Kings, Tyrants, and Demons

Now beta’ed. Special thanks to Pixelgoddess…had quite a few boo-boos on this one but she made them better! Everyone cheer for the woman!


Chapter Six: Into the Darkness


Half an hour later Piccolo was sporting a few fresh bruises and trivial cuts but was otherwise unscathed. He was indeed the victor, however 18 and Krillen were successful in distracting him just long enough to lose Trunks’ ki signature. He growled in frustration as he flew recklessly over the ocean.

He had made them pay dearly for delay. However, as he reflected over their battered, but still breathing, bodies he pondered if it was really worth the search. Goku would be easy to finish off, his mate had seen to that. His mate. He narrowed his eyes and shoved the emotions aside; he refused to think about that now. Yes, Goku would be an effortless kill. Trunks, on the other hand, would prove more difficult. The demi-Saiyan was now the second strongest in the world and his skill in combat could not be denied.

He halted in mid-air.

As the Namek floated he shut his eyes against the onslaught of thoughts and emotions that spun in utter chaos. Everything was jumbled. There were no boundaries, no restraints, and no conscience. He was a building without structure, a mandala set to the winds. Reason failed to have a purpose but there was still a respect for the past.

That was why he spared them when they so clearly deserved otherwise. Krillen and 18’s meddling was a nuisance but, now as he thought about it, not worthy of death; thus his decision to let them live was justifiable. But Gohan’s betrayal was unforgivable. He had, perhaps not so justifiably, let his former student live. After he had dealt with the android and the monk he had played with the idea of finishing what he had started with the demi-Saiyan. But after looking at his pitiful form he had left without a backwards glance. He’d banish him from his mind, just like he was attempting to do with someone else. But now it was Trunks’ turn.

That boy’s idiot decision had caused his world to tip on its axis. Out of all the men in the world why did he have to pick that one? Anyone else would have been a wiser choice a hundred times over. Shaking the thought, for it was a pointless one, Piccolo continued his hunt. Trunks had made his choice and now he would have to face the consequences.

Flying eastward he focused all of his energy in seeking out the demi-Saiyan’s ki signature. His father and he had taught the boy well, but he knew he would slip up at some point. Trunks, although accomplished, was still young and apt to be impatient in stressful situations. All he needed to do was wait him out.

Just as he predicted not an hour later, he felt the tiniest of flares. He was there within moments. He found them hiding in a jungle, of all places. Settling on a thick rain-slicked branch he watched the scene below him, a smirk etched on his lips.

Through the thick verdant foliage he could see the lavender-haired youth crouched protectively next to the Saiyan that was the root of all of his troubles. Goku looked pale but otherwise intact. The Namek noted that he wasn’t moving around a lot, which boded well for him. Trunks had an arm wrapped around the older man, looking for all the world like a mother cradling her child. The teen’s face, a mask of his father’s, was cold and sharp. His features did little to betray his emotions but the Namek could sense as well as hear the trepidation escape from the youth’s heavy breaths.

Trunks had not sensed him yet, which surprised him. He silently cursed the boy for his error and wondered what the hell was going through his head. The kid should have been more vigilant especially with an enemy out for his and his poorly chosen mate’s blood. The thought caused him to pause. He was still trying to reconcile the mindset in which Trunks was an enemy. Goku was no problem, in fact he relished the idea of killing him, but the young man had been his bond-son.

Snarling silently he stood and balanced himself on the moist branch while raising his palm. It did not matter. As far as he was concerned they all deserved to die for stealing what mattered most to him and the utter idiocy that prompted it.

As he prepared to let his ki erupt with a blast that would penetrate both of the kneeling figures Goku suddenly looked up.

His prey did not startle from his position nor did he inform his new young mate of the imminent danger above them. Instead he simply raised his eyes, looking straight at him through the camouflage of the green canopy. Black eyes met.

In those brief seconds an exchange took place that would haunt the Namek until the day he died. His face distorted in a frightening combination of hatred and rage, but Goku did not waver when confronted with dripping fangs and eyes that promised the blackest of deaths. His impassive expression remained fixed; his meek appearance finally enough to cause the would-be-assassin to lower his shaking hand.

Time stopped. But suddenly Piccolo turned his head, spat in disgust and then melted into the backdrop vanishing; Trunks was none the wiser.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Three words. Three fucking words had sent the mighty Namek on his way. He cursed Goku’s ability of telepathy, swearing to pound the poor souls who taught the idiot the skill. Even if it was elementary compared to his own, it still was more than enough to get the message across.

‘And then what?’

Such simple words, but the meaning behind them and the emotions associated with them… Kill us both Piccolo, and what would it solve? What will you do then? Take over the world? Ha. Could you do it now? Even as angry as you are could you do it? You’ve changed too much. Even if you managed it, then what? You couldn’t kill Gohan, could you? Didn’t have it in you. You certainly can’t kill us; you know full well that you’d pull back at the last second. You’re all talk; you’ve always been all talk. Just leave. Go. We’ve had enough theatrics for this year.

There was no apology in those eyes. And the implication that no matter how weak he may have been or how powerful the Namek, Goku was still superior and always would be. That was unspoken. Of course it was unspoken with that righteous bastard’s idealism of humble appearances. Vegeta may have been Goku’s greatest rival but Piccolo was his first. The animosity ran deeper, though he was careful to never show it. He was born to kill him; revenge ran in his veins. But was Goku right? Would he have pulled back at the last second using some poor excuse to mask his reluctance in landing the killing blow?

The crippled Saiyan had certainly not taken him seriously. The older man had dismissed him without much more than a glance. The mingling impression that he was substandard, if not disposable, lingered with him. He wasn’t much of hero was he? When was the last time he was a key figure in defeating an enemy? It was always the Saiyans. Those fucking monkeys.

He sped towards West City, honing in on a particular ki. He soon landed lightly on a balcony loaded with rebar and great panes of glass wrapped in brown paper. The sounds of construction jarred his teeth as he pushed aside the heavy plastic that served as a temporary shield from the outside world.


The sight of a tall snarling green man sent a few of the workers running. However, their supervisor seemed unperturbed and yelled after them to get back to work. This was Capsule Corporation after all; home of the strange and unusual.

The angry looking Namek paid them no attention and moved across the compound as if he owned the place. Employees with their file folders and construction workers with their noisy machines wisely gave way to the warrior storming past them.

Luckily he found her quickly. Bulma Briefs, in top form, was screaming at a frightened technician, her blue eyes alit with frustration.

“Are you deaf?! How many times do I have to tell you people only silicon based glazing is sufficient? Does this look like some low standard government laboratory to you?”

The man, despite being twice her size, cowered back even further.

“I will not tell you again! Capsule Cor—”

Piccolo chose that exact moment to reveal himself.

Bulma initially looked startled to see him, but then surprisingly gave him a look to say she had been expecting him all along. And if the slight frown she was wearing was any indication, he was running horribly late. She snapped at the technician one last time causing him to gratefully hurry off in the opposite direction before turning to the tall man before her.

“Come with me,” she said briskly before he had a chance to speak.

Wordlessly he followed her, curious, in spite of his current mood.

She led him into a small room that looked to be a make-shift storage room judging from the boxes and cartons that had been thrown haphazardly into stacks blocking any sort of logical pathway. She twisted around them with ease, heading straight for a small cardboard box sitting on a counter that had been hidden from view. Slapping back the brown flaps her slender fingers produced a small white case no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. She tossed it carelessly to the Namek behind her.

Bewildered, he gave her a long look before he slid back the latch. Inside, one capsule sat snugly into the surrounding grey foam that served to protect it.

“What’s this?”

She shrugged, “A ship. It’s what you’re here for isn’t it?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“Piccolo, I was mated to the man for eleven years. He can be a real asshole,” she took a moment to gesture around her, indicating the reconstruction of her multi-billion corporation, “But he has a good heart. I’m not saying that makes what he did okay but…” She trailed off when confronted with a set jaw and blazing black eyes that were narrowed on her. She blinked and in a quiet voice asked, “You’re not going after Vegeta are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why—?”

“Mind your own business. Besides you may get an inkling as to why in a few hours time,” he said, estimating the time it would take either Trunks to feel safe enough to show himself or Krillen and 18 to come to. He highly doubted Bulma would be so apt to help him once she found out he had blown up the Son residence where her precious child had been living for the past month.

“Piccolo,” Bulma said, not unkindly, “why in the world would you want leave? You have friends here. I know Vegeta hurt—”

“Don’t!” He said putting a hand up, making her flinch. His hand was arranged in the classic halt position, intended to make her shut-up. Her reaction told him she was worried he would attack her, which was ludicrous. He took a more neutral pose, choosing not to acknowledge her unease.

“I take it this is similar to the ship I flew during the initial Brolly incident.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes,” she replied cautiously. “The controls are the same. Everything is fully stocked. Fuel-wise, you should be good for up to a year depending on where you fly to. It’s there, but considering you don’t need to eat, you shouldn’t have to stop for food anytime soon.”

“That will do. Thank you.”

He turned to leave the room but Bulma, never knowing when to keep quiet, harped after him; her earlier nervousness seemingly forgotten.

“So, what? Is that it? You’re just going to go?”

Piccolo turned, annoyed, but not angry.

“Yes, Bulma, that’s it.” He didn’t know why he was bothering talking to her at all. Or why he just didn’t knock her out. Perhaps it was because they shared a common ground, if a very unique one. “You’ll find out soon…” he changed the subject not wanting the last person he spoke to on Earth to shriek at him in horror. She’d find out about Gohan and the rest soon enough. “I can’t stay here,” he explained realizing that this was in fact the last person on Earth he’d ever talk to. “I tried,” he muttered slowly as that fact sank in. “I tried for a month. I can’t do it. Vegeta…Vegeta did something to me.” A hesitant look came upon his face and he stopped speaking uncertain how to carry on.

An unreadable look crossed the older woman’s face. “We thought as much. But perhaps we can help. I know that you have a complex mental structure what with your fusion with Kami and Nail —”

“They’re gone, Bulma.”

“What?”

“They’re gone. Dead. He ripped them away.” He shook his head, “Look, I can’t be trusted here. I don’t want to pull a stunt like Vegeta did.” He laughed mirthlessly, “I nearly have already. I have to leave; I need to sort myself out. Just...just let me go.”

He expected her to argue, but surprisingly she nodded. “Okay Piccolo, do what you need to, but you know you can always come back.”

“Perhaps,” he lied.