Kings, Tyrants, and Demons

A/N: A very very big ‘thank you’ to my beta Pixelgoddess. If it were not for her suggestions this chapter would be un-readable. *bows before wisdom*

Warning: S&M content


Chapter Twelve: The Heir of Kitat


The sky was a blazing azure over the waterfall with nary a cloud to distract from its brilliance. The air was crisp in his lungs serving to remind him that autumn was just around the corner. He inhaled deeply, savoring the cool scent, noticing it was tinged with something that did not belong to the forest. He ascended into the air close to the waterfall so that its sprays misted lightly over his black-clad form. Once he was high enough, his onyx eyes surveyed the shady green sea of trees billowing out below him.

“Come out, come out, little monkey,” he called, smiling nastily to himself as he scanned the ground for his lover.

The soft roar of the falls was the only answer he received.

“You’re only making this harder on yourself,” he warned.

Silence.

Piccolo frowned in displeasure.

“Have it your way, then.”

Without further delay, he rocketed over the forest canopy intent on the prince that was foolishly eluding him. Fanning his senses out he felt the Saiyan ahead, dashing through the trees as if the demons were at his heels…and a demon certainly was. He let out a cold bark of laughter as the thrill of the chase flared in his blood. He increased his speed, practically moaning in anticipation. Once he got his hands on that monkey…

The monkey in question was moving with phenomenal speed. While chasing his disobedient lover, the Namek considered the situation of their play. He knew Vegeta wanted to be caught, but that didn’t mean the little bastard was going to make it easy for him. He would resist once cornered and fight until blood was shed on both sides (he hardened at the thought) before lowering his ki just enough for the larger Namek to overpower him. The gap between them had shrunk considerably over time and it was with no small amount of personal pride that he noticed Vegeta had powered up to SSJ level 2. Absently, Piccolo wondered how pathetic his power level would be if he had not mated with the Saiyan he was currently pursuing. He cringed at the thought. Luckily, he didn’t have to ponder it further as he caught a flash of gold in the waves of green below him.

He dived bombed into the trees, grinning madly to himself. The sound of branches snapping away hit his ears, followed by a sharp grunt as the heel of his boot connected smartly with the Saiyan’s jaw, knocking him heavily to the forest’s floor.

“Gotchya.”

The green warrior smiled cruelly, belying the light-hearted statement. He then leaned over to leer at the fallen warrior beneath him. Vegeta lay in a heap, rubbing his chin and glaring up at him mutinously.

“Bad little monkey, playing in the trees when your master calls.” He shook his head admonishingly. “What to do with you…”

He leaned against the bare space of trunk he had cleared during his decent and brushed a few leaves from the black sleeve of his shirt. He caught the older man staring at him. An incongruous look of admiration fleetingly broke through the fictitious appearance of anger and fear on the prince’s face. Piccolo resisted the urge to preen. Instead, he scowled darkly, flashing a white hint of fang in the process.

“Punishment it is then.”

His mate nearly broke character again with an eager grin but he was quick to hide it with a look of hate.

A fight immediately ensued.

Piccolo’s earlier assumption of bloodshed on both sides was correct. After half an hour, he was bleeding from several cuts and his ribs ached from a particularly nasty kick to his side. He phased out just in time to avoid to a small white boot to his face and countered with a beam that slashed through the Saiyan’s upper arm. Vegeta grunted, but continued his assault, sending blast after blast at his mate until the larger man disappeared again. The Namek rematerialized a mere foot in front of the seemingly enraged warrior who caught the flying fist before it connected with his nose. They grappled; both of their power levels soared; ki fluxed against ki. The waves of energy danced around their straining bodies, and then with a hooded look Vegeta slightly lowered his level. Piccolo could not hide his look of pleasure.

He slammed the prince to the ground and proceeded to beat him into submission before restraining him with ki rings. It was only a minute, at the most two, but when he was finished, his hands were stained with blood.

He took a moment to admire his work; the prince was bleeding, but not yet broken, on the forest floor bound on his stomach, spitting curses into the leaves around his face. Piccolo ground his royal mug in the dirt for good measure. As he twisted his boot this way that, he threw taunt after taunt at the bound man until he was satisfied the Saiyan was choking on rage as well as the leaf-strewn mud filling his regal little mouth.

Laughing evilly, he kicked the elite off the ground. With nothing more than a spluttering grunt, Vegeta soared through the treetops, painfully crashing through branches before making his descent to the ground.

Piccolo followed and caught the smaller man by his ebony locks, drawing him close, still floating several hundred feet above the ground.

“We could have avoided this if you would have only obeyed me. As it is,” he shook the Saiyan roughly, “you continue time and again to defy me. My requests are simple—” He halted in his monologue as a look of boldness flashed across this captor’s face. He sighed heavily.

Vegeta seemed to be goaded by this sound of frustration because he had the audacity to smile, actually leer, impudently up at him. His reaction had been immediate.

“Insolent, as always!”

With a flick of his wrist, the prince whirled in the air, his back now to his subjugator. The Namek twisted his hand painfully in the Saiyan’s hair wrenching his head backwards so his throat was exposed. Vegeta struggled, but the ki rings around his arms and legs allowed little movement.

The younger man laughed at the pitiful display and then sank his teeth deep into the Saiyan’s neck thrilling at the sound of screams filling his ears. He groaned in pleasure. Between the thrashing body against him and the splash of blood on his tongue, he was now painfully aroused. He wrapped his free arm tightly against the body that was so desperately trying to escape him and drove his fangs in deeper. He purred, delighting in the screech it caused and thrust his hips against the Saiyan’s quivering backside. The friction against his aching member was euphoric and the urge to shred the prince’s clothing and fuck him right then and there was nearly impossible to ignore. But he, through a remarkable amount of will power, restrained himself. Instead, he ground against the quaking body, drinking in a mouthful of the elite’s thick blood until he heard the prince beg.

“Stop…I’m sorry,” the smaller man whined in a gasping voice. “I was bad,” he admitted. “I won’t do it again. Please….”

Removing his teeth from the pale, red splattered flesh, he merely growled in his throat, letting the sound reverberate through his chest. His cock however, hummed at the pleading tone and the rush of power he held over his mate. Again he restrained himself.

“I’m sorry!” the smaller man repeated with more fervor, apparently cowed by the menacing sound. “I should have come when you called me, but…but...”

“You were being a naughty monkey,” Piccolo finished, thrusting his hips again against the smaller form impatiently.

“Y...Yes.”

“You know how I despise naughty monkeys,” he spat, shaking him roughly again causing Vegeta’s bound legs to fly out before him helplessly. “Well?” he barked, trailing his fangs threateningly on the other, un-punctured, side of the Saiyan’s throat, “don’t you?”

“Yes!” the prince cried desperately.

“Then why do you insist on disobeying me?”

“I don’t know,” Vegeta replied lamely.

“You don’t know?” he asked angrily. “Do you like this?” He bit him again over the same wound he had caused earlier.

The prince cried out but refused to answer him.

“Well?!”

There was a pause and his sensitive ears heard a weak, “…no.”

Seemingly curious he peered over the smaller man’s shoulder and down his body. He saw the Saiyan’s erection clearly outlined in the stretchy material of his training gi. His mouth watered.

He cleared his throat.

“I think you’re lying to me,” he said and loosened his grip to allow his free hand room to rove down the elite’s chest and under the fabric tied around his waist. Vegeta’s cock was warm and heavy with blood. He stroked it roughly, the prince moaning in response though there was little he could do to either aid the tight friction or move away from it.

“You know what I despise more than naughty monkeys?” he asked casually, though he could hear the need in his own voice. “Naughty monkeys with the filthy habit of lying.”

Vegeta screamed as fangs sank into his soft flesh for the third time. Piccolo’s own cock jumped painfully in response. But he left it unattended to instead fist his mate’s weeping prick violently. Despite the wails of pain, it grew harder in his fist, leaking over his knuckles.

Without warning, he stopped, and though he was grinning—Vegeta couldn’t see him after all—he let his voice drip with disgust.

“What a perverted little beast.”

Then he let go.

Vegeta plummeted from the sky and landed with a massive splash into the river that fed the many streams and waterfalls of the valley. After watching him thrash helplessly in the water for a few moments the tall warrior fished him out, hauling the Saiyan up by the ki ring around his waist to float only a few inches above the surface. Before the smaller man could catch his breath his assailant shredded the waterlogged clothing from the prince’s shivering form and bent him double.

The Namek parted the bound thighs until the elite’s small opening was laid bare to him. His cock screaming for relief by this point he wasted no time and shoved into him—somehow already strangely lubricated—until he was balls deep. It happened so quickly Vegeta had time to gulp only in a lungful of air. Before he could let it out in a scream, Piccolo pushed his head forcefully under the rushing icy water.

He fucked him hard, and fast, spearing the prince with his sizable cock as if it were a weapon. He yanked the elite’s head out of the river periodically, yet every time the smaller man tried to scream, back into the water he’d go. He spluttered and fought, but was helpless to do anything but take the violent treatment. Piccolo growled in pleasure as he lost himself in the unbelievable heat between the Saiyan’s bound thighs. He jerked his hips in a different angle and Vegeta made a noise that could have been a cry of pain or ecstasy; with him, it was never easy to tell and rarely differed in meaning.

The passage constricted around him suddenly and it was only then he realized Vegeta had come. The clenching heat entrapping his cock drowned out his surprise at the abruptness of the situation. He pistoned furiously, his balls slapping against his mate’s ass painfully. Then, with a roar he came hard, so hard he lost his grip on the Saiyan’s waist but he felt a warm hand close over his own to keep him steady.

Spent, he withdrew, watching bemusedly as Vegeta broke the rest of his restraints with ease. Tucking himself back into his pants, he floated to the bank, his nude Saiyan following him.

“That was quick,” he said, still slightly amazed at how promptly his mate had reached completion.

Vegeta only shrugged and clambered on top of him, soaking his clothing. He didn’t mind.

“You’ve been gone,” the prince said simply before kissing him. His lips were cold and moist from the river; his tongue however remained remarkably hot. The Namek had savored it a moment before breaking the kiss with his response.

“Three days.”

“Still,” Vegeta said, nuzzling his neck, “you were gone.” He looked up at him, his dark eyes full of warmth, “and I’ve missed you.”

Then Piccolo felt something wrap around his wrist. Alarmed, he looked down to see a fuzzy brown tail encircling his right wrist tightly. Utterly shocked, he looked at Vegeta whose face had suddenly transformed from a healthy post-coital bloom to pale and gaunt. “I’ve missed you a lot,” he whispered.

Suddenly he was in the uncomfortable bed in his guest chambers on New Namek, sitting bolt upright and panting heavily. His heart was pounding so hard he was surprised it hadn’t awoken his near-deaf hosts. Belatedly, he discovered his sheets were a sticky mess tangled around his waist, but that didn’t concern him. What did was the tingling sensation around his wrist. He rubbed it furiously, panicking, until thankfully the abnormal sensation faded. Forcing himself to calm via a few deep breaths he cautiously considered the nighttime vision.

The dream hadn’t been a dream, at least not it its initial content. It was a memory from two years prior. He had left with Gohan for a few days; he couldn’t remember the reason, probably to train, but when he came back Vegeta had initiated a game of cat and mouse. The results of which played out perfectly, save a minor detail or two, in the dream. But the ending; Vegeta with a tail? And his face…he had looked ill. His heart clenched at the memory. Then the hatred came back, as did the profound torment that had haunted him since that day two months ago when his world had come to an end. Tears of anger trailed down his face; he swiped them away furiously.

Vegeta, if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.

He wasn’t sure if he meant that or not. He doubted he did, despite his vehemence, but the look in his mate’s eyes haunted him every time he shut his eyes. Yet, as unsettling as the dream was, he soon realized he would have been better off staying in bed.

Word had gotten round that he had been spotted speaking to Vorosu. As a result, his elderly hosts corned him when he left his room and proceeded to give him an hour lecture on why that particular Namek and his unscrupulous crew should be avoided.

He had learned Morie allowed them to dock and stay for short periods on the planet—which luckily they didn’t often do—but they were regarded by the rest of Namekian society as interlopers. Piccolo wondered on this; Lyre had mentioned going off planet was frowned upon and indeed the two old men had shook their fingers at the sheer audacity of the idea. Yet, Piccolo knew that could not be the only reason for the sermon of caution being harped at him. Nameks had left the planet before; he was an obvious proof of this. Not to mention Vegeta had come across a couple in his travels with the Planet Trade. It had to be something more, but the old farts were annoyingly vague regarding the specific reasons why Vorosu and his men were considered outcasts. It was as if they could not bring themselves to speak on it.

Piccolo had tuned out their concerns with a careless wave of his hand and left the hut. Vorosu, while he didn’t exactly like him, was the only other Namek on the planet he could stomach. Their conversation had been short, but significant. He wasn’t about to disassociate with him because his hosts disapproved of the exile’s career choice, which he suspected was the root of all the objections. He had to suppress a chuckle; he was sure Vorosu was a saint in comparison to himself. If the old meddling bastards only knew what skeletons lurked in his closet…he smiled darkly at the thought.

Unsurprisingly, the second he had stepped foot in the village he had been accosted by the locals. Luckily—or perhaps not so luckily—he had received a message Morie required his presence. He gladly left the bothersome natives behind before the daily inquisition could get underway.

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Three hours.

Piccolo drummed his fingers impatiently on the polished armrest of his chair. He swore to himself that he would not dwell on the disquieting dream that had shaken him so badly earlier in the day. Instead, he focused on the present. He hated this planet; he hated that there was no nightfall, or variance of terrain. He hated the color of the sea, the smell of jeon trees whose blossoms scented the air, and the too-sweet taste of the clear-running water that trickled over the low sloping hillside. Most of all he hated the people, who were simultaneously obnoxious, boring, and had the lethal habit of fucking with him, just as they were doing now.

Three fucking hours.

He’d been waiting—very patiently—in Morie’s antechamber while the supreme elder and his sages argued over his not-so-stable metal state. His sharp ears could pick up the sounds of heated words, but being Nameks themselves, they were careful to keep their voices muted so he could not clearly make out what those words were.

While they prattled and blithered over him in the inner room his thoughts turned to the recent conversation he had with Vorosu. While he was familiar with the Planet Trade (via an intimate source) he was unaware there were rival enterprises. Granted, from what Vorosu told him, the Rijux wasn’t much of a rival…at the time. Now, twenty years after Frieza’s death, there was a lingering opening in the market and indeed a great call for it to be filled. Piccolo could not understand this. Surely, no longer under a tyrant’s thumb, those worlds once in the Planet Trade would covet their independence. Apparently this was not so. What stumped him more so was that a Namek, born and raised on such a dull—peaceful planet, was a member of what was in essence a piracy ring.

His musings were interrupted by the door creaking open. A timid looking old man Piccolo recognized as one of Morie’s attendants stuck his head in the small room.

“You may come inside now.”

Piccolo regarded him disparagingly.

“About time,” he sneered, as he passed. The frightened man hung his withered head and shrank back, uttering soft apologies in reply. They were ignored.

Instead, Piccolo’s dark eyes centered on the group of fourteen old but formidable looking Nameks draped in white robes. They stood in two semi-circular formations on each side of the room. Morie, attired in his usual deep-blue, stood in the center and beckoned his guest to him.

The tall Namek approached, scoffing under his breath when the two groups at his side converged to form a closed but spacious ring around the Elder and himself. He half expected them to dim the lights and start chanting, but fortunately no incense was waved and the group remained blissfully silent.

“Piccolo Daimaou,” Morie addressed in a grave voice, “heir of the Supreme Lord Kitat, we have reached a decision—”

“Heir of the Supreme Lord Kitat?”

“Silence!” Morie uncharacteristically snapped. “Save your questions until I am finished addressing you.”

Piccolo narrowed his eyes but complied, though his hands were clenched tightly at his sides.

“We have reached a decision,” the larger man continued, “regarding the murder of Nail and your elder counterpart known as ‘Kami’.”

The green warrior waited for the response. Morie was taking his time, pausing to scrutinize him for a long moment before finally speaking what he obviously was reluctant to say.

“You are untouched.”

Confusion drew down the younger man’s brow.

“What?”

“You are untouched,” Morie repeated looking as if he expected this reaction, “Nail and Kami, although they are indeed missing from your being, have left no damage with their passing. You are unharmed.”

“Bullshit!” Piccolo exclaimed, “I’m fine physically, I know that, but mentally—”

“There is nothing wrong with your mental capacities. We have scanned you several times. The powers you’ve gained from them are intact despite the fact that they are gone. It’s as if they never existed.”

“But this imbalance I feel…” he trailed off.

“Is imagined, I’m afraid.”

Piccolo’s blood ran cold.

“Are…” he couldn’t fathom what Morie was trying to say, “are you suggesting I’m making this up?” he asked softly.

Morie stared back at him steadily and answered in a clinical tone.

“I’m sure the shock of Nail and Kami’s murder must have greatly upset you. However, these symptoms of displacement and turmoil you’ve described are unfounded. It may simply be a case of over-imagination as a means of coping with their loss. But, my son, they are in fact delusions.”

His fists started shaking and in a low hiss, he spat, “I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were—”

But the rest of Morie’s sentence was drowned out by the dull roar of blood in his ears. His vision went red and then phased into black nothingness. The blindness thankfully only lasted a few seconds. His vision returned gradually but everything was obscured by a gray fog. He blinked thinking something was in his eyes until the smell of smoke and blood hit his nose. With a start of horror he realized his right hand was raised, pointing at Morie’s head or at least where it should have been. Over the quivering bloody shoulders and neck was a clear view of the green hills and sea through a massive hole in the back of the high elder’s dwelling. Bodies of four of the white-robed sages lay in charred pieces on the floor. And then suddenly, to what Piccolo’s eyes seemed to be in slow motion, Morie’s headless body collapsed unto its knees and then folded unto the floor in a bloody heap. It was only then he noticed his wrist had started tingling again.



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A/N:

Argh! I've tried uploading this twice now, it just doesn't like me today! grrr.

Special thank you's to Pooky Wooky and Dania; your support is very much loved. I hope this chapter proved entertaining.

I should also mention that if future chapters of KTD do not correspond to Unconditional Bonds it is because I am re-working the first 'book' of this series due to massive shame at how poorly written it is, and crap scenes and what not. So please be sure to check for updates on that as well.

Thanks for the hits; reviews are appreciated...hint, hint.