Beautiful Stalker

Disclaimer: We don’t own DB/Z/GT or any of the characters found in this fic. They are the property of TOEI ANIMATION in Japan and FUNimation in the U.S.A. We are not making any profit from this.


Beautiful Stalker

Chapter 4 – Conflicting Minds by Misa the Great


“Dad, what did you do?” Gohan asked, his face twisted in horror. Deep, dark lines covered his childlike features. He dark brown eyes darted around the crumbled landscape, his glasses reflected bits of the suns heavy raise.

“Son… I…”

“DAD WHAT DID YOU DO?!” anger painted his pale face red. His whole body shook as his power fluctuated. His raven colored locks streaked gold and shimmered back to ebony. The earth around him rattled with power.

“Gohan please listen to me!”

“Where is she? What did you do?”

“She’s in the cave… Gohan, she’s dead,” his mouth twitched into a smirk but he quickly turned it into a frown. He ran a bloody hand over he face, leaving smears of both his and his granddaughter’s blood in long thick lines down his tender features. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as the blood dried under the oppressive raise of the sun. He tried his best to hide the pride and power in his voice as he spoke to his eldest son, “Gohan, she… she was no longer herself… I had no choice. I…”

“You killed Pan? YOU KILLED MY ONLY CHILD? AND FOR WHAT? WHAT DID SHE DO, WHAT COULD SHE HAVE POSSIBLY DONE?”

“Gohan look, son, I hated doing it, I had no other option. Pan, she wouldn’t stop. We couldn’t make her stop,” he clenched his jaw. The only thing he had hated was the lack of a good fight that wimp had given him. He loved seeing her blood all over his clothes, he loved the feel of it drying between his fingers, and he loved tasting it on his lips. He simply loved killing her, listening to her body smash against the rock as she tumbled to her death.

“Stop what?”

“Vegeta and I tried… we really did and she just wouldn’t… it was like she was possessed or something. Oh Gods son I am so sorry,” Goku held back, he wanted so badly to add, ‘sorry her death wasn’t more painful, sorry she couldn’t hold her own against me, sorry she thought she was good enough for the perfection laying face down in the dirt. Finally, sorry your daughter was nothing more than a two bit whore like your wife and mother.’ But he didn’t, he just lowered his eyes to the ground, kept his mouth shut, prayed his son would not see the monster he had become. The same monster that screamed the boy should die just like his worthless mother and whoring daughter.

“Can we wish her back?”

“Maybe. But she was evil. It… she wasn’t Pan anymore Gohan, she just wasn’t… she fought like… I couldn’t even tell you… Vegeta he…”

“Oh Gods, Vegeta! I forgot all about him!” the demi ran to his fallen Prince. A small pool of blood surrounded his bronzed skin and inferno hair. A deep gash bled into the dirt from just above his eye. The blood trickled down his face leaving a crimson tear trail before it slowly dripped into the earth below, feeding the dry land with his life. His breaths were even and shallow, blowing small clouds of dried soil away from his face. His chapped lips were smeared with blood and grim.

“Is he alive son?” Goku followed his son closely, leaving his masterpiece of carnage behind. His hands clenched at his sides, silently berating himself for being so careless with his Prince. His life’s longing, the last of his kind, the only one who could fill him the way he needed to be filled, the only one who could see the real him and be pleased, proud, honored to have him by his side, on his side.

“Yeah, barely. What happened? You never really told me,” he tore the sleeves off of his white button down shirt and tied them tightly around Vegeta’s gradually swelling forehead. He slowly stood up and brushed his hands on his knees, the blackness of his pants covering any traces of blood that may have shown up. He looked at his father’s lifeless eyes. The shimmer was gone and Gohan was hit with a wave of guilt. His father just had to kill his only granddaughter and here he was drilling him for facts. Demanding he replay the battle, so he too could understand.

“I felt his ki raising at Capsule Corp… I thought he was going on another tirade, like the last one when he blew up the kitchen…”

“Yeah?”

“But then I felt Pan’s… and I was worried that he was going after her for some reason… I got scared Gohan. I was terrified. I knew Pan couldn’t hold her own against him. I can barely keep up…” Goku swallowed and looked at the ground. His stomach turned with disgust, he should just kill this whelp and move on. Take his prize and go. Nurture the wounds he inflicted, tell him some bull shit story of how Pan hit him in the head just as he came over to save his Prince from any further damage.

“Go on dad. Please, I have to know.”

“If she had only been at school… if she would have just left when we asked. If she hadn’t attacked the way she had… none of this would have happened. My little Panny would still be here. Oh Gohan, it was all my fault. I couldn’t stop her and the house I went to the house, Chichi…” Goku turned away from Gohan and smirked. This was all too easy. He bit down on his own tongue, tasted the metallic droplets as they graced his taste buds. Tears formed in his eyes as he turned back around, “Your mother is dead son. I got there as she said to Vegeta that… that…” large tears poured from Goku’s eyes and trickled into his mouth. The salt burned the cuts that bled sweet nectar down his throat.

“What did she say dad?”

“That she would kill him just like she had killed her bitch of a grandmother, like she would kill you, and her mother. Goten, Bulma, Trunks, Bra, Mr. Satan, me, anyone who stood in her way, anyone who ever told her no. That’s when she did it. She hit him with a blast… but it wasn’t a blast, I saw no ki, Gohan. It was like she hit him with her mind or something.”

“Mom… she… she’s dead?”

Goku turned around again, his smile too large to hide. Yes, the harpy was dead, oh so dead. Her blood painted the walls of his once clean kitchen and pooled on his floor. Her arm was nothing more than a blended health drink for the blood thirsty, congealing in what was left of his blender. The mother of his children was dead and it was such a sweet heaven that he could never explain, not to Gohan, he was too weak to understand, too weak to relish in the aftermath of such a masterful death.

Gohan fell into his father’s large arms; his tears burned his father’s flesh. His large hands clung to his father’s sides and Goku instinctively wrapped around the thinner man. Gohan’s breath hiccupped as his sobbing grew more intense, “Nooo Daddy, why, why did she do it? Why did they both have to die? Why Daddy, why?”

Goku felt a ting of pain flow through his body as he held his first-born child. Guilt suddenly consumed him, he could see his wife, he could see his granddaughter, and he let his tears flow freely. Real tears of pain and suffering, but those emotions did not last long.

“I don’t know son. I don’t know.”

“Is… can I… see them?”

“I don’t know that you want to son. It’s bad,” his son sobbed harder against his broad chest, choking on his own spit and post nasal drip. Gohan pulled away gagging, collapsing in the dirt. He heaved and his body shook. He gagged, spilling the contents of his stomach into the rocky desert landscape.

Goku knelt besides him and rubbed his back. He ran his fingers through his son’s short hair. He gently took the think-framed glasses off the boy’s face and hooked them into his own belt. He held his son’s waist as the boy teetered back into his arms. A thin layer of cool sweat covered his face and the vile smell of vomit wafted from his mouth, chin and shirt. Goku handed him back his glasses and ran his fingers over Gohan’s face, tracing small circles over his son’s wet temples.

Gohan rested against his father’s chest, his small frame between his father’s muscular legs. He watched as his stomach contents mixed with the prince’s seeping blood. His mind gone, his soul shattered. The blood danced in the dirt just like his mother had, just like his daughter would have their lives taken too soon and for what? Something about what his father had told him did not seem right.

He knew his daughter, she was wild, carefree, stubborn, uncontrollable, and a brilliant mind with the skills of a season fighter, but she was no killer. She loved her grandmother and she idolized Vegeta, even loved him to a point. Her body longed for him, and so did her mind. Of course she would feel rejected if he had turned her down, as he should have, but feelings of homicide would never even have crossed her mind.

“Dad?”

“Yeah son?”

“I’ll take care of the arrangements. All of them, but we need to get Vegeta home before there are more arrangements to make. Can you get my little girl? Can you bring her to me?” he had to get away. He had to think. Think of his mother, his daughter, Vegeta, and even of his father. He had to think of how his little girl had been, how she could have been. He had to find the Dragon Balls; he had to bring his family back. His mind swam with all that he had to do, everyone he had to tell. He just looked at his father, his blood covered father. Everything about him was different, the smirks, the evil in his eyes, something was wrong and he did not want to stay alone with him for much longer.

Those were words the oldest demi thought he would never have to say or think. His father was the protector of the known universes, a kind, gentle, and loving man. Never in all the years he had been alive had his father uttered an angry word or violently lashed out, but today the man that just coddled him, scared him.

“Of course Gohan. After we get Vegeta back to Capsule Corporation. Bulma needs to look at him,” his voice was flat and level, uncaring and harsh.

The demi stood on shaky legs, all the color drained from his face. Dark circles shown brightly in the hot desert sun, making his ghostly pale face appear even whiter. Goku wrapped his arms around his son’s waist, thoughts of his destruction ran freely in the full blood’s mind. How easy it would be to take his life, here in the desert, throw his body with the mounds of crumbled rocks. Let his blood mix with his daughter’s, it would all be so easy, too easy. There was no sport in that, none at all. When he killed this man, this child, his child, there would be sport in it. There would be an abundance of blood; it would be his greatest game yet.

TBC…