Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Sentenced to Darkness ( Chapter 23 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

AN: My apologies for last chapter's cliffhanger. That was a bit of evilness on my part. Hopefully this piece will make up for it. It's a wild twist but I'm compelled to follow my creative identity, for better or worse. My version of Vegeta haunts me.
Heather Rinehart has created stunning art for this story. Her talent is boundless. Stephanie Reeves surprised me as well with a beautiful, artistic version of Bulma. I've hosted them all on my site. Thanks so much for brightening up my week:
How to Make Love to a Saiyan
Chapter 23
Step 24 - Sentenced to Darkness
“No!” Her voice held remarkable determination, even through that nearly imperceptible tremor underlining it. The single word echoed between them, sweeping over Vegeta who for once stood rigid and incredulous, his stormy eyes locked in a deadly waltz of wills with her fiery blue ones. She'd grown impossibly pale, yet life poured wild and irreverent through the flicker in her eyes. He could feel the tension mounting in the lithe muscles of her arms, a feral impulse to remain rooted taking hold, feeding of the natural stubbornness that broiled within her.
“That isn't up to you to decide.” He countered, painfully aware of the quick and mortifying passage of time. He thought he'd be able to protect her from the darkness of the universe, to guard her like a precious gemstone through the length of the journey. Right here, right now, the best way to do just that was to let her go. She was part of a private life he would never show his enemies, a smooth, luscious paradise only he had a right to. Her hills and valleys were his to tarnish, to bask in, to drink of. They shouldn't be marred by the unseemly hands of another. Having her and them converging on the same plane disturbed him on a level he wouldn't have thought possible.
“It is up to me to decide. I don't care whatever danger's lurking on the side, Vegeta. I won't leave. I won't leave you.” She curled her fingers into his biceps, the words firm and coated in urgency. It was a raw plea and an unwavering declaration all in one. Her eyes dared him, even through the unsubstantial strength of her frail human condition, to try and remove her from his side, but he knew better. Her every nuance screamed she wouldn't budge, not if her life depended on it. “Whatever it is, I'll be safe with you. Nothing can reach me as long as you are here to protect me.”
Vegeta's grip on her shoulders became stronger. There was something soft and feminine about her need, yet infinitely fierce. His pupils dilated with the instinctive, purely animalistic drive to be everything she professed him to be. His nostrils flared in anticipation, welcoming the scent of the enemy, yearning to tear them apart, kill the whole damn universe for her if he needed to. All this time, he'd longed for much more than just being the master to her lust, he'd secretly harbored the maddening need to be her man. And by the gods, he would, he'd sink his fangs into the devil himself if it meant shielding her from the most sordid side of his life. But he needed her away. To confront his past he required his sharp predatory senses intact, margin to become the lord of war and death he truly was. The risk of imperiling her was dulling his senses. She was a price he truly wasn't willing to pay.
He lowered long dark lashes over dangerous eyes, seeking into her upturned gaze. “Who will protect you from me? Who will save you when I make you mine? I am darkness.” He tried discouraging her spirit, yet she stood there, clinging to him by her very nails, her cherry lips firmly pressed and her crystal eyes seeking him out like a savior.
Why wasn't she taking it all and fleeing? She was exquisitely unpredictable. Any other female would have long skedaddled, happy to save her skin and take his money, but not her, not Bulma. She had a chance to remain untouched. He hadn't even succumbed to his cravings and availed himself to the pleasures of her body. Without exacting his vengeance, he'd showered her in a roomful of finery and to top it off, was now granting her his small fortune, the one he'd painstakingly amassed for his own selfish motives. Freedom was hers for the time being. Oh he'd recover what was rightfully his sooner or later. He'd descend upon her like the shadow of evil, but to his unending perplexity, she wasn't taking it.
The distinctive scent of the demons encroached on him, and he knew the window for Bulma's getaway was nearly shutting. He could taste the acrid smell of his enemy on his tongue, seeping like rust down the slope of his throat and into the pit of his stomach. A few more seconds to pop that capsule and rev that engine into maximum speed was all she had. It was now or never as the intruders stalked around the outer walls, busting the codes and slinking around the corners like molten death.
He grabbed her forcibly by the wrists, pinning them together against her ass thus making her arch her back to relieve the pressure between her shoulder blades. His armor, ribbed and hard pressed against the soft material of her blouse, effectively imprisoning her breasts between their bodies. His gravely tones were rough, his clean breath warm wisps of air against her face as he spoke. “Woman, there are things you don't truly understand about my life, things you wouldn't want to become privy to.” Even now he wanted her, smack in the face of impending doom. The fact that she looked to him for protection when he had threatened her every in every single way possible, when he was a thousand megaton powerhouse of sheer destruction baffled him beyond comprehension. She was brazen like a wildflower standing her ground against the onslaught of the winds. Her assumptions about him were foolish, but that stark naivety spoke to his manhood with stridence.
“Do not contend with me on this. The universe is not a comfy extension of your Chikyuu-jin palace. It's much worse than I remember. Last I knew, this place remained well beyond lawful jurisdiction, a land free of the policing minions sent by the justice courts to advance their private agendas.” He felt the quiver of the air, a ripple of movement hitting him with unmistaken clarity. They were in.
“I've lived under tyranny, campaigned in war with the grime of the universe, but it's in the face of the so-called righteous that I found the most corruption. Frieza's dominion brimmed with evil, but it was readily visible. It didn't lurk like a slithering snake shrouded in deceit.” He spoke hurriedly, his strong hands snagging her around the waist and dragging her forcefully towards the open crystal panes. There had never been a chance for him. Once he'd been located, he would be hastily tracked, perhaps placing this loud-mouthed girl he'd staked a claim on, under further unnecessary danger. He'd have to deal them a deadly blow, work his way out of this using real-time tactics. He'd fight his battle alone, harness their full attention while she promptly lifted off. They'd be distracted and she'd be safe, if she only acquiesced.
“No.” She wailed in agitation. She turned around in his pinioning arms, becoming a violent mass of limbs that clawed at him without quarter.
He cursed under his breath, manhandling her and straining to see through the aquamarine strands that tossed against his face and got in his eyes.
“If you're giving me my freedom, then I choose to stay.” Her voice was a feral rasp, eyes flashing blue flames over round ruddy cheeks.
“Dammit, woman.” He snarled, more than irked at her rebelliousness. She bared her white pearly canines, red lips curling in defiance and perspiration breaking over the pallor of her skin. He grabbed her roughly to him, a muscled arm around her waist, then gathered the hair at her nape and pulled back to restrain her. He swallowed in her untamed beauty, drank it whole one last time. Her breasts swelled in agitation, lips begging to be licked and ravished, but time was up for them. He knew it, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Touching.” A voice thick in sarcasm seeped its way to them. Vegeta diverted cold, impenetrable eyes at the intruder, releasing Bulma and leading her behind his back. A tall figure stood in the doorway, slowly advancing towards them before coming to a full stop. Three red-black shadows followed, sliding through the angles of the room until they materialized into an uneven array of heavily built demons. Their skin was dark and reddish, their eyes lit in shimmering gold. Jet black glossy hair fell like an ebony veil over their broadened shoulders with the exception of the shortest one who was bald and stout. Their horns all twisted in a different fashion, but their hateful glowering was equally vindictive.
The more imposing one bore a striking resemblance to someone he'd long given any thought to. He was impressively reminiscent of Zarbon except in a palette of blacks and reds. But this creature's beauty was hardened and angry, not serene and immaculate like the reptile's used to be. The demon's eyes were almost snake-like both in appearance and in intent, and his lips twisted into a devious grin drenched in self-pleasure. It was obvious he bastard was enjoying himself.
“I do mean it. I think it's touching. What do you give them Vegeta, that they remain so loyal? I bet you fuck like a God.” His venomous eyes never left the prince, blatantly taunting him, but Vegeta didn't catch the bait. Bulma felt the high voltage of his ki rippling around him, charging the air in quiet contempt. He remained calculating, playing a series of chess moves in his mind and assessing the consequences of every action.
“I do remember that was the word on the streets. Or more specifically, the underground corridors of the vessels both you and me inhabited long ago.” The demon advanced with an insouciantly casual walk. His smooth oily voice and delicate gait reeked of reptilian, even through the outward demonic appearance. Vegeta narrowed his eyes to slits, a muscle tensing in his jaw. The exterior was certainly a vestige from hell; no doubt remained in his mind. No one else spoke in such a manner.
“Zarbon” Vegeta spilled the word with distaste, his fingers curling individually until they balled into a tight, solid fist. He heard Bulma's slight intake of breath at the mention of the name, and he knew she'd certainly recognized him too. He'd personally driven his arm through his wet, slippery innards in Namek, given him a one-way ticket to Hades, or so he thought. Now he knew there was no limit to the depth of his ambition. He recognized what he'd become. Souls cast to hell could sometimes return to the plane of the living, albeit sporting a demonic semblance. They were the scattered kind of a Lord Dabura, an evil spirit said to have coerced the gods and risen from hell many millennia ago.
Those who knew the legend knew the drill. They formally requested Emma for a chance to rectify their wrongs as living entities, which in Vegeta's opinion was nothing but a load of shit. Then Emma would grant their wish if their conduct in hell had been nothing short of exemplary. The stupid bastard assumed they'd continue the docile behavior in this dimension, often assigning them law-abiding positions such as the one Zarbon obviously held now.
“Zarbon? Death has a way of changing things. Oftentimes, for the better. It's Lord Tallicron to you now, the Demon name bestowed on me amidst the very flames of hell.” His words were placid, running of his lips like poisonous honey. He then raked his eyes unashamedly over Vegeta's body. “It'd serve you well to remember it, lest you want me carving it into that smooth tawny perfection you call skin.”

Vegeta's upper lip furled in derision, a seething smile for once disarraying his features. “It would serve you well to remember who sent you to there in the first place, you sorry little bitch.” His words were drenched in revulsion, scalding in their delivery. The growling threat teased the hairs on the back of Bulma's neck to a standing position and it wasn't even directed at her. “I don't give a fuck what you call yourself now or whose dick you sucked to weasel your way out of hell. All I care about is how you begged for your life when I disemboweled you, how you simpered like a girl for an ounce of my forgiveness. Did hell's fire harm your memory neurons? I killed you once. I can sure do it again.”
Bulma caught Zarbon's minions shifting, puzzlement clouding their eyes. Zarbon's expression only darkened. He stared at Vegeta sullenly, his long black nails sliding together as he curled his fingers in response. She was quicker than the demonic lot, who seemed oblivious to their master's long running relation with the Saiyan. Her genius mind had put two and two together the moment Vegeta spoke the name. This was his enemy incarnated, woken from the slumber of death through some glitch in the system. At that knowledge, her stomach curled into a heavy knot of dread.
Zarbon's nose crinkled, his fangs peering as Vegeta continued his scornful speech. “Whose lapdog are you now, Zarbon. Do they feed and clothe you as well as Frieza did? It must pay well to walk around pretending to be something you aren't.” He curved a brow in utmost derision, sending the demon into a gurgling fit.
“Prince of bastards.” Hissed Zarbon, displeased that Vegeta comported himself so royally with so little effort. His flashy new title and luxurious armor could never rival the true blood of a monarch and that's what the asshole was. “You very well guessed it. It does pay well. It's gonna pay even better to screw you over.” Zarbon gathered the edge of the velvet cape that billowed at his calves, emblazoned with the seal of his superiors. His earrings were multiple dangling black pearls that rattled as he moved.
Vegeta only snorted. Yes, he was obviously living the life, his question had been a rhetoric. He was a sneaky courtier that got his kicks by playing informant to his twisted overlords. Excess and obscenity wafted off him like the stench of a rotting corpse.
“But that's enough of your irony. I won't let you suck me into your little game.” Zarbon deliberately granted Vegeta a slow Cheshire smile. “This isn't about me. This is about you, beautiful monkey boy. Deep down I do hope you don't take this personal, for you see, I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd have the pleasure of running into you. Alas, it seems you're in disfavor with the Gods. I get stationed here and you just happen to fall into my lap.”
Zarbon's sensually charged words threw him back in time. Vegeta fought the shudder that rippled down his spine. It was a kneejerk reaction, something ingrained since childhood. `Beautiful monkey boy' had been the moniker he'd often employed to debase him, ever since that first horrid day they met. He'd vowed never to show him it affected him, thus he remained stoic, his hard eyes bearing death. Zarbon's subtle threats had never come to fruition, not because he hadn't harbored the physical ability to subdue him, but because to him the chase was infinitely more exquisite than the act.
“Now the universe has rectified its wrongs.” He opened his arms wide in a gesture of grandeur, issuing a malicious chuckle that sent Bulma grimacing. “And it's chosen me, the most suitable candidate to do so. It took the courts quiet a while to locate you, yet you must have known it was only a matter of time. The fact the privilege fell on me is merely the icing on the cake. Do you happen to know how aroused this makes me?”
Vegeta flickered his eyes to Zarbon's entourage, already tracing his steps with mental precision. He'd take them out in one clean strike before they could round on Bulma. It would probably take him three moves to neutralize Zarbon, a fourth one to break his ribcage. He'd then rip his heart out and shove it down his sagging mouth. Still, something wasn't quiet right; his animal instinct told him so. He could sense it in the air that the cards hadn't been laid.
“Oh, don't even think about it. I haven't stepped in here carelessly. It's you who failed to cover your ass.” Zarbon remarked like a bell tolling for death. Bulma felt fear, thick and icy spread forth from her spine and wrap tightly around her ribcage.
“You were messy Vegeta. You lowered your guard. I don't remember you ever violating such precious rules when we served the same master.” His tone was poisonous, dripping with thick tarry hate. Bulma had no problem seeing why. Vegeta had been his executioner. He had taken his life in the most gruesome, goriest way and had done so in front of her very eyes. “I don't even think you're in a position to do much but come to me, like a good obedient monkey.”
Vegeta's chest tightened in a bout of self-hatred, hatred for the fact that Zarbon was right. He'd come to that realization the second he found he was being stalked. He'd somehow known the woman would be his demise, one way or another. When she'd lured him into her bed, he'd instinctively known she'd mean nothing but trouble. She wasn't the kind of girl you could just fuck and leave. She was something else. She could make a man lose himself.
He should have killed her before she caused him to err, but she bewitched him with the nectar of her lips and the lilt of her voice. He hadn't lifted off today, reactor in hand like he should have. He could have snuffed out her life as she slept. His white gloved hand had reposed over her neck ready to snap it, urging himself to do so. Instead he'd scooped her away in his arms. He'd risked everything for a morning spent in her light. He should have known the price for wandering away from darkness was always weighed in blood. Now, in this day of unforgivable stupidity, he'd face the consequences.
“Why don't you tell your precious judges I'm much too powerful to bother.” Vegeta bit out, stepping right in front of Bulma. Zarbon snorted disdainfully at the pair. Ah, the ol' “Commander of Legions”. Frieza's adored little pet. The talk of the crowd, no matter how much of an aloof, withdrawn wretch he was. It always bothered him that he would garner such attention by doing nothing. After all he himself was a right social butterfly, and not once had he enjoyed half his popularity. He couldn't remember anyone who didn't want a piece of him. They either wanted to kill him or fuck him.
Zarbon's eyes lingered on Bulma, completely sidestepping Vegeta's nasty reply. “Well, seems the human's taste has dwindled considerably. She seemed much fonder of Reptilian back in Namek.” He commented acidly, noticing the necklace hanging heavily from her neck. His viper eyes turned to Vegeta. “I thought you liked them tough and resilient, not scrawny and weak. I suppose she must give amazing head, but by the gods, my boy, the Rock of Fire?” A dry humorless chuckle followed“…is that an actual Royal Concubine?”
Vegeta shoved Bulma away with a violent move of his arm and prowled towards Zarbon, frankly tired of his shit. He pinned him to the spot with a menacing glower. “Royal property until I got tired of her. The bitch means nothing to me. You're not here to discuss my most recent lay, though, are you? Why the hell don't you just fucking get to the point before I fulfill your death wish, Zarbon. It seems you don't really value life the way you should.” Within him something stirred, inside he felt blighted by a nameless burden. He told himself he was doing what needed to be done. There was no other way to save her. She was infinitely his, in body and soul, yet Zarbon shouldn't know the extent of his possession.
Then a strangled sob fled her lips putting him instantly on edge. Something warm and gummy trickled down the curve of his lips, falling soundlessly on the carpeted surface. He drew his hand to his nose. Fat drops of blood dripped from his nostrils repeatedly, also gathering at the back of his throat in a pool of metallic flavor. He wiped his nose angrily against his glove, painting a streak of vibrant red over the white material.
Bulma observed from her position, her heart pounding against her sternum, panic fleeting through her face. She threw an accusatory glance in Zarbon's direction. “Stop what you're doing. Stop it now.”
“Silence the whore or I tear her gullet out” Zarbon commented disinterestedly. His eyes focused on Vegeta with morbid fascination.
“You're done talking yourself, for all I care.” Vegeta countered viciously, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. His voice was a wet gurgle, blood tainting his white fangs an angry red. He should have ended it already, yet he was having trouble with something as simple as standing. Zarbon's cackle wormed its way through his pounding brain, making the pain nearly unbearable. Whatever it was he was doing, it was leeching off his very core, stifling his ability to harness his ki and use it effectively. The layout of the room blurred and skidded, and Vegeta blinked trying to refocus.
Zarbon made a curt gesture towards one of his helpers, who dashed over and handcuffed Vegeta behind his back with a pair of bright red metal rings.
“Ki-specific technology. Who would have thought such a thing existed, especially in the form of spiffy handcuffs. Remind me to thank you for blindingly leading us to such a marvelous contrabandist.” Bulma's lips parted in disbelief. It was like a blow had been rendered to her stomach, pushing all the air out of her lungs in one swift strike. She knew this technology, she'd formulated something similar back on earth. In fact, she'd use it before on Vegeta himself but the potency of her device had been mild. It had been designed to restrain. This on the other hand, had been designed to torture.
Vegeta growled low in his chest at his impotence. His every bone felt like it was being shattered, his knees threatening to buckle under his own weight. Secha, Zarbon's second, pulled him roughly by the cuffs, until he hit the floor sideways. He ended up being dragged along the carpet like a slain beast, thrown at Zarbon's feet in one theatrical gesture. He sneered through his blood stained teeth, his crimson smudged face and chest lending him the appearance of a wild feral creature that had just been hunted. He strained to speak but his stomach revolted, all he could do was hear Zarbon's slippery tongue utter a speech.
Bulma covered her mouth with her sweaty palms, peering at Zarbon through wide pools of blue agitation. “Now girl. You may think me a monster, and I suppose I can't blame you. After all this is quiet the gruesome scenario.” His smile widened as he contemplated Bulma, shock still and helpless. “But before you even think about starting some sort of angry tirade, you should hush and reconsider. You should rethink which side you're on. Or has the prince broken your spirit? Has he turned you into a shadow of yourself and scrambled your loyalties?” He deepened his gaze, pinning her to the spot with the intensity of a cobra. “Tell me… has he made you forget the monster he truly is”
Zarbon nodded towards the other demons in the room and they strode forward, one grabbing Vegeta by the arm and hoisting him to his feet. The demon tightened the cuffs, switching its setting to max and sending a bone-splitting impulse of energy coursing through Vegeta's body. He tensed and arched his back, the swell of his chest the only sign that he was experiencing pain.
“You're being placed on death row, my Prince, on eleven counts of genocide, fifty-three counts torture, first degree murder of six royal senate judges, ethnic enslavement under violation of the peace treaties of Kuranik and Gemma, systematic pillaging and execution on all seven regions of this quadrant, multiple counts on three out of four quadrants in this galaxy alone involving looting, theft and extortion.” Zarbon snorted maliciously, passionately drawn to Vegeta's deadly glare. He really did look splendid wounded and manacled. He had an eye for beauty and had always revered it in the purest of its forms. His eyes lingered on the prince and his smile slanted. “Now I see. Now I completely understand why Frieza loved having you like this.”
Bulma's mind wheeled at the words, a caravan of horrors fleeting through her mind in the span of a second. It was all too much for her to make sense of, the words too terrible to digest. She stopped feeling. Fear gave way to a sense of emptiness and a dull feeling of loss too grand to contemplate.
“Now, you're no foreigner to prison but I'm afraid the drill's changed. See, it seems the chamber doesn't want to run any risks or drag this whole process on unnecessarily.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, like power bored him. “Things like due process will only prolong your stay in prison and put off the inevitable.” He pulled out a small electronic device that looked like some type of audio transducer. He then leaned in to caress Vegeta's ear with a hateful whisper “Frieza's not around anymore to bail your sorry tail out of prison. Say you're guilty and the execution will take place in a matter of days.”
Vegeta drummed up enough blood laced saliva to spit it out at Zarbon's shiny boot, then pressed his teeth together in a haughty gesture of defiance.
Zarbon threaded his lacquered claws through the prince's long threads of hair and pulled his head back to look him in the eye. “And now I understand what you must have given him in the dead of the night. Frieza loved fire, Vegeta. No wonder he loved you.” Zarbon turned the audio transducer on and thrust it at a demon before stalking over to Bulma and snatching her roughly to him.
“You'd think I would threaten you with slitting her throat, wouldn't you? That I would let blood shower down her chest in some gaudy spectacle worthy of my reputation.” His knife-sharp nail danced playfully down the smooth arch of her neck until it reached the valley between her breasts. “But my appreciation for beauty is far too grand, even beauty as feeble as this.”
“Nothing. She means nothing.” Vegeta croaked. Inside his most savage senses wakened, a creature that thirsted for nothing but blood rousing inside. He wanted to take life, and he wanted it now.
“The female may mean nothing to you.” The claw hooked around the royal necklace, fiddling with it and scratching Bulma's delicate skin in the process. A loud pearl of blood erupted, hovering in place before spilling down her skin in defeat. “But I know your pride's a different matter. I distinctly remember how you clung to it through the years, how it shone in your eyes since the very day I met you.” Vegeta felt suddenly exhausted, in mind and spirit but his eyes remained violent. He wondered if he'd died back in Namek and never revived and this was hell's morbid idea of punishment. Bulma had been the bait, part of some cosmic joke deliberately played on him to make him believe life was anything other than darkness.
“Nothing ever worked on you. The more we kicked the more like a king you looked, and by the Gods was it annoying. It was maddening to see the arrogance grow in your eyes, every blow only fuelling it further.”
Bulma's breath hitched when Zarbon tore the necklace off in one brusque motion, chafing the sensitive skin of her neck in the process. Then long fingers sought behind her blouse and squeezed her right breast painfully.
“Pride's a weakness, Vegeta. It's your biggest flaw. I bet you don't like it when your royal property is touched.” Bulma went rigid like a board, the grip of the demon on her body becoming blindingly painful. She breathed harshly, squeezing her eyes in utter disgust. She'd rather die than let him violate her but she was restrained in a way that left no room for movement.
“She must have pleased you quiet well for you to lavish her in gifts the way you have. Oh, I've observed you. I don't think I ever saw you give a woman a second glance, but for this…” His grip on her nipple became cruel, earning him a soul-splitting yelp from the depths of Bulma's throat. “Oh I bet she's the kind to make a filthy bastard like you wish for redemption. Yet both you and I know better. Come on, Vegeta, you're wanted in every region of the galaxy, for fucks sake. Redemption's nothing but a dream to you.” Vegeta's pupils narrowed to black pinpoints of hate. The sight of Zarbon putting his god-damned claws on the supple skin of his woman frayed at his very sanity.
Bulma couldn't look Vegeta in the eye. She didn't want to make matters worse by showing him the true measure of her repulsion. Zarbon's touch lacked Vegeta's measured intensity; it had none of his acute precision. He was the only one able to awaken her to rollicking heights of pleasure, every touch as torturous as it was exquisite. Her body knew its master and it would respond only to him.
The Saiyan Prince was an enemy to Chikyuu, but she despised this demonic representation of justice. She didn't want to be Zarbon's pawn nor did she want to be saved by his hand. She'd already gotten used to her fate. Vegeta should exact his vengeance upon her, eat her up, invade and execute her. The right to abuse her was his alone and she fully expected him to one day fulfil his dark promises.
Zarbon twisted her breast brutally once more. “The way I see it, I win either way. You either confess and let me arrest you without a trial, you rotten piece of work, or I have a taste of Chikyuu-jin right before your very eyes. Tasting your princely spoils should be interesting anyway.” Vegeta's gaze was fierce and unyielding. He wasn't the same man she'd stood with this morning on the crest of that peak. No. He was someone else. He was death personified.
“You want me to confess?” His growl was unnaturally guttural. It erupted from his humourless grin dripping with blood. “I confess you'll wish you never left hell. I confess I'm going to kill you.”
Zarbon's ministrations ceased abruptly. Bulma could feel the tension stiffening his limbs as Vegeta's black promise hung inertly between them. He threw her to the side so she landed in a graceless, boneless heap. He then struggled to wipe the trepidation from his face. Vegeta raised his chin and procured him an impervious stare, one that was oddly unsettling. Zarbon saw his death clearly on those midnight irises, a cold tendril of dread wrapping along his column.
“I got that on recording.” Spoke a minion, waking Zarbon up from his trance. “It's a confession alright. It will work. We can edit the bits.”
Zarbon clenched his fangs and nodded. He then tore his eyes away from Vegeta's and stalked towards the front door, flipping the heavy folds of his cape over his shoulder as he did. There was an air of apprehension about him, his confidence now unapparent. “Bring the prisoner.” He belted. They had trouble moving him from where he was rooted, boots firmly planted on the carpet. Vegeta's remaining strength was unsubstantial in relation to his normal power, but it was still enough to challenge the demons. They shoved until he deigned to move and let himself be taken.
“What should we do with the woman, my Lord?” One of them queried, halting his step to send Bulma an indecent glance. “She's a high-class expensive consort, isn't she?”
Zarbon sent her one long appraising look. “She's not a prisoner, but bring her too. She might just end up enjoying herself more than she thought she would. ” The shortest demon leered in response and walked over to Bulma. He lifted her by the arm and pulled her harshly along with him.
The memory of Vegeta's rich baritone voice telling her to leave, demanding she forgot about him haunted her inside. She moved by rote, one hand clutching the Rock of Fire and it's torn chain and the other one the ship's capsule. A quick analysis of the situation told her they wouldn't hold her against her will. For all their depravity and unscrupulous use of force, they seemed to follow a very basic framework of law. That didn't mean they weren't unpredictable and dangerous.
Still, one thought remained. She wasn't a prisoner so she could leave, should she want to. Zarbon's true interest fell on the criminal he'd just apprehended. She, on the other hand, was a gnat in the periphery.
One palm held her vessel, the ticket back home, far away from the horrors of the universe and its unending darkness. The other held the ancient stone of the Saiyans, all that was left of Vegeta's people. It had been torn and had been damaged and it still shone with the pride of an entire civilization.