metal and composites. Nineteen was still scrabbling at the gaping hole that had used to be his chest, panic causing him to lose all attention on the calm figure standing alone on the battlefield where once there had been over a dozen.
Vegeta wasn't overly concerned with the devastation inflicted upon the villainous souls: down here, the damage would self-correct itself in a few hours, leaving all of them good as new, but with a thoroughly ingrained caution of open rebellion against the peace keepers of Hell to subvert such action in the future.
Pushing himself forward from his vantage point, the Prince floated quickly towards the tall fighter before he could take off again. It was clear now that whoever this was, he was some kind of clean up guy for the higher powers that governed the dimension and the next, a kind of 'nuclear option' when it came to disturbances in the depths of Hell. Such a person might very well know a way out of here.
Before he made it very far, the extremely powerful warrior turned his head to look over his shoulder at the approaching soul. At first dismissing it as just another wayward spirit that had happened by, he thought better of it when the yellow cloud came to a rest several feet away. Then commenced a short session of waiting that felt almost…expectant. No ordinary soul should be this direct with a whole-body being such as him.
"Perhaps," he spoke in a deceptively deep voice, smooth like ice, "are you special in some way?"
He didn't expect an answer, which was good because he didn't get one. Well, not verbally anyway.
At his words, the puffy entity appeared to draw itself up somewhat, as though in dignity. Dignity from one such as this wasn't supposed to be possible. Pikkon couldn't help but feel the flutter of curiosity at such a unique enigma, but it easily dissolved back into the glacial calm he had trained his mind to maintain after centuries of meditating.
"Regardless, this is farewell." With that unusual display of etiquette, the tall warrior lifted into the air and departed back the way he had come, almost instantly lost to sight.
As for the Prince…
"-here you lime skinned idiot! I need to find the damned EXIT! You better prey to whatever passes as a god anymore that I never get my body back, because when I do, I'm going to devote every waking moment to being a weepy eyed goody-two-shoes like Kakarot so I can die again and go wherever it is that you are and proceed to lay an unholy smackdown on your oblivious ass!"
…he wasn't taking it well.
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After the spectacle that was the "Gero Uprising", in all of its two hour glory, Vegeta decided to once more return to the central area so he could get a better idea of where he had and hadn't been yet. It didn't take very long to backtrack to Spike Mountain and Blood Lake, seeing as they had somehow shifted in location to less than ten miles away from the battlefield he vacated.
What immediately caught his attention upon drawing close was that a bunch of the ogres were bustling about in a relatively flat section of land, apparently erecting some kind of infrastructure. Curious, Vegeta drifted up close to watch the proceedings, heedless of whether or not he was in the way or not. From what he could tell from the layout, they were rapidly building a bowl-like base for some kind or large sphere or globe. It was crafted almost entirely from the most plentiful artistic resource around, obsidian, and was being treated to be smooth and without deterring blemishes in the finish.
When the short lived construction ended thanks to the passive magic that allowed the ogres to move and think quite quickly when given a specific task, one of them, a red fellow with glasses on and a neatly trimmed head of hair, walked a little ways off to where an ordinary looking rotary telephone waited on a small stool. Picking up the receiver in one hand and dialing with the other, he immediately spoke into it and relayed what sounded like an 'all-clear'.
Moments later, an alarmingly large puff of purplish smoke blossomed into the obsidian cradle – extending outwards to take the shape of a perfect sphere to fill up the space completely. The smoke then vanished like it had appeared and left in its place a gigantic ball made from a black glass that perfectly matched the obsidian, probably due to someone wanting to make an impression and probably get a raise.
A blue ogre with a scruffy haircut and square jaw joined the red one and looked back on their handiwork. "Alright, everything's in place and we're set to go."
"Hit it!" The red one called back through the phone.
Queued by his words, a shimmer of energy awoke deep inside the crystal ball, expanding outward until it took up the entire diameter of the side that was being faced. Experimentally, Vegeta banked around to the side: the shimmer followed him, while the ogres were still looking up at their side without change. So, clearly the design of the orb was for multiple viewing angles without disruption, likely the reason for choosing a sphere in the first place.
The flicker within started to change slowly into the black and white static commonly found on a TV screen, and from there it cleared up to show figures within, as accurately and clearly depicted as though they had been standing right in front of them.
Taking a moment to gaze into the oversized fushigi, Vegeta suddenly realized that he knew exactly who he was looking at right then, at least one of them.
"So this is the biggest fight goin' on in the living galaxy right now?" The blue ogre from earlier asked aloud, scratching his head in bemusement. "Not sure all the bad souls gonna be too interested in some blonde kid fightin' against that bug thing."
But Vegeta tuned them out, now entirely focused on the desperate struggle that was happening before his senses. He could easily have dismissed it as a hoax, just some kind of performance that these custodians of Hell had manufactured to appease the blood lust of the dangerous souls that he reluctantly called his fellows.
He knew better.
He knew that fighting style anywhere, and this was no fictitious demonstration. After all, why would King Yemma want to show his son from the Future fighting against what could accurately be described as a 'green cicada person' with a wicked looking tail? Just what had he missed?
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AN: Okay, I'm going to admit to something:
If you've been reading these last four or so chapters and felt like they read awkwardly, that is because I felt pretty awkward writing them. This touchy-feely stuff just isn't my thing and I kinda rushed through most of the scenes with Goku and his depression or any conversation that dealt with reasons for fighting. If this impacted your enjoyment of the story, then I am whole-heartedly sorry for the disappointment.
On a much brighter note, next chapter will see us back in the thick of the action and with dreary emotional baggage (hopefully) nowhere in sight. You know what that means don't ya?
HINT: Piccolo vs. Seventeen
ASSJ Trunks vs. ?
Place your bets.
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