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Breaking the Prince (Part 2)	By : Doog Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2235 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or any of its characters. I will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: Thank you for all of the feedback!
Chapter Six

Wake up.
The single overhead light switched on automatically, disrupting Vegeta’s restless sleep. His surroundings were tinted red by the scouter still perched on his face, but his first moments of awareness were dominated by the short sequence of numbers in the corner of the screen.
Five years. He had tried to stop counting long ago, to instead see the passing seconds as carrying him closer to freedom. It was unfortunate that his torture had ended on a round year, making each added tic on the date a direct measure of elapsed time. Thinking in terms of his age was no better; at just over twenty-three years, it was possible that he could have taken the title of King by now, or perhaps even produced an heir.
Vegeta was already sitting upright. He was on a thin bed which stood against a wall and occupied most of the small space. There was just enough room to set his feet on the floor, stand, and turn to walk to the end of the narrow room. There, a slight indentation in the wall housed the standard battle wear that accompanied the blue suit he was already wearing. At least they remembered this time, he thought with exhausted venom. Like his missions, the accommodations now afforded to Vegeta were insultingly beneath him.
Reaching for his boots, he winced as a sharp pain reminded him of the sprain in his left wrist. Vegeta looked down at the swollen joint, experimentally flexing his digits and refusing to react when the stabbing sensation returned. It appeared to have worsened, with some bruising of his hand now evident. Irritation resurfaced as he remembered why it was hurt.
Nappa and Raditz had been accompanying him on a mission when they were ordered to split into two groups: Nappa and Raditz together, and Vegeta on his own. They were given separate sets of coordinates so they could conquer two strings of planets along parallel routes. Afterward, they were to rendezvous for a larger mission. On the final day of his first mission, Vegeta had woken to discover his body was aroused. This happened periodically, often with no clear reason or warning, and he hated it. He normally dealt with the discomfort by ignoring it until it resolved on its own, but something else had happened this time. He had almost touched himself. His hand had moved to his thigh and his fingers were nearing his groin before he had come to his senses. Remembering how Freeza had touched him, controlled him, Vegeta had become enraged. He didn’t remember exactly how he’d wounded himself, only that he’d wanted to.
Injuries like this happened whenever he lost his temper, usually due to self-disgust or stalls in his progress. The difficulty of controlling his ki was slowly lessening, but his patience fluctuated. A healing tank was sometimes unavoidable, and he hated putting himself in the hands of medics he no longer trusted. Though the damage was inconvenient, he had concluded that he could manage to avoid seeing the medics this time.
In fact, the only reason Vegeta had altered his course to the nearest Freeza Planet was because his scouter had begun to malfunction. Upon arrival, however, he had found the base to be one of the smallest he had seen. It was little more than an outpost, and they had not been immediately prepared to replace a scouter of the caliber he wore.
How many days has it been? He thought in momentary confusion. Only two days had passed according to the date, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been longer since his landing. He began to remember faces and something else he could not make sense of, but attributed the images to a nightmare. For a few minutes he worked backwards through his memories, trying to weed out false pieces of reality. Finally, he gave up. What was important was that his wait was over. He could trade his temporary replacement for a permanent, more capable scouter and leave behind the unease he always felt when visiting a Freeza Planet.
After carefully dressing himself, he found himself staring at the pitiful room that was so unlike his old quarters. It mattered little that the base was small and therefore inherently-limited; he felt utterly forgotten.
Whatever amusement Freeza had gleaned from antagonizing him must have faded, for it had been nearly three years since he had seen him. The time had passed quickly, filled with an endless barrage of missions. Vegeta was left with little time to reflect on the political complexities of his status or his long-term goals of vengeance. Occasionally some infuriating piece of news would find him, such as Kewie’s ever-rising power. Freeza apparently continued to find use for Kewie beyond his role of filling in for Vegeta on Gijisei.
Though it was frustrating to hear, this sort of information only pushed Vegeta further into his work. His time on his missions, away from the PTO, was his only opportunity to pretend to be normal again. By destroying whole worlds, he could prove to himself over and over again that he had control over his own body and ki, making his helplessness a distant memory. The constant distraction provided by conquering had allowed Vegeta to tell himself that he was fighting, becoming stronger, and therefore getting closer to killing Freeza. In fact, this was the longest he had spent in between missions since he could clearly remember, but the small break was unwelcome. Standing in the tiny room in his battle wear, Vegeta knew instantly what he had allowed himself to deny for a long time: since he had pulled himself up from the depths of his humiliation, he had only been staggering blindly forward. He was nowhere, and he was getting nowhere.
Turning away, both from the room and the thought, he exited into the shared space of the soldiers’ housing. It was completely devoid of life, probably because it was the height of the day’s activities on a base that was small and running below capacity. Most of the soldiers would be busy working in the communications center or perhaps preparing to leave on scouting expeditions. Empty sterility and the endless lines of white bunks gave Vegeta an eerie sense of déjà vu, a feeling he had grown almost accustomed to since his nightmares had become increasingly regular.
The uneasiness only grew when he entered the bright maze of hallways, which were also empty. Vegeta surprised himself by linking the feeling to when he had been on Freeza’s ship. The last time he was there, he had imagined he could feel Freeza’s presence. Of course, he had known that Freeza was on his own ship.
Brushing the thought aside, he used the map on his temporary scouter to find the base’s headquarters. While he followed the route given, he noticed that he was scheduled to make one more stop before his departure, apparently for some additional instructions regarding his upcoming mission.
As promised, the technicians were ready for him when he reached the communications center. They issued his new scouter and quickly explained the series of upgrades now standard with the latest line. Once he had fitted the scouter into place, Vegeta began to review his mission information so he would be up to speed for the briefing.
It appeared that the Morijin were a tree-dwelling race that had lived peacefully for thousands of years on their undeveloped planet. They had basic contact with several of the nearby worlds and so had the use of a universal tongue, but most of their race lived in rural communities. Their planet was rich with greenery and well-suited for either the harvesting of raw materials or development for recreation. Regardless, an assessment of the Morijin’s suitability for slave labor was in order. In the case that they were determined to be unusable as slaves, Vegeta had the authority to destroy most of the population. The mission specifications allowed for plenty of time to make the call, which mostly rested on the Morijin’s physical durability and instinct for subservience.
Walking toward his second destination, Vegeta contemplated the cursory information provided by the scouts’ data, plotting the most efficient way to deal with the Morijin. Though each outcome was given equal weight, Vegeta knew that a new pool of slave labor would be appreciated in the growing empire. Such use of the Morijin was against Vegeta’s natural predilection to destroy a race at any opportunity, but he had learned to read between the lines when it came to assignments. With Freeza no longer taking a direct hand in the missions he was receiving, a job well done could be just the thing to break him out of his cycle of mediocrity.
A flashing circle on his scouter’s screen indicated that he has arrived at his second stop, one of the smaller rooms located to one side of the base. A door code accompanied the location information on his screen, but it appeared that the door pad allowed free access. Assuming that whoever had been scheduled to meet and brief him was already inside, he opened and passed through the unmarked door.
The heat was immediate and suffocating. The door opened into a corner of the room and faced an empty wall, but Vegeta knew where he was without having to turn. The temperature was unnaturally warm, much hotter than any room on any base or ship he had known, save for one. Vegeta recognized it before he could consciously comprehend it. It was a place that existed outside of reality, that he had tried to bury beneath years of endless fighting and denial. He knew what he would see if he looked, but the moment was agonizingly drawn out, the way time would normally slow during an intense battle. Compelled, as if reacting to a hand on his shoulder, he turned to his right and saw it.
The two waist-high posts stood together in the center of room, the straps still evident down their lengths. Above but nearby, two restraints hung from the short ceiling. One for the arms, one for the tail. The rest of the room was completely empty, save for a simple piece of black cloth on the floor just ahead of his feet. Blindfold.
What had been five years ago was suddenly right now. It had never really happened, except in a nightmare that even Vegeta wouldn’t admit to himself. Yet suddenly, here it was. Here he was. He had to get out.
Turning from the scene before him, Vegeta found the door closed. In his moment of shock he hadn’t heard it close behind him. Panic boiled up through him, making his hands shake as he ground his fingers into the door pad. Fuck! It wasn’t working. No, no, no. He tried again and again, fighting the urge to cry out, to let the despair overtake him. Knowing that there was no one there but feeling as though someone were about to grab him from behind and wrestle him back into the dreaded restraints, he fought his panic down long enough to remember that there had been a code. The unbearable heat pressed into him, hindering his ability to think as he reached for his scouter. It was several tries before his shaking, injured hand could bring up the code, and several more tries before he could punch it into the pad.
By the time he rushed back out through the door he was hyperventilating. He made it only a few meters before he crashed into a corner, his breath heaving. Grasping the edge of the wall, he slid slowly downward until he was on his knees. Dizzy from his inability to take a breath and the heat that was still clinging to him, he didn’t know he was going to vomit until his whole body was already folding forward. His last meal spilled violently out of him. He remained on all fours, unable to stop once he had started.
Staring down at the mess he had created between his two locked arms, he suddenly knew he had to get away. It didn’t matter where, as long as it wasn’t here. Now that he knew what the base contained, he had to leave it, right away. He pushed himself up, pitching forward in a stumble because of his haste and nausea.
The next minutes were a blur. As Vegeta climbed into his pod, he had the vague question as to how he had gotten there, but disregarded it. All that was important was that he got away. He activated the launch protocols, not concerned with where he was going but knowing that anywhere would be better.
No... Emotions swarmed him as he watched the base recede below him, the pod carrying him with increasing speed away from the site of his defeat. For what felt like hours, Vegeta fought to banish the memories that flooded his mind.
Waking up in the sickening heat, not knowing what tortures were waiting for him.
The muscle memory of his arms and legs being strained, of being bent into an impossible and humiliating position.
The terrifying tactile sensations of Freeza’s hands moving freely over his body.
The invasion of his body, over and over again and his helplessness to stop it.
Stop.
The terrible building, the unknown urgency of his body manipulated beyond his control.
More.
Freeza’s laughter, filling his ears over his own pained panting.
Please.
The moment of finding out, of knowing what had become of his race, resurfaced to overwhelm all others. It was stronger than ever, as though denial had inoculated it and he could no longer will it away when it mattered most. Vegeta choked back a dry sob, and the pathetic sound made Vegeta’s eyes fly open.
He was in his pod, hurtling through space, unaware that he had closed his eyes. His heart still pounding, he looked frantically around him, having forgotten that he had even made it to his transport or that it was traveling. The idea of moving without sensing it made him sick all over again, and he would have steadied himself against the close walls of the pod if he hadn’t already been clenching the padded surface with both hands.
Once he was aware of where he was, of what he was doing, a new shame pierced through the deluge of memories and emotions. He was running away, just as he thought he never would. Disgust, so strong that Vegeta almost broke down again, worked its way through him. He rolled his head back against his seat, closing his eyes and trying to force a coherent thought. No matter how he tried, however, he could only form one word in his mind: coward.
All it had taken was seeing the remnants of his ordeal, and he had run weakly away. Vegeta sat in despair, beating himself up. He was a coward, just as Freeza had always said he was...or had that only been in his nightmares? It didn’t matter anymore. All that was important was that he had failed. The only thing left for him was death, and he was certain Freeza would deliver it shortly. Whether it was his nightmares or reality, there was simply no escape. Now that he had run from Freeza, the only variability in his demise could be how Freeza would taunt him before killing him. Vegeta imagined what Freeza would say, believing the words before they were inflicted.
Poor Prince Vegeta.
You have finally realized the terror that my presence deserves.
Are you too afraid now to even face me?
Face me. The phrase stuck out among the imagined remarks. Face me. Vegeta’s head tilted forward again, his face darkening in sudden concentration. Of course. He hadn’t run from Freeza; Freeza hadn’t been there. It had only been the memory, the terrible memory of how he had been defeated that had caused him to retreat.
Freeza would know, though; he had to. How else would it happen that Vegeta would be summoned to such a place? Everything: his separation from Nappa and Raditz, his faulty scouter, his supposed briefing; all of it pointed to the calculations of his malicious enemy. It was beyond any dismissal as paranoia that Freeza had intended to reopen his wounds. Vegeta shuddered as the image of the room filled his vision against his will. It was like it had just happened, as though there simply hadn’t been enough time to completely clear the room. The machine had been removed, but not the restraints, and the blindfold had remained on the floor where Freeza had carelessly thrown it after its removal. The room had even been kept the same temperature, apparently for five years. It seemed Freeza had left the room mostly untouched as a sort of shrine to his triumph. Vegeta cringed at the thought of the room sitting unmarked and accessible within an average base. What other terrors from his past lurked on the planets that he frequented?
Vegeta began to comprehend Freeza’s intentions. Though Freeza had delayed Vegeta’s exit purposefully, no doubt because he was sure that Vegeta would want to leave the room as quickly as possible, this was not about Vegeta being a coward. It certainly wasn’t about killing Vegeta, either. Freeza could have done that anytime, so why now? No, this was a new game.
Noticing that his hands were still gripping the material at either side of him, Vegeta attempted to slowly relax them. His knuckles ached as he straightened his fingers, and he rubbed his throbbing hands and wrists through his gloves as the revelations continued.
Before, Freeza had inflicted his tortures on Vegeta personally and intimately, first privately then publicly. The results had apparently been so satisfying to Freeza that he had insultingly dismissed Vegeta as a threat. Now, five years later, Vegeta was almost breaking down again, denouncing himself as a coward and preparing for death without Freeza even having to be present. Freeza could destroy entire worlds by lifting one finger, but he didn’t even have to do that much to devastate Vegeta all over again.
Vegeta slumped in his seat with renewed dismay. Freeza had turned Vegeta against himself, and now he clearly wanted Vegeta to go completely crazy. Why else would Freeza disregard him so confidently unless he thought Vegeta had already been defeated both physically and mentally?
Before he could subject himself to another round of self-deprecating thoughts, his pride flickered feebly among the wreckage of his ego. Wasn’t he more resilient than that? Hadn’t he proved himself by desiring vengeance and continuing to fight? He had let Freeza get to him again, but he could at least stop himself from reacting the way Freeza wanted.
This latest mockery, however, made several things clear to Vegeta. His current methods of becoming stronger were not working. He suspected that it had to do with the after-effects of the torture, but was unsure of how to deal with this issue other than simple repression. Freeza’s reminder had revealed the weakness in that. There had to be some other way to reach his goal, but he knew he had been wasting too much energy toiling for the PTO to see it. As if to prove his point, he realized that he was in fact already on his way to the location of his next mission. He needed to refocus his energy, to devise a new plan.
Lost in thought, Vegeta stared out of the small, round port opposite him. More than enough time had passed to make the planet he had fled an indistinguishable spec. Exhaustion from revisiting past horrors draped him in a heavy sleep, and the pod’s automatic controls pulled him into the deeper darkness of stasis.
****
The quiet hiss of the gaseous reversing agent roused Vegeta as his pod plummeted downward. The usual emotional hangover from what would normally only be a nightmare quickly translated into memories of what had transpired just before his journey. The stasis had preserved his fragile initiative to scheme anew, and the planet growing in size below him appeared to be a fertile place for his thoughts, among many other things.
The scale of the greenery was evident long before the pod had reached breathable levels of the atmosphere. Endless forests of large trees blanketed the portions of the planet not covered in sparkling blue lakes. The pod fell to one of the coordinates suggested by the first scouts, coming to a stop on the top of a high cliff. When the door opened, Vegeta was overwhelmed by the variety of the plants around him. Though he was not particularly fond of one form of life over another, Vegeta had to admit that this planet stood out among the many ugly rocks he had visited.
Stepping out of the pod, Vegeta walked over a thick carpet of greenery to the cliff’s edge. Though it was nearly one hundred meters tall, the cliff was dwarfed by some of the largest trees, whose thick, dark-green trunks disappeared into the layer of clouds overhead. There was such a density of plant life both on and around the trees that it was a few minutes of surveying the lush landscape before he noticed why the scouts had suggested this location for landing.
Morijin dotted the ground nearby, moving steadily around the base of a tree. It appeared that the sun had just come up for this part of the planet and the group was beginning its daily activities. Vegeta watched them for a few minutes, using his scouter to scan their power levels: all were less than ten. Their weakness was almost enough for Vegeta to dismiss them entirely and return to his pod to brood, but something about the warm breeze kept him from returning to the shade. Though he had acknowledged the pointlessness in simply distracting himself with missions, the quiet activities of the Morijin below him made Vegeta decide to at least take a closer look.
Since the planet was devoid of all but the simplest technology, being covert was mostly unnecessary. Vegeta could kill any number of Morijin that found his pod or gave him trouble, so he simply moved to a lower ledge on the cliff. As Vegeta crouched near the edge, he removed his scouter to watch the aliens with his naked eyes. Unaware of danger, the Morijin continued with an indifference only found in creatures living free of natural predators.
From his closer perch, Vegeta could make out their appearance: lean bodies with pigmented skin covered in a short dusting of brown fur instead of clothing. Their long necks bobbed slightly as they moved about, sometimes on all four of their lanky limbs. They held their long tails off the ground, straight out behind them. Their heads were topped with erect ears that could turn outward or lie flat on their heads, and their faces ended in short snouts. Vegeta soon noticed that there were different sizes, or rather, different ages and sexes among the group. The largest appeared to be a male, moving around and directing the other five. Three resembled the reference images of adults females, one of which was watching over its very young offspring and another of which was heavy with a future child. The last member of the group was somewhere in between the rest in size, and of undeterminable sex. Vegeta decided it was an older offspring.
Initially, Vegeta watched his prey as he normally would have: noting their social hierarchy, eating habits, strength, and temperament. To his surprise, “tree-dwelling” had actually meant that the Morijin lived in the hollowed-out bases of the largest trees, apparently taking great pains to both nourish and protect their dwellings. Vegeta observed as the females carefully scraped away the fungus that plagued the tree’s exposed roots and coated the trunk with a clear concoction that formed a seal over its cracks. The male, on the other hand, occupied himself with scaling nearby trees with his extra-long claws and collecting fruits and vines for his family’s consumption. Though they remained busy, Vegeta was surprised by the easy manner with which they lived. Without any detectable signal, they gathered periodically to eat together and sleep in the rays of the sun that managed to penetrate the thick foliage. They slept with their bodies close, lazily grooming each other and touching noses while making low humming noises. Then, without any external stimulus, they would resume their work of harvesting and tending the ordered growth around their home.
Vegeta became caught up in the mesmerizing rhythm of the Morijin’s daily life and many hours passed before he noticed. Though part of their race knew of foreign worlds, this group seemed completely unaware and untouched by anything outside of their simple existence. Vegeta had never seen a race intelligent enough to resemble advanced beings that had at the same time remained so undeveloped. The idea that one could be so pure, so unaffected by external influences was novel in Vegeta’s universe of complex, interconnected worlds.
Vegeta noticed the sun had long since passed its highest point in the sky, but continued his observation, his instincts telling him that he was on the verge of some new, important revelation. He watched as the large male interacted with one of the females, speaking in a tongue unlike any of the universal ones used in this area of space. The smallest child interrupted their exchange, scaling the male’s furry back until his father carefully plucked him off with his clawed hands. Then, to Vegeta’s surprise, the two elder Morijin nuzzled the child together, seeming to take great pleasure in the interaction. Vegeta reflected on the foreign concept of males and females bonding and training their offspring together. Saiyajin divided this task by gender: fathers trained their sons, and mothers trained their daughters. What value was there in doing it any other way? This puzzled Vegeta, but it certainly wasn’t the aspect of the Morijin that most confused him.
Suddenly uneasy at watching the friendly interactions of the family, Vegeta almost returned to his pod but stopped when he noticed the older offspring moving toward the large male. At first, Vegeta thought he was attacking, but it quickly became obvious that it was only playfully sparring. The rest of them watched intently as the father and son (Vegeta had noticed the beginnings of the elongated claws) circled and dashed at each other. After some time, it appeared that they determined the son had overcome his father, and the younger Morijin bellowed triumphantly at the end of their match.
Vegeta stared at the energetic youth at length, studying his bright eyes and confident lope. Had he ever known pain? Had he ever known loneliness? Fear? Betrayal? Despair? Was he aware that there were wars happening everywhere, that the sky above him may as well be raining blood for all the fighting and suffering in the universe around him? Even in the years of his own ignorant youth, Vegeta thought callously, he had known real battle. He stared at the young alien, trying to somehow reach across the distance between them, to remember a time in his life when he had lived without the weight of reality, to imagine a life without...
The sun had now passed behind the cliff at Vegeta’s back, casting him in shadow. The slight change snapped him from his trance, and he floated slowly and discretely back up to the top of the cliff and his pod. He sat quietly on a rock, consuming some of the rations that had been replenished in his pod when he had stopped off at the base. Though his mind was pulled in many directions, he found himself returning to the same nagging idea that there was something remarkable about the Morijin. Looking over the specs on his scouter as he ate, he considered how a race could survive untouched for thousands of years.
Vegeta took another bite and pulled the brick of food away from his mouth, looking at the half-eaten piece. The image of his gloved hand holding the synthetic sustenance struck him as it never had. He followed the white material up to the sleeve of the blue bodysuit and the armor on his chest. He was seeing himself with fresh eyes, the way he had examined the Morijin, and what he saw shocked him.
The uniform covering him, the food filling his body, the pod he was sitting next to— it was all Freeza’s. He was the Prince of the Saiyajin, and yet, he had been stripped of everything that had signified his royalty and his race. He knew basic things about his people, such as how their offspring had been raised, but he had never experienced it first-hand. Freeza had trained him, had filled him with the culture of the PTO. Freeza had degraded his race, dismissing the Saiyajin as “monkey scum,” and made sure that he was removed from his true nature...and his destiny.
That was it. That was the way to his goal. How could Vegeta expect to ever become the legendary Super Saiyajin if he were not a Saiyajin first? He had to regain his true nature, to find himself beneath the layers of lies with which Freeza had shaped him. Everything that Freeza had done to him, had made him do to himself, was all artificial and inconsequential. What mattered was that he remember his instincts and unleash the untapped power within himself. Wasn’t the power of his race the first thing that Freeza had wanted him to forget? Didn’t it have to be the reason for their extermination?
The clarity of his thoughts still creating ripples of change in his mind, Vegeta pulled his armor up and over his head. He tossed it into his pod, removing his gloves and boots to toss them inside as well. Finally, he lifted his body suit away from his skin, using a small amount of ki to cut it at his waist until he could remove the top and discard it, leaving only his lower half covered. He had a backup set of armor and clothing in his pod, but he would not need it until he was done on Morisei. There would be many years to play Freeza’s game, to wear the camouflage necessary to function within the PTO. Now was the time to uncover what was lying dormant within him. If anything, this was what could link him to the Super Saiyajin that had been concealed in his blood line for thousands of years.
He moved back to the cliff’s edge to watch the Morijin family retreat into their hollowed home, escaping the shadows that had replaced the tropical sun. Vegeta took a deep, even breath of the cool wind that swept up the side of the cliff, flexing his exposed muscles against the chill it brought.
There would be many years to work and fight and become stronger. Not tonight, however; tonight was his, to remember himself. To follow my instincts, he thought, smiling down at the Morijin.
To play.
****
Hours had passed before Vegeta allowed himself to stalk through the garden outside the Morijin home. He had waited quietly, thrilling in the anticipation of his unplanned adventure, reveling in the fact that it was a new game in which he was setting the rules. He thought about what he had seen throughout the day, how the Morijin had gone about their tasks as they had for thousands of years, acting as though they had thousands more. Vegeta had destroyed many races and worlds, but never had he taken the time to get to know any single group of individuals the way he had today. Somehow, it made what he was about to do much more meaningful. The Morijin were peaceful, weak. Their innocence of the cruelties of the universe and their attachments for each other fed an urge within him that he had often channeled but never really listened to. He would show them that they were wrong, that they deserved to be punished.
Though he knew he could have handled all of the Morijin on Morisei at once, he had indulged in an impulsive desire to make sure that this particular group was isolated from their fellows. The rural population appeared to spread their dwellings out, allowing plenty of space for the collection of food. Good, he had thought. I can take my time.
Though a moon shone overhead, it was not full and would not have been powerful enough to produce Brutz waves anyway. The pale light only served to illuminate his path as he neared the tree’s base. It appeared larger than it had from a distance, its diameter easily exceeding fifteen meters. The entrance was covered by a thin slab of bark harvested from another tree. Vegeta paused outside, waiting for his Saiyajin instincts to push him forward. For a few seconds, he felt his heart rate slowly increase at the realization that he was standing in the very place he had been watching for hours. From his ledge on the cliff it had seemed so distant, as if it were its own small, encapsulated world. Now he was touching it, invading it.
Done with savoring his excitement, Vegeta moved forward, careful not to let his feet catch on a tangle of exposed roots. Not knowing the moment was right until he was already pushing through the inconsequential barrier of the door, Vegeta began his attack. It was too dark to see his prey, so he quickly created a ball of ki to float overhead, a tiny version of his own artificial moon that cast the room in dark shadows. In their confusion at being awoken to their door breaking down, the Morijin raised their heads from their positions in various nests of leaves and vines on the floor. Vegeta could see their wide-set eyes enlarge to perfect circles of shock as they stared at him.
Vegeta looked at each of them, barely discernible in the low light. Caught up in the smell of fright in the contained space, Vegeta almost didn’t react when the large male came at him, rearing up as he lashed out with clawed hands. Vegeta was still only slightly shorter, and was easily able to knock the arms aside with his injured hand. In the same moment, he hooked his right hand under the middle of the male’s ribcage and used it to hoist him up before smashing him into the nearest section of wall. Vegeta squeezed the fragment of bone that had come off in his hand before tossing it aside and turning to his next victim.
It wasn’t who he was looking for, but it would do: it was one of the females, moving forward to block his access to the other two. She was crouched low, a menacing crackle erupting from her throat. Vegeta kicked her head to the side, feeling her skull shatter around his bare foot. Her body fell to one of the now-scattered nests, thrashing. At the site of their patriarch and matriarch being brutally beaten, the remainder of the family squealed in fear and fled to the periphery of the round space. One, the eldest son, attempted to come at Vegeta, but Vegeta gently swept him aside, knocking him into the wood several meters away where he slumped in a dazed heap.
The two remaining females huddled together, and he grabbed one by the neck, pulling her onto her back in the center of the room. He could hear her shouting something as her limbs flailed uselessly between them, but he silenced her by crushing her neck underfoot while catching and ripping both of her forelimbs out. Dark, almost black blood splurted from the the mangled roots, creating thick pools on the floor.
Vegeta let the limbs drop at his sides, noticing that the carcass at his feet had once been the pregnant female. There will never be another Saiyajin child, he thought suddenly, and kicked the body away. His attention snapped to the remaining female, cowering with her back to him and repeating the same nonsense the last female had. His anger abruptly spiked; the violence he had inflicted was not nearly enough to quench his bitter hatred of the Morijin’s happiness.
He forced the female to turn, to face him. She was frozen, transfixed on his bared teeth, terrified into silence as he held her shoulders and forced her to stare up into his face. You will know who has killed you, Vegeta thought wildly, but was distracted by movement behind him. Reflexively, he half-turned to direct a blast of ki at the small figure moving through the doorway. The youngest Morijin collapsed forward, a burnt remnant lying in the moonlight.
Returning his attention to the stunned female, Vegeta grinned, using his still-free hand to chop horizontally across her neck. The head fell away, its face frozen in the horrified expression of a mother who has seen her child murdered. More of the thick, dark blood spilled out from the stump of her neck, and Vegeta swept his hand across it to bring some of the liquid to his mouth. He lapped at the thick coating on his palm, cupping his hand to inhale its scent as he tasted the bitter substance. He absentmindedly looked at his shadow, slightly shortened by the ball of ki above and behind him. Without turning, he willed the light to lower itself, watching his shadow enlarge and stretch until it swept up along the curved ceiling. He stood in triumphant glee, his hands, face, and chest coated in black blood, listening to the quiet rustlings of the first female slowly dying. He could feel something swelling within him, some new confidence that what he was doing was right, that it would restore him.
Only when he heard the movement of the eldest son was he pulled from his private joy. Turning slowly to look over his shoulder, Vegeta sneered at the now-stirring Morijin, still slumped against the wall but shifting pathetically.
“Oh?” Vegeta surprised himself by speaking, but knew instantly that it was what he wanted, too. “Are you waking up in time to see the last of your family die?” he asked with feigned interest. Vegeta stepped across the room, scattering the last of the nests into the pools of blood. He crouched down so that his face was level with the young alien, waiting for him to look up.
When the Morijin finally raised his eyes to Vegeta’s bloodied face, he began to make a noise that sounded like a whimper. Fear, Vegeta thought. Though the noises were strange, he could hear hints of his own whimpers in them. Fear is for the weak, Vegeta thought, and he slapped the Morijin across the face, so lightly that he was surprised that it elicited a scream of pain. The Morijin cowered, his hands covering his face as he shook in terror. This bored Vegeta quickly, so he stood again.
“Look at me,” he commanded, baring his teeth again. The Morijin only flinched. “Look at me, or I will kill you,” Vegeta hissed, this time in the universal tongue used on Morisei. Somehow this seemed to penetrate the shock of the Morijin, and he slowly pulled his hands away to gaze up at his blood-splattered attacker.
“Why?” he managed shakily, the language awkward in his snout. Vegeta burst out laughing at the unexpected sound of it.
“So you do understand. Then you will know the name of your new god. I am Vegeta-sama, Prince of the Saiyajin.” He drew the royal crest of the Vegeta family in the blood on his chest. I am the Saiyajin.
“Why?” the young alien uttered again, this time his eyes darting past Vegeta to the corpses of his family. That the Morijin ignored him to ask the question again enraged Vegeta, and he struck downward, breaking one of the Morijin’s arms, making him scream in agony and twist downward onto the floor.
“I am the most powerful in the universe,” Vegeta announced, grabbing the Morijin by his broken arm and casting him into the middle of the room, beneath the light of the ki ball. He was on his back now, shivering and averting his eyes.
“Please,” he managed weakly. The single word transformed the Morijin. Vegeta stared down at the pathetic form below him, seeing his former, weaker self. Disgust reared through him and he stomped downward, wanting to crush the Vegeta that had betrayed him.
The Morijin howled in anguish at the breaking of one of his legs, panting as blood began to escape around the compound fracture. Vegeta realized he was panting, too, but in anger and...something else. It was incredible, really: no matter how far into space he went, he could still recognize a scream of agony. He had to be careful, though, or his game would be over too soon.
Vegeta crouched down, leaning forward until he had to hold the Morijin’s forelimbs against the floor to steady himself. The scent of fear was thick again, and Vegeta savored it, dipping his face to the Morijin’s neck, grazing his teeth against the short, soft fur there. Something new yet familiar was happening within Vegeta, and his instincts were guiding him, making it easy to step into foreign territory. The warmth of the body below him crawled up through him, filling him with urges that he had no thought or desire to resist. Freeza was a distant idea, unimportant in the cramped space and elongated shadows of this new playground. For all he could remember, he was Freeza, and the whimpering, begging body beneath him was Vegeta, the Vegeta of the past.
He felt powerful. He felt free. It felt good.
****
The moon was still in the sky when Vegeta stepped from what was left of the once-peaceful dwelling. He didn’t remember removing what had been left of his body suit, but it didn’t matter. Dried blood coated most of his body, evidence of his carefully drawn-out time with the last Morijin. Only the black blood on his abdomen and groin was still wet.
Whether the Morjin were suitable for slavery was still debatable, but Vegeta no longer cared about their traits or the needs of the PTO in deciding their fate. On Morisei, Vegeta was the strongest in the universe. None of the Morijin would ever find out otherwise.
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Breaking the Prince (Part 2)