He feels it before his eyes take in the devastating event he has caused.
That minuscule, insignificant ki which hardly stands out from the hundreds of others' pathetic power levels, yet the only one burned into the back of his mind, is snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
He hasn't hit the part of the spectator stands where she was standing. The whispers beckoned him to do so and he wanted to do it, desperately wanting to kill off what bound him to this ridiculous planet of mud; or rather, who. The female who had ensnared his heart little by little, unearthing emotions which should have stayed buried forever.
It would have been for the best. Without her, he would be free to do as he pleased, become the unapologetic warrior he was born to be. He is only chained by his attachment to her and by eliminating the cause, he would be able to unshackle the beast within.
He aimed for her ki, fully intending to end her. The influence of Babidi releasing his latent potential encouraged him, urging him to do so. But in the last second something within him protested and changed his aim slightly to the left. It has to have been that his body was simply protesting at the outside persuasion that had invaded him, a mere rebellious reflex against Babidi.
It didn't matter, he reasoned with himself as he heard the stands with disinterest as they crumbled right beside the spot where she stood. He could take care of her after his defeat of Kakarot. The most important point of his strike against the innocent had been to force Kakarot's hand; the third class Saiyan is overly soft and cannot stand by as people die.
His attention is elsewhere when it happens and by then it is too late.
She acted like a fool as she was prone to do. Instead of fleeing to safety when the structure beside her place at the stadium crashed to the ground, she sought out the danger.
Her instinct was obviously faulty; he'd known that for years. It had once led her to house a heartless murderer, aid him when he'd nearly killed himself in an attempt to achieve greatness, and later let him into her bed, even her heart. This ridiculous instinct to help others, a misplaced compassion for strangers' plight, caused her to leap into action when the spectator stands were blasted by a small ball of his ki.
He didn't take notice of her action even though he knew it would be second nature for her to react in such a way. His mind was too occupied with Kakarot, and his failure to destroy what had tamed him for years.
When he feels the flicker of her ki evaporate, there is nothing he can do.
He has finally drawn out Kakarot. They are standing face to face, preparing to fight their final battle.
However, it all fades away as the diminutive light always lingering in his mind abruptly extinguishes.
Kakarot calls out to him, but is entirely ignored. Babidi's influence is cut silent as well to let him focus as he flies toward the wreckage, single-mindedly searching for her presence. It has to be a mistake. She must've built something to mask her ki; he knows she's played around with similar devices in the past. He is so sure it is a simple method to distract him that he almost believes it for a moment.
She's here.
She looks so tiny beneath the massive concrete slab that covers the lower half of her body. Her face and what he can see of her torso first appears undamaged, and he can almost imagine that she is sleeping. All he needs to fulfill the illusion is to feel the familiar spark of her existence.
But it isn't there. He knows it before he kneels beside her and flips the concrete slab away as though it is a thin blanket. He knows it before he sees the blood slowly seeping out from the back of her head. And he knows it before he hears the approaching cries of her friends.
He cannot breathe. Time stops, the noises and commotion around him fading away as he stares down at Bulma.
She is his. And in truth, he is hers. Or he had been until he let Babidi take what rightfully belongs to her.
Someone tries to pull her out of the arms that caused this, but he refuses to let her go. He knows her body is simply an empty shell now, but it is all he has left. What other proof will he ever have of being worthy in someone else's eyes?
Because she saw worth in him even when he was at his lowest and wanted to train until he was no more because he wasn't good enough. And he was right then; he knows that now. He is a disgrace, an abomination. She was wrong to think otherwise. The proof is cradled in his arms.
Someone tries to take her away from him again, but he grips her tighter. They speak to him, words of reason, but all he can hear is the blood pumping loudly through his veins. It isn't like a thrilling and dangerous battle which forces his body to perform its utmost; it is like his blood is drowning him slowly, claiming each of his senses, once at a time. Nothing can penetrate the ache inside him.
Until he hears a voice that causes his blood to freeze and his heart to stop. "Mama? Mother, wake up!"
Trunks.
His son has gotten here, having no doubt felt the sudden absence of her ki, and he is trying to push Vegeta away to shake life into the body of his beloved mother, the only parent he has ever been able to count on. The child's panic grows as he, too, realizes that her ki is gone. Vegeta lets himself be pushed aside this time because he doesn't deserve to hold her, not after what he has done. He stares at his son as he cradles her dearly.
"How could you do this to her?" Vegeta's attention is caught, finally focusing on one thing other than his dead wife. He watches his son's eyes as they glare accusingly at him. They are glistening with fresh tears, drops of weakness for all to see. Vegeta has taught him better than that; it must be the humanity in the boy. It is despicable that the heir to the Saiyan throne is prone to such display.
What throne?
He opens his mouth to comment on the boy's wailing, but no words come out; they have no place here, just like him. His mouth is dry, his throat like sandpaper.
Trunks' voice is wet and unafraid as he looks into his father's indifferent eyes; disrespectful even, but he is impressed by the lack of fear as the half Saiyan yells at the emotionless Prince who has killed his mother in cold blood. "Didn't she mean anything to you? She gave you everything when all you did was take. She even loved you!"
It is true. She's used the word many times. 'Love'. Such a simple word. It can't contain the magnitude of what he feels for her. So he has never used it because it wasn't enough. He always knew that he would tell her one day that he did indeed love her if that was the word she thought was fitting.
Many times he imagined the moment to be after a great battle where time was running out and he would be headed to the one place he couldn't be brought back from. She would kneel by his side, grip his hand and sob uncontrollably as he tried to speak, despite the blood welling in his mouth. He would use his dying words to make sure that she would never forget him, would never be able to move on to someone else after finally knowing that he, the Prince of all Saiyans, loved her.
Now she never will.
Someone is trying to calm Trunks who has still been shouting at his father this entire time. Vegeta's attention returns to his son, but his eyes keep straying to her. A streak of blood at the corner of her drooping mouth.
"It's okay, Trunks. We'll wish her back. We'll wish everyone back." It is him.
Kakarot.
It is his fault, all of it. That low class, righteous, moronic Saiyan who acts more human than anyone else. It is disgusting. And he, of everyone, has time and again surpassed him, the last descendant of the royal bloodline, without even dedicating his life to becoming the all-powerful being in existence.
Babidi calls out to him. Now is the time.
None of it would've happened if the idiot had stayed dead. Sure, Vegeta would have gone his whole life wondering if he would ever be strong enough - good enough - and his purpose in life would never have been fulfilled. But it was better, it would have been better. She wouldn't have been hurt, not by him, the man she loved, because he wanted to prove his worth.
You were already worthy to them.
"She'll be back before you know it." Kakarot promises the motherless child, drawing Vegeta's attention away from the voice possessing his mind. "Everything will go back to how it was before."
Vegeta looks down at the lifeless woman and he knows it won't.
There is no returning from this. There will be no forgiving, no joyful reunion. There will be no home for him.
You don't deserve it.
"Shut up! Shut up!" He roars. There is too much noise, too many people. They stare at him, all of them; even her, her eyes hollow and dead. Nausea hits him, his throat instinctively clamping down to stop the bile forcing its way up.
He takes off in no particular direction. There is nowhere he wants to go, nowhere he is welcome. It has been so many years since he's been an intergalactic nomad that he doesn't quite remember it. He supposes he can just find a place to stay, kill whoever occupies it. He is free. No one can bother him or expect him to do anything but what he wants to do.
What do you want to do?
It is her voice this time, no longer the scowling shadow image of himself.
What do you want, Vegeta?
He staggers mid air, pummeling into a rock formation which yields to his mass. The contents of his stomach spills out and with it the last of Babidi's influence, the entity finding no use in a pathetic failure's body.
The veil over his heart lifts and it all comes crashing down on him, of what he's done.
The pain is so potent that he is certain at first that the drops falling onto the ground are drops of blood. But it is much worse than that. It is tears.
Bulma.
Trunks.
He is finally free of all responsibility, the weakness he thought was holding him down. Yet now he finds that it is not what he wanted at all.