Frigid

BY : airyusangre
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1761
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball/Z/etc. characters and related materials belong to Toriyama Sensei and respective owners; all else is mine, so please do not plagiarise. Not a drop of monetary profit is received from any portion of this fan fiction.

Frigid

I

Hot painful viscous fluids drained from each of the deep gashes his body over, also from the throbbing torn orifice that had been thoroughly violated along with his mind, his very soul. He could not move. His violator had left him naked and broken somewhere in the cold, in the dark. He could not see let alone sense his surroundings the way he usually could, nor would he try, for he had been severely damaged.

He could not even tremble so the cold would not consume his abused flesh so quickly. Terror, anguish and shame had stolen what was left of his will, of his hope. He just lay there inert; no longer thinking or wondering about anything at all. Eventually darkness claimed more than just his vision as his consciousness painfully faded.


A masterfully statured warrior—dressed in his own version of his people’s garb, violet dogi and weighted cape and turban his own design—suddenly flinched out of his usual meditative pose by one of his favourite waterfalls. Something was wrong! He had to hurry! The familiar life signature of one he had come to care for a great deal more than he would like to admit was suddenly almost non-existent.

When he finally reached the greatest frozen desert on the planet, his chest tightened excruiatingly. His eyes were deceiving him, weren’t they? They had to be! For what he saw, what he sensed then shattered him in a way he could not adequately express. His beloved student’s body was so torn, so bloodily beaten that had he not sensed the faint Ki which still flickered within it, he would not have recognised it at all. Tears did actually fill his eyes—though he would not allow them to fall—as he used controlled Ki to melt away the unforgiving frigidity that had begun to eat at his student’s shattered flesh.

Clothing him in warm layers with his technique and gingerly wrapping him in his white cape, the sorrowed green man originally from another world but claiming the earth as his home, cradled his student’s body as he flew as fast as he could to the Tenkai.


Earth’s Kami shuddered as he began to heal the damage that had befallen the fallen teen’s body. But tears sprang to his own eyes as he realised he would be unable to heal his mind, his spirit. He could not believe that something so heinous had happed to his dear friend. How had someone on Earth overpowered him enough for such to be possible? How had none of them sensed it happening?!

As their friend’s eyes slowly opened after the healing, two midori iro skinned persons watched intently. Both were incredulous when he started screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes wild, body flailing all about as though mad.

“Piccolo-san, please render him unconscious. He can rest up here until he is . . . better,” uttered Earth’s Kami sadly.

Piccolo swiftly did as he was asked with a quick chop to his nape. He could stand even less than Dende to see Gohan in such a state. “I will take care of him,” he finally said in a determined voice, gingerly picking him up in his arms. “Please, let his mother know he’ll be staying with us for a while so she won’t worry. Don’t fill her in on the details. When he’s well, if he wishes he’ll tell her,” he finished wearily, beginning to carry Gohan’s limp body to his own personal room within the temple. He could not believe something so heinous had happened to his beloved student. He had been raped and brutalised so greatly visual recognition had been impossible. Whoever could do such a thing, when he found them, he would show them no mercy.


Once in his room, Piccolo gently laid Gohan down upon his grand aqua-green hued futon; taking off the blood and viscous fluid marred clothes he had made to warm him on the way to Kami’s Lookout, manifesting new clothes on him and laying a warm blanket the same hue of his bed over him.

Oh kid, just how could such a thing have happened to you?

Carefully running his long deft fingers through his student’s short spikes of thick raven hair, Piccolo sighed heavily at the clean face that had moments ago been so swollen and crushed he couldn’t recognise, could not stand it. He needed answers and quickly. He needed to pound something hard, to crush something! What had happened was so immensely wrong! And he found the more he thought of it; the less calm he could keep.

Yes, there was a certain Saiyajin no Ouji he needed to see. For even with his adept psychokinesis he had been unable to detect even a trace of their enemy. Perhaps the haughty prince could smell something. He could only hope.

Quietly getting up, he lit some special incense that would keep Gohan calm and slumbering for a while. He wanted, needed to be there when he woke. But until then, he needed answers. He would thoroughly search the area he had found Gohan in; then he would go see a haughty tailed prince.


Piercing, keenly slanted onyx eyes peered out from a perpetually youthful, clean yet harsh looking face; looking away from the deep eyes just as dark as his own just paces away from him. His nose scrunched up and the tail he had regrown through arduous training anxiously flicked from around his waist. He had scented the ominous odour from the sullied clothes Piccolo had brought only once before; way back when he was still a wee lad.

While out on his first purge, he had gotten overly cocky and wandered off to do his own damage. He had travelled on for a while until he reached the other side of the strange pale grey planet. He remembered it suddenly getting very dark and cold. It made him visibly shiver just to think about it; feeling it deep within his very bones, just as he had that day.

He had felt real visceral terror for the first time that day. He could only remember the coldest viscous darkness enveloping him; allowing him no hope of escape as excruciating agony writhed up his spine and seeped into poor young mind, so intense it stole his consciousness.   

By the time he had come to, the mean eyes of his father were peering down at him angrily, disappointedly. No words were said, but he made sure never to disobey his father again after that. He never did find out just what that horridness was or exactly what had happened; unconsciously repressing it within his young mind to not think of it. Had Piccolo not brought him that wretched scent; it would have stayed so buried.

If that was what had attacked Gohan—the most powerful of them—the earth was in trouble. There was no fighting that presence. Power mattered not to it. It would partake greedily of whatever it desired; there was no opposition. And to learn that it was not merely a figment of his youthful imagination from back then, did cause Vegeta to feel quite the chill.

Piccolo strove to wait patiently for Vegeta to answer. He needed to know; he had to have answers. He must take revenge for Gohan!

When Vegeta suddenly got up mechanically and poured himself some whiskey into a medium glass tumbler, Piccolo glared at him agitated. “Well?” he inquired, quite discomfited.

Vegeta took a long swig of his drink then; sucking through his teeth as he felt the usual burn run down his oesophagus. As he turned and gazed at Piccolo seriously, Piccolo’s stomach dropped. For Vegeta looked at him as he never had then—with genuine dread. “Your best bet is to talk to the boy. Hopefully he will have some clues to give us a chance,” he finally said, matter-of-factly, downing the rest of his drink with a quick gulp.

With that, Vegeta curtly left the room; unable to take any more of that scent and the pungent feelings it produced.

Piccolo sat for a long moment astonished. What on Earth could have been so terrible that Vegeta wanted nothing more to do with it? At that moment he felt very disquieted. He had to find a way to help his beloved student. And somehow, he would find the bloody kusottare responsible for hurting him so, and make him suffer as he deserved.

Getting up swiftly, Piccolo made his way out the window and took to the air, abruptly leaving Capsule Corp. Once far enough away from the city, he threw the marred clothes up and incinerated them to ash with a swift blast of Ki; quite perturbed that he hadn’t received the answers he sought.

Kicking up his speed, he hurried on towards Kami’s Lookout. He could only hope he could somehow help his beloved student and friend and soon.

 

To Be Continued…

 



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