"Even should I die, Namekian, it will not be in vain. Lord Hailer's ambition is already becoming reality. Thirty-Two will tell you himself that fighting Lord Hailer's whims is comparable to a wave going against the ocean. A fruitless, arrogant endeavour."
Thirty-Two's in the place between awake and asleep, his eyelids too heavy, and the world too unattractive to be a part of. Instead, Thirty-Two lulls, draped over something warm and moving. He doesn't know how long the thing below has been moving, or where he is going, but Thirty-Two can't bring himself to care.
"This has never been about Hailer," comes a gravelly, tired voice directly below Thirty-Two. "This has always been about taking back what's ours."
"Him?" derides that familiar voice Thirty-Two doesn't want to hear. "Thirty-Two's fate belongs to no one else aside Lord Hailer, you foolish lowlife. His gift is supposed to empower Lord Hailer and Lord Hailer alone!"
Absently, Thirty-Two feels the gentle sting of snow melt into rain across his cheeks, his own foggy breath rising into his eyes. How easy it would be to sleep.
"Gohan's fate is his alone to determine."
"And he will choose correctly—the way of the Frost Empire— the way I raised him, because do not doubt. It was I who raised him."
The pressure holding Thirty-Two's legs in place tighten.
"The moment Thirty-Two wakes is the moment he will take your worthless life," continues the hateful voice, the one Thirty-Two wishes would let him rest in peace. "You are nothing to him."
"You're wrong." There is movement below Thirty-Two, followed by a waft of fabric. "It is you, Cace, who has no relevance here…Makankōsappō!"
There is a flash of yellow, so blinding that Thirty-Two buries his eyes into the warm fabric beneath him. Images of green grass and mountainside waterfalls carry him to sleep, embracing him as the world around—the storming world of Central—becomes lost to darkness, and then to the tree known as the harbinger of damnation.
Number Thirty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Dragon of Dreams
Thirty-Two floats in a thick, suffocating fog, the air heavy with a dampness that clings to his skin. He can barely see beyond the swirling mist, the world reduced to a blur of grey. He is weightless, drifting, but it doesn't feel freeing. It feels like nothing—like he's been suspended in time, submissive to the circumstances around him.
A voice becomes a horn which cuts through the fog, bold and unwavering. You are unholy. You are corrupt. You are broken. The words slide into his mind like poison, each syllable sinking deeper into his chest, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't try to fight them.
He has heard these words so many times before, in the quiet corners of his own thoughts, whispered by the nightmare which follows him. He knows they're true. The truth has become a part of him, a weight he carries without resistance. He doesn't care.
You are nothing, the voice continues, the tone flat, final.
He feels nothing. No anger. No sorrow. No shame. Just a hollow emptiness that stretches inside him, endless and consuming. He has long stopped trying to fill it.
The fog presses in, thickening around him.
You are unworthy of my power.
It buries itself into every orifice upon Thirty-Two's face, choking him. Drowning him. The current beneath Thirty-Two shatters and he glides, his submersion chasing him.
Unworthy.
When he hits the ground, he sits up with a sharp gasp.
Panting, Thirty-Two's hand clasps his chest to still his beating heart. Shakily, he attempts to contain the usual nausea which accompanies the nightmares. Breathing is practiced. Counting helps this time. One…Two…Three… Breathe.
After some time, he trails his hand downwards, his fingers grazing over the grooves in his armour that, he just now notices, weren't there before. There are now dented lines which spread like spider webs across its surface. Noticeably, his furs are also gone. As is his scouter.
Without both, Thirty-Two feels naked in this…
He looks around, panicked.
Snowstorm?
Thirty-Two spins, seeing very little aside a sweeping of ashy snow that cuts from the right. The wind howls, and somewhere in the distance, Thirty-Two hears the whistling of vibration from air cascading over hollow metal. There's a crunch of devastation. A building, perhaps, has just collapsed in on itself somewhere in the distance.
Where is he? What happened?
Why does his head hurt?
He orders himself not to further panic because that's never been a helpful response in any situation. First, he needs to assess his surroundings, which means he needs to get up. Standing, however, proves difficult, and he actually fails on the first attempt, collapsing back into thick and otherwise virgin snow.
Momentarily panicked, Thirty-Two remembers to check that the dragon balls are still on his person, doing so by feeling for the subtle lump under the skin on his arm where the capsule rests. It's still there.
He breathes out a long breath, revisiting the last thing he can remember.
Vegeta.
He cranes his neck, looking for him, remembering that Vegeta'd just, moments ago, been awaiting his death at Thirty-Two's hands. Now, however, only shadowy snow remains in his place, causing a well of alarm to bubble in Thirty-Two's throat. The nausea is returning. Not panicking is slowly not becoming an option.
Where is Vegeta? Where is… everyone? There'd been an enormous attendance at the ceremony. Hundreds, maybe, had been gathered to watch the execution, and now Thirty-Two is alone in the night in some… devastated landscape, piled high with debris and ruined ships. Just where the hell is he? Thirty-Two'd been at the amphitheatre before he'd (presumably) blacked out.
Daring, he takes his first steps, trailing through the snow. The air is dense with smoke, its essence polluted so heavily that Thirty-Two covers his mouth as he ambles awkwardly along the clustered path. He's barely able to avoid the wreckages which litter the entire route, often tripping over sharp, pointed rubble and—worryingly—bodies.
Soldiers with faces horrifically knotted in their death twist like ribbons around one another, legs and arms tangled. Some limbs have been removed in their entirety. Thirty-Two recognizes several of these men. One young soldier is one of the cadets he recalls training not long ago.
Thirty-Two keeps his chin up, avoiding empty eye contact.
He focuses on the task at hand.
Is Vegeta dead? Where are the other soldiers? Where is Lord Hailer? Had he even been at the execution? Thirty-Two doesn't remember seeing him.
Then, in the distance, finally does Thirty-Two hear something. People are talking. Shouting. Soldiers, he thinks, making his way towards the noise in a haze of darkness. To approach, he has to clamber over multiple obstacles, at one point jumping something metal and slippery which feels like the bonnet of a fighter jet. He lands on the other side, finally finding light in the form of blurry, waving orange. It's way off in the distance however, so it doesn't stop Thirty-Two from missing and tripping over whatever catches his boot.
Saving himself, he leans left, against something very rough and very large. Huge, in fact. Is it a building? Removing his glove, Thirty-Two rests his fingers apprehensively atop whatever it is, wondering whether or not he should call forth his energy for better visibility.
The nearby talking has faded, and now that it has, Thirty-Two hears only the faint crackling of fire. Is it safe to expose himself?
Tempted by curiousity, Thirty-Two calls forth a small ball of ki… only to find his body uncooperative. He tries again, and again—numerous times—with only a dismal flicker of pink popping to the surface. It's as though his body is spent. Thirty-Two grits his teeth, frustrated and admittedly a little scared. This hasn't happened before, except for when…
Oh.
Is he under sheenks?
But… it would be strange if that were the case, because the heaviness of sheenks on the body isn't exactly unnoticeable—he'd be lethargic, lightheaded as he had occasionally been when aboard the Capsule Corp. ship.
But if not sheenks, what else could explain his sudden inability to produce ki?
He really needs to remember—what was the last thing to have happened before he blacked out?
Vegeta… he'd wanted Thirty-Two to do something, to look somewhere. Rubbing his temples, Thirty-Two envisions the amphitheatre as he last saw it. There'd been cameras filming the occasion, with captains and soldiers alike in formation, and ships which had been present in great numbers, patrolling undoubtedly incase Goku paid a visit.
There's a clang as Thirty-Two's tail lashes out in frustration, him tumbling over a heap of nearby scrap metal. Immediately, Thirty-Two recognizes why this is alarming.
Why isn't his tail secured? He feels beneath his armour, along the spandex to find, sure enough, a fine tear where his tail must have forced its way through.
The worst case scenario passes into thought.
"L-Look at it," Vegeta had insisted. He'd been furiously excited. "Look."
The light in the sky. Thirty-Two had thought it a moon.
And what happens when a tailed saiyan gazes upon a full moon?
Oh… Oh, God.
Thirty-Two buckles, catching his gasp with both hands, but it's not enough, and Thirty-Two vomits all down his armour set. He splutters, choking on the incredulity of the situation—on the horror—as he battles between wanting to remember both everything and nothing of what must have transpired. This explains the devastation. The ruined landscape. The exhaustion of his body.
Thirty-Two closes his eyes, prickles of wetness all too obvious. He wipes at them. So angry. So, so angry. How dare Vegeta do this to him? How dare he turn Thirty-Two's own body against him!
Thirty-Two will… he'll… he'll kill him!
Standing and spiraling, he punches the thing nearest him—which just so happens to crunch. There's a pause, and slowly, Thirty-Two tries to collect himself, willing his breathing to even out. He takes in a deep breath. One… two… three…all right, breathe.
He stands there, fist swallowed by whatever this thing is, just… breathing.
He counts again.
Okay.
He's okay…
Somewhat pacified, Thirty-Two permits himself to examine exactly what he's just punched, squinting in the dimness of evening. Beneath his encapsulated fist, Thirty-Two registers the strange texture of… bark? Wait… is this… a tree?
But it's so large, he thinks, palming the ever-growing circumference. Is he still on Central? No tree this size is native to the land. The largest on the planet is the Red Pine, which are in abundance in the rural, impoverished section of Central where nobody aside the factory workers dwell. Yet, even the Red Pines don't grow to this magnitude, with the tallest and oldest of the trees being famous for its thickened base. As Thirty-Two continues to follow the edge of the trunk, he finds that he's more or less walking in a straight line as opposed to at an angle.
Then, voices sound again, followed by the unmistakable whistle of a missile being sent out—and it's towards the tree. It strikes the bark with a resounding thud, detonating in a fiery burst. Finally, there is light, and Thirty-Two bears witness to how massive the tree actually is. In the flames, Thirty-Two finds that he cannot even see the top, with the trunk carrying so high into the sky that the splaying branches must be lost to the clouds. Too soon, the light dissolves into night once more. The explosive's power has evaporated into nothingness, absorbed by the tree as if it were inconsequential.
"Again!" Thirty-Two hears as he continues along the tree base. There's another whistle. Another explosion sounds; this time much closer, with the sky alight long enough to see a cohort of soldiers surrounding a vintage cannon further back. Several are holding torches.
After making himself a bit more presentable and tucking away his tail, Thirty-Two approaches. There's a captain adjusting the equilibrators atop the barrel, and he's the first to notice, his expression growing ugly the moment his eyes land on Thirty-Two.
"You," he sneers.
It's a captain Thirty-Two has seen many times but has never bothered to learn the name of. Red blooded and stupid, and prone to hasty decisions. Save Pyrak rising from the dead, Thirty-Two couldn't have come across a worse colleague. His men part to allow him passage, visibly growing anxious when seeing Thirty-Two themselves.
"Saiyan monkey scum," the captain slurs, snagging Thirty-Two by the front of his spandex suit the moment he gets chance. "Look at what you've done!"
Thirty-Two is ashamed of his heritage but he can't afford to show any weakness. He takes the captain's hand between his thumb and forefinger, twists it and snaps the wrist bone cleanly. The captain groans, swivelling into a sad lump in the snow.
"You're a monster!" he exclaims, "and you've doomed us all!"
Tersely, Thirty-Two tenses his jaw. "Status update request."
"Fuck you."
Thirty-Two sees the bullets coming a mile off, bending at an angle to avoid the shots. He captures the last, flicking it backwards, catching the captain in the shoulder, directly above his heart.
"How can I help you if you're being stubborn?" Thirty-Two returns, watching the captain squirm in agony. He turns to the unit of soldiers. "Tell me. What happened in my… absence? Are we on Central?"
"Y-Yes… A t-tree," eventually tells one of the soldiers. "It… it…"
"It sprouted from nowhere," adds another. "And…"
"And what?"
No more words needed to be said, because the tree then began to show exactly what it's capable of. From the base, roots, with crooked, witch-like fingers, it wrangles in a corkscrew motion, coiling towards them at speed. Thirty-Two has the initiative to jump backwards, which isn't to be said for the others, allowing the roots to snag three of them, including the injured captain. It cradles them high, contorting itself around their bodies until their screaming can no longer be heard. There's a squelch, and then a spray of something warm from above.
As the other soldiers flee, Thirty-Two can only watch as the murderous roots glow a molten gold, thrumming with dazzling satisfaction as though they'd just eaten a delicious meal. The gold trickles along the roots and towards the base before being sent upwards and presumably towards the branches in the sky.
That's when Thirty-Two realizes what he's looking at.
The Tree of Might.
Why would there be one here—on Central?
This is Hailer's doing surely. Only he has access to the trees. Why would he want to plant a tree here at the base of his operations?
Considering the darkened sky and the lack of ships, Thirty-Two recognizes Lord Hailer's usual modus operandi. He likes to induce a nuclear electromagnetic pulse through an explosive; an explosive not aimed to harm organic life, but one powerful enough to shut down all powered devices. Anything from hospitals to computers to space ships is unable to run because of the surge, trapping the inhabitants of the planet and then subjecting them to the Tree of Might's gluttony. Without the ability to flee, eventually, all life absorbs into the tree, which further empowers Lord Hailer when he gorges upon its offerings.
But why? Why is he doing this to his own army?
His own supporters?
Thirty-Two clenches his teeth, furious for some indistinct reason he can't understand. Lord Hailer has sentenced his own people to death—and for what end? For what reason would he do such a thing?
Thirty-Two cannot be claimed by the tree. He cannot die. Will he be cursed to walk this planet until Lord Hailer takes pity on him? Is this a punishment for transforming into a beast?
Then, quite suddenly, an explosion rips through the clouds above, bright flashes illuminating the sky. The air crackles with energy, and thunder rumbles as smoke billows outward. Lightning dances erratically, jagged and wild. Something is happening—and he intends to find out what.
Snow lashes against Thirty-Two's face as he scales the massive tree, lightning crackling overhead. The branches twist like claws, reaching hungrily for Thirty-Two's body. The wind howls, threatening to tear him from the trunk. He climbs and the tree groans, as if aware, its bark slick and treacherous. As Thirty-Two manages to make impressive strides, his luck soon starts to turn when the tree lashes out, reaching for Thirty-Two with its groaning, tentacle-like branches which descend from above.
Thirty-Two's energy still hasn't replenished so a punch has to do. He cripples the bark, only to be ambushed by another branch which has managed to extend from behind. Thirty-Two narrowly avoids the strike, once, twice, three times, but isn't lucky on the next when the trunk of the tree sends out spikes from its body. It cuts into Thirty-Two's hand, reducing his grip and delivering him into the hold of the branches. Twigs pierce into skin, instantly resulting in a wave of weakness passing over Thirty-Two.
Thirty-Two refuses to be beaten by foliage however and spins, kicking the branches clean from the trunk. This does unfortunately mean that Thirty-Two, along with the branches, dislodges from the main frame and cleanly falls back down to the hard, cold ground below.
He grunts upon landing, finding himself pillowed by a hill of fresh snow.
When he stands, Thirty-Two takes great pleasure in kicking the snow asunder, his temper getting the best of him. Damn it! Only if he could fly!
But Thirty-Two has never been able to fly—not as long as he can remember. And none of the ships will be functional with the power outage.
Does that mean Vegeta, despite his best efforts, is stuck here, too? Has he managed to survive? Thirty-Two doesn't know what he'd prefer. Dealing with Vegeta might just send Thirty-Two over the edge at this point…
He rubs at the capsule concealed in his arm, wondering how best to take on this new challenge. For all Thirty-Two knows, Lord Hailer could be testing him. Overseer Cace could be watching.
In fact, he is watching… in a manner of speaking.
Thirty-Two stills.
His eyes widen so widely that they sting. His breath becomes a wedge of ice in his throat.
There, as though discarded trash, lies the slumped body of Overseer Cace, his usually fierce gaze devoid of intelligence. Thirty-Two trips as he sprints over to him, skidding to his knees, dragging him up from the snow.
The skin is translucent, the lips blue, and even the hole in his head, which contrasts dully, has frozen over. Crusted crimson flakes away when Thirty-Two thumbs the wound. An energy attack. The death must have been instantaneous.
Thirty-Two's hands are shaking. The body slips away from between his fingers, his eyes unable to comprehend what they're witnessing as his overseer is encompassed by the snow.
No… No. Why? How?
Thirty-Two turns away, frightened that he's about to be sick again. He can't breathe. He can't… He…
The overseer can't be dead. Overseer Cace.
Head down. Eyes front.
He…
Head down. Eyes front.
Overseer… Cace… he… to Thirty-Two, he…
Head down. Eyes front.
Thirty-Two wobbly stands, the world becoming a tunnel that thins into a chokehold as he stumbles. The Youth Program is gone, Overseer Cace is gone… Now, Thirty-Two really is rootless. Overseer C—.
"Go…han…"
Thirty-Two's steps die.
In the hollowness of Central, the wind howls, and for a moment, Thirty-Two thinks the name to be just the painful residue of revisiting memories. Yet, when he hears it being called a second time, only quieter, like a whisper, does Thirty-Two realize that he's not alone. Not far from Overseer Cace's body, lies the partially concealed, pale and broken form his must-be murderer.
Apprehensively, Thirty-Two's boots crunch along in the snow.
"It's… good to see… you not as… a giant, rampaging… monkey," rasps Piccolo, smirking tiredly despite looking utterly ruined. He's discoloured, and definitely experiencing the infamous cell bursting his species is known for when exposed to such harsh climates.
"You killed Overseer Cace."
"I… did." Piccolo closes his eyes and for a moment, Thirty-Two thinks he might not open them again. "You… look… unhappy," he eventually adds. "Don't tell me… you were… buddies?"
Thirty-Two's mouth presses thinly at the teasing.
Piccolo has the gall to laugh. It's a pitiful sound. "You… were nothing to him… aside a ticket… to power."
"Don't talk like you understand anything, namekian." Thirty-Two plants a boot on Piccolo's side, kicking him over so he's flat on his back and looking directly up at Thirty-Two. He rests his boot in the nook of one pallid-green throat. "Did you think I'd be thankful? That I'd… I'd run into yours—and Goku's—open arms?" he spits. "That I'd be so overjoyed that I would finally return you the dragon balls?
"You. You… Both of you... All of you." Thirty-Two's voice is shaking with emotion, with fury. "Vegeta, Goku, you… You have all thwarted me at every turn. You have stolen what little autonomy I have." Thirty-Two envisions not only Goku and the others, but also Lord Hailer, Overseer Cace and every member of the Youth Program. "They have my life and you want to take my death. Why can't I have anything for myself? Why can't any of you—you weak-minded, simple fools—just keep to your homely lives on your precious planet Earth? Why can't you let me be?"
Piccolo's hand has curled around Thirty-Two's boot in defiance, though he doesn't say anything. He watches Thirty-Two seethe. He watches him break.
"None of you are to ruin this for me again," Thirty-Two whispers.
Thirty-Two recalls his boot, and then drags Piccolo up from off the ground. He holds him high in the air, hand wrapped where his foot had been only seconds ago.
Despite everything, Thirty-Two feels his mouth break into a wild grin, feeling maddened with it all. So exhausted that he doesn't care what they think of him. "You're going to help me summon the dragon," he says, breathless. "I'm done waiting."
His face must be wet. Thirty-Two feels an icy trail when the wind whistles by, and he notices Piccolo's eyes follow a marker along and down his cheek.
"Tell me the password."
Piccolo's lips part and Thirty-Two waits an age for something to be said.
"D-Don't let this obsession consume you, G-Gohan."
"That's not my name," he hisses. "Don't talk as if you know me! Now, tell me the password!"
"I w-won't let you… kill yourself."
Thirty-Two squeezes the throat dangerously, the pulse so dangerously slow. "I know how to make seconds feel like years," he threatens. "I'll make you grovel for death. By the end, you'll be singing the password."
"Do your w-worst." There's a smirk—the crazy bastard! "I'll be d-dead before… the hour is up anyway."
It's true. Piccolo's complexion is dreadful, his breathing is laboured. If Piccolo took his last stuttered breath now, really, it wouldn't be surprising. Thirty-Two, with this panic, throttles him, unsure on how to threaten a man so close to death already. He hasn't any family here Thirty-Two can threaten. He hasn't any friends. Piccolo has nothing to lose.
"I'm s-sorry," Piccolo then gasps, eyes half-lidded and unfocussed.
"If you're sorry then give me the password," Thirty-Two seethes.
"N-Not about that…" There's a pause so long that Thirty-Two thought he'd had the audacity to die then and there. But then, the air around Piccolo grows uncharacteristically heavy as Thirty-Two's fingers loosen around his neck. "S-Sorry about… Namek… years ago. About… from before."
"You…" Bewilderment an oasis in his fury, Thirty-Two sneers. "I-I don't even remember you."
At this, Piccolo snorts, his amused expression veiled with the fatigue of the dying. "M-Makankōsappō…" he mutters."Y-You remember more… than you think, kid."
Makankōsappō? What does that mean? A Common language word Thirty-Two doesn't understand. A distraction.
Thirty-Two grinds his teeth, attempting to pick his supposed genius brain for how to extract the password. A figurative timer is counting down. He isn't going to get a chance like this again.
"You can't do this a-alone," Piccolo goes on to mumble, eyes losing focus. "You… it…"
Thirty-Two jostles Piccolo when his words trail into obscurity. "There are always more namekians," Thirty-Two says lowly, his words tinted with threat. "I know exactly planet Namek situates, lest you forget. I suggest you share the password and save me the trip."
"Tch… You're not s-spiteful enough."
"You're really so arrogant to gamble your people? You don't know me. You don't know what I've done, namekian. What I'm willing to do to rid myself of this curse. You sense my damned nature, yet you just stand in my way—out of everybody, you should understand my unnatural standard of being!"
Thirty-Two feels a tingle of warmth from his stomach, the smoke before the eruption, indicating his returning ki. He allows it to spew upwards until overflowing. It drapes both of them with a duvet of heat, sizzling spits of energy visible in orbit. Piccolo is somewhat rejuvenates from this, his eyes no longer half-lidded and his head no longer threatening to droop backwards.
"It is my promise to you, namekian, that, should you not help me, I will go to planet Namek and strip it of its life!" Thirty-Two shouts, incensed. "It's true that I have been unable to leave Lord Hailer's side, but, now that he has forsaken this planet and those who serve him here, I'll find a way, and when I do, I'll make sure to—!"
"Gohan."
At the new arrival, Thirty-Two freezes, his words sawdust on the tongue.
"Release him," orders Goku from behind, forcing Thirty-Two to turn and watch him descend from the sky like a bird coming to roost.
Thirty-Two doesn't relinquish Piccolo, instead, now holding him by his gi, lowering and allowing him to traipse along the ground as Thirty-Two takes a tentative step backwards.
Goku doesn't initially say anything, a substantial glint of mystery in dark eyes painfully similar to Thirty-Two's own. They're almost too toxic for Thirty-Two to look at, the darkness concentrated when Goku comes to a stop directly opposite Thirty-Two. Silent. Thirty-Two does his best to steel his expression—to hide his lapse of insecurity—as to give nothing for Goku to dissect or to comment upon to make Thirty-Two further lose himself.
"Gohan," Goku ultimately repeats; the name weak and sad, and swelled with such emotion that Thirty-Two physically flinches.
Thirty-Two drags Piccolo backwards through the snow, his eyes not leaving Goku's. "Stay back, otherwise I will kill him."
At that, there's a derisive snort from Piccolo. "Then, you will have no password," he goads. "F-Face it… It's over."
Thirty-Two feels his heart beat a mile a minute. No, it can't be over. Thirty-Two can beat them. They're in Thirty-Two's territory—nobody can fight in the snow like he can. He will summon the dragon—today, right now!
Dropping Piccolo, Thirty-Two throws out several flashes of bright pink. Like static, they crackle, fizzing in way of Goku.
Goku doesn't even bother to defend himself, craning his neck to allow the energy pass by and explode in the distance. The night lights up as if day, the sky a girlish pink.
"You're no match for me," Goku says as they sky returns to dark. "Already, you've used a huge percentage of your energy in your transformation. I can see how tired you are."
That may be true but Thirty-Two is intelligent. He'll figure this out without brawn. Somehow.
Goku takes another step forward, ignoring Thirty-Two's warning in murdering Piccolo, even bypassing him as Thirty-Two continues to take further steps backwards until his back presses against the Tree of Might's bark.
"I can help you," Goku tells him, hand in extension, as though Thirty-Two would ever take it. "I know you've been through a lot, and I understand that you may not want to trust to easily, but please let us help you. This… what you want to do… it's not the answer. I promise you that summoning the dragon will not ease you of your demons."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Thirty-Two says upon finding his voice.
Goku's arm lowers, the hand dangling by his side. Sadly, he considers Thirty-Two with nightmarish pity so evident that Thirty-Two wants to rip the skin from his face and force feed him it. Thirty-Two doesn't want to be commiserated. He wants to be left alone.
His own expression remains stony, as though carved from rock. "I don't want for sentimentality, Goku. I already have everything I need."
"Dying doesn't mean not exis—."
"Goku," Piccolo pointedly caws. When Goku turns to him, no words are shared between them; just a stretch of silence Thirty-Two doesn't know how to interpret.
Thirty-Two doesn't like this, and so takes a wide berth, moving at an angle back towards Piccolo.
"Goku," Piccolo repeats, pushing himself upwards as he slowly withers.
"Yes. I know."
Thirty-Two, on instinct, raises his hand, collecting ki there in a pink sphere. It's in aim of Piccolo originally, but then, he turns it on Goku when he takes a step towards his fallen comrade. "Do you want to do this, Goku? To challenge me?" Thirty-Two threatens. "Do you wish to provide the Tree of Might nutrition at an even faster rate than expected?"
"The Tree of Might?"
Thirty-Two gestures to the goliath behind. "The tree absorbs life force from a planet and its inhabitants, exterminating them. The energy is used to produce fruit. Those who eat the fruit are to gain a remarkable growth in power."
Alarm flashes, and for the first time, Thirty-Two feels a sense of control over the others. Good. Thirty-Two is the one with the knowledge here.
"The electrical power has been shut down, removing any opportunity to escape," Thirty-Two continues darkly. "It's understandable now why Lord Hailer has done such a thing, forsaking his own men. It is because of you, because of your attendance here today."
Goku stiffens, looks at the tree, and then—horrifically—back to Thirty-Two with a wry, self-deprecating smirk. "He's gone that far not to fight me, huh?"
Thirty-Two's eyes narrow. "He will take your power for his own. Slowly, the tree will drain all life here, including yours."
"And yours?"
"You must know by now that I cannot be felled."
"So, what? You expect that he'll come back for you when it's all said and done?" Goku returns. "When we're all dead, he'll finally take you back into his army, right? I can see how well he looks after his friends. I can see that with Cace's body over there."
"Overseer Cace is dead because of him," Thirty-Two bites back tightly, nodding towards Piccolo.
"Hailer sent Cace here to try and control you. Hailer knew what he was doing. He lured us here with Vegeta's execution, and then, by what you just told us, he unleashed the tree and made it so we can't leave. None of us. Including Cace." Goku looks towards where Overseer Cace's body lies in its shallow grave of snow. "Hailer will never help you—with anything. Even if he promises to make your… wish, it'll never happen. He'll throw you away the moment you're inconvenient to him, like he did Cace, after he'd made your power his own…
But, really, by the looks of it, he already has tossed you aside."
"And you'll help me?" Thirty-Two laughs at the ludicrous notion. "I'm not a fool. To you, I'm the fantasy of what once was. I recognize your fragile inability to separate yourself fr—."
"It is not a fantasy!" Goku snaps, "because you're right here, Gohan!"
"Stop saying that! That is not my name."
"Yes, it is."
Goku takes a step forward with startling confidence, reaching Piccolo in three large strides. Thirty-Two repositions the ki in ambition of Piccolo, unsure on who should be his target. Killing Piccolo would be working against his own goals, but he doesn't know who else to threaten.
There's a stand-off. Silence except for the crying of the wind.
Thirty-Two shuffles under the stare.
"Tell him, Piccolo," Goku finally instructs. "Tell Gohan the password."
The energy melts away like ice under the sun, and Thirty-Two nearly trips from the shock. His breath is held in anticipation. The password? Why would Goku willingly share it all of a sudden?
It cannot be that simple because, once again, Piccolo and Goku share a pregnant stretch of silence that feels torturously long.
Then, Piccolo nods, just the once.
"Pupiritparo Porunga," he reveals just before Goku leans down and snaps his neck.
Thirty-Two's eyes blow wide, and he watches as Goku sets the body ablaze.
Weren't they friends?
His jaw swings, and then tightens when Goku turns to him with a levy of expectation.
"What're you waiting for?" he asks, impassive, palm still stretched over his fire. "Let's call the dragon."
When Thirty-Two was younger and his memories were more easily recalled, he'd envision the dragon in its splendour; the backdrop of planet Namek hazy in its darkness, shadowed by that of the almost holy light of the dragon balls. The dragon had coiled itself into a knotted monstrosity, its serpentine nature evolving into a monster as it grew way beyond that of the hills and mountains of the garden planet. Namek, in Thirty-Two's memories had presented itself as lovely and rich with wildness, despite Thirty-Two not thinking so as a boy.
How would Earth compare? If Thirty-Two hadn't thought much of planet Namek, would that mean Earth is even lovelier? Perhaps, alive with greenery?
How does Earth's dragon compare?
His arm is hot with blood, red streaking from a fresh albeit deep wound. From which, the capsule had been retrieved.
Soon following, the balls had been splayed in haphazard formation, like layabout soldiers after doing nothing for so long. Now, he sits, cross-legged, feeling smaller than he ever has, with each ball now within touching proximity. Goku watches, his expression devoid of thoughts, his jaw constricted and lips but a thin, disapproving line.
From where Thirty-Two sits, Goku looks so tall, a steady pillar, his quiet strength intimidating even though he stands as a prisoner, soon to be a food source of the Tree of Might. They could wish themselves free, of course, which is what Thirty-Two expects Goku to want him to do with one of the wishes, but there is something more here… There is no accident in this situation. Whatever Goku wants Thirty-Two to understand, it comes with summoning the dragon. This man is the victor against Lord Frieza. This is the person who Lord Hailer considers a danger to his sovereignty. Gone is the easy-going naivety Goku wears as a cloak, revealing, beneath, the saiyan cited to bring destruction down upon the most powerful empire the universe has yet known.
A shiver runs down Thirty-Two's spine.
No words pass between them, only a curt nod on Goku's behalf.
Do it.
Thirty-Two licks dry lips. He bend his head in determination, and then, he says; "Pupiritparo Porunga."
From a sludge-like grey, to a navy blue, and then to a molten gold, the sky crackles with bipolar electricity. The balls flicker between their newly adopted orange and a divine white, their glow so bright that Thirty-Two can't help but be transfixed like a moth to a flame.
They cradle him. They heat. They swell with transcendence.
They… they…
Thirty-Two splutters out a breath, his chest emptying air.
God. They feel.
It's rediscovering a colour Thirty-Two had forgotten existed, like for the first time seeing red or blue, like perhaps witnessing ultraviolet with virgin eyes. He feels. Thirty-Two can taste the essence of the world around him. Energy, he realizes. Ki. The dragon balls themselves are fire, their crackling, cindering light distorting all else into a blur. But still, Thirty-Two feels that even this imprecision is enough to become intoxicated on.
Somehow, his eyes find Goku's.
There are no secrets there now, only paralleled astonishment. This hadn't been a part of his plan. Although he doesn't move, fear edges into Goku's expression, and his—God—his energy tentatively extends out with curious fingers. But it's too much. Goku's energy is a pyroclastic wave so powerful that it strips Thirty-Two to his most raw reaction. Power radiates. All else orbits him. The sun, his mind offers.
It feels so intimately familiar so suddenly that Thirty-Two buckles, his teeth clenched.
He smells something earthy, like dirt and trees. He hears a river lap at its bed. Birds call to one another from their nests. Insects carol into twilight. A streak of sun cascades over that of an orange-cladded shadow.
A hand reaches out, swallowing Thirty-Two's tiny, pudgy fingers.
"I am your father! I refuse to let you self-destruct! I won't let a jerk like him do anything else to you! If you want to punish me and hate me then fine, but that won't stop me from loving you!"
It's a memory but it doesn't feel like his own, from a time when he was a beast and had little more than the animalistic instinct to destroy. Being a monster had been liberating. Thirty-Two remembers none of it. How he wants to remember nothing. Be nothing. But now, he is everything and he feels everything. Life itself courses through Thirty-Two's veins and he feels the will of the ki in which the Tree of Might gorges itself upon.
From his transformation in the Great Ape, Thirty-Two's energy is returning to him in stuttered ruptures, and it pushes back against this intrusive attack of stimulation from the balls. A crater begins to crack beneath him, splintering the already parched ground. He hates this. It's so loud. So unbearably bright. The colours are disorientating. Even though only Goku stands by his side, everything and everyone is pilfering the very air from his lungs.
Throughout all this, Goku still hasn't moved, so violently still as he watches Thirty-Two perpetuate in his resolve.
Do you feel me, too? Thirty-Two longs to ask, exposed. He doesn't want to be felt. His vacuum of damnation was his and his alone, save for the namekians who recognized Thirty-Two for what he was.
Like a needle piercing a bubble, the dragon balls' radiance has allowed the world entry, with the first at the door being Goku.
"Unworthy."
Thirty-Two hears it.
The voice.
The one of his nightmares, now in the realm of waking.
"Damned and not worthy of my might."
Instead of tumbling down through the abyss, the voice chasing, it now encapsulates Central. The usual vitriol of wrongness overcomes Thirty-Two, and the nausea follows as to be expected. He doesn't want to vomit with a witness. He doesn't want to appear weak in front of Goku, of who's helping hand he has over and over rejected, and yet, the bile sears in his stomach, rocking like a ship atop fiery waves, until Thirty-Two tastes the heat.
It builds and builds, this heat, until it carries to his tongue, his nose, and then his eyes. It boils.
"Abomination."
Steam blisters, and then—.
Then, instead of vomit, there is emptiness.
He floats in the darkness, weightless and alone, surrounded by nothing but the oppressive silence of the void. His void. So many times, Thirty-Two has been a visitor. A voice echoes from somewhere—indifferent, distant at first. It speaks in a slow, deliberate tone: "You are not divine." The words are cold, devoid of mercy, as usual, seeping into his mind like poison. He tries to block it out, but the voice grows louder, more insistent, as though closing in on him from every direction. "You are not divine." The void shifts around him, swirling in a way that seems almost deliberate, teasing him with the idea of something beyond his reach. His chest tightens, breath shallow, as the voice surrounds him, a constant, crushing force. "You are not divine." It rises to a deafening crescendo, each repetition slicing through him, until, finally, the sound becomes unbearable—a roar that fills his skull—and then, this is where he wakes up and all is as it should be.
This time, the world is changed.
The first thing he notices is the rawness of his throat. It's scratchy, as though he has been screaming, and it aches to breathe through as he kneels, crumpled onto all four. His back bounces, saliva dripping from parted lips as he pants, a sensation of emptiness wracking him as though he expelled something ugly from his body.
Thirty-Two is no longer touching the dragon balls, and he is hunched over himself. He's shaking. The world has remained loud and brimming with energy, Goku the loudest of all. Who has still not moved, Thirty-Two registers upon looking up. The land beneath his footing has kept its shape, and a hum of energy envelops him with protective valour, stubborn against whatever ki must have exploded forth from the summoning.
His eyes read differently now however. There is akin to understanding there, and he looks between Thirty-Two and the gargantuan figure airborne above the seven dragon balls.
Thirty-Two halts, frozen, eyes wide with disbelief, as the Namekian Dragon regards them with its unblinking, red eyes. Its massive, (and as remembered correctly) serpentine form coils through the sky, its iridescent scales catching the light. The air hums with power, and Thirty-Two exists in both awe and terror, overwhelmed by the creature's otherworldly, albeit reptilian, presence.
The neighbouring Tree of Might is no longer a tangle of shadows, now floodlit by the dragon's magic, which makes it somewhat less fearful when equated. Now, Thirty-Two recognizes true power.
Struggling, he finally blunders to his feet, swaying.
For the longest time, the dragon says nothing—and neither does Thirty-Two.
How does he do this?
It's happening. After years of anguish. After the hell endured. After experiencing nothing but guilt and wrongness and—and… and unhappiness, Thirty-Two can make it all okay. And yet, overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, Thirty-Two's desires become mush on the end of his tongue.
But…
But.
What happens if this doesn't work?
This is his last hope.
There is no other light at the end of the tunnel.
Fear throbs in his chest.
"I…" Thirty-Two swallows against the prickling. He coughs forcibly. "Dragon, I w—."
There is a billow of energy from the dragon and Thirty-Two is plunged down onto his backside, the icy wind sharp against his bare skin.
When it speaks, it is not in the Common language.
Finally, Goku experiences a reaction, and he moves to stand by Thirty-Two, clearly alarmed by this revelation. He obviously hadn't known of the dragon's lack of multilingualism.
But… it's okay.
"Unworthy," rumbles the dragon through lips that seem not to move. "A vessel in which the magic of Namek was imprisoned has the daring to gaze upon me."
Thirty-Two's ability to understand this ancient language (when he has never before been able to) has him gape.
"I…" Imprisoned? Thirty-Two digests what is being said. "I never imprisoned you."
Somehow, his reply mustn't have been in the Common language because Goku begins to call Thirty-Two by that name—by Gohan—and demands to know what's transpiring.
"Imprudent mortal, I said no such thing about you being the warden. Your impure, unworthy bones were the bars. The self-preservation of Namekian magic is what condemned its own might."
Unworthy…
Just how many times has Thirty-Two heard this?
This voice. This is the exact baritone which whispers long into the nights, the one which has urged Thirty-Two closer to the edge.
"You were within me," Thirty-Two realizes.
"You refused to release me."
Thirty-Two feels to have been punched, and he laughs with incredulity. Oh, the irony. After years of yearning to find the dragon, it is now telling Thirty-Two that it had been entrapped within him. What madness is this?
"And you now dare summon me, on this doomed planet, to service your desires?"
Thirty-Two is in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing, madness causing him to continue to laugh.
"What is it saying?" Goku further demands. He takes Thirty-Two by his elbow.
"You kept me from dying," Thirty-Two then accuses the dragon, snatching himself free. "You prevented my death!"
"The vessel cannot die. Is that what you wish for? For death? Those who suffer suicide cannot ever walk mortal planes."
"Gohan!"
Thirty-Two swerves, shoving Goku away, furious, but even more than he is angry, he is hungry for knowledge. "What happened after Namek?" Thirty-Two snaps at Goku as a result. "Tell me, what happened to the dragon balls!"
Goku recaptures his balance, his attention evenly split between Thirty-Two and the dragon. "What is it saying?"
"The planet exploded, right? What happened to the dragon balls?"
There's a pause, and for a moment, Thirty-Two thinks Goku won't reply. "You saw what happened," he then says very precisely. "They became rocks. What is the dragon telling you?"
"And me," Thirty-Two rallies out. "And what happened to me? Where was I when the planet exploded? Was I with the dragon balls?"
Goku shakes his head slowly, signalling that he doesn't know.
Thirty-Two covers his mouth, swallowing the shock. Could the dragon really have hidden within him? After all this time, is this why he has been so broken? So rotten and ruined and so utterly repulsive?
There is a roar of thunder.
"Mortals, I am already growing weary of waiting. My good nature has been weathered by my imprisonment in somewhere unworthy of my grand power, and so I wish to rest in my natural sanctum. Now, however, the power I have is limited to but a single wish, but I shall grant it to you should you finally allow me peace."
But Thirty-Two isn't done.
"Tell me! Why me?" he questions the dragon. "Why were you within my body?"
"Annoying."
Thirty-Two flinches at the tone.
"A most desired treasure, the gift of a forever life, is given to you, mortal, and yet you dare speak to me in such a manner? We speak in the language I just now shared with you, you selfish, unworthy boy, and yet you dare to raise your voice? I am Porunga, the Dragon of Dreams, and from your dreams, I existed as a passenger to your misery—."
"Which you caused!" Thirty-Two snarls, unable to help himself. "I never wanted this!"
Behind the dragon, and born from fury, lightning strikes at the tree, setting it ablaze. The flames are swallowed greedily by the tree.
"The eruption of the most holy planet Namek was in due to your kind! My creator is dead and should I not soon find a spare then I will soon follow!" booms the dragon. "And only now do you call upon me by my name? Your shame stretches limitlessly. Make your wish and allow me respite!"
Thirty-Two sneers, barely able to contain his contempt.
"Take it away then," he says in a heated whisper. "This gift."
"Then, make your wish, and be fast about it. You only have one."
"Is the dragon the reason for your immortality?" Goku then asks when a pause of quiet takes hold. "This is about Namek, isn't it?"
Thirty-Two nods numbly. Finally, it's time to end this. "The dragon sheltered itself within me," he ultimately tells Goku in some strange compulsion, so robotically and quietly that Goku has to lean in to catch the words. "Following your fight with Lord Frieza, in the destruction of the planet… the dragon… it…"
The words die, and for whatever reason, Goku doesn't push him, accepting what little given as enough to build his own narrative from.
"It kept you alive," Goku says in a disgustingly thankful tone.
Thirty-Two's fists clench, itching to punch the sentimental idiot. He doesn't understand. He doesn't get what this wretched dragon put him through! How wrong he's felt! How monstrous!
"And now, are you still…immortal?"
"Yes," Thirty-Two seethes, his anger made worse when Goku lets loose a held breath. "But not for long," he adds spitefully. "The dragon will grant my single wish, and then it will return to the dwelling of its balls, finally allowing me my rest."
"A single wish?"
"Yes."
"There's only one?"
"Yes."
Goku's brows furrow and his eyes close, as if in pain. "Okay," he relinquishes, surprising Thirty-Two. But before Thirty-Two can get to it, he has a final point to make. "If there is just one wish, and you take it, then I want you to consider what that means for the rest of us."
Thirty-Two twitches. What does he mean by that?
"This tree—The Tree of Might—is presently destroying the planet and killing everyone here slowly, including me and Vegeta. I've already tried to kill it but everything I throw at it is just absorbed into its body, just making it, I don't know, stronger, if I had to guess. I'm sure you know more than I do. So… yeah, I'm not sure what else I can do to take this bad boy down. The planet is already breaking apart. So many have already died. More will unless we…" There's a cough, and then a gesture follows in way of Porunga.
Thirty-Two takes a breath. Upon its release, there's a shudder.
What a bastard.
That's right. Another wish could have been for them to escape.
By making Thirty-Two's wish, Thirty-Two would be serving himself, but in the same vein, allowing Goku and everyone else to fall victim to Lord Hailer's murderous ambition in stealing their power.
"You don't think I'd sacrifice you?" Thirty-Two then whispers, as a thick, sweating bout of quiet. "Just because we're blood related?"
"Oh, come on, Gohan, you've already saved me on numerous occasions now." There's a grin, and then a victorious wink. "I know that deep down, you love your old man, really."
Thirty-Two punches him.
"Don't make fun of me!" Thirty-Two shouts. "You have no idea what tribulations you have brought down on me, you foolish, pitiful saiyan!"
The last part may have been in the Southern tongue because when Goku turns, spitting a mouthful of blood out, he doesn't have any particular reaction. He wipes the line of crimson clean from his lips.
"You're unhappy," Goku understands.
So unhappy that a hot, angry bubble gorges in Thirty-Two abdomen—he wants to be sick from it, this frustration. After everything, it's come down to this.
And… worse yet, after everything, Goku is once again willing to gamble. He'd so stupid. He is arrogant. He gambled Vegeta's son's life upon introducing his existence to Thirty-Two. Of course, he'd gambled Thirty-Two as a boy on planet Namek, and now, he is gambling Thirty-Two's goodwill.
"You don't think I would wish you and all these foul bastards on this planet dead?" Thirty-Two goads. "How ridiculous you are, Goku. You think I don't remember that there are the Earth dragon balls? Bulma must've been revived by now. I'm sure she will wish for that piece of work partner of hers to be revived, and then you, and then the namekian you slaughtered for whatever reason."
Goku's joy dissolves quickly.
At that, Thirty-Two grins darkly. "As for the soldiers? Well, I'm sure your bleeding heart will save them in the end, that you will revive them with one of the dragons. But not me. I will see myself out for good."
"Goha—."
"Be quiet!" Thirty-Two snarls. "That is not my name! I am a number! I am number Thirty-Two! I bequeath that name to your rose tinted memory, for I don't want it, and with that, I don't want you. Any of you!" Breathing deeply, Thirty-Two regards Goku, who has grown uncharacteristically complacent. "We're done," he finalizes. "I reject you. Please… see that."
Silence.
Goku only stares, that stoic performance from earlier set in once more.
Finally.
Thirty-Two nods to himself, his breathing still laboured.
Okay. It's time.
He turns to the divinity—to his destiny.
"Have you finished with your mortal histrionics, Vessel?" goads the dragon. "Will you finally permit me my slumber?"
"Dragon!" Thirty-Two exclaims pointedly, ignoring the barb. "I want to make my wish!"
The dragon hovers in waiting.
"I wish…" Thirty-Two starts, "I wish…"
There's a pause.
"I wish…"
Another… pause.
"I…WISH…!"
Something's wrong.
Thirty-Two's words are tarry with insubordination. They are thick and unmoving, a boulder in his mouth. When he tries to spit them out, his tongue grows fatigued, his mind fuzzy.
He grasps his hair, willing the thoughts return. What were the words again? How does he say it?
"I wish…for… I… I wish… I WISH I WISH I WISH…! Mm!?"
Thirty-Two then can't even speak. His lips refuse to move, as if he'd been paralyzed. What is happening? Why can't he say it? What's wrong with him!?
"What is your wish?" hassles the dragon. "Why do you force me to wait an age once more?"
Thirty-Two, so frustrated, ends up spluttering out a coughing fit that doesn't ease, his breathing as laboured as it'd been moments ago when shouting at Goku.
Goku…
In his fit, Thirty-Two spares a glance at him, immediately noticing how unsurprised he looks by this entire display. He never tried to physically stop Thirty-Two from making the wish, namely because he hadn't needed to.
"What did you do?" Thirty-Two wheezes in blossoming fury. "Tell me!"
"What I had to," Goku replies readily.
"You… you did something to me!"
"I did something to me, actually."
Thirty-Two charges him, snatching the smug bastard by the front of his gi. "Tell me!"
"That's quite the temper," Goku teases, though there is no smile in his eyes. "You've always had one, y'know. You got it from your m—."
Thirty-Two punches him, this time shattering his nose.
Goku cranes his head forwards, the break from his nose dripping so generously that it stains the entire front of his wears in seconds. "I told you that I wouldn't let you self-destruct," he says, his eyes boring into Thirty-Two's own, intense and full with feeling. "I won't let you do this to yourself."
Thirty-Two's world tunnels ever so slightly, the dark creeping and consuming at his world's edges, as a wash of panic as him struggle to breathe. "What," he squeaks, "did you do?"
"About immortality," Goku says, "only I can make any sort of wish about it. Shenron, the Dragon of Earth, gave me that rite when I made my wishes on Earth recently. That way, nobody will ever be able to abuse the dragons' powers, and you'll never be able to have the opportunity to make the worst possible decision."
Thirty-Two's body grows numb. Cold crawls from his toes to his fingers, from which Goku carefully pulls away.
After years and years, Thirty-Two has had his only hope stolen from him.
A lifetime at the Youth Program of harm and hate… all for nothing.
In seconds, Goku, the once harbinger of hope from Thirty-Two's naïve youth, has stripped it from him.
Thirty-Two will not be felled.
Love will keep him alive, against his will.
