Goddess of Darkness

by DualitysEdge92

After a terrifying incident uncovers the existence of a single Namekian female, Sanshiva is forced to leave the only home she's ever known in search of a way to control the dark power that transforms her into a demonic entity. Will Sanshiva master the power within or give in to the darkness, once and for all? Rated M for strong language, fantasy violence & horror elements.

11. Ma-Junior Returns

The crunch of bone and the squelch of blood and muscle filled the bridge of the vast ship, sending shivers down the Elders' spines. Shiro laughed heartily between bites, savoring the dewy scent of the Grand Elder's flesh, smacking his lips and staring into Moori's eyes as he took another bite of his severed arm – the fourth one the Namekian had regenerated since the commander and his squad kidnapped he and his brother.

Both Hiro and Moori were bound to a cold metal wall via a series of thick steel cuffs that wrapped around their chests, ankles, and wrists. Shiro had left only one arm at a time free on either one of them, ripping them away as he saw fit. He'd tortured them endlessly and forced them to heal or regenerate what he partook of them several times over, all in the span of a few days since leaving New Namek. The commander grinned gleefully as the elderly alien wheezed and begged for mercy.

"P-please… stop… I c-can't keep… doing this!"

"Oh, dear Grand Elder Moori, I promise I'll let you rest," the commander teased, "…after I've had my fill, that is."

"You bloody, chum-stinking bastard, stop that this instant! Any more, and you'll kill him!"

"And what are you going to do, scream some more, you mouthy little slug?" In a sickening move, Shiro smacked Elder Hiro across the face with Moori's arm, laughing as the old man grimaced and hung his head low. "You're lucky I hate the way you taste, you bitter little shit, but don't worry… I won't let your precious Grand Elder die just yet. After all, we're still quite a ways from Earth. It'd be a shame, really, not to have something to trade for that revolting creature he calls his daughter."

"You loathsome—"

Shiro chuckled and grabbed Hiro's chin, forcing him to watch as he took another sloppy bite from Moori's severed arm. As the old man shut his eyes, the commander snarled and spoke through a mouthful of flesh. "You're a funny one, you know that? You didn't even fight us off – you begged and waited for your dearest brother to barter your lives in exchange for all those little bugs back home. Care to tell me why that is?" Hiro whimpered as Shiro slapped a hand against his face. Tears formed, and his lip quivered while the commander smiled wide, rows of bloodstained, sharp teeth shining in the harsh light filling the bridge, void-like eyes peering through him. "Aw, I see… You missed him," Shiro taunted, "…and couldn't resist a free ride straight to your precious little Hasana. Hmph… It's amazing how that damped imp became such a thorn in my side."

"Grr… I hope my son becomes the sword that sticks straight through your foul heart, you contemptible, odious cretin," the Elder cried.

Shiro tossed the arm aside and punched Hiro as hard as he could in the stomach. "SILENCE, YOU WRETCHED… WRINKLED… SLUG!" The Elder felt horribly dizzy, bile burning up his throat until he vomited atop the man's arm. Shiro cackled and grabbed for his white gi, ripping a sizeable piece of the top away to wipe the mess. Grinning, he balled up the sopping cloth and stuffed it into Hiro's mouth as far as it could go. "There," he said, chuckling while the old man gagged. "That ought to keep you nice and quiet for a bit. Now… where was I with this other one?"

Hiro let out a deep, throaty scream; desperation worked through his body, and he struggled against the bindings, yelling through the cloth, tears cascading down his wrinkled cheeks.

Shiro grabbed the crown of Moori's head, thick fingers squeezing tight as he stared into the Grand Elder's eyes. "I will do so much worse to your daughter."

Moori sobbed weakly and thought of his beloved Sanshiva, somewhere on the great blue planet, unaware that a creature far more powerful than anything she'd yet faced would soon arrive to exact revenge. "No," he squeaked, "Please! Don't do this… to her…"

The commander leaned forward, inches from his face. "Oh, but I will. This, and so much more."

"No, no! Leave her—"

Shiro slapped Moori hard across the face, splitting the skin with the rough scales on the back of his hand, and said, "If there's one thing my son Makeru had, it was good taste…" The commander grabbed a strange device from his belt – a thin, palm-sized tablet – and pressed at its screen. The central console of the ship flickered and buzzed before projecting a hologram of Sanshiva moments before she'd launched her assault on Makeru's shipmates. "It's strange," he mused, turning to view the hologram, "… the more I look at her, the more I'm taken aback by how she looks. The violet eyes, the hair, the pretty little jewels she put on her face and ears… Why… She's practically asking to be shown straight to the gates of Hell…"

"She's… only f-fifteen… Have mercy, please," the Grand Elder begged. "Mercy…"

The commander hummed in satisfaction. "Ooh, even better. Makeru really did know how to pick them…" He turned back to the Elders and smiled wide. "As much as I love to hear you plead for her life, it pains me to say that she is still a criminal. She killed a high-ranking officer of my fleet, caused billions of credits' worth of damage to my spaceport, and took away one of my most useful little technicians. This isn't about getting payback for the death of my son. This is about the principal of consequence. After all… What kind of a commander would I be if I let those little bugs get away with such a horrible series of senseless acts?"

"My daughter… would not… k-kill Makeru without… a reason…"

"Oh, believe me when I say that I, myself, had a thousand reasons to rid myself of that little fish. I knew full well what he was doing, and to be honest… I never gave a damn. Tinkerers like that pitiful little Hasana come and go every day. My boy was hungry, so… I let him hunt for him and his brothers. I'm surprised he let his guard down so soon. That pest of yours seemed rather weak even then if I'm being honest. Interesting little parlor trick she has; it makes her look horribly ugly, though, I'm afraid."

"Don't you dare speak of… my d-daughter… that way," Moori countered.

Shiro cackled again and retorted, "You're in my waters, little slug, and I'll do and speak as I damned well please. But tell me, Moori… From a leader's standpoint, do you think it wise to simply allow someone to disrespect me enough to waltz into my home and leave blood upon my doorstep, to simply take matters into their own hands without regard for the decorum I've struggled to develop for over a decade? Hm? Spit in the face of all I've done and all I hope to accomplish?"

"But—"

"ENOUGH! You two will watch while I make them suffer for their insolence!"

Moori wept harder and struggled against the tight feeling in his chest. Hiro screamed through the cloth gag, the taste sending waves of nausea through his middle. Shiro gazed between the Elders and snickered. With one hand, he reached for his utility belt, grabbing a thick serrated knife from a large holster; with his other, he held the Grand Elder's head, forcing it back against the cold wall.

"I'll cut them," he said, dragging the blade tip across the Grand Elder's cheek, "…and I'll stab them," he continued, trailing the knife down Moori's chest and further to his middle. "I'll bleed them out, over and over again." Shiro took the knife and swiftly jabbed it into the wall, mere centimeters from Moori's cheek. The Grand Elder cried out in shock and whimpered as the commander pulled the blade back, toying with it between his massive fingers before placing it against his inner thigh, pressing and teasing it close to the femoral artery.

"P-please… I c-can't… take much more…"

"It doesn't matter that you can't take it. You will anyway," Shiro hissed. Aiming for a benign area of the Namekian's thigh, he continued, "See… I've come to enjoy the smell your people exude when they bleed… It's like… Well, it's rather like wine: fragrant, citrusy… and addicting."

Hiro screamed again as he watched the commander thrust the blade into Moori's thigh, blood spurting and spilling onto the floor in thick, hot streams. Moori bawled and shouted, the horrible stinging sensation leaving his lower half in shocking pain.

Shiro chortled and twisted the blade, relishing the Namekian's anguished cries. He retracted the knife and licked it before wiping what remained across the front of Moori's robes, smiling as he sidestepped to face Elder Hiro.

"You may taste bitter, but your blood reminds me of a drink from my home world, Mizuno. Sangrezhada… Such a potent libation. In fact, I've got a few bottles waiting for me in my quarters... I may have to treat myself to some after I'm finished here." Without warning, Shiro backed away and slashed at Hiro's chest five times, inhaling deeply as the Elder shuddered, grimaced, and cried, his blood dripping down what remained of his white gi and coloring it a deep purple. He ripped away what remained of Hiro's top, wiping the blood from the Namekian's chest and cleaning his knife before holding it to his nose. He inhaled deeply, a malicious grin stretched across his face. "Mmm… What a wonderful smell…" He turned and exited the bridge, and the door slid behind him with a soft hiss.

Moori's head dangled forward, and he stared at the ground, watching a puddle of blood forming on the shining tiles beneath him, shoes soaked through and stained to indigo. He struggled to stay conscious amidst the wave of cold that seemed to creep up his leg, through his middle, and into his chest.

Hiro panted erratically, trying his hardest to slow down amidst the throbbing pain of his wounds. He tried to use his tongue to push out the gag, but the taste once again sent waves of nausea through his body, and he heaved. The terrible sting of bile burned his throat and brought tears to his eyes as he swallowed it back.

'Hang on, please,' Hiro pleaded telepathically. 'Please, Moori…'

'I don't know how long I can take this,' Moori answered, glancing weakly. 'This… this is horrifying… And I feel… so cold…'

'Please,' Hiro begged. 'I… I need you with me… Our people need you… Your daughter needs you.'

Moori cried weakly, bringing his head back against the wall, hoping the cold steel would keep him awake. 'I'm trying… I'm… trying…'

Gazing at the image on the holographic screen, the Grand Elder trembled and sputtered against the terrible dizziness and the ghastly, metallic smell that lingered in the air.

The shiver of monstrous sharks arrived like a great and terrible storm that tore through the first village it came across: Elder Hiro's. Hiro had telepathically reached out for Moori to come and help end the madness that threatened to lay waste to what had just barely resurfaced of their kind less than two decades after their species' near extinction. Frieza was a horrid creature capable of profound destruction, for within his fingers lay the ability to erase whole planets. Shiro, however, was a different demon entirely. The sharp-toothed commander embodied cruelty; he was a sadistic entity that fed endlessly on pain and suffering in all its physical manifestations as if hungry for the sounds and flavors of agony's affliction.

Moori had raced to the southern isles, screaming and pleading with the scaled invaders to leave what remained of Hiro's children and brethren alone and take them instead. Now, as the Elders were bound and left to hang in the bridge of a broad and spherical ship, shuddering from the frigid, dry air, and alone in their pain, a single voice resounded in his mind – anguished just as much as he. Sighing deeply, he hung his head and groaned.

'My daughter… something is wrong with my daughter.'

'You mean aside from this damnable group of fish coming for her?'

'Yes.'

The Grand Elder thought back to his daughter's tenth hatchday. The little girl had attacked him when the last of their suns set, screaming and flailing wildly for him as she fought to make her father stay. The morning after, when Porunaga discovered Moori and the girl lying in a pool of blood, something changed: he could no longer access his daughter's thoughts as if a massive wall had been built where once a line of ardent communication stood. He'd found it endlessly frustrating, failing at interpreting his daughter's expressions, wants, and needs without the luxury of telepathy, and spent the next five years learning as much as he could of her. He soaked in all of her faces and tones of voice between lengthened visits until he finally understood the unspoken words between it all.

But as Shiro's vessel sailed ever closer to Earth, Moori realized that for the first time in five years, he could hear his daughter, clear as day, screaming and weeping. The sound seemed to echo in his ears, sending a cold shudder through his battered body. His eyes widened as he heard her apologize profusely for everything she'd ever done, over and over again, cursing herself with all the grief of a thousand anguished souls, as if she'd failed everyone by merely existing. She begged the gods to make it stop, for them to turn back time and make it as if she'd never been born. She prayed that Shiro would somehow find it in him to give mercy to Hasana, Yumena, and Bowa; prayed that the warriors of Earth would forgive her for bringing to them yet another disaster to their catastrophe-prone planet; prayed that her brave little brother, her dear Doji, would find it in him to move on and forgive her for failing to keep her promise. Finally, she prayed for her father, singing between sobs in their native tongue all the lamentations she'd ever learned as if to mourn her life and death all at once.

He tried to reach out to her, yet he was met only with her woes every time like the wall between them had abruptly changed into a one-way mirror into the darkness of his daughter's broken heart. He made a desperate, painful sound and glanced sadly at his brother. 'I haven't heard her like this in years. She never let me in after what happened, and now, I… I…'

Hiro gasped. 'You mean—'

'She's lost,' Moori replied, raising his head and staring at the ghostly image above the console. 'My poor Sanshiva… The only sun in my sky is lost in her darkness, and she… She doesn't know how to get out. She believes herself a curse… a horrible burden for everyone she meets, and my gods, Hiro, I've never felt her sorrow like this in all my days, and I am so sorry to have kept her a secret… To have gotten you and all of our people wrapped up in—'

'You stop that this instant,' Hiro commanded. 'You have nothing to be sorry for.'

'But I—'

'You did exactly as you felt was necessary to give your daughter a fighting chance.'

'But she—'

'If Hasana is still with her, it is because he can feel precisely what the rest of us felt when we met her that day, Moori. Even fourteen years later, I can feel that he thinks as we do and acts as any Elder would; he was with us for so short a time and brought with him so much… He doesn't let me in anymore or speak to me after I pushed him away, but… I'm still confident he would never endanger your child. He may not favor fighting, but his mind is the sharpest weapon he'll ever wield. So have faith, my brother, please… As long as they remain together, there could not possibly be any trial they would fail to overcome.'

'It's so hard… to have faith… in the dark.' The puddle by his feet steadily grew alongside the sickening feeling in his stomach as he fell unconscious. The last thing he heard was Sanshiva calling for him.

'Father,' she cried, 'I'm so sorry, Father... For everything…'

---

"It's not fair! It's not fair!" Doji banged his fists against the door of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, screaming as Piccolo grabbed him up in sturdy arms; the boy struggled furiously against the warrior's grip and cried, "Let me go, let me go!"

Piccolo harrumphed and carried the little one back outside, Hama and Kiba trailing close behind. "Cut it out," he said. "Only two people are allowed in there at a time."

"It's not fair! I was supposed to help her!"

Piccolo growled and threw the boy to the ground, crossing his arms and giving him a stern look.

"I WANNA SEE MY SISTER!" Doji scrambled to his feet, fists shaking at his sides. "LET ME IN THERE, NOW!"

"Now, Doji," Baba warned. "Please, calm down—"

"Now, you listen here," he said, waggling his finger in the old woman's face, "… you crazy old witch! If you hadn't told her that, she'd still be—"

"She'd still be lost, kid," Yumena called, pacing out from underneath the pagoda, pushing the little one's hand away. "Mind your manners. If Baba didn't come here and hand over Lifebringer, Hasana wouldn't be able to help."

"It's her fault that Sanshiva—"

"She did what she was supposed to do. If your sister found out just as Shiro got here, she'd be outta commission, and that shark would have one helluva of meal. You may be a smart lil' guy, but you're still young. Trust the adults here. We're tryin' kid, we really are."

"NO! NO, NO, NO!" Hama reached for Doji's arm, and the boy shrugged him away, ki flaring and rising steadily as the anger bubbled up from within. "I should be in there with her, not him!"

Kiba sighed and stepped beside him. "Stop, Doji. Yumena's right."

"WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU EVEN ON?!"

"Sanshiva's. You're supposed to be, too. Now calm down, or I'll have to—"

"OR WHAT, KIBA?!"

Kiba growled and swiftly kicked Doji hard in the stomach. The boy wailed as he hit the ground hard, staring daggers at his brother. "I'll have to knock some sense into you, that's what. Sanshiva's with the only other person who can bring her back. Did you forget that story already? Who brought Muira back from the darkness?"

"…Zalama," Doji spat, pushing himself up. "Hasana's not Zalama! He's just… A plain old Namekian—"

"In what way," Piccolo asked.

"Seriously?! You don't think I know all about the favored son of Elder Hiro and—"

"You barely know anything about the daughter of your Grand Elder. None of you do. But you, Doji, left home on a series of hunches and got your brothers wrapped up in something that you hardly understand; you just barely survived a crash landing on an alien planet and got so caught up in revenge that you lost control of your Shadow Form and nearly killed the creature that saved you the night Sanshiva revealed herself. None of what you've done is strong or smart because you failed to consider the risks that came with your actions."

"But Saba and Pogi would have killed more—"

"Eventually, somebody would tell them where she went. How many lives would be forfeited before then is anybody's guess. You could have stayed put or stayed with Moori, whatever suited your fancy. But now you're here, clueless and angry and… horribly annoying."

"Oh, COME ON!"

"Hasana considered you, your brothers, and their parents, Doji. He thought about Yumena and Bowa, too. So, if you ever gripe about your Elder like that again, I'll make sure you regret it."

"HE'S NOT MY ELDER! HE'S—"

"YOU WILL ADDRESS HIM AS SUCH! HE'S WILLING TO SACRIFICE HIMSELF FOR HER AND YOU."

Hama and Kiba gasped and stepped tentatively towards the seething warrior, grabbing for his pant legs. "What do you mean," they asked together.

The warrior sighed deeply and said, "Baba, can you help me out here? I've had about all I can take, and it's not even noon…"

"Doji… I am sorry, but what Piccolo says is true. Hasana could very well end up just as lost as she. He was thinking of you, Hama and Kiba, your parents, and your home. He didn't want all of you to end up lost somehow, thought the danger too great to allow you three to join them, and so…" Baba sighed deeply. Yurei stared at the ground and removed his ajirogasa, frowning and trembling. "He gave us permission to make a wish. If… If he cannot save Sanshiva, repair Lifebringer, and bring her back after two years in the Chamber… He has asked us to destroy the entrance, trap them inside, and gather the dragon balls to wish for their deaths."

"Wh-what?!"

"If both he and Sanshiva become inexplicably lost in the shadows of their past, their bodies may take on a life of their own and lash out as a result of what's going on up here," Baba explained, pointing to her head, "…and here," she finished, pointing to her heart. "He didn't want that fate to befall you or your brothers. He would have rather you'd gone home, so… He chose to make that sacrifice. The dragon on our planet, much like Porunga, can now grant three wishes thanks to Dende's powers. So, the second is to wish your father back to life, and the third is to wish the four of you home safely, posthaste."

Doji shook his head and shrank back. "B-but… Why?! He doesn't even know us and—"

Yumena exhaled heavily. "Meius filigi," she whispered, "My boy knows what Sanshiva's thinking, at least partially. I think… I think she lets him hear what she's got to think about, see her memories, talk to her when they're not in the same space… Even though he wasn't with us at Roshi's, I could tell he did the little psychic chat with her damn near daily. It was cute, y'know… She'd space out a bit with this little smile on her face…" The Atlassian sighed again, a sad look upon her face as she continued, "But I'm she told him she was worried about you young'uns; wanted to know if you were being taken care of n' if you were safe… So those wishes were mostly likely hers, really, not Hasana's. He just wanted to make them come true for her, no matter what it cost him."

"Oh, so now he's got a real Zalama complex all of a sudden," Doji spat. "Next, you're going to tell me he's about to make his own set of super dragon balls," he mocked.

"No," Yumena said, smacking him upside the head. "Hasana knows what he's doing, and if he can make it happen, even if it takes more than just a snap of those magic fingers o' his, he will. He knows what she wants, knows how she feels… Heck, he was just as alone for as long as she's been alive, so… He's just doin' right by her, is all."

Bowa tilted his head and gave her a curious look. "Hasana no alone," he gurgled sadly. "He have us…"

"He was the only one o' his kind on a grubby little spaceport in the middle o' nowhere, Bowa," Yumena scoffed. "Sure, he had us, and he made a few friends… You know, before Makeru went n' ate the poor souls as they got older… But there's somethin' about bein' the only one of a particular species in a place where so many people get to come n' go freely. Even if it ain't on the same scale as Sanshiva, he was just about as isolated as she was. Either way, he's trying to do what any vice-captain does: be there for his captain and see the goal through to the end."

A solemn silence settled over the group before Doji kicked at the ground and paced away, tears welling as he begrudgingly sat just on the edge of the Lookout, feet dangling in the air. He crossed his arms and huffed. Hama pulled away from Piccolo and gingerly sat by Doji's side, anxious as he reached out and touched the little one's shoulder.

"Hey… Doji?"

"…Yeah?"

"Um… How did you do that thing?"

"What thing?"

"Transform," Hama whispered.

Doji's eyes widened as he pulled away and said, "I promised Sanshiva I wouldn't do that again. What do you need to transform for anyways?"

"Shiro… is still going to want something for coming all the way here. We'll have to fight him if Sanshiva and Hasana don't make it. Sanshiva really, really, really didn't want anyone else involved in all this. I could see it in her face when Baba told her about the Elders. Like she was… ashamed of all this, even if it was because she did the right thing. So, I want… to do what you did. That way, we don't have to ask the Saiyans or the humans for help fighting those guys."

"I barely got back from it. It's a horrible feeling, Hama, and you don't want that—"

Hama shook his head. "You know what's worse than feeling bad? Feeling dead. I don't wanna die, Doji! I don't want anybody to get hurt by Shiro, either, so please… Please teach me how to do it!"

Doji shook his head and gave his brother a resolute look. "No. I made a promise."

"But—"

"I SAID NO!"

Hama shrank away, shocked at his brother's refusal. He firmly believed that learning the transformation was their only fighting chance; that if Sanshiva and Hasana did not exit the Chamber, and the great dragon Shenron was forced to end their lives, Shiro would still find a hard time subduing not one but several terrifying Namekian demons. Even if Sanshiva was lost, he and his brothers would survive to tell her story and keep her and her vice-captain alive through song and legend. Dokira would be revived, and they could all head home and leave the horrible nightmare in the past. The boy had never known anything but the company of his father and his fellow villagers, and now, so far away from home, the one person he was told he could depend on was actively choosing not to help. He could tell Doji had allowed his fear of the Shadow Form to consume him; his curiosity about the powers the transformation afforded him had all but disappeared, replaced by a strange and foreboding hesitation that threatened to stifle Hama's hopes of returning to his peaceful, green world. A tepid mixture of sorrow and anger swirled in his stomach, and his lip quivered as he addressed Doji again.

"I left home for you," he whimpered. "I left home for her, too. I was supposed to be able to… lean on you when I needed you, the way you leaned on us when you couldn't think of anything else to say to Saba and Pogi. But I guess… I was wrong…"

The little boy paced back to Piccolo's side, sniffling and struggling to stifle the sobs that threatened to burst forth. Piccolo looked down, slightly saddened by the boy's refusal to offer anything in exchange for his brothers' sacrifices. Sighing, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small device with a strange, rubbery purple encasement shaped like a cat. He pressed at its surface a few times, its peculiar glow casting a harsh blue light across his face as he waited through a series of loud rings until finally, a chipper voice answered, and the image of a blue-haired human female appeared on-screen.

"Oh, wow! You're actually using the phone I got you?!"

"…Good morning to you, too," he answered sardonically. "Yes. I'm using the phone you got me, Bulma. Listen… I know Trunks has school soon, but could I borrow him for a bit?"

"Hm… What for?"

He motioned for Hama and Kiba to levitate beside him with his free hand. "Introduce yourselves, boys."

The little ones hovered by his shoulders, and she giggled as they came into view. "Aw! Hi, little guys! I'm Bulma. What are your names?"

"Hi, Miss! My name's Kiba!"

"I'm Hama," the little one said, still sniffling.

"It's nice to meet you," they said together.

"Do you want to explain the situation to her from your standpoint?" He handed Hama the phone, and he nodded, taking it as he and Kiba flew to the opposite end of the Lookout, detailing the events that had occurred during Sanshiva's absence from New Namek and the training they needed to engage in their transformation.

"Goin' with Hasana's plan, huh?" Yumena smirked and gazed up at the warrior.

"Yeah," Piccolo answered gruffly, staring at the temple door. "It's the only one that makes sense right about now. That, and… I might also have to do some training to see how that works. The Super Saiyan powerup is… oddly similar in how it activates. Our kind normally shy away from such extremes, but… If Sanshiva was dead set on making sure no one else got involved, then I'll need a powerup just as formidable as the Saiyans."

Baba and Yurei looked at one another and gulped. "Piccolo, are you sure that's a… wise decision?"

He smirked and said, "No, but it's the only other one I can make right now."

"You don't think… Kami or Nail will block you off from that?"

"Oh, they will. They'll try, anyway. But deep down, even they know this is the only way right now. Sure, getting the Saiyans involved is easier, but…" Pausing, he stared at the ground and tsked. "I'm sick of being left behind. I'm sick of being surpassed when I'm supposed to be the strongest of my kind, and I still can't keep up with the others, no matter how hard I work. This… demon transformation sounds like it'd be right up my alley."

"And you're not worried about losing control?"

Piccolo shook his head and stayed silent, turning to watch as Hama and Kiba pored over his phone, speaking excitedly with the scientist and her son on-screen. For a moment, he allowed his mind to wander, to ponder the possibility of obtaining a power he had sought for so long – just enough to remain on par with his allies, if not exceed them entirely. Something deep within ached to prove himself, to show that he, too, could wield such a profoundly dark power if only in the service of others, just as Muira had done eons ago. A pinprick of jealousy lay within the heart of it all, a longing to stand in earnest alongside those who'd helped to change his heart from within.

During the wee hours of the morning, he'd spoken with Sanshiva, aiming to understand what she knew of her transformation and the powers it provided. Hasana, too, had offered some of his knowledge, reiterating his belief the emotion used as a catalyst could vastly change the abilities associated with the Shadow Form. He sensed the young woman's hesitance as she repeated that she didn't know how to make it start or stop and that the incident with Makeru was something of a one-off – a last-minute, unknowing grab at a power she knew was capable of destroying the menace that plagued Jae-Ujani. Piccolo had offered to train her to see if he could help push that door open, and Sanshiva refused, saying that she would rather wait for the wizened witch and see what she had to offer before plunging herself into darkness willingly.

Piccolo's curiosity soon got the best of him. As he strained against the strange apprehension that bubbled at his core, the vestiges of his fusions with Kami and Nail nagged at him ever further to reconsider the decision to seek his own Shadow Form. There were, of course, many risks associated with a transformation that centered around the worst emotions that lay within his heart, especially one that might stem from envy. Still, the hardened warrior believed himself more than capable of remaining in total control. The more he thought of it, the more he hungered to see what lay beyond the boundaries of his plain Namekian form; the more he imagined a newer, darker body with nearly limitless power, the faster his heart raced. The sound drowned out everything until the boys called and grabbed the group's attention again.

Hama and Kiba returned, smiling wide, eyes shining like they'd won a grand prize. "They're coming with the dragon balls they collected," Kiba said proudly. "Trunks is gonna show us how he goes Super Saiyan!"

"Hm… Let's hope the same concept works," Piccolo said.

"Bulma said she didn't see why it shouldn't if we work hard enough," Hama said, handing the phone back. "So, when Trunks gets here… I'm going to try."

"Good." The warrior turned, looking at the back of Doji's head, still shaking in disapproval. "Doji," he called out, "Get your ass in gear."

The little one guffawed and kicked his foot in the air. "Tch… You're not the boss of—"

Piccolo darted to him with blinding speed, disappearing and reappearing in the air before him with a menacing look spread across his face.

"—me," Doji squeaked.

"You may have promised not to transform again, and by all means, feel free to keep it. But your brothers and I have something else in mind, and it doesn't involve sitting on our hands and having a pity party."

"I'm not having a pity party," the little one hissed.

"Then quit your griping. You'll train with your brothers every day until Shiro gets here. And if we can surpass anything you could do with your own transformation, I don't want to hear a single complaint from you. If I do," Piccolo sneered, leaning inches away from Doji's face, "…I'll make sure you regret it."

"What makes you think you can transform? You're just as much of a goody-two-shoes as Hasana," the boy retorted.

Piccolo laughed heartily, backing away and crossing his arms. Doji gasped, noticing a strange spark – a violent and verdant emerald – within the warrior's ebony eyes.

"I wasn't always a good guy," he said, smirking. "I am, after all, the son of the Demon King."

---

"Sir, you're going to want to see this," called a raspy voice from the end of the room.

"Urgh… what's it now," Shiro slurred, emptying yet another drink from his tall glass before setting it beside him. He belched and grinned as the taste of blood resurfaced on his tongue.

The captain's quarters at the forefront of the massive vessel sprawled out before him. The tiles were polished to perfection, glistening under the lamplight. Dark, curved walls were covered in various posters and news clippings – old bounties Shiro and his group had cashed in over the years, earning the Elite Guard accolades and hefty prizes to fund their fleet at Jae-Ujani. The commander traced a thick finger along the rim of the cup, awaiting his subordinate's answer, irritation frothing up from within as a man seated across from him swirled round in his chair.

From behind a cluttered desk stood a short, knobby creature with a long, pointed snout and a set of bright yellow eyes. He fumbled with his armor – several sizes too big and constantly shifting around his bony frame – before turning one of the monitors around to face the drunken commander.

"Saba and Pogi aren't answering. I checked the security footage just after your last communication with them, and I… Um… Uh—"

"Oh, for the love o' coral, Goburin, could you please…" Shiro paused and burped loudly again. "Just spit it the hell out."

"I think… they crashed."

The commander's eyes widened before he shifted to a grin. "Aw, the boys hit the ground too hard, huh?" He laughed heartily and grabbed a sizeable emerald bottle from the side of his chair, eyeing its contents. Still half full of a dark, thick substance, he swirled it around before taking a massive swig, sighing as the warmth of the libation slipped down his throat. "Well, boo-fucking-hoo."

"But… Sir, they're your sons, aren't you—"

"I've got a hundred more where they came from. I don't give a damn about two…" He hiccuped loudly and corrected himself, "Oops… Three stupid little guppies now out from underneath my damn scales."

"Ah. Duly noted, sir."

"So… whatcha got on the screen there," he said, lazily pointing to the monitor.

"This is the last bit of security footage right after you and Saba spoke."

Shiro cackled, "Ha! Alright, lemme see."

Goburin nodded and tapped at the screen. As the footage played, Shiro watched as the alarms and lights on the ship came on, flickering relentlessly. Saba squinted and looked about before turning his attention to the console, watching as several notifications appeared. The vessel began to wobble erratically during their descent. Shiro laughed as he watched Pogi, Saba, and their three captives struggle to find their balance and hold onto the nearest object. Shiro soon noticed a single creature – like a thick, four-legged black and purple worm – crawl out from the central console, scurry across the floor, and attach itself to the frame of a portly little Namekian. As the dark, star-speckled sky swirled through the window, Shiro laughed again as the footage abruptly ended after a quick shudder and a flash of flame – evidence of a fatal impact.

Goburin grimaced, his commander's laughter haunting him to the core. He understood how much fatherhood annoyed Shiro – he'd made that abundantly clear as Makeru and Saba had taken their place within his ranks, followed by their thinner, useless little brother Pogi – but seeing him entertained by their deaths was something wholly strange.

"Stupid little fucks. I told them to get rid o' those little worms, and now look at 'em," Shiro slurred again, taking a hefty sip from the bottle, "Dead! Now, I don't have to look out for anyone anymore. Serves 'em right."

"Sir… What about the girl? Weren't they tasked with—"

Chortling, the commander interjected, mocking Saba's voice through his drunken tongue. "'We'll retrieve the girl or die trying.' Damned idiot. Barely listened to me alive, that one. Hope he can hear me from the afterlife! Here's to you, Saba and Pogi, the most useless little fish to wander the great starry sea," he finished, emptying the bottle's contents. "Now… get me another one." He threw it at the wall, laughing as it shattered into hundreds of pieces, grains of glass and crystal scattering across the floor. "And pick that shit up. I'm going to take a shower," Shiro said, pushing himself up from his luxurious red chair, chuckling as he stumbled out of his quarters and into the hallway.

"Pinsha madore," Goburin muttered. "I'm going to be cleaning up a lot more than glass and alcohol if he's asking for more." He grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet by the door, sighing heavily and cursing under his breath.

"Woo! Shiro's havin' a great time," called a voice down the hall. "Damn, I want some, too. Haven't had Sangrezhada in so long… Smells like the good stuff, too."

"Yep," Goburin answered, "Century-aged Sangrezhada."

"Oof! And he drank the whole thing in what… fifteen minutes?"

"He's had two of 'em in the past hour."

A tall, lanky man with sand-colored scales and beady blue eyes sauntered into the captain's quarters, staring at the mess of glass on the floor with a broad smile on his smooth and angular face. He rubbed at the short fin atop his head and whistled. "Whew, we are in for a good time today. So... I guess Saba and Pogi bit the hook?"

"Yeah… I don't think anybody coulda survived a fall from forty miles above the ground in a dinky old slug ship." Goburin fumbled with his armor again before disposing of the glass shards in a nearby receptacle, returning to finish his work. He glanced to the side, covetous eyes passing over the neat arrangement of seven more emerald bottles. "Sunaji… D'you think he'd notice if we… took one of them?"

Sunaji guffawed. "You got some serious fuckin' issues, Goburin, just for thinking of that. He may not count heads too well, but bottles? That guy would tear us all apart if we took even a drop without his permission, drunk or sober."

"Aw…"

"Yeah, I know, I know." Sunaji sighed, joining his comrade in cleaning up what remained of the glass on the floor. "But if it makes you feel any better… I got some moonshine in my room."

"Ugh… Isn't that the shit you got from the human you killed like… a decade ago?"

"Yeah, man, it's actually pretty good after aging that long. You know, once you get past the horrible stinging and shitty taste," he tittered.

---

"So," Trunks said, "No one really… taught me how to do this. I had to learn to do it without my dad, so I might… um… suck at explaining all this."

"That's okay; I'm just glad you're helping us out, even if it's just a little bit. You must have worked really hard," Hama said. "Doesn't that… sting a little? You know… about your dad, I mean?"

"Yeah, but he's always like that. It was so worth it, though. The first time I did it in front of him, he was so shocked, and I was so proud of myself!" The little boy beamed from ear to ear and placed his hands on his hips as he hovered above the tiles. "Now, you wanna see this, or what?"

"Yes," Kiba shouted, fists pumping as he joined the child in the air. "Show me what you got!"

Trunks smiled again and explained, "So, the first time I did this, I had to reach for something that made me really, really upset. In my case… it was my dad. I love him, but he makes me… kinda mad sometimes. So… the more I thought of how hard it was to make him proud of me, how much he seemed to talk down to me and stuff…" The little boy paused and curled his fingers into fists. The air around his body grew hot, wavering and flickering as his energy rose slowly but surely. He breathed deeply and continued, "The more I wanted… TO PROVE HIM WRONG!"

Trunks' body was now sheathed in a layer of golden light; energy surged outwards from his frame, creating magnificent waves that washed over Kiba and Hama, who gazed at the Saiyan halfling in wonder. Bulma smiled, watching with Piccolo and the others from a distance as the little boys bathed in the glowing aura of her only son. Trunks bellowed into the sky, his ki surging to greater heights as he focused on his catalyst, spurring his powerup. Like a sunset, the boy's hair shifted from lavender to pink to orange until it stood on end in a blazing blast of gold, and his eye color changed from a light purple to an oceanic blue. The little Namekians gasped together.

"This is Super Saiyan," the boy said proudly. "To keep it going, I just need to remember my goal for using it, like… beating a bad guy. Or making my dad realize I'm not as weak as he thinks sometimes. Either way, I hold onto that for as long as I need. This uses up a lot of energy if I'm not too careful with it."

"Doji! Check him out! This is so cool," Kiba said, zooming in circles around the glowing halfling. "It's like… the opposite of what Sanshiva does! He glows! His power is crazy high! I bet he could beat Shiro all by himself if he wanted to!"

Trunks beamed, stomach aflutter between the admiration and compliments from someone he'd only just met.

Doji waved his hand dismissively, still sitting on the edge of the Lookout with a cross look. "So, what," he muttered. "His hair and eyes change color. Bet he can't swallow a soul."

Trunks' smile soured, and he harrumphed softly, crossing his arms. Before he could reply, Kiba retorted, "Neither can you, but that's not what we're trying to do here."

"Oh, that's right," his brother countered, "Because what you're doing is dumb on about twenty different levels."

"Name 'em, then, come on. You got a better idea? You know, other than staring at the ground beneath the Lookout like a whiny little brat?!"

"Oh, shut up, Kiba."

"No, you shut up, Doji! Me n' Hama came all this way for you! For Sanshiva! Now you've got two more people who traveled from their home for us here, and you're still acting like a jerk! Trunks and his mom could be doing a million other fun things, but they're here, and Trunks is trying to teach us how to use our power to work for us! We're supposed to use the Shadow Form to—"

"I WILL NOT TRANSFORM EVER, EVER AGAIN!"

"Grr… THEN KICK ROCKS, DOJI!"

Doji's eyes widened. "…What did you just tell me to do?" He hovered from his seated position and crossed his arms as he turned to look at his brothers and their new friend.

"Now, now," Hama said, eyeing the two little Namekians nervously, "Come on, we're all a little worked up here. There's no need for all this—"

Kiba shook his fist, "At least I'm not being rude to people who've come to help me!"

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR ANYONE'S HELP!"

The little ones gasped together. Trunks' brows raised, and he exhaled deeply, releasing the energy stored within his body. With a quick flash, his golden transformation dissipated, giving way to his simple appearance. He patted his deep green gi and tightened his bright orange belt before reaching for Kiba's shoulder. As the boy opened his mouth to snap back, Trunks gave him a stern look and whispered, "Don't focus on him right now. We've got work to do, remember?" Kiba gave him an equally fierce look and nodded, huffing as he turned his back to Doji. Hama shook his head sadly and turned, too, saddened at his brother's adamant refusal to train his Shadow Form before the Elite Guard's arrival.

Piccolo guffawed at Doji's declaration and joined the little ones with Trunks, advising them further. "Now, even though we're not Saiyans, we're going to apply that same thinking to the Shadow Form. Sanshiva and Doji transformed under entirely different circumstances; stressful ones, certainly, but their Shadow Forms were forced. We have the opportunity to draw this out until our minds and bodies can handle the full effect. Three weeks might not be a lot of time for you guys, but if all else fails, we'll trade places and head into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber if…" He paused and corrected himself, "When Sanshiva and Hasana come back out and spend two years in there, training to use it. Sound good?"

Hama and Kiba nodded eagerly. "Yes sir," they said together.

Piccolo smirked, assuming a lotus position above the ground before the three little boys. "You heard Trunks. He had to pull from his desire to prove himself and his anger to reveal his latent powers. Hasana told me that this… darkness, this shadow is somehow within all of us, something Doji proved back on New Namek and here on Earth."

"Stupid Doji," Kiba muttered tersely.

Hama tsked and nudged his brother hard in the side. "Ahem. Our teacher is speaking."

Kiba pursed his lips and copied Piccolo, hovering above the ground with a firm look of irritation across his face. "I'll show him," he said lowly. "Ungrateful little… knucklehead."

"That's it," Piccolo said, "Go ahead and use that anger if you want."

"But… Mr. Piccolo," Hama said, levitating beside him. "I know what I can think about to try and make it happen, but… How do you actually… make that real? Feelings are up here," he said, pointing to his head. "But… the power should be here," he finished, showing the warrior his hands.

"Exactly. Kiba said you're good at materialization."

"Yes! It's my favorite trick," the little one smiled.

"That's essentially what you have to do. In the same way you pull from energy and matter to create what you imagine, I want you to think of the worst thing that could happen if Sanshiva and Hasana fail; if there's no one else to stand beside us as we fight Commander Shiro. I want you to feel the worst thing you can feel and hold it… in your hands."

Piccolo breathed deeply, focused on the jealousy that boiled deep within. His brow furrowed, and his heart rate quickened as he thought further into his lineage. Once the son of the feared Demon King, he'd been converted to nothing more than a mentor and childminder for the rest of his allies. What was once a willing position – if only for Son Goku's firstborn, Gohan – became a thoroughly upsetting chore even at the best of times. He'd cast aside the darker powers his father had passed onto him in favor of the goodness and light that resided within Kami and the well-fought Namekian warrior, Nail. But now, even with all his righteousness and progress, he lagged hundreds of miles behind the hardened Saiyan warriors and their children, whom he'd had a hand in training nearly every step of the way.

A strange stabbing feeling coalesced in his chest. His fused soul cried out in agony as if something was being torn apart from within, and yet still, Piccolo pressed on, willing ki forth with every ounce of his negative emotions that he could muster. His skin began to darken, and as he opened his eyes to stare back at the boys, they inhaled sharply, seeing the pinprick of neon green from deep within ebony eyes. Something called to the great warrior, something dark and comforting, frightening and emboldening all at once. His father's final words echoed in his head, the last vestige of the Demon King's presence stored in the depths of the Namekian fighter's genetic memory.

'Never let the evil in you be extinguished.'

As the great warrior exhaled, sinews of shadow flowed from his mouth and wrapped around his form, trailing over his face and down his caped shoulders. "There it is," he growled in satisfaction.

Even with untrained senses, Bulma could feel the malice unwinding, the evil once thought gone resurfacing like a phantom from the grave. She raced forward, grabbing for Trunks, Hama, and Kiba, ushering the kids away.

"Piccolo," she said breathily, "You've… got this under control, right?"

He hummed and closed his hands, pushing the darkness into his body before snapping his fingers, willing his cape and turban away. They soon disappeared, and Bulma yelped as the man's skin began to blacken over as if charred by the physical manifestation of wrath.

"That… little girl…" Piccolo breathed hotly and heavily, losing his grip on all but the envy that pounded through his chest. "That… idiot really didn't want this?!"

Doji twisted round from the edge of the Lookout, eyes wide and heart racing at full speed. "Don't you EVER talk about my sister that way!"

He darted and stood before Piccolo, who by now was growing in size, mirroring the proportions of his father. The brightness in his eyes faded until his sclera were wholly darkened, and only the green of envy flared at their center. Glancing back at Hama and Kiba, Doji hissed through clenched teeth, "I told you this was a dumb idea!"

"Oh, shove a rock in it, will you," Hama countered.

A terrible resonance of two tones could be heard within Piccolo's maniacal laughter. His own, and one that made Baba, Yurei, and Bulma shudder in fear.

"He sounds like… his father," the crone squeaked. "No… No!"

Piccolo continued to chortle, his form still stretching to more significant proportions, towering above the group of frightened individuals, obscuring the sun and darkening the once-bright temple grounds. Clouds began to gather and swirl above, blighting the sky in a strange grey tone like a sudden and great storm to welcome the new Demon King.

"It's like… Shenron, but… in a bad way," Trunks uttered shakily. "PICCOLO! STOP!"

"Hm… No."

Drunk on the peculiar mixture of power and pain, Piccolo's thoughts began to devolve into madness. One fetid, spiteful thought led to hundreds of others stacked right behind it, furthering his Shadow Form and awakening a deathly urge thought doused by the kindness of others. He continued to allow the bitterness to manifest and clothe him, strengthen him until he could no longer feel the anguish underneath the envy or the sorrow beneath the fury, and screamed into the sky. For the first time in his life, the emotional agony of the identity crisis he struggled with was gone; he could no longer hear the fused souls from within and could finally listen to himself just as he'd been all those years ago.

'They will fear me once again,' he thought. 'They will know my power just as I've come to know theirs… And they will bow before me.'

Thunder and lightning crashed around them in hot flashes of green and yellow, shaking the ground, an extension of a power no longer wholly under the warrior's control. What was a curious reach for an ability meant to bolster their chances against a group of scaled enemies had transformed into a lust to prove himself a better creature than the Saiyans could ever wish to be, and he smiled wide, rows of sharp teeth glistening between flashes of light from the storm above.

"I'm… back," he said, his voice booming above the heavenly temple, now shrouded by the darkness deep inside the Namekian's heart. He stared at his hands, marveling at the sheer size he'd grown to, feeling the hum of dark energy pulse through his massive, shadow-cloaked body.

Bulma whimpered, and Baba hovered beside her, pulling at her jeans and motioning to the vehicle still parked at the Lookout's southern edge. She nodded, attempting to pull Trunks along with her, but the boy shrugged her off, shaking his head and urging her away.

"We've got this. Don't call Dad yet. We'll help Piccolo snap out of it, won't we, guys," he asked, glancing between Hama, Kiba, and Doji. The Namekians nodded slowly back to him, each gulping in turn as they gazed at the horrifying phantom towering over them.

His mother grabbed Baba and the crystal ball and ran; Yurei and the others followed, hurriedly stuffing themselves into the vehicle before it began to putter and whir, its blades swinging through the air before it lifted from the tiled temple grounds and sailed into the distance. Still distracted by the marvelous feeling of all his darkness manifest, Piccolo laughed and looked to the sky, smiling as the lightning and thunder came down even louder and stronger.

Trunks whispered, "Piccolo's got this all wrong. You can't just… do it like this. You have to have a reason to change like that. A real reason, not just an emotion. Doji, why did you transform?"

"To become stronger and get revenge on the jerks who hurt my people and tortured me."

"Okay. Kiba, why would you do it?"

"Because I hate feeling helpless. I hate it when people try to hurt me or my brothers, my father and his friends, and… I hate that Sanshiva still thinks she's nothing but a monster…"

"Good enough. Hate it is. Hama?"

Hama whined, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Because I'm s-scared… of all the things someone could do to us, to Sanshiva or Hasana… to everyone in the universe… Just for standing up for what's right."

"Fear. Got it. Now, do what Piccolo did, and this time, focus on the goal: bringing this guy back to his senses. Take all that emotion, hate, and fear and hold it… in your hands!" Trunks roared and flew upwards, engaging his Super Saiyan transformation as he tried to reach through to Piccolo one last time. The great demon stared at the little boy, irritated at the golden glow that emanated from such a tiny form. "PICCOLO! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"

"You know what I called myself when I met that idiot Goku at the World Martial Arts Tournament," asked the demon. "Ma-Junior. And he… has returned. I'll be damned if I allow anyone, especially that stupid little wretch, to control a power and an army that is rightfully mine. Had I known this ability existed, all of you would have been wiped clean from this damnable pebble you call home."

"Shut up," Kiba screamed, "You shut your damned mouth! That's our sister you're talkin' about!"

"M-Mr. Piccolo," Hama called out, "Please… please don't stay like this…"

"Oh, I do love to hear someone beg," Ma-Junior chortled. "But you know what sounds better than a weakling begging on another's behalf?" He looked down, gazing through fiery emerald eyes, the malevolence within now directed towards four frightened kids. "Hearing children beg… FOR THEIR LIVES!"

---

Commander Shiro hiccupped and belched loudly, stumbling through the hallways of the vast ship with Goburin and Sunaji in tow like two sitters watching over a loud, drunken child. He sang a strange song, something clearly malevolent in nature.

"Descucho a sangrezh goziere siu priel… Ver zel terror mene jas zus oujous…"

Sunaji smiled wide, recognizing the tune. Goburin gave him a wary look, a silent request for translation. Having been raised away from their home world, the smaller shark's understanding of their language was limited to curses and names, adages, and quotes from old stories. Sunaji, sensing how lost Goburin was, spoke softly as they followed their commander, who continued to take long, clumsy steps along the passageway.

"I hear the blood drip from their skin," he whispered to Goburin, grinning all the while, "…and see the terror in their eyes."

"Dejois qui'il oloure panistre… y levanto mi cabiz han kielo."

"I let the smell sink in and raise my head to the skies."

"Oujous nagroz sohbre carne… Mano sangrezha bre weso,"

"Black eyes upon flesh, bloody hands upon bone."

Shiro hiccupped again and finished his malicious tune, "Los disanghrez a todos, konvirtirae a todos in friez preizekos…"

"I will bleed them all dry and turn them to frigid stone."

Goburin gave Sunaji a horrified look, surprised that such a terrible set of lyrics lay behind the sinuous melody. "Pinsha madore," he muttered, "Are you serious?"

"Yep. It's his favorite. Canzion di Tiburanas, Shark's Song. Used to sing it after every bounty was collected… And whenever he got horribly drunk," Sunaji chortled.

"Whuzzat," Shiro grumbled, stopping in the hallway before the door to the bridge. "Talkin'… shit back there?"

"Hell no," Sunaji answered, "Just admiring a good song is all. Where'd you learn that one again?"

"For the… hiccup… Millionth time, S'naji… I wrote it." Shiro grinned wide, sensing the two weak Elders beyond the door, leaning his head forward and pressing it against the metal as he continued, "You know… I'm a lil' sad. We ran out of… hiccup… Sangrezhada…"

"I would say pace yourself, but it is yours to do as you wish, Commander. I've already sent an order back to have some ready when we return to Jae-Ujani."

"Such a good comrade you are… Gob'rin, why didn't you think o' that?"

"Because I was too busy cleaning up your mess," he muttered tersely.

"What… the fuck… hiccup… did you jus'say," Shiro slurred, his cold tone shifting to hot anger.

Goburin stood at attention, fear coursing through his veins as his commander's eyes wandered towards him as if to peer through his very soul. "I said I was too busy making sure everything was ready for your rest…?"

Sunaji grinned and chuckled, nudging the minor soldier as he said, "Yes, that's correct, Commander. After this, you'll need a nice rest and some water. What do you say? Ready to head back to your quarters? Or would you like to go for a walk and check in on the others instead? Kuzame, Hajira, and Kirei should be in the mess hall."

"We don't have… hiccup… anymore Sangrezhada…" Shiro repeated. "So… I'll settle for the closest thing…" He tapped on the button beside the door, and it opened with a soft hiss. He stumbled forward, eyeing the Namekians still bound to the wall. Moori's arm had regenerated again, but the Grand Elder hung limp against his bindings, still unconscious. Hiro stared at the drunken shark, wide-eyed and curious, as the massive man shuffled towards him. "Hello… hiccup… Elder Hiro. Hangin' in there?" He slapped the Elder's face teasingly.

"I have no choice," the Elder spat. "What do you want now? Another arm? A leg?"

The commander guffawed and staggered backward. "Aw… Bitter, are we? Seems… hiccup… about right, you vile lil' pest."

Hiro smelled the strange coppery scent eking from his mouth, grimacing as Shiro shuffled towards him again and leaned against the wall, his scaled and scarred face inches away.

"Drunken buffoon," the Elder said tersely. "I should have known your kind would partake of such atrocious vices."

"Oh, my kind? I didn't take the Namekians for racists. What happened… hiccup… to all that 'act in love n' kindness' bullshit?" Shiro and his men laughed together. Goburin shuffled closer, and Sunaji with him, inhaling deeply at the scent of ersatz Sangrezhada. They drooled and shuddered in excitement as their commander cut deep across Hiro's face, and the Elder screamed, skin split down from his right brow to his chin. "That oughtta leave you with the same mark your stupid brat gave me all those years ago… Heal it all you want; it'll never go away."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Hm… 's funny, you know," Shiro slurred. "Every sip I took today, n' I started to remember what that stupid slug did to me all those years ago. I wonder… hiccup… why Saba covered up for the bastard, but no matter. I'll repay the favor in kind and cut you… even deeper."

"What are you talking about?! My son doesn't use weapons against—"

"Oh, no, that fucker uses weapons alright," the drunken commander hissed. "Lil'… hiccup… crystal knife he had. All… green n' pretty… Felt like a fucking thunderbolt caught me in the eye. I was… hiccup… drunk then, too, but… that's alright. I'll just… cut his old man a helluva lot deeper. After all, we're outta Sangrezhada and me and my men here? We love how that stuff smells, so… Your blood in a bottle will have t' do, Elder Hiro."

---

"Come on, Kiba," Trunks cried out, dodging the demonic Namekian's flurried movements as it tried to reach him with shadowy, sinewy arms. "We'll draw him away! Let's go!"

"Hey, you," Kiba called to the demon from above, hands alight with sparking ruby ki, "Up here!"

As Ma-Junior diverted his attention from the Saiyan halfling and stared skyward, he growled. "What are you going to do, you fat little worm? Blow me a kiss?"

"Depends," said a voice from behind him. "…on how well you PUCKER UP!"

He blinked and turned round, greeted by the same ruby ki he'd seen in the air. A bright blast caught his face, and the afterimage of Kiba disappeared from the sky. The little one roared and released an intense burst of hard kicks at his stomach and chest, and the demon cried out in pain, each hit like a raging hammer to his ribs and breastbone. With one final upward kick to the chin, Ma-Junior was sent skyward, chest pounding with fury.

Before he could react, Doji caught his leg, swinging him in circles as the storm raged before slinging him towards Trunks, who charged up another series of bright blasts from his palms and speedily launched them forward. Caught by the swirling orbs of energy, Ma-Junior grimaced and shuddered before screaming loudly, thunder and lightning raining down from above as he cloaked himself in a massive sphere of shadow.

"Doji," Hama said, quaking with fear as the demon remained cloaked through Trunks' fervent blasts, "C'mon… We need you to—"

"NO! PICCOLO'S THE STRONGEST OF OUR KIND, AND LOOK WHAT IT DID TO HIM!"

Hama gasped and shrank back. "But—"

"We have to beat him another way!"

"THERE IS NO OTHER WAY," Hama screamed, tears billowing down his face as the demon uncovered itself.

Trunks panted and puffed, ki flickering as he struggled to keep hold of his golden transformation. "I… I need…a little time," he huffed. Before Ma-Junior could reach for the boy again, Kiba grabbed Trunks, lending his energy in short bursts as they flew northward from the Lookout towards the sea. Doji quickly followed, ki surging in response to the abysmal threat they now faced.

'No one's gonna help us… No one's gonna help us,' Hama thought, shaking as he watched them disappear, crying softly as his thoughts careened into terror. 'We're all alone… on this big blue planet… And no one is going to save us…'

The horror seeped into his bones, chilling him to the core as the air around him turned cold to match. He was frightened of the storm that continued growing, following the source of the dark energy; hot flashes of gold and green thundered down from the sky, sending waves of dread through the little one's body. Hama cried harder, trembling profusely at the idea that they'd helped the strongest of their people become nothing more than a zealous monster. He feared the same occurring back home, as people gave way to their fears with the Grand Elder gone. He thought of his father, tremendously anxious at Moori's absence and his son's, so much so that he, too, might become the same dreadful creature. Caught up in his fears and the sounds of the tempest above, he hadn't noticed that Baba and the others had circled back to the Lookout, hovering just around the bend.

"Hama," Bulma called from the window, "Are you alright?"

He shook his head but didn't dare look back.

"Hama, it's okay, you can come with us! I'm sure Trunks and Kiba can beat—"

"I'm so scared, Miss… I'm so scared…"

"I know, sweetie, but please—"

"Stay back! Please, Miss, stay… back…! I'm… so… scared…"

Hama's skin blackened over; with every hyperventilation, the shadow burst from his mouth, wrapping around his face, covering his neck, constricting his form. Bulma and the others gasped, and Yurei piloted the vehicle further away, watching as the little boy's body began to morph in shape. It lengthened and stretched, creating a long, sinuous shadow in the air. Hama closed his eyes, tears still falling forth. Horror pulsed through his blood, fear flowed from his breath, and as he opened his eyes and turned to gaze back at the others, Bulma yelped.

What stood before them seemed like a nightmare come to life: a phantom they'd not yet seen, skin like the night sky, and a face cold and grim. Hama had become a massive wraith, a creature with long arms and legs, thin fingers, and wide, white eyes, with a shroud that wrapped constantly around his form like a series of floating veils. He was a ghost of the boy he'd been and a specter the likes of which even Baba could not have foretold.

"Hama! Hama, no!"

"I don't have a choice," said the slender demon, two voices echoing forth. "I'm scared I'll lose them. I know you're scared, too, Miss."

"But—"

"I- I'm scared, but… My fear is my weapon, and… it's time I used it."

They could hear the sorrow, the shaking, ghastly voice like death beneath Hama's light and bubbly tone.

Baba gulped and cried, "Please, remember who you are and why you're doing this! Don't lose yourself, too! If Vegeta and Goku come—"

"Find somewhere safe," Hama said sadly. "Please… I'm scared I'd hurt you, too… Just… get out of here."

Yurei glanced over his shoulder to his passengers; Yumena and Bowa gave him a resolute look, and Baba and Bulma glanced between one another, nodding slowly.

As they sped away, Hama turned and flew toward the aerial battle in the distance. He watched as Trunks roared and let loose a barrage of hard and fast jabs at Piccolo's back before kicking him into the cold sea. Doji followed, sheathing his body in warm, violet ki as he plunged into the water and disappeared beneath raging waves. Hama called out before the others could follow, "Don't!"

Trunks and Kiba yelped in horror. "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU," they asked together.

"This is what you came here to help us do. It's exactly like you said. You need to take that emotion," said the phantom boy, "…and think of it like a different kind of energy. Like… It's like you're trying to create a new version of yourself. Kiba, you should try it out."

"Grr… I need time and—"

"Boys," said a malicious voice from behind, "…I can swim, contrary to whatever you think." He held Doji's head, throwing him at the others and smiling wide.

Doji gazed at the newly transformed Hama, feeling all the power of fear manifest.

Kiba gulped and reached out to Hama telepathically. 'Please, Hama… I'll try but… I need time!'

'Anything for you, my brother.'

Hama thrust himself in front of the others, standing face to face with Ma-Junior; with cold hands and a flurried heartbeat, he rushed himself at the great demon, launching a barrage of swift jabs that were fluidly parried as the two clashed and drifted further away through the sky. Hama smiled, rows of small, sharp teeth showing from the abyss of his blackened face as he parried one last time, not with his arms or hands, but with his mouth. He bit down hard into Ma-Junior's left fist and pulled, wincing as the man's energy seemed to crackle and sting as it flowed forth through the blood that rained through the sky.

Hama spat out the hand, disgusted by the coppery taste and burning sensation in his mouth. He watched as Ma-Junior laughed and held the mutilated arm hand behind his back. "Alright then," the demon said, "I can beat you, little Hama, one-handed anyway."

Hama raised a brow and giggled. "Hm… I don't think so. You might need both hands in a minute here, Mr. Piccolo."

"That's not my name—"

The slender demon darted forward, faking a frontal assault before disappearing and reappearing at Ma-Junior's back; before he could land a hard strike, Ma-Junior turned slightly and back-kicked, sending Hama hurtling upwards. Hama struggled to regain his composure as his opponent copied his fake-out, disappearing and reappearing from several different angles – a hard boot to the face, a swift jab to the side, several more kicks to the thighs and shins – before finishing the boy off with a solid grab around the neck with his ankles, spinning in the air and throwing him into the sea.

"Hama!" Kiba cried out and took a deep breath, hoping to reach the boy before he collided with the ocean floor.

As Ma-Junior moved to pursue the portly Namekian, he felt hard pulls on both legs. The remaining little ones, Trunks and Doji, had clung to his calves, nodding to one another before willing their energy in frequent bursts through the soles of their feet, pushing in opposite directions, twisting him in tight, speedy circles like a massive black spinning top.

The boys let go, and together they charged, striking against the massive demon's chest with their hands and feet alternatively, each hit like a thundering hammer through shadow and straight to the skin. Ma-Junior shuddered and grimaced before coming to his senses, grabbing the little ones by their heads and forcing them together. The boys yelped in pain, the dizziness washing over them as he did it repeatedly until they both bled profusely from their foreheads. He tossed them far away, where they landed hard upon the nearby shore.

Trunks wobbled as he struggled to stand. He panted, unable to keep hold of his glittering form, and as his hair returned to his lavender hue, the ki faded from his body. "I'm… sorry… Mom… Dad… I tried…" He fell facefirst into the sand and fainted.

Doji shook his head and wiped the sand from his face, straining to rise as he, too, was nearly taken over by his pain. "Damn it… Damn it!" He punched at the ground, severely angered that the one person they could have tried to rely on to help defeat Shiro had now been overtaken by the desire to resume the conquest tasked to him upon his birth. Doji labored and got up, shaking as he watched the great demon turn away.

"Stupid kids," Ma-Junior growled. "Now… where was I with those other ones…?"

Ma-Junior's eyes widened in curiosity as he watched the ocean darken from deep beneath the waves as if a thousand inky sea creatures had manifested upon Kiba and Hama's plunge. He tilted his head as he saw two sets of eyes emerge from the blackness; one shining and white, like two glowing diamonds, and the other flickering and crimson, like cut garnet.

From the ocean arose not one but two powerful demons, smaller in stature than he but equal in power. Kiba had pulled his hatred from within his heart – his ire at being called names, his revulsion towards Sanshiva's current condition, and the idea that she would be destroyed by a repulsive shark-like creature – and wrapped himself in it, creating a much larger version of himself. Fury pulsed through every vein, animosity through every inch of muscle and bone, and he'd become every bit the monster he imagined, willing the emotion forth while still keeping his ultimate goal intact: to subdue the terrible Ma-Junior. The shadow upon Kiba's skin wavered like black fire across his once vibrant skin, and the very air around him pulsed with the heat of pure abhorrence made real.

"Ah… I might need two hands after all," Ma-Junior mused. He looked at his left wrist and willed his energy forth, cells binding together and ki weaving across itself to form a new hand. Flexing his fingers, he called out, "You should join me… We'll be so much more together, rulers of the Demon Realm, instead of that stupid sister of yours."

"Call her that again, jackass," Kiba cursed, "…and I'll make sure you regret it."

"Oh? I'm shaking in my boots," Ma-Junior chuckled. "And what are you going to do, tubby? Smother me to death?"

"Nah," the demon boy laughed, "I got somethin' better in mind. How about… I COOK YOU INSTEAD!"

Kiba took a quick, deep inhale, focusing red-hot energy within the back of his mouth before belching out a scorching pillar of flame that collided against Ma-Junior's chest, burning through his thick, shadowed skin and blistering the flesh beneath. The great demon screamed in agony, the searing pain serving as a clever distraction to the following blow.

Hama had vanished from Kiba's side, rematerializing behind Ma-Junior and unleashing a flurry of quick slashes against the shadows that covered his back as if to dig through to the warrior beneath the envelope of dark spite. Ma-Junior floundered against the cuts, bleeding profusely and wailing in agony. The storm above them grew darker and colder still, and as the lightning crashed down around them, Ma-Junior snarled and spun round, kicking Hama in the jaw before throwing a heavy rain of dark green ki blasts toward Kiba.

Doji watched from the shore as his two brothers fought calmly and strategically. He marveled at how easily they seemed to obtain their forms and retain their sense of self, all while battling a monster more incredible than they could ever become. Hama's quick and flowing fighting style still shone through, like a graceful, shadowy dance, and Kiba's fighting favored the use of his thick legs, his feet covered in ki, burning and sending sparks as they crashed against Ma-Junior's face and chest. Soon, Hama and Kiba wove themselves around Ma-Junior in lightning-fast circles, fluidly parrying and attacking wherever an opening lay; Hama's eyes seemed to peer through the demonic warrior, seeing to the lost soul within; Kiba's eyes burned like great gems, flaring as if to light the way through darkness itself. Bolstered by his brothers' performance, Doji stood tall, swaying on his feet as he tried to balance himself.

Still shaking and bleeding, the little one breathed deep, focused on the wrath he pushed down in the wake of Sanshiva's plunge into the depths of her own heart. He was furious that she still thought herself a monster, a curse for everyone she came across; angered that Piccolo had allowed himself to be a victim of his own folly and ambition, and beneath all the resentment, he was saddened that Trunks had had the misfortune of being beaten relentlessly by one of the people he likely looked up to as a pillar of strength.

Doji aimed a palm toward Trunks' head, sparing as much energy as possible to bring the Saiyan halfling out of his blackout before exhaling long and low, his darkness wrapping around his form. Trunks wailed in fear as he came to and scurried up, shuffling across the sand as quickly as his arms and legs could carry him, hiding and trembling behind a nearby tree. He peeped with wide eyes, fingers digging into the bark and his heart racing at an impossible pace.

Sensing Trunks' apprehension, Doji said softly, "It's alright. I'm not losing control because… you told me I needed a reason. I needed a reason to still be me, under the shell of a monster."

"What… reason is that," Trunks asked weakly.

"My family. I will never, ever allow anyone," the boy paused, his form growing to gargantuan proportions to match the dangerous Ma-Junior, "…TO HURT THE ONES I LOVE!"

Doji thrust into the sky. Sand and wind pushed behind him in a great wave as he grabbed Ma-Junior's feet and threw him into the frigid, briny water with all the fury he could muster. As the water split and splashed around them, Hama and Kiba smiled wide, standing beside their demon brother, hearts soaring at the fact that he'd managed to control himself and utilize his power willingly in the service of others.

"Remember that exercise my dad taught us," Doji asked, grinning and staring at the ocean. "The one where we attack as if we're parts of a body? Pieces of a whole?"

"Ooh! Ooh! I wanna go first," Kiba chirped, kicking his legs in the air through the sheer excitement. "Now the question is… who's the leg, who's the fist, and who's the eye?"

"Pssht, you're the leg, obviously," Hama said, winking an empty white eye towards Kiba, who grinned in response. "I'll be the eye."

"Alright… Then I'm… the fist," Doji declared. "Kiba, kick him back up here, would you?"

"Heck yeah!"

Kiba raced into the cold sea, water sizzling and parting around him as if scorched by the heat of his skin. Doji and Hama watched from above as the demon boy grabbed the dazed Ma-Junior, kicking him relentlessly in the stomach and chest before angling the demon and booting him hard in the face, launching him skyward.

Ma-Junior snarled, righting his position in the air, focused on the wide demon that hovered beneath him, smiling as if to mock him. "You little—"

ZAP! Hama willed his ki forth through his eyes, white beams jutting through and cutting away at the shadows on the demon's back and neck, blood seeping through the cracks of his weakened Shadow Form. Ma-Junior grabbed at his wounds, screaming in frustration as he turned to face the more minor demon before he was met with a massive, shadow-cloaked fist that sent him flying toward the shore.

Kiba blocked his landing, unleashing a barrage of heavy foot strikes against the demon's stomach and face, weaving between Ma-Junior's hands and pushing them away with ease, every boot like a gigantic hammer against cold, stony skin. With his final kick, Kiba threw Ma-Junior toward his brothers, who greeted him in kind. Hama unleashed a blazing series of ki blasts from his eyes, each pulse piercing through shadow, flesh, and bone like hot knives through buttery skin. Ma-Junior flailed against the punctures, blood spurting and raining around him in hot streams. As Hama finished, Doji darted forward and punched away, beating the great demon relentlessly, speeding his rhythm and driving Ma-Junior back towards the shore, where Kiba waited for the cycle to begin again.

Kick. Zap. Punch. The rhythm continued this way for several more rotations, Ma-Junior being thrown to the boys in one gigantic triangle between them, weakening him further. As his energy waned, Doji volleyed the great demon into the sea one last time before motioning for his brothers to join him in the air. They acquiesced and hovered beside him.

Doji placed his hands on the boys' shoulders, reveling in their emotion come to life. Each of them had successfully retained their consciousness amidst their fear, hatred, and anger and used it as a tool to subdue the monstrous Namekian. And as the boy reached forth, willing his consciousness through to his brothers, they inhaled sharply, shocked that he'd finally let them in at so crucial a time.

'Sanshiva recited a poem that Moori wrote for her, like a spell to bring me back from my darkness. It worked for me, and I hope it'll work for Piccolo because he's not supposed to be like this. He's our people's greatest warrior, and seeing him – of all people – like this is horrible. Now I know how Sanshiva really feels, and my gods, does it hurt something fierce. But we need to pull him out of this and work together.'

His brothers nodded and looked down, silently replying in tandem, 'Lead the way through the darkness, little brother.'

"PICCOLO," Doji called out again, "GET YOUR SORRY BUTT UP HERE RIGHT NOW!"

The water began to boil and swirl, matching the tempest above as a great whirlpool formed, and Ma-Junior rose from the waves, breathing hotly and heavily, fury sizzling the water around him. He spat and cursed under his breath before roaring into the sky. Great beams of thunder and lightning clashed into his skin, a thousand veins of envious green energy running the length of his body.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE WORMS," Ma-Junior bellowed, ki rising steadily as he gathered the storm's energy into his body.

"I'm Kiba," screamed the wide, fiery demon.

"I'm Hama," called out the thin, wispy wraith.

"I am Doji," cried the massive, muscular shadow.

"WE ARE THE BROTHERS OF THE GODDESS OF DARKNESS," they said in tandem, their energies rising to match the wayward warrior's. "AND YOU WON'T GET TO USE THE POWER SHE UNLOCKED FOR OUR PEOPLE ANYMORE!"

The three rushed at the monstrous Ma-Junior, who smirked and parried their blows. The boys smirked as well, speeding up their assault in well-timed bursts, a strange rhythm only they could feel between them. Ma-Junior began to flounder as the boys located openings, zigzagging between his hands and feet and finding opportune areas to strike – his sides, shins, neck, and shoulders – burying their fists and fast kicks against his shadowy skin.

Ma-Junior pulsed his energy, pushing them back with a hot gust of bright green ki, rage seething through the air around him as he screamed and split himself into three copies. The boys gasped as they raced towards them, each of the demons now facing off against a copy of the terrifyingly strong warrior. From the shore, Trunks gasped, desperately wanting to aid them but knowing that in his state, he would only get in their way. He grinned and leaned against the tree by the shore, happy that he'd had a helping hand in spurring the boys' transformations and allowing them to use the power they'd all been so frightened of mere moments before he and his mother arrived.

Doji panted and puffed, trying his hardest to keep up with the shadow's rushing movements; Ma-Junior barely gave him a moment to recover between strikes, fists plunging against his hardened skin and envious green eyes burning their way to his core. The demon boy reached out to his brothers, holding his own as he told them, 'Say it with me. Speak the spell Moori didn't know he gave us all…'

"My humble gift to you," Doji recited in their native tongue, "…these solemn words spoken."

Hama grimaced and parried his copy of Ma-Junior, continuing, "You are warrior and wiseman, head held high and heart wide open."

The copies of Ma-Junior winced and shrank back. From within his chest, the wayward warrior could feel something nagging at him; Kami and Nail, who had lain dormant within his subconscious for years, seemed to speak fervently to him, echoing the sounds that flowed from the boys' lips. A wave of pain enveloped him, forcing the copies to melt back into his skin as he flailed and screamed. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" Memories overloaded Ma-Junior's sight, clouding all else as if his true self was desperate to emerge from within the darkness he had failed to dispel over so many years.

He and Son Goku, fighting against the long-haired and raspy-voiced Saiyan, Raditz, not even half a decade after their own battle at the World Martial Arts Tournament. He thought of Gohan, who had trained and worked furiously under his tutelage over the following year to train and prepare for the arrival of Raditz's comrades, Vegeta and Nappa.

Ma-Junior shook his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts and lobbed several massive ki blasts toward the boys, who batted them away and into the sea below.

"Yours is the power of dragons and demons," Kiba said, "…of an emerald people fair and a tribe clever and battle seasoned."

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Once again, the memories flooded forth, the stabbing pain in his chest almost too much to bear. His sacrifice for Gohan, was repaid with a wish to bring him back to life and brought to the original home world of his people, just in time to fight the white-skinned and long-tailed tyrant Frieza. Nail, mere inches from death, told him of the forbidden technique of their people, bolstering Piccolo's power as they fused to face off against the creature that had so decimated the Namekian population. Ma-Junior wailed and covered his ears, roaring as if to prevent the rest of the spell from peeling away at the dark jealousy that sheathed him and obscured all sense of reason.

"Cloaked in deep shadows," Doji declared.

"And armed with starlight," Hama continued.

"Yours is the soul that illuminates the bleakest night," Kiba finished.

His fight with an imperfect Cell and Android 17. His training for the final battle with the creature's perfected form. Gohan's reversal of the tide, just before the midnight hour. More memories followed, and all the voices, smells, and sights since the epic fight with the fearsome Majin Buu flooded him. Goku and the others had risked their lives to bring them all back, fought beside him with all the faith that he'd changed forever, and became the opposite of what he was at that very moment. The jealousy told him to be the monster he was born to be, but the righteous fervor within told him the truth: the dark power was too overwhelming for someone like him and served no purpose save to cause anguish and suffering to the ones he'd come to care for the most.

"May you never surrender," they said together, slowly approaching the monster in the sky, thunder and lightning rumbling down around them in fervent pulses as if to mirror the pain within the great demon's cries.

"STOP IT! NO!"

"Never yield to the evil within…" The three paused, gathering white-hot energy into their palms and holding it to Ma-Junior's skin as they enclosed themselves around him. The darkness began to peel away slowly but surely, revealing verdant green skin and panicked eyes filled with tears.

"For you are the justice that stands above the lowliness of sin."

With a strange and pained cry, the demon disappeared and, in its place, hovered the battered and shaking Piccolo, horribly distraught and ashamed of his behavior. It was as if he'd been forced to watch from within, idle alongside the souls of Kami and Nail as the children faced off against his envy, his bitterness made flesh, his regret made tangible.

"I… I…" He didn't have the words. He was supposed to be the warrior children of his kind looked up to, and now all he could ever be in the boys' eyes was a living, breathing failure of a man whose emotion had all but devoured him. "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…" Seldom had the warrior allowed his inner pain to show, but in that very moment, all he could feel was the terrible clutch of guilt at his throat and the sting of remorse in his heart. Tears welled in his eyes, and he buried his scarred face in his hands, "Damn it… Damn it! I wasn't supposed to lose control! It wasn't… It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

Doji exhaled softly, his shadow peeling away and his form shrinking as he grabbed at Piccolo and hugged him firmly around his neck. Kiba and Hama joined him, releasing their Shadow Forms and hugging the warrior tight around the middle.

"Our emotions can make monsters of us all," Doji said softly, repeating his sister's words. "Even Sanshiva knew that. I'm just glad we got you out of it before… You know…"

"Before what," Piccolo sniveled.

"Before we had beat you dead, that's what," Kiba said teasingly, squeezing harder.

"Yeah… I didn't wanna do that," Hama said, mirroring him.

Trunks zoomed from the shore, joining the boys, reaching for Piccolo with arms outstretched. "PICCOLO! YOU'RE BACK!"

As the little one joined Doji at Piccolo's shoulders, and the warmth of four kind children enveloped the warrior's beaten body, he smiled and sniffled softly.

"Yeah, yeah… I'm back, kid," he said, reaching wide to grab them all up, hugging back. "Thanks… for beating some sense into me."

---

Hiro screamed and gasped as Shiro pulled away from his chest, bloodstained lips and teeth smiling back at him. Goburin smiled through a mouthful of flesh, the old man's calf held tight between bony fingers. Sunaji tore away languidly at a piece of his arm, chuckling as he inhaled deeply and savored the bitter, almost fermented scent of skin and blood.

"Stop, please," Moori begged, barely conscious, witnessing the worst of his nightmares come to life. "Please, you'll kill him! Please!"

"Shut up," Shiro commanded, punching the Grand Elder in the mouth before pressing his lips against the old man's chest, lapping Hiro's blood like the last drops from a lone bottle of Sangrezhada. "He'll live," he laughed. "As long as I want him to."

"Please! No more! If you need anything, take it from me, but please, leave him be! He doesn't deserve this! He didn't ask to be caught up in any of this!"

"And I didn't ask for your… hiccup… lil' bitch to come traipsing into my spaceport and leave a shitstorm in her wake, now did I?"

"Don't you dare call my daughter that! Makeru got what he deserved," Moori countered, "You're all horrible monsters, and you'll all get what you deserve! My daughter will end your miserable lives and—"

"Let's hope then," Shiro slurred, drunkenly staggering to stand before the Grand Elder, dragging a bloody knife across the old man's lip, "…that she'll make it a good show. I traveled a long, long way. I'd be… hiccup… disappointed if all I got for all this trouble was a sad excuse of a fight."