A cool breeze washed over the desert sands, glistening as the sun began to kiss the horizon's edge. Several domed buildings stood around a dazzling, crystal-clear oasis, and the palm trees that lined the grounds swayed in the wind. Parked before the main entrance of the sprawling desert palace was a sleek and polished black hovercar; the engine whirred, idle as its only passenger awaited their chauffeur. The silence that permeated the grounds was separated by the sound of a shrill and angry voice.
"Yurei! I'm not getting any younger here! Let's get a move on already!"
"Y-Yes, Mistress Baba," called a voice from afar. "I just need to find it, and I'll be right there!"
"Hmph…"
Fortuneteller Baba looked down at her hands and waggled her fingers as she waited for her ghostly attendant to join her in the vehicle before gazing at her reflection in the massive crystal ball beside her. Her wide and wrinkled features stared back. The sunken eyes, mottled skin, and stern expression permanently etched onto her face spoke of centuries of experience in the art of witchcraft, and she smiled, her aged, toothy grin dominating the reflection. She fidgeted with the brim of her pointed hat and smoothed the creases from her black dress before looking away and losing herself in thought.
She crossed her arms, hummed, and tsked as she mulled over the weeks she had spent watching the Namekians from afar. She'd observed through her magnificent scrying orb as Sanshiva encountered the boy who bought time and defeated the scaled menace of Jae-Ujani, setting into motion a chain of events that would awaken the slumbering goddess within. She beheld the bravery of three little boys as they traveled trillions of light years from home, with only hope and prayers to feed them, and witnessed a troupe of strange, scaled aliens decimate one of the villages on New Namek and threaten its denizens before spiriting away two of the planet's inhabitants. But one vision still eluded even the greatest soothsayer of the seventh universe.
Every time the crone tried to summon a vision of the girl's future, her crystal ball would blacken from the inside, a horrible fog covering any image the witch could have ever conjured from within its glass shell. Baba could tell something darker lay in store for the young woman and her companions, and though she was tempted to stay home and wait for them to arrive on her doorstep, time was of the essence. Sanshiva would have to perform soul fission and train as long as possible to control her shadow, lest she lose herself to it.
Baba sighed loudly, irritated and impatient to get to the Lookout immediately. "YUREI," she screamed through the window, "HAVE YOU FOUND THE DAMNED THING YET?!"
"Y-yes! I found it," he answered. A sizeable, wispy ghost with a pink complexion and wide, obsidian eyes emerged from the palace entryway with a heavy weapon, teetering back and forth as it hovered across the sand and placed the broken blade in the trunk. "…At the back of a broom closet," the spirit muttered.
"WHAT WAS THAT, YOU LITTLE—"
"Nothing, Mistress! Nothing at all!" Yurei fidgeted with the brim of his ajirogasa – a broad, conical hat made of woven bamboo that shaded his face from the rays of the setting sun – and harrumphed softly as he floated to the driver's side and entered the vehicle. As he shut the door, he asked, "Is there a reason we needed to bring the sword?"
"Ah, Lifebringer," Baba mused. "Sanshiva will need it to perform soul fission if she's to bring Dokira back to life. Too bad it was broken when I found it… I do hope Hasana can figure out how to fix it. He seems like a smart young lad."
"Is that the young man that built the ship Sanshiva arrived in?" Yurei asked, peering at the crone through the rearview mirror.
"You dolt, you haven't been paying attention?! Why do I even let you watch anymore?"
"I'm sorry, I promise I have. There's just… so many of those green folk you've been keeping tabs on. I keep mixing them up…"
"They're called Namekians, Yurei. And yes, that's the one."
"S-sorry, Mistress Baba. Ready to travel to the Lookout?"
"Yes. Go on now, get a move on! I don't particularly enjoy being the bearer of bad news, but Sanshiva needs all the time we can afford. I'd love to sit and wait in my comfy chair, but… Oh, that poor girl isn't going to like what I have to tell her, but I'd rather she not be at my house to hear it. Woe betide the one who upsets the Goddess of Darkness…"
With that, the ghostly attendant cranked the engine over, turned the steering wheel, and drove the hovercar northward, speeding over the dunes and pits of glittering sand.
"Goddess of Darkness?" Sanshiva rubbed her chin and leaned against one of the pillars of the pagoda. "Muira was a goddess?"
Hasana nodded enthusiastically. Doji – fully healed and freshly dressed – had gravitated toward him, clinging to his pant leg and bouncing atop his feet. Sensing his delight and curiosity, the young man leaned down and scooped the child up, hoisting him atop his shoulders. Doji giggled and rested his head on Hasana's. His heart swelled as the young man began to speak, detailing the rest of the story that Elder Hiro had not finished teaching him.
"There are planes of existence that will always escape our understanding. Two of these planes – the Divine Realm and the Demon Realm – were home to their fair share of gods and goddesses. Among them were Zalama and Muira, who were mirror images of one another. Like the duality spoken of in the poem we recited earlier today, Zalama could create and empower anything, and Muira could destroy and overshadow anything. The same way the positive and negative sides of magnets interact and cling to one another, so too, was the fate of the Dragon God and the Demon Queen."
"Ooh," Kiba and Hama whispered together.
Hama leaned against Sanshiva's leg, tugging at the fabric in excitement. Kiba hovered by her side, grabbing at her cloak in anticipation. The young woman giggled, sensing their lively energy, and picked them up, allowing them to settle along her hips as she carried them out from underneath the pagoda. Hasana followed, and together, they strode along the edge of the Lookout with the little ones clinging to them, the sunset changing the sky from pale blue to navy, streaked with shades of pink and indigo along the horizon's edge.
"Now, Zalama left the Divine Realm, seeking to understand the plight of mortals, whose curious tendencies had led them all astray at one point or another. He'd traveled to many worlds, seen many things, and met many people. In all that time, he faced the same dilemma: Good people were always subject to the whims and wills of evildoers, in both great and small capacities, and were eventually corrupted themselves. Entire planets of respectable, peaceable folk had been wiped clean or picked apart by those with horrible intentions."
"Why didn't he stop 'em," Kiba asked, raising a brow. "Wasn't he powerful?"
"Very powerful," Hasana confirmed. "However, he wasn't allowed to interfere in mortal affairs. He functioned much like Dende does here on Earth. He was allowed to observe and guide them indirectly, to whisper to them in dreams or answer their prayers with visions and omens. He watched many a fair species erased through their own folly or through the direct involvement of another party, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight the wave of evil that seemed to plague the mortal realm. At a loss as to how to assist, Zalama created the super dragon balls, a set of planet-sized wish-granting orbs that he hoped a righteous mortal would find and use to wish away the darkness that dwelled deep within every heart."
"But… I thought dragons didn't have that kind of power," Hama mused. "I don't even think Porunga could really take away the darkness inside Sanshiva, so… What gives?"
"Well," Hasana began, "…the dragon balls we currently have at home are limited in what they can do since their power is directly tied to their caretaker. The Grand Elder's power is great, no doubt, and we can see the evidence of that in your sister," he paused, motioning and smiling to Sanshiva, who blushed in response. "But Zalama's creations could grant any wish, no matter the energy required to manifest the desired result, hence their massive size. He traveled between universes and settled in ours – the seventh universe – spreading and concealing the dragon balls, trying his hardest to lead mortals to them without overt involvement, hoping against all hope that they would remain righteous as the moment came at hand to summon the Divine Dragon. However, a powerful entity – born of the void and wielding a dark power like no other – would discover the super dragon balls and embark on a quest to collect them herself.
"Muira was born into the Demon Realm as an agent of change. She, alone, had the power to bend and form shadows to anything she desired, be it a weapon, a fierce ally, or a dark shield, and she was named the Goddess of Darkness for her ability to wield the intangible. Before her, every ruler of the Demon Realm had pledged themselves to evil; they would blight every hope and blacken every heart with no regard for their victims, picking their targets at random and without remorse. The innocent were made to suffer, and the wicked were rewarded for their vile acts, time and time again. Muira, believing mortals had suffered enough, decided she would usurp the throne by gathering the super dragon balls and becoming the strongest demon of them all. She wanted to rule not with hatred or malice but with a righteous fist."
"I always found that kind of odd," Doji said softly. "I mean… dark power being used in a good way? When we think of darkness and demons, we think of chaos and destruction, not… salvation. She wanted limitless power, right?"
"Yes," the young man replied. "It is odd but very much possible. You see, Muira didn't desire limitless power for power's sake. She didn't want to rule over everything and plunge it into shadow; she tried to subvert the eons-old notion that darkness was inherently evil. She knew that shadow was just as divine as light – and every bit as honorable – yet the gods never recognized anyone from the Demon Realm as anything other than a manifestation of malcontent and sin. Muira was said to have been called the worst of them all simply because she was made of the very thing the gods of the Divine Realm feared and despised, and she ached to prove them all wrong. Zalama, hearing of her desires, decided to take a chance on her. Instead of acting distantly, he chose to find, test, and guide her by traveling alongside her in disguise.
"For almost three hundred years, the Dragon God had repeatedly led her to dead ends, disguised as a different person each time. Every one of Muira's encounters with Zalama was a lesson in patience, grace, and acceptance. The Goddess of Darkness used her powers to save and aid the innocent and had even fought against her kin, teaching the generals and admirals of the Dark Legion what they could be capable of if only their wrath was aimed at those who truly deserved it. Only when the Dragon God felt she was worthy of collecting the next dragon ball would he reveal its location to her in dreams or meditations and allow her to reap her reward. When all those years had passed, she'd collected six, becoming endlessly frustrated as the final one – the one-star dragon ball – eluded her search efforts."
Sanshiva gasped softly and shifted the boys' weight on her hips, their arms wrapped across her neck and shoulders. The wind picked up, carrying a cool breeze past the trees lined across the Lookout's northern edge, and the little ones sighed in contentment. Doji pressed his cheek against Hasana's head, breathing deeply as he listened. The longer the young man spoke, the more the little one was reminded of Elder Hiro, whose voice and accent were just the same: sweet and dreamlike, prim and proper.
In a smooth and cadenced tone, Hasana continued, "Muira began to believe something was amiss the longer her search went on, thinking that someone was toying with her. New friends and adventures still led to dead ends, and she found herself devolving into thoughts of destruction as her frustration played tricks on her mind. Thinking it best to provide Muira with a new purpose, lest she lose herself to thoughts of death and chaos, Zalama appeared to her one more time – disguised as a blacksmith – and gifted her a powerful sword: the Star Cleaver."
"A sword? Who uses those anymore," Hama asked.
"I like swords," Sanshiva offered. "I used to ask my father for one, and he always refused," she chortled, shifting her tone to playfully mock his warning. "'You'll cut yourself, my child,' he'd say. 'You've no need for such objects. Your nails and fangs are sharp enough.'" The boys giggled in response, and Hasana smiled softly.
"You would have loved Muira's sword," the young man offered. "The Star Cleaver was aptly named, for it could cut through anything – flesh and bone, stone and steel – and shined bright in the darkest of places. Zalama encouraged her to continue on her path, whether or not she found the last super dragon ball. She acquiesced, feeling it far more satisfying to continue her fight for the innocent and change the Demon Realm from within instead of as its ruler. One more century passed, and finally, the Dragon God revealed himself to her. This time, he appeared to her in his true form: that of our kind," he said, placing a hand on his chest. "Muira had never met anything like him and thought she'd lost her mind when he used his magic to alter his appearance, greeting her with every face he'd used for three centuries.
"He told her how proud he was that she'd stayed on the path when all seemed lost and beyond saving. He apologized for leading her on such a long journey, advising her that he, too, had learned so much being by her side at every age and on every planet she ever stepped foot on. He presented the last of the super dragon balls and summoned the dragon for her, urging her to make the wish she'd so rightfully earned. Upon seeing the magnificent golden spirit, Muira changed her mind about her wish, for in all those years, a different ache developed in her heart. Instead of asking for limitless power, she wished for the Divine Dragon to tell her if she would ever truly be happy, be loved, cared for, adored, and wanted all at once." Hasana let the words hang in the air for dramatic effect, grinning as he sensed the group's anticipation. "And the dragon told her, 'Not in this life.'"
Hama and Kiba pulled away from Sanshiva, hovering in the air together as they gasped loudly. They spoke in tandem, shocked at the dragon's answer. "WHAT?!"
"Yep! And that made Muira horribly angry," Doji continued. "She got so upset that she decided to destroy the super dragon balls and knew she would have to kill their creator. The Dragon God and the Goddess of Darkness fought for one hundred years – tooth and nail, sword and shield."
"Really? A hundred years," Sanshiva asked incredulously. "Was it really all that bad? She wanted power at first, not love, right?"
"You are correct, but there's another layer to that," Hasana validated. He gave the young woman a playful look and reached out to her. 'Storytime,' he told her sweetly. "Now," he said aloud, "Could you, dear Doji, tell us why she fought him for so long instead of simply finding another way to obtain the love and companionship she sought?"
"Yes!" Doji rose from Hasana's shoulders and landed beside him, giving the others a proud look as he explained, "Muira had tried so many times to find someone to stand beside her, to help her rule the darkness and create a newer, better legion. But in all that time, she never found anyone among her kind – or even among mortals – that didn't see past her pretty face. Her suitors only looked at her for what they saw, not what she was. All, except for the Dragon God. Zalama – in all his disguises – traveled with her to the depths of the Demon Realm, showed her patience and compassion, and helped her conquer her darkest fears and deepest doubts. She wanted Zalama and no one else, and the answer she got from the Divine Dragon meant that she would never have him no matter how good she was or how hard she tried."
Doji yawned softly and continued, "Muira lost herself in her heartbreak, wounded Zalama during their hundred-year battle, and destroyed the Star Cleaver by breaking it in half. She wandered the universe and eventually became the Demon Queen. But she didn't care for the mortals anymore or for Zalama, and instead, she cloaked the Demon Realm in total darkness. The demons were forced out of their home and left to do whatever they wanted while their queen hid away. Her shadows began to consume her. She would hear voices, and worse, they were all Zalama's. Every voice he ever used, every face he had came back and spoke to her. 'You're a failure,' they would say. 'You are a monster, a demon, a terrible and unlovable creature,' they would tell her. And the more she listened, the more her heart broke, and the less she could see and feel the real world. She was buried in her darkness and lost herself in her pain."
Sanshiva sniffled quietly, for she knew all too well how easy it was to lose herself, to feel mired in self-loathing, and understood at that moment precisely how the Goddess of Darkness must have felt. A tear escaped her eye, and she looked at Doji as he stretched and rubbed his eyes. The sun had finally set, and above them was a canopy of glittering stars set against an ebony backdrop.
Hasana sat cross-legged beside the little one and asked, "Would you like to finish the tale?"
"…Can you do it," the boy asked, yawning again and settling atop the young man's lap. "I… like the way it sounds when you tell it..."
Cradling Doji in his arms, Hasana nodded and inhaled deeply. Sanshiva followed, sitting on the ground across from him; Kiba sat huddled against her, using part of the young woman's soft cloak to cover his shoulders. Hama settled atop her lap, cradled like Doji, yawning as he leaned into her arms.
Hasana said, "Zalama, just as heartbroken, refused to allow Muira to bury herself further, seeing her transform into a strange and listless shadow of the woman he'd met five centuries prior. So, to cut away the shroud that covered her, the Dragon God crafted another sword: Lifebringer, a weapon created from a shard of Sa Hoshii Viirva, the Star of Life, and the same star that Sanshiva is named after. He ventured into the Demon Realm, using the same pathways she'd taught him, and cut through to her, bringing her back from the abyss she had created for herself. He confessed that he loved her but wouldn't be able to be with her; this meeting, like all others before it, would end in goodbye, and for how long, neither of them knew since the Dragon God had to return to the Divine Realm. Zalama gifted her Lifebringer, hoping its bright blade would dispel her sorrow, ease her fears, and remind her that she was very much loved and adored by none other than the person she wanted all those years.
"Before leaving our universe, the Dragon God mused that even divine beings have an expiry; that sometimes, their purpose having been fulfilled, there is no longer a need for their presence. He knew that most opted for sleep until they were needed once more, but others opted for reincarnation through the mortal plane. Sometimes, their soul – even in a mortal shell – continued to serve the same purpose, but in smaller ways. Gods of love and devotion would reincarnate as caretakers and homemakers; gods of knowledge and emotion, as teachers and scientists; gods of duality – light and dark, creation and destruction – as warriors, wisemen, and leaders. In the hopes that she, too, would be reincarnated into the mortal plane, Muira took it upon herself to use Lifebringer and her dark powers to protect the weak and defend the innocent, just as Zalama intended. She gathered up the demons and brought them back to her realm, forcing them to stay put until they agreed to follow her orders. She and her legion worked to keep mortals from straying too far from their destinies, punishing the wicked and frightening any who dared defy her righteous and compassionate will. She was a true anomaly among the entities of the Demon Realm, for she wielded her abilities with love and care instead of malice and contempt. Muira continued on that honorable path until one day, both she and her glittering sword disappeared, never to be seen again."
"Aw… I thought stories were supposed to have happy endings," Sanshiva said quietly.
Hama sniffled again. "Y-yeah…"
Kiba rolled his eyes. "Wait a sec, are you crying over there?"
"How could you not?!" Hama sprang up from Sanshiva's embrace and leaned towards Kiba as he said, "You're telling me if you fell in love with someone and didn't get to be with them in this lifetime, you wouldn't be crying, too?! She spent centuries by herself, a queen with no king! She did everything right, and she never got anything for it!"
Doji giggled softly, drifting to a dreamlike state as he closed his eyes and settled further into Hasana's warm embrace.
"I mean… well…" Kiba twiddled his fingers and said, "Yeah. I guess that is sad when you put it that way…"
"It was," Hasana said, "…but she acted in love and in kindness, hoping that one day, it would be returned to her. One day, she would earn the right to love and be loved in return, and she would never have to reign over darkness by herself again. Her story paved the way for thousands of happier ones. People flourished wherever she'd traveled, and she lived on in stories, poems, art, and music. The poem we all recited, Sanshiva, is loosely based on something that was said to have been written by Zalama himself before he, too, chose reincarnation. Roughly translated, it goes, 'Within each of us lies the duality of all things: love and hate, sorrow and ecstasy, good and evil, life and death. We can cloak ourselves in darkness, choose the loneliest path, or arm ourselves with starlight and be set free by peace and compassion. We are, each of us, children of the Star of Life. May we always hold our head high and greet the dawn, and may the darkness still comfort us when the time to rest is at hand.'"
By now, Doji was snoring softly in his arms, exhausted from his arduous journey and harrowing transformation. Kiba yawned, and Hama followed suit, settling against Sanshiva. Mr. Popo approached softly and carefully, smiling as he looked down at the sleeping little one in Hasana's arms.
"What a beautiful story," he said softly. "I didn't know your kind slept if I'm being honest… Kami never did… Dende doesn't really, either."
"They do when they're extremely tired," Sanshiva giggled. "Especially kids. I'm not surprised that they'd feel like that. It's been a tough couple of weeks for these little guys," she said, softly pinching Kiba's cheek and tapping Hama on the nose. They tittered before yawning in tandem once more.
"But I don't wanna sleep yet," Hama said. "I wanna stay right here…"
"Me too," Kiba said, clutching her cloak and leaning into her arm.
"My brothers," Sanshiva said, "…after all you've been through, you need sleep. Look at Doji. He needed it just as badly."
"Aww," they whined together.
"Now, now," the young man said, "You know she's right." Kiba turned to him and stuck his tongue out playfully. Hasana mimicked and did the same.
"Okay… But could you tuck us in? Please? Please, please, pretty please," Hama asked sweetly.
Sanshiva pursed her lips momentarily before giving way to a warm smile and nodded. "Alright, alright. Let's go."
Mr. Popo reached down and took Doji from Hasana, grinning softly as he led the way to the living quarters with Sanshiva and her brothers following just behind.
Hasana sighed and looked skyward, spotting a glittering constellation above the Lookout. At the lower end of a string of dazzling stars was a massive violet point, gleaming steadily like the jewel at the hilt of a giant sword. The young man could feel a lump forming at the back of his throat and sniffled slightly as he smiled and stared at the sky. Tears welled in his eyes, and he curled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins and resting his chin forward.
Even when she was not by his side, Hasana could feel the energy that radiated from his captain, all the more powerful now that her brothers had arrived. He found it strange that she still hadn't realized that she was, in fact, a goddess. Her energy and bright smile were infectious; her laughter sent pleasant waves through his body, and her looks were just as beautiful as Muira was described in the tales his father told. He knew all of Muira's story, not just its tail end, and had immediately recognized the parallels between Sanshiva and the Goddess of Darkness the longer their voyage progressed. She, like Muira, was afraid of all she was and didn't realize her potential. She feared herself in ways she didn't understand and, like Muira, was terrified of what lay beyond the barrier between her and her abilities. For the briefest moment, she'd found the courage to wield her power for him, defend him, and avenge his fallen coworkers and friends, and had barely asked for anything in return, save a working ship to travel in.
The tears fell, and he buried his face in his lap. He wanted desperately to return the favor, to make sure Sanshiva became every bit the goddess he knew she was, and ached to prove to her that the darkness was well worth all the effort it took to control. He wanted to see her rise above what she felt was a curse, to wield her power in the service of her people just as he'd pledged to do the same with his knowledge, no matter how long it took. It was thrilling and frightening, even harrowing the longer he pondered their voyage and knew there was still a way to go before the young woman could bend her shadow to her will. He looked back up and wiped his face, staring again at the glistening sword-like constellation in the sky.
'She likes swords,' he thought. 'Almost a confirmation, really… of who I know her to be. I should make her one, just as unique as her….'
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that Piccolo had walked out from behind the main edifice, a stern look plastered across his face.
"Hasana."
The young man jumped and scrambled to his feet, saluting Piccolo with a nervous expression. "Y-yes, sir!"
Piccolo smirked. "Are you always this formal, or am I just lucky?"
Hasana let his hand fall to his side and chuckled weakly. "Well… I… Didn't want to be rude, is all. Is… everything alright?"
"Saba's in the containment chamber beneath us. I need you to come with me. Yumena managed to get him to talk, but… Nothing useful so far. She thinks he's hiding something. He keeps laughing to himself and speaking in this weird language."
The young man growled. "Mizunian," he mumbled, rubbing his chin. Piccolo raised a brow, watching as the younger Namekian hummed, tsked, and thought about why the man would abruptly change his speech. "Saba and his ilk come from a watery world called Mizuno. I hate their language, like I hate the sound of nails on a chalkboard, but… If he's speaking in that dialect now, it's probably not good. I can only speak bits and pieces, and I don't think I could really get him to say anything in particular, but… I can try to translate what he says for you."
"Good enough," the warrior said, turning on his heel. "Follow me."
Hasana nodded, anxiously glancing towards the door of the living quarters before following Piccolo. At the back of the main edifice was a single door with steps that led straight down into a vast and dark chasm – the inner chamber of the Lookout.
With cautious steps, the young man followed Piccolo down the steep and winding stairs, nervously looking about the massive space that resembled a giant, dark bowl with several pinpricks of light at the very bottom and a sizeable wisp of purple flame – Himura's fiery mane. Their footsteps echoed across the chamber, pockmarked by hissing and laughter.
"Komez mierdez, pendezha," he heard him curse at Yumena.
"Will you shut up already? You're givin' me a damn headache, ya stupid tuna fish!"
"No pueido sperrar pa ashorarte en tzu propria tsangreza!"
Hasana clenched his fist. Saba's curses and cackling sent a cold shiver up his spine; he'd said he couldn't wait to drown the old woman in her own blood, and Hasana believed he would if given the opportunity. As he and Piccolo arrived at the bottom of the chamber, he inhaled sharply. Saba was tightly bound against the central pillar leading back up the ceiling. A strange, thick glowing rope had been tied around him, and his hands snugly wrapped behind his back. His armor had been discarded, and his wounds barely healed. As he struggled against his bindings, the soldier stared straight into Hasana's eyes and muttered contemptuously.
"Encantao di vir qui sodries'sa unirze si somostros."
"I'm not glad to see you; that much is certain," Hasana spat. "Speak the common tongue. There's nothing left for you to hide. What the hell have you been laughing about all this time?"
"Sete sal infierzo," Saba retorted.
"You first," the young Namekian said, crossing his arms. "Now, out with it."
"Zablaré como suiera."
Hasana growled and stepped forward. Bowa slithered to his side, his slimy mass a deep crimson, anger boiling through his body.
"Speak," the Bollejian burbled crossly. "Like us."
Saba cackled and spat at Hasana's feet. Piccolo lunged forward and punched him hard in the gut, growling as he backed away.
"Sijo di piuzo," the soldier cursed. "Ugh… ugh…"
"Don't you ever call him that again, Saba, or I will show you precisely what a real son of a bitch I can be. Are we clear?"
Saba's eyes widened, and he stared incredulously at Hasana. He'd known the Namekian to be bookish and soft-spoken but never as demanding as he was at this moment and began to laugh. What started as a low chuckle gave way to full-blown maniacal laughter, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he chortled and shook his head. His voice hurt Hasana's ears, and the young man grimaced as he stared at the bound soldier. Yumena's face contorted into a distinct look of disgust. Bowa was thoroughly angered, his body growing in size until he reached Piccolo's height. Himura roared and spat a violet ember at his feet. Saba spat on the floor at her toes before sticking his tongue out and returning his gaze to Hasana.
"Tzu nohvien parése habar'te kontashiado."
"She is not my girlfriend; she is my captain. And what the hell is that supposed to mean, that she's 'rubbed off on me?!'"
"Simpri fiste débil. Simpri timizo. Asora san krécido a par—"
"Weak? Shy? Are you mad? Did I not tear that stupid fin off your head when we were children," the young Namekian snarled. "Did I not get you and your brothers lost in space for a whole year as payback for all the times you punched, burned, and bullied me during our years at the Academy? And what about the scar on your old man's face? He still doesn't remember that I'm the one who did that, does he? What'd you tell him all those years ago, hm? That he was drunk and seeing things again?"
Saba laughed heartily and gave Hasana a malicious grin. "San bién," he hissed. "La venganza si niestrima, asora."
"What do you mean 'revenge is ours now?' What the hell are you on about?!"
He chortled and replied, "Mi padri vizita su planet'ta. Y asora… tezhemos tus padrisz!"
Hasana gasped, faltering slightly before shaking his head and declaring, "You're a liar—"
"Tell you what," Saba interrupted, finally switching back to the common tongue, "I'll put it plainly for you. Your lives in exchange for theirs. That's how this is going to go. So, by all means, keep asking your friends here to beat me up, burn me, spit on me, and see if I give a damn. You're all as good as dead when the Elite Guard arrives. Moori and Hiro will be, too, if you don't just give up and turn yourselves in."
Yumena, Bowa, and Piccolo gazed anxiously at Hasana, now trembling and hyperventilating through his hands, his ki flickering and wavering like a heartbeat on the verge of arrest.
"Father… My… father…"
"Never been one for aged goods, but… my father decided he needed a snack. Your people can regenerate, almost endlessly, if you're given enough rest in between… feedings. Seemed only fair, making us travel for you in the first place."
"You bastard!" Hasana stepped forward and clenched his hand into a tight fist.
"Don't believe me? Why don't you do that mind-reading trick of yours, hm?"
Piccolo's eyes widened, and he nudged Hasana aside. He slapped his hand against Saba's head, squeezing firm, reaching with all his energy to a specific memory before arriving at the sight of two elderly Namekians. Moori and another Namekian – just as old, yet half as wide and twice as tall – were bleeding profusely from both shoulders, begging for mercy as a great shark-like creature reached down and grabbed a severed arm with a broad, sharp grin across his angular face. He bit hard with his massive, serrated teeth, tearing through flesh and muscle quickly, blood spurting and spilling across his face and chest as he chewed languidly and hummed in satisfaction. Piccolo inhaled sharply and recoiled, thoroughly disgusted by the soldier's vivid recollection.
"I was on a call with him just before this stupid, fat lizard," he said, nodding his head towards Himura, "…caused the crash landing. Those three maggots were all passed out from screaming for damn near two weeks, so they're none the wiser. Little fuckers… I hate the fact they survived…"
"Don't you ever speak of them that way," Piccolo growled.
"Oh, shove a piece of coral in it," Saba snapped. "Do you understand just how screwed you stupid bugs are? You thought Frieza was bad? You're lucky my father's only interested in her. Hasana's just a bonus, but that bitch up there," he paused, looking up at the ceiling, "…is precisely what he's hungry for. After what she did, she's about to get it a whole lot worse than either of those fucking wrinkled crickets. And now… he has a reason to take that little hellspawn, Doji, too." Saba laughed heartily, believing he finally had the upper hand and that his father would make them all pay dearly for killing Makeru and Pogi. "He'll feast on you fucking cretins, and I'll be more than happy to clean up the scraps!"
Himura looked at Hasana, trembling as she tried to reach telepathically to him. 'When Sanshiva finds out about this—'
'She'll bury herself in shadow. She'll tell herself it's all her fault, that she doesn't deserve to live, that all she's ever done is make trouble, that she's burdensome and loathsome and nothing but a monster that put her people in danger. It's like... I can already hear the words coming from her, and... Dear gods, it hurts in a thousand ways I will never be able to explain.'
Hasana pushed Piccolo aside and hurled his fist forward into Saba's cheek. As the soldier sputtered and cursed, the young man declared, "You and I both know you have all gotten what you deserved for your senseless feeding habits and ill-gotten gains. So come hell or high water, Saba, I promise you this: no one will miss any of you when we destroy you, your father, and the rest of those chum bags in the Elite Guard."
"Ooh, tough guy—" Another punch to the face, followed by a kick to the stomach, a hard right hook to his side, and a stiff left jab to his chin. Saba spluttered and said, "C'mon now… this ain't a fair fight, chump. You think… you'll be able to tie my old man up and do the same?" He grinned and spat from the side of his mouth, his dark blue blood staining the floor.
"If your kind resorts to dirty tricks, then so shall I. You already have our parents in custody, and no matter what I do to you here, it won't stop them from being tortured during their journey. In kind, I'll return the reaction and finish what Doji started, and I bet I can do far worse than he."
"No, the hell you wouldn't—"
"Oh, but Saba, I would. I'd even go so far as to make a secondary wager on that that cannibal you call a father."
"Oh yeah?"
"Oh, yes." Hasana breathed deeply, a golden spark forming in his eyes. Saba's brows raised, and he gave the Namekian a curious look as he continued, "I'd wager my entire worth – knowledge, riches, and all – that your father couldn't care less about you or what happened to your brothers. This is more about him being upstaged by a couple of Namekians in his dirty, boxy playhouse. If he went out of his way to grab our parents, extending his overall travel time, not knowing what could occur between the time he left New Namek and his arrival here on Earth… It's because he's horribly frightened of a young woman, Saba, who alone holds a power that could make his worst nightmares come true." Saba stared in disbelief at the young man, mouth agape. Hasana grinned and said, "I can guarantee that when he arrives, and I tell him that you and Pogi are dead, he will laugh… and thank the gods you're gone."
Sanshiva's antennae twitched as she exited the bedroom, reaching out with her senses to locate the others; their energy seemed beneath her feet, and as she tried to reach out to Hasana, she found nothing but silence. A strange telepathic wall surrounded her companions, with the strongest blockage coming from her favorite Namekian himself. She raised a brow, pondering if he had something to hide, and shook her head as if to clear the thought from her mind. Mr. Popo followed and shut the door behind him, holding his hands poignantly behind his back as he strode toward the hallway.
"Where is everyone," the young woman asked nervously. "Something… doesn't feel right."
"I'm sure it's just Piccolo thoroughly questioning motives and plans. He has that effect on people. But beneath his harsh attitude and intimidating appearance lies an excellent mentor and friend. I can assure you there's nothing to worry about," the attendant chirped. "Would you care to follow me to the Pendulum Room? Dende mentioned earlier that he wanted to show you something."
"The…Pendulum Room? Um… O-okay," she replied, nodding.
The hallway rounded and sloped downward, leading to a peculiar wooden door. As Mr. Popo opened it, they recognized the silhouetted form of Dende, hovering at the center of an expansive, round, dimly lit room. Upon the walls were hundreds of clocks – round, square, obtuse, abstract shapes – and she inhaled sharply. The strange ticking sound in the space sent shivers down her spine as the door closed behind her.
"Sanshiva, come here for a moment, please," the Guardian said softly, motioning for her to join him.
"This is… such a strange place," she uttered. "Why is it… bigger than I'd expect? The temple seems so small, and yet… All this is inside it?"
"Hasana would call it a temporal disfiguration in spacetime, but I like to call it… magic."
Sanshiva smiled slightly, stepping forward and joining Dende, levitating at his level with her legs gracefully crossed before her in lotus position. "I like magic," she said. "It's strange… Magic and ki were always easier to understand than all of Hasana's… science stuff."
Dende giggled and replied, "Hasana believes science is magic, just in a more… tangible form, solidified into steel and wiring, circuitry, and coding. At home, he used to make the strangest things: microscopes and hoverboards made of stone and glass, shields and swords from honed and energized crystals. His father never quite liked him tinkering with things so much."
"Why? That seems weird, to keep your kid from obtaining some kind of… success in something that interests him."
"Your father thought the same, yet Elder Hiro never allowed his son to take it further than glorified toys. And they were all given as gifts, things Hasana made simply by holding the catalyst object – a chunk of raw crystal or pieces of carved rock – and snapping his fingers. It used to be one of my favorite things to watch him do when he visited our village, but… After what we'd been through with Frieza and his men, Hasana wanted so much more for all of us. Hasana was the first to go up against one of them, the first to die by their hands, and the first to leave home upon our relocation. He's desperate to keep us safe, to give us all the best of what he has to offer, even now," Dende said, waving his hand in a large arc counterclockwise.
The room seemed to spin; the blur of clock faces, thin lines of black and grey, and the whirl of numbers and letters seemed so intense that Sanshiva couldn't keep up. She blinked her eyes several times and ultimately closed them, waiting for the dizzying sensation to stop. When she opened her eyes again, she realized the room had changed, turning pitch black. She gulped, reminded of the strange and silent sensation that washed over her when she'd met the idle soul of Dokira trapped within her body. Soon after, like a grand watercolor being painted before her very eyes, light began to fill the space; colors blended and solidified into shapes and sharper images, revealing the gorgeous landscape of the southern isles of New Namek.
The ocean stretched out around them, reminding Sanshiva of the peaceful archipelago favored by Master Roshi and his animal companion, Turtle. But this was a different land, a rich saltwater marsh sunk into a tremendous earthen bowl. Homes were set upon stone platforms, poking out from the mud atop great concrete beams; tall fronds and knots of green and blue grass poked out from the saltine mixture beneath, swaying in the briny breeze alongside ever taller reeds and bushes full of strange fruits and flowers. Like a massive web, every home and pergola was connected to the next, creating thruways that circled about the village, a testament to the Namekians' connection to the land and each other.
It was a balmy and peaceful day. Children wandered about playing games and daring each other to dive in the ocean, to find fish or an octopus, a shell, or a stone. The adults were gathered in tranquil and contented conversation under their gazebos or in their homes, windows wide open to let the sea breeze in. Towards the back of the settlement was a great stone dais, a sizeable raised platform that led the way to a grand structure, its impressive size and lofty position dominating the others surrounding it: Elder Hiro's home.
Gathered atop the dais was a group of warriors – teens and a few adults – eagerly and silently watching as the Elder's son and his best friend practiced together, their sinuous and lightning-fast movements dazzling in the summer sun.
Little Hasana, draped in his father's colors of white and lavender, danced circles around another little one. Sanshiva eyed the boy's viridian gi, recognizing a young Toriega, and smirked. Toriega spun around, struggling to keep up with the dizzying array of white and green, and let out a nervous cry.
"Quit it!"
"Then surrender, Toriega!"
"Grr… No!"
Hasana struck hard into Toriega's back, and as his opponent soared backward through the air, he sped forward, laid down upon the ground, crunched his knees to his chest, and hit hard, using his feet together like a single piston to launch Toriega straight into the sky. Little Hasana grinned and jumped right after him, racing through the air with furious speed.
Toriega blinked, shook his head, and scowled, launching a bright ki blast straight for Hasana's face. "Eat this," he cried.
Hasana steeled himself for the blast and slowed his breathing. Time itself seemed to slow down, and the little one gracefully allowed the ball of light to surf upon one arm and transfer to the other, creating a single wave that ran the length of his body as he spun in the air and swung it toward his opponent. Toriega wailed as his attack came straight back for him, hurriedly covering his face. As the bright blast collided with his forearms and faded away, Hasana charged through the aftermath of light and smoke, grabbed his legs, and spun Toriega in circles before throwing him to the ground.
Toriega grimaced as he collided against the concrete, the sky spinning above him. "Ugh… That… hurts…"
"ONE," a wizened voice called from beneath a great awning.
Hasana charged down, swinging his fists, and Toriega barely snapped to attention before they slammed just beside his head. He growled and let loose a flurry of punches against Hasana's stomach. The boy cried out in pain and backed away, clutching his gut; Toriega balled back, sprang up, and used Hasana's move against him, pushing him into the air.
The two met together and hurriedly jabbed and kicked, dodging and parrying one another's movements under the sun's bright and hot rays. Hasana panted and puffed, pushing back a thoroughly flustered and equally tired Toriega.
Impressed, Sanshiva joined them in the air, watching like a nearby ghost as Hasana parried Toriega's fluid and flurried kicks. Dende joined her, silent and smiling all the while. As the two little warriors continued their battle, Sanshiva couldn't help but notice that during the entire time, Hasana's eyes seemed fixed on everything and nothing all at once, darting about as if analyzing possibilities, movements, and attacks yet to occur. He was fighting the little foe before him, not just in body, but in mind — in a thousand different scenarios — anticipating Toriega's next moves with fearsome accuracy.
Sanshiva and Dende watched as a strange golden spark filled the boy's eyes, and he roared, seizing a gap in his opponent's movement, grabbing his leg and swinging him around one more time, tossing him again against the ground.
"TWO," called the same prim and proper voice. "YOU'RE OPEN, TORIEGA!"
"Grr… I know! I know!" Toriega slammed his fists against the ground and slowly stood up. Hasana joined him back upon the platform, fists resting upon his hips in his favorite confident posture. "Quit grabbing my legs, darn it!"
"That's rather hard," little Hasana retorted in his posh and light accent. "Especially when you leave your whole bottom half open to attack. Quit giving me opportunities, and then I'll quit grabbing your legs."
"Oh, so now you're the teacher?"
"If it pleases you, then yes." Hasana bowed politely and smirked. "Now… less talking," he answered, taking his fighting stance, "…and more fighting."
Sanshiva giggled, recognizing the same form her father had taught her. Hasana faced Toriega, a little over a meter away, angling the dominant side of his body forward. His right hand was clenched into a gentle fist, his fore- and middle fingers curled slightly above the rest; his left hand was brought together into a tighter fist that stayed close to his side. Together, the boy's arms formed points at which he could attack from above and below, and his wide stance and confident, daring grin spoke of a hard-studied warrior ready to deliver the final strike.
"Come on, now," Hasana said, tilting his right hand and motioning Toriega forward with his two fingers. "I've almost won," he teased in a sing-song voice.
"Nuh-uh," Toriega called back. "You still need one more knockdown." He crouched low and placed his hands together to form a circle before him, fingertips barely touching as he gathered bright and pulsing ki into his palms. Sanshiva recognized the beginnings of the light grenade he'd used, one of the few things she remembered from their battle. He bellowed and threw it forward.
Hasana let out a great laugh, catching the ki grenade with another sinuous wave, and it traveled across his arms, a crackling barrier of golden energy sheathing his skin from the heat of the bright orb. He played with it, bouncing the ki ball atop his toe before kicking it into the sky, where it disappeared amongst the puffy clouds. "No more ki blasts," he called back to his friend. "Fisticuffs. Plain old fisticuffs. Let's go."
"But—"
"Do you want to win this or not? Because from where I'm standing… Victory is mine!" Hasana dashed forward, reaching for Toriega with arms outstretched. Toriega pushed his hands out to block him, but the little one ducked beneath them and let loose several gut punches before kicking him back.
Toriega cried out as he fell, pushing his arms out to catch himself and backflip, landing on his feet, clutching his stomach. "What the—"
"Come on and fight me," Hasana cried out, launching a renewed barrage of flurried upward kicks.
Little Toriega barely dodged, arms sore from his opponent's well-timed strikes. He growled and pushed back, speedily curving around Hasana's final kick before he thrust his fist against his opponent's side and back. Little Hasana wailed in agony and stumbled, barely catching himself from falling as he grimaced and shuddered; he grumbled and spun around, kicking Toriega away before the boy could launch another series of speedy punches.
Positioned opposite Hasana at the very edge of the concrete platform, Toriega raised his hands and said, "Ki blasts are my fisticuffs!" He gathered white-hot light into his palms, sending a quick flurry of charges that Hasana batted into the sky, one after the other. With his final rush, the child sent one last massive ki blast at Hasana, who grinned as it sped toward him.
Just as before, Hasana created a thin energy barrier above his skin, efficiently handling the contact of the ki ball and balancing it atop his finger as it crackled and fizzed, the heat sending a rush of adrenaline through his body. He let it fall and kicked it upwards, saying, "Alright, then. See if you can keep up." He kicked it hard and fast to Toriega, and the boy struggled to kick it back; every one of Hasana's skillful deflections became shorter and shorter the closer he stepped. This continued for several minutes, the boys giggling, forgetting themselves in something of a game during their sparring.
"AHEM," called the aged voice once again. "LESS PLAYING, MORE FIGHTING, BOYS!"
"Aww," they whined in tandem. Sanshiva giggled and watched on, noticing the gleam in Hasana's eyes as he kicked the orb skyward and charged his ki into the soles of his feet, the bottoms of his brown shoes giving off a faint glow.
"THREE," Hasana screamed, launching toward his opponent one last time, fist stretched before him. With barely any time or distance to react, Toriega wailed as he was punched off the platform and landed face-first into the mud.
The warriors clapped and cheered for little Hasana, who bowed and grinned politely before rushing to his friend, clambering for his mud-sodden arm as he chuckled.
"Oh, you think that's funny, do you," Toriega asked dryly.
"Hilarious, honestly," Hasana said, stretching out his hand. Toriega squinted at him and gave him a sly smile before he pulled little Hasana into the mud with him, who yelped through a mouthful of muck. "Wah! …Aw, yuck!" He hurriedly wiped his face and spat out the salty sludge mixture, and the streaks of mud and clay formed a strange shape along his face. He blinked and laughed as he stared at his friend, who'd only wiped his eyes and nose, making it look like he was wearing a strange helmet made of sludge.
Toriega stared back at Hasana, noticing the shape along the boy's eyes and mouth resembled a strange bird as if one had collided with his face before flying away, stray shreds of grass and reeds still stuck to his cheeks and neck. Together, the boys laughed, forgetting themselves once more as the warriors dispersed and the voice called out to them again.
"The two of you are supposed to take your training seriously." An older Namekian emerged from beneath the awning at the front of the house, hands held tightly behind his back. He was a tall, spindly man, not horribly aged in any way, but whose countenance spoke of a lifetime fueled by logic and strict routine. Sanshiva thought he looked every bit the image of Porunaga, but much sharper and colder, like the meanest teacher she'd ever seen.
"We were Father," Hasana spat, pulling Toriega from the mud onto the concrete. "Very serious… about having a little fun." Sanshiva giggled at the boy's remark.
'Fiesty,' she thought, smiling wide. 'Almost reminds me of myself.'
Toriega sniggered before he was met with a severe glare from the elderly Namekian. "S-sorry, Elder Hiro," he sputtered and bowed.
"Hmph. You keep leaving yourself wide open to attack and shy away when the time comes to brace. If you're scared of battles and bruises, I cannot help you, little one, nor can my son." The Elder turned on his heel and spoke over his shoulder. "I will give you one more week, but if you do not take this seriously, I will ask that you return home. There is no time for games here. Do I make myself clear?" Elder Hiro raised a brow and awaited his response.
The little one's face melted into sadness. "Y-yes, Elder Hiro… Sorry…"
"And you, my son," the Elder paused, looking deep into Hasana's eyes with all the severity of a disappointed mentor, "You are supposed to be an example of leadership. A child you may be, but an Elder you will become. I've no intention of entertaining your follies. The next time one of your kin comes to learn something from you, or asks for your assistance, you are to provide that as best you can. No funny business at all. Am I clear?"
"Crystal clear and every bit as sharp, Father," the little one retorted and bowed, fists shaking at his sides ever so slightly. As he rose and watched the Elder saunter away, he stuck his tongue out and made a mocking face before turning to Toriega. Hasana gently patted his friend's shoulder and whispered. "Pay him no mind. He's cranky when he hasn't had his tea yet. In the meantime… Would you like to see a magic trick? Would that cheer you up?"
"Your dad just said there's no time for games… Weren't you listening?"
"To that old codger? Why heavens, no! What do you take me for, a fool?"
"Language," Toriega hissed, covering his mouth and grabbing Hasana's clay-stained gi. "Come on, Hasana, really?"
"Yes, really," Hasana chortled. "Listen, I call him Father because he asked me to, not because he earned that title in any sense."
Sanshiva gasped, realizing that she'd echoed the same words. 'We're… more alike than I thought,' she mused silently.
"Half the time, he's a miserable old cricket," little Hasana continued, "…the other half, he's an awkward and distanced Elder. I know he cares, but… For once, it'd be nice if he was… Well, nicer, in general."
"Oh, come on… Your dad's only hard on you because he wants you to take his place…"
"And your father wants you to take his, yet he's not nearly as… rigid." The little one pursed his lips and snapped his fingers – the mud and clay from both of their uniforms began to peel away like a sheet pulled from their bodies, leaving their skin and clothing clean. Hasana waved his hand, the grime forming a strange ball in the air before throwing it further into the marsh. "For once, I wished he acted as if he loved me as a son and not as an heir," he muttered lowly.
"That was… actually kind of cool," Toriega giggled and patted his chest. "We're… all clean!"
Hasana grinned and said, "Yes! Has my little magic trick succeeded in changing the subject? Are you feeling happier now?"
Toriega gave the boy a skeptical look. "You've been trying extra hard to keep me happy, Hasana. What's going on? You… you keep doing all this nice stuff… Giving me extra attention and gifts… You could have trained with anyone else today and still chose me."
"What are you on about?" The boy tilted his head and offered his friend a playful look. "I chose you because I wanted to. You're a guest here and my friend! Is it that odd to want to give someone as important as the favored son of Porunaga a little extra attention? A little extra… joy?"
"But why does it feel like you're… preparing for something?"
Hasana sighed deeply, looked about, and lowered his voice, whispering cautiously into Toriega's ear. "I will tell you if you promise not to tell anyone else."
He nodded and whispered, "I promise I won't tell a soul."
"Good. I am preparing for something."
His friend gasped and covered his mouth. "What—"
"Follow me."
Young Hasana grabbed little Toriega's arm, and the two boys sped up the steps at the back of the platform to the Elder's home. Together, the little ones sped through the hallways of a lavishly decorated living space, the soft pitter-patter of their footsteps echoing throughout the house as Hasana turned the corner to his favorite room.
The entrance to Hasana's lab was a hand-carved crystal door that slid back with a strange and automatic motion as the little ones approached. Sanshiva and Dende followed, watching as they walked toward a sizeable workbench carved from glittering purple gemstone at the center of an extensive, ovular space. Atop the bench were several cut blue and green crystals, each shaped into a different object and carved with careful inscriptions that snaked around them. The walls were lined with heavy shelves slat full of odd inventions and thick tomes. A massive chandelier hung above them, with gorgeous, notched gems that glittered underneath the light, casting a rainbow of rays across the space.
"Before I tell you what I'm preparing for, I have another gift for you, Toriega," Hasana announced as the door shut and locked itself. "The sword and shield I gave you were just… toys like my father tells me to make. But I feel you deserve something far better than that."
"…Better than that? But those were still cool."
"And I appreciate the compliment, but neither of those objects was close to what I had originally planned for you. Father made me modify their design a bit, but… I want you to be able to protect yourself, you know? Fists are great, but… Could you imagine how different our fighting would be if we had weapons like these? You say that your ki is your fisticuffs, and with one of these, I have no doubt you'll be able to keep anyone at a distance. You'd make a formidable swordsman one day."
"Thanks, but… My father says weapons are for the weak…"
"We are weak. We're children," Hasana chortled. "We're both learning quite a bit between training and meditation, but I like these," he said, holding a sapphire hilt. "And besides, this one is only as sharp as you'd want it to be."
Hasana held the gleaming hilt in his hand, turning to point it towards the wall. He breathed in deep, focusing his energy through the handle; the inscription across the grip began to glow with warm golden light, and before long, a bright beam of energy shot through the crystal, creating a massive longsword. The ki crackled and fizzled, and Hasana posed with it, slashing it through the air with a look of joy across his smooth face.
He used his free hand to grab another crystal carved into a thick, round sapphire handle. He pushed his energy forth again, forming a great shield that buzzed and sizzled. Hasana smacked the sword against the shield, smiling gleefully as the effervescent sound bounced off the walls.
"Woah!" Toriega moved to touch the shield, and Hasana shrank back.
"It is still ki," he warned. "Don't go and burn yourself, yeah?" He released his energy, and the shield and sword faded, leaving only their crystal catalysts behind. "All you have to do is use your imagination," he said, handing the trinkets over. "You could have… a rapier, cleaver, or an axe. Whatever suits your fancy. The shield can grow and shrink, but be careful not to try and make the shield bigger than you. Might, um… explode in your hand."
Toriega giggled and said, "Shield stays smaller than me. Got it. But the sword… I mean… will it really—"
"Cut through anything? Absolutely. I'm still working out the kinks, but it is as good as anything made from steel. There's really no place to practice with those around here, so take good care of them and keep them safe. Only use them when you have space to train. Don't want them getting confiscated; they're far better than the toys I gave you before."
"I like the toys, though…"
"Toys are fun, but… I'm just tired of feeling helpless. I mean, I don't mind using our fists, but… What good did that do us?"
Toriega gave him a sad look, knowing he was referring to the genocide that Frieza and his minions had enacted against their people. "You're still worried about that?"
"Of course I am! Father keeps telling me to think of the future, and I am. I think about it all the time, and the future does not include… wallowing around like a bunch of… hicks and hoping there'll be a hero to save the day."
"Hey! That's not nice!"
"But it's the truth. Frieza and his army were horrible, and we only tasted a piece of it all. The rest of his dastardly crew are out there, somewhere," Hasana said, pointing upwards. "What if they come back? Zarbon killed me first, and I can only imagine how horrible it was for the people who came across that lizard-brained dandy. I want to ensure that no one ever harms our people again, but… There's really only so much I can build here. Swords and shields are a great start, but our ships need a serious overhaul. I've barely managed to make a better one, and that one I left with your father so he could install a couple of cannons when he has some time. Our defenses need strengthening, and we must be better armed with knowledge and technology to make the dream of true stability a reality."
Toriega squinted. "What do you mean?" He pocketed the trinkets and gazed at Hasana, who sighed and kicked at the floor.
"I'm… trying to answer the question you asked, Toriega. I hate to say it out loud, but… I'm leaving New Namek. I've already packed my belongings on my father's ship."
Little Toriega backed away, shaking his head in disbelief. "Y-you're… leaving?!"
Hasana motioned with his hands for Toriega to quiet down. "Yes, my friend. I'm sorry, I… I really, truly am… But I have to leave. I need to learn more, I need to know more… The woman we stayed with on Earth opened my eyes, and we are so behind, Toriega, so very much behind on everything that could be possible for our people. So tonight… after the last sun sets, I will leave."
Tears welled in Toriega's eyes, and he grabbed for Hasana, squeezing tight as he cried quietly on his friend's shoulder. "But I… d-don't want you to g-go,"
"I don't want to leave either," Hasana said, hugging him back. "But… Sometimes, you just know what you need to do. Even when it's hard, and you'd rather run the other way. I don't… want to be Elder. I'm afraid to lead anything, much less a whole village of people, even if that is decades away. But even still, I want to be the best Namekian engineer in the whole galaxy and build the best ships, weapons, and shields to give all of my people – especially you, my friend – the best of everything."
Toriega sniffled. "Don't talk like that," he cried. "You a-already… g-give me the best…"
"Not yet, I don't. I do this for all of us because we'll need it one day. I know we will. It's like I can feel it in my bones."
"You always t-talk like a g-grown up… You always a-act like you're… a-already an Elder…"
"One of us has to," Hasana chuckled.
"B-but still… Do you have to go? You d-don't even know what's out there! What if you g-get lost? Wh-what if you don't find any of what y-you're looking for? What if—"
"Spend too much time on the what-ifs and what-mays, and you'll never be able to consider a proper course of action," the boy replied. "I know what I must do, and it scares me more than anyone will ever know. But I'm even more frightened that I'll never get past toys, stone golems, and simple tidbits of technology. I have to leave because there's knowledge that I cannot obtain otherwise."
"…P-promise you'll come to see me when you get back? Please," Toriega sniveled. "Please, promise…"
"I promise you'll be the first person I look for when I return. I want you to take anything you want from here," Hasana said, opening his arms wide, motioning to the bits and baubles on the shelves and the blueprints tacked on the wall, "…because I have a feeling it will all be gone when my father discovers I've left come sunrise."
"I-I don't care about that s-stuff! I won't have my b-best friend… with m-me anymore…" Toriega groaned and clutched tighter, burying his face into the boy's crisp white gi. "Gone… gone," he cried into his top. "My b-best friend will be gone…"
Little Hasana's eyes widened in shock, and as he felt Toriega's frame quiver against his chest, he rubbed the little one's shoulders and shushed him gently. "Now, now… You know it won't be forever."
"That doesn't m-make it hurt any l-less…"
"I know, my friend," Hasana said, struggling between choked sobs. "I know…"
As the image of the weeping little ones faded away, Dende looked beside him, noticing Sanshiva sniffling as the clocks came back in sight and the door to the Pendulum Room reappeared before them. "…You know, I'm almost positive that both of you are reincarnations. I heard Hasana tell you and the boys the story of the Dragon God and the Goddess of Darkness, and I know he sees the similarities between you and Muira, but… I wonder if he's noticed the similarities between himself and the first of our kind, Zalama."
"…But then… that would mean… we're supposed to be…" She blushed profusely and twiddled her fingers. "Um… Uh…"
Dende chuckled and said, "There's nothing either of you is supposed to do other than be the best versions of yourselves you can be."
"That could take years, Dende! I don't know what the hell I'm doing!"
"You're not supposed to know it all, Sanshiva," the Guardian said. "The accumulation of any kind of knowledge takes time. And if it's time you need, we have a room here at the Lookout called the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. In that space, fifteen days could pass, and it would have only equaled an hour of our time. You can shove years' worth of training in just a few days if need be. You, Hasana, and the little ones are more than welcome to use it for as long as you need."
Sanshiva's eyes lit up, and she bounced atop her feet. "Really?! Something like that exists?!"
"Magic," Dende chuckled. "Remember?" He led the way out of the Pendulum Room and back to the foyer. The two of them walked down the hallway, hearing a series of hushed voices in one of the offshoots.
In a small study with a round table, Piccolo, Yumena, Bowa, and Hasana sat together, solemn looks on their faces as they spoke to one another. A shrunken Himura paced back and forth across the tabletop, chasing a small crystal orb that Hasana moved back and forth with telekinesis, his hand languidly gliding back and forth at his side.
"Know anything about that Elite Guard Saba mentioned," Piccolo probed. "I might have to get the others involved, you know."
Hasana sighed and looked up from Himura. "Yes. The Guard is comprised of five men whose skills in combat and power levels nearly match their leader. Shiro, himself, is… extremely formidable. His energy, whenever I was near him… Reminded me very much of Frieza." His voice trailed off, and he said, "He's going to want payback for that scar I gave him, too."
"This is horrible déjà vu," Piccolo muttered. "Namek all over again."
"Stupid shark," Bowa burbled. "Stupid Guard, stupid fishies, stupid… stupid, stupid…"
"Bowa, come on, now," Yumena said. "They ain't that stupid if they—"
"Hey," Sanshiva called to them nervously. Her companions seemed to look at one another before glancing back at her, and she could still feel the strange telepathic wall between her and Hasana. She raised a brow, thinking it best not to continue to pry psychically, and asked plainly, "What's going on?"
Piccolo spoke up, noticing the anxious look on Hasana's face. "Saba said his father's coming, and he won't be alone. He'll be bringing his Elite Guard. How well can you fight?"
"Well, no one's… judged me, per se," Sanshiva mused, lightly crossing her arms and rubbing her chin. "But I know for a fact I'm not perfect. I still don't know how to control that… demon side… or whatever you want to call it."
"We'll call it your Shadow Form. In any case, do you know how that works?"
"…No."
Piccolo guffawed. "You're joking, right?"
"Um… Also no?" She shrugged and gave him a sheepish grin.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to stimulate a pressure point against a horrible headache. "My gods," he groaned, "…what are we supposed to do?"
"Dende mentioned… the Hyperbolic Time Chamber?"
"That's fine and well, but training is useless if you can't consciously engage in your Shadow Form. You can spar for years, but if you can't… Argh… If you can't make it happen of your own volition, there's only so much the rest of us can teach you. I was really hoping not to get Goku involved in this."
"Why not," Yumena blurted, "Ain't that the one that saved the day for you folks? Beat Frieza and all them?"
"He is," Piccolo said, his brow furrowing slightly. "But this is a… delicate situation."
Yumena gave him a skeptical look before realizing the man was speaking of the hostages in Shiro's custody and nodded. "I gotcha," she said sadly. "Sucks… We coulda used somebody like that."
"You know," Hasana interjected, "…Sanshiva's emotions seem to set it off. It's coming back from the transformation that proves somewhat difficult. We saw evidence of that in Doji, for whom the return took a great toll on his body. He's still frail, even now."
"Emotion?" Piccolo raised a brow. "That can't be how this all works, can it?"
"It seems that way. Sanshiva was violently angered by Makeru and his refusal to atone for what he'd done, even after she gave him a chance to do so. And when she was home, it was sorrow that spurred her transformation. I could even go so far as to say the abilities she acquires in her Shadow Form could probably change, depending on the emotion being used as a catalyst."
"What do you mean," Sanshiva asked, sitting beside him. "I… didn't think anything changed."
"Well, you didn't take Makeru's soul when you fought him," the young man offered. "You wanted to end him, and you did. But… when I looked at what happened – your memories of the night you were revealed to the others – I figured that since sorrow is the absence of happiness, the absence of light and love… You craved it so much that you…"
"Took it by force," she finished sadly. "That makes sense… Still doesn't explain how anybody could really use emotion as a catalyst for transformation…"
Piccolo's eyes widened. "The Saiyans…"
Hasana tilted his head. "Sorry… What was that?"
"The Saiyans have a transformation that's triggered by rage. They call it 'Super Saiyan,' and it has a tremendous power boost. It can take the same toll on the body if not utilized properly. Problem is… I highly doubt Vegeta would teach anyone. It was hard enough for Trunks, learning how to fight."
"That's the little one we met on the beach, right," Yumena asked, turning to Hasana. "He seemed like a cute lil' fella."
The young man chuckled and said, "I still owe him. I was supposed to show him a trick I picked up long ago – separating different types of matter. I mean… I still have the phone his mother gave me. I could call and maybe… see if there's anything she or her son could do? An exchange of favors, perhaps?"
"It's a long shot," Piccolo sighed, "…but it sounds like our only option. It's a bit late, so you'll have to wait until morning. I don't imagine Bulma would be happy to get a phone call at almost ten at night."
"Right. In the meantime, I'd like to check on our… guest again. Make sure he's not up to something. Himura, would you like to come with me," he asked, rising from his seat. She nodded and jumped from the table, clambering up Hasana's gi and tucking herself under his scarf.
"Can I come with you," Sanshiva asked.
"I'd rather you stay away from him," Hasana said, gently touching her shoulder. "You don't need his kind of malice poisoning your thought process. I need you to think long and hard about the emotion you'll channel to make your Shadow Form work for you. Shiro will arrive in approximately three weeks, leaving us little time to prepare the boys. If we have no intention of involving anyone else, then the five of us will have to prepare. I can only hope that with enough forethought and training, that victory will be ours."
"Are we there yet," the crone muttered.
"Almost," Yurei said.
They'd traveled for well over twelve hours, and finally, the base of the skyward tower could be seen amongst the forested landscape. Early morning sun rays caught the mirrors, temporarily blinding the old woman as she sat upright from the plush leather seat and rubbed her eyes. She yawned and stretched, several 'pops' coming from her back and knees; Yurei grimaced at the sound as he stared at the road ahead.
'I don't miss bones,' he thought cheerfully.
"Not much longer," Yurei assured, tilting the rearview mirror slightly. "When you're ready, I can shift to heli-mode. It's a long way up, after all."
"Not yet. I… need to stretch my legs when we get a chance… Stop at the base of Korin's Tower, would you?"
"Yes, Mistress Baba."
They zoomed down a snaking road that cut through thick and thorny hedges and past tall, bushy trees, the scents of lichen and dew wafting through the windows on the cool morning air.
Baba sat and twiddled her fingers, anxious about what lay ahead. She'd had a strange dream during the trip that had left her with a sinking feeling in her gut as if she'd rather turn tail and head home. But the crone knew her role; if she failed to fulfill it, the young woman's efforts would have been for naught.
She sighed heavily and leaned against the window. "Do you think… this is a bad idea?"
Yurei shot her a surprised look through the rearview. "The Great Fortuneteller Baba, asking little old me for advice? I'm honored."
"Don't mention it. Really. Just answer the question, Yurei."
"I don't think it's a bad idea," he chirped. "You said it yourself: she's the Goddess of Darkness. If she's going to learn how to control that shadow, she needs to talk to you, and she needs that sword."
"…Thank you."
Yurei nodded and smiled, pleasantly surprised. Baba was never one who needed reassurances of any kind. She was always confident, always prepared – with a little of his help and her crystal ball, of course. The spirit felt that Baba asking for his input could only mean one thing: the witch was unequivocally terrified of what could happen if outside influences somehow soured her efforts. If the young woman she'd been observing truly was a reincarnation of a goddess and didn't understand her power, any transformation could spell doom for so many innocent people if not wielded carefully.
Yurei exhaled softly as the base of Korin's Tower came into view. "Did you still want to stretch those legs?"
"Not anymore," Baba said with a sad look. "Start heli-mode."
The rosy spirit reached towards the center console as the hover car stopped at a clearing in the forest. He pressed several strange buttons and knobs, and the cabin seemed to fill with various clicks and clacks. From the top of the car, out of a mounted metal box, four articulated helicopter blades sprouted that bounced and snapped into formation. The wheels slowly depressurized, and the hover car leaned into the ground one side at a time. As the blades began to whir and rotate, faster and faster, Baba watched from the window as the grass swayed in a circle around them, like a steadily speeding heartbeat, and gulped.
The vehicle slowly rose into the sky until Yurei and Baba were half a mile above the treetops. Yurei piloted in a large circle around Korin's tower, spiraling upwards for what seemed like an hour or more before he spotted the broad white base of Dende's Lookout. Baba's heart raced, and she tried to steady her breathing. A bead of sweat formed on her brow; her hands seemed shakier than they ever had before, and for a moment, as she stared out the window, she could make out the shape of a young woman with green skin and vibrant purple hair, staring at the vehicle.
Sanshiva peered downward, hand above her eyes to shield herself from the sun. "Are we… expecting anyone?"
Piccolo paced to her side and stared down. "Well, would you look at that… Baba, making a house call. Don't see that very often."
The young woman gasped and backed up slightly as the helicopter came up and floated just above. She stared in wonder at the strange black vehicle and smiled wide. "Greetings," Yurei said through his megaphone. "Could you please give us a little space to park?"
"Oops, sorry," Sanshiva said sheepishly. "O-of course…" She jumped back, and Piccolo with her, giving the vehicle a wide berth as it settled onto the temple grounds. Her heart began to race, and she bounced eagerly on her feet.
Sensing the significant shift in his captain's energy, Hasana raced out of the main edifice, the boys, Yumena and Bowa, all in tow. Himura sat atop his shoulder, bouncing as he ran to Sanshiva's side. "Everything alright," he asked, eyeing the suspicious black vehicle. "Who's this…?"
"The person you traveled here for," called Baba as she hobbled out of the car. Her massive crystal ball followed her, like a strange autonomous glass drone, floating by her side as she stretched out wide and cracked her back and hips. She climbed atop the gazing orb with her legs crossed before her and said, "I… am Fortuneteller Baba. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
Piccolo was surprised by the witch's greeting. The old woman wasn't known to exchange pleasantries unless the person she was dealing with had coin to offer for her services. She'd traveled so far without warning, leading the warrior to believe that Sanshiva's training would have to begin in earnest. Something was amiss, and he could hear the witch's apprehension, like a soft whisper of anxiety between her oddly kind words. Dende and Mr. Popo soon joined the group, pleasantly surprised by the crone's unexpected arrival. The little boys stared in wonder at the strange and short witch. Sanshiva and Hasana immediately bowed respectfully, hearts racing in tandem at the fortuitous occasion.
'This is fantastic,' Hasana thought. 'Absolutely fantastic!'
'I know, right?! I'm going to figure out how this works! We'll beat him, Hasana! We'll beat Shiro, and this nightmare will be over,' Sanshiva responded eagerly. 'Oh, my gods… I can't wait to go home!'
Baba smiled, sensing the teens' excitement. Hasana rose and beamed at her. "You probably already know our names by now, don't you, ma'am?"
"So formal! I love it," the crone cackled. "No," she fibbed, "I don't. I've seen you and this young woman in my visions but have not gleaned your names."
"I am Hasana," he said, bowing again, "…and it is a great honor to meet you, O Wise Witch."
Baba blushed slightly and chuckled again. "Ooh, stop it. And you," she asked, gazing at the female Namekian.
"Good morning, Fortuneteller Baba. My name's Sanshiva. It's wonderful to meet you," she said, rising and smiling. "I've traveled a long way for you… I was hoping you could help me, but I understand that you… require payment for your services? Especially since you've come all this way and—"
Baba held up a hand to shush her and smiled kindly. "Oh, don't you worry about payment. I'll collect my dues when I feel it necessary. But for now," she said, flashing a determined look, "I'll simply aid where I am needed. Hasana?"
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
"In the trunk of my car there, you'll find something that needs repairing, something that both you and Sanshiva will need for Shiro's arrival."
"Right."
"Yurei," she called, "…pop the trunk!"
Sanshiva and Hasana watched as the ghostly attendant reached underneath the steering wheel, and the trunk opened with a loud pop. The young man gingerly walked forward, anxious about what the Fortuneteller could have brought with her, and peered into the trunk with wide eyes.
"Lifebringer," he squeaked, his heart overflowing with joy. "It's… Lifebringer…"
The legendary sword had broken in two but was still a marvelous sight to behold, even in its incomplete state. It had a thick, glittering crystalline handle – very much like the ki swords he would make as a child – with delicately engraved characters that snaked the length of the grip. The pommel was a hefty diamond shaped like a seven-pointed star that glittered as the sun caught it, and the cross-guard was hewn from gently formed and braided silver. Hasana turned it over in his hands, feeling its weight, surprised it was far heavier than he'd imagined. He let a finger glide across the blade's edge and winced, shocked the sword was still sharp.
"Ow," he muttered. "Well, that was dumb of me." He stuck his finger in his mouth, trying to stifle the bleeding.
Sanshiva chuckled from beside him, and he jumped in surprise. "Lost in thought, were you?"
"Sanshiva… This is it. This is the sword!"
"…It's broken, though. How are you supposed to take a piece of a star to fix that? Stars are just… balls of fire in space, right?"
"Some have a bit of igneous matter at their center, like Sa Hoshii Viirva. But I know for a fact we can fix this. You see… swords like this…" Hasana backed away, and the group watched as he gracefully stabbed at the air beside him, dancing about in fluid movements to mimic a sword routine. Slashing up, down, and back before standing tall and still again. "Can be fixed not with material, but with intention."
"What?" Sanshiva tilted her head and grabbed the sword from him, turning it over in her hands. "What do you mean 'we?' I can't fix something like this. And it's… so heavy," she said, fumbling through a downward swing. "Oof…"
Hasana chuckled and said, "Yes, I said we can fix it." He winked at her and said, "I need my captain's input on her new weapon. And her energy."
The young woman blushed before she asked, "My… energy?"
"Mm-hmm. I'll tell you in a little bit. Didn't you have something you wanted to ask our esteemed guest?"
Sanshiva nodded, walked back towards Baba, and bowed deeply. "You probably already know what I want to ask, but… Do you know… how to separate Dokira's soul from mine?"
Doji held his breath. 'My dad…. She really is keeping her promise…'
Kiba and Hama hugged him tightly, and the three waited with bated breath to hear the witch's answer.
"Lifebringer is the tool you'll need to do that," Baba explained. "To separate his soul from yours – cleanly, and without losing any part of yourself in the process – you will have to delve deep into the darkness of your soul to cut through to him, the same way Zalama had to cut through to Muira. My role was to bring this to you. I have nothing else I can offer to help this process."
"He's not in danger, is he," she asked, flashing a worried look. "I still have time?"
"He will lose himself in your consciousness if not retrieved soon. The soul fusion you performed was unlike the fusion between Piccolo and Kami. It was… an absorption."
"Oh my gods—"
"Now, now, don't panic. Panic is not the emotion you need right now. What you need is calm—"
"But Lifebringer is broken and—"
"It can still do the job."
"But I don't know how to—"
"You have Hasana. He knows of what I speak."
Sanshiva's stomach tied into knots, and she glanced at Hasana. "Um… Do you… really know what she's talking about?"
"…Yes. It's not… a pleasant experience, but… I have to wonder… If someone can come with you…"
"How?"
"That's the part I'm having trouble figuring out. What essentially happens is that you slip into an ersatz coma through meditation. It's like… an inner-body experience. You see everything you've ever thought or felt about yourself since you developed conscious thought. You experience all the suppressed emotions and memories, and finding anything in particular can be very difficult. To find Dokira, I assume you would have to revisit… that night."
Sanshiva gulped. "You m-mean… the night I… k-killed him," she stuttered. "The night I… I…"
Baba gave the two Namekians a worried look. "Sanshiva, to move forward, we must face the darkest parts of ourselves. This is true on every level for you. You will need to perform the soul fission soon if he is to remain intact and ready for departure to the Other World."
"And… And… What if I… transform?"
"I'll be right there," Hasana said. "I will not leave your side, and I will pull you back from it."
"We will pull you back from it," Doji asserted, darting to her side. "We will help."
"But I… I don't know if it's safe—"
"It's probably not," Kiba offered. "But it's better than waiting around and doing nothing."
Piccolo chuckled and said, "And I'll beat some sense into you if need be." He winked, and Sanshiva blushed slightly.
"And I'll beat Piccolo up if he goes too far," Hama giggled. "But… Hasana?"
"Yes, little Hama?"
"How do you do that? And how do you know about that?"
"…When I… left home, I did the same thing. I was scared, worried, I was… a thousand things and none were good. I decided that if I wanted to be braver and if I wanted to keep going, I needed to get rid of those fears and doubts. I needed to see where they stemmed from, forgive myself, love myself through it no matter how hard it felt, and heal from the inside out. We are our own harshest critics. People have called me intelligent, and I've called myself an idiot more times than I can count; they've called me fearless and bold, and I've called myself a meek, cowardly little bug. I've seen through my darkness and expelled my demons, and it very nearly cost me my life on the way to Jae-Ujani. We can get lost in our shadows, you know…"
"Not if you have a light through the darkness," Doji said. "What if… what if we all did that meditation… at the same time? You think that might… help us join her?"
"Mm… Perhaps. It's worth a shot, but we'll need someone to observe and—"
Mr. Popo stepped beside Hasana and said, "Dende and I can observe and ensure that all of you are alright. But… Hasana, that doesn't explain how separate meditations can become one shared experience. I'm… a little confused."
"As am I, but that's our only option and—"
"No… No, no, no…" Sanshiva shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes, and she shrank back slightly. "I can't… I can't let you do that… I can't… lose all of you…"
Hasana turned to her and said, "You won't lose any of us."
"You'll lose a lot more if you do not embark on this journey with someone by your side, Sanshiva," the crone advised. "Commander Shiro took it upon himself to travel to your home world."
Sanshiva's eyes widened, and she gasped. "No… He wouldn't!"
Hasana's heart sank into his stomach, and he gulped. He looked at Sanshiva, noticing the young woman shaking feverishly, swaying upon her feet.
Baba nodded. "Shiro has taken your father and Hasana's father hostage."
The young woman's heart raced within her chest, feeling ready to explode, and the sky began to spin. As the clouds whirled, her eyes glazed over as she landed hard upon the tiles, clutching the handle of the broken sword in her trembling hands. She breathed heavily and shakily, hyperventilating against the tight feeling in her chest. She could no longer feel anything other than a terrible mixture of fear and guilt swallowing her up, coating her heart, and blackening her soul. The little ones and Hasana kneeled beside her, grabbing at her and shaking her.
Himura hissed and leaped from Hasana's shoulder, transforming and nudging the young woman with her snout. 'Don't give up now! Don't do this,' she pleaded, hoping Sanshiva would hear. 'Please! It'll be alright! We can do this!'
She couldn't stop imagining all the ways they'd be beaten and broken, trillions of light years away with no one to help them, no one to heal them, and a monster tearing them apart piece by bloody piece over and over again. Her thoughts devolved into self-loathing and grief. It was she, after all, that killed Dokira and Makeru; it was she that caused Hasana to lose his job, Yumena and Bowa to lose their home and business, and caused the loss of the innocence of three little ones who'd known nothing about her, save for what she was capable of. Now, the Grand Elder and another of his brothers, the stern and stalwart Hiro, had been taken from their homes – hostages to be used against her and Hasana. She lost herself in thoughts of what might have happened before they were kidnapped, hoping that no one else had gotten wrapped up in the terrible nightmare she'd created in her wake.
"Sister," the boys cried together. "Snap out of it!"
"Sanshiva!"
She cried quietly, her body shaking through waves of pain and sorrow. Hasana reached again and propped her upwards. Like a doll, she lolled about in his grasp, and he struggled with her weight as he leaned her against his chest.
"Sanshiva, come on," Hasana begged, "…please, don't let this stop you, we need—"
"No one… needs me… I am a curse… for everyone I meet," the girl groaned. Her voice had changed, like a shadow of the one they had all become familiar with, wispy, empty, and sorrowful.
She thought that had she not been born, no one would have had to suffer the consequences that had come as a result of her terrifying transformation. Doji would be at home, at peace with his father and his firedrake, and so would his friends. Her father would be smiling far more often than she'd ever seen, laughing with his brothers and friends, caring for all his people, and never having to keep secrets that tore his heart in half. Hasana would be at work or school, building bigger and better things, and become the next Elder of the southern isles; Yumena and Bowa would be exploring or trading their maps and books the way they intended. Mr. Popo, Dende, and Piccolo wouldn't have to worry about their beloved Earth and would be carrying on, enjoying life on their peaceful blue planet. None of this would have happened had she never existed, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than for her life to end. She was a blight, a curse, a horrible demon that left nothing but death and destruction in her wake and was undeserving of the life she'd been given.
Hasana followed her trail of thoughts and shook her furiously, angered and saddened all at once that she'd devolved into thoughts of chaos and death. "No! Stop that! Don't you ever think like that! Don't—"
"My father… Your father… Dokira… The boys… Bowa and Yumena… It's all my fault… It's all my fault…"
"STOP THAT!"
"Just… let them take me… Shiro would take me away… and let our fathers go… and you could all go home… and this would all… be over."
"What?! No! Your life's barely begun! Don't talk like that, please," Hasana choked through tears and pulled her closer, burying his face in her soft purple hair. "Please," he pleaded. "I… I can't face them without you… Please, Sanshiva, please! I need you! I need you here, with me, please! Don't bury yourself like this!"
Sanshiva's sclera began to blacken, covering her irises. Two great voids formed where once dazzling purple eyes had been, and Hasana sobbed loudly, knowing full well that just like the Demon Queen before her, she was falling into herself, heartbroken and lost in every fear and doubt she'd ever had, no matter how hard he and the others had worked to stave them off. Doji pulled at her gi, and Hama and Kiba pulled at her cloak. They watched her loll about in the young man's grasp, a listless shadow of the woman they once knew.
"Sanshiva," Hasana screamed, "SANSHIVA!"
And the darkness swallowed her whole once more.
