Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Retaliation; the Trouble Inside ❯ Father's Choices ( Chapter 10 )

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Dragon Ball Z or GT. Akira Toriyama created them and Toei Animation Co. licenses them. This is fan fiction! However, I do own the OC characters of the Archalisites and the idea of the Race Bank comes from my story Lost and Found; Royal Line Blues and Dr. Who.

 

Sunday, April 20, 2008

 

Anger burned resentment towards his father for failing to pass on what was his by birthright. The knowledge of an entire long dead cultures that finally stirred for the first time in decades. Trunks could still hear the whisper of the voice imploring him to listen, to pay attention, and question his complacency. Still the residuals of those thought patterns tempered all his present decisions. He would never be the same, yet Trunks hardly missed his old self, and that frightened him far more than his grandfather using him as a vessel to handle unfinished business.

 

"Why didn't you ever tell me, Dad," Trunks thought at that moment, following his father to the place Vegeta had prepared for the ritual.

 

"Lineage starts with a combat between father and son. Then the sharing of memories as the bond is forged anew. However, the son must be worthy of the challenge. And the pathway to those before may be open and clear," Vegeta explained.

 

"But from what your father… unloaded in my mind… Grandfather, it's far more then that!"

 

"You've a lot to learn, and little time, for us both," Vegeta interrupted him. "Your grandfather will undoubtedly try again. He wanted to get my attention and now he has it."

 

"Are you going to call him into yourself?" asked Trunks soberly.

 

"If need be. Nevertheless, we're getting ahead of ourselves. The only way to start resolving this is to face it head on. Endow you with all you need to know so that he cannot overcome you. That you have your own identity as a Saiyan warrior and a Prince," said Vegeta.

 

"And then what? Fight Grandfather's soul? There's so much he wanted to say and do through me that I remember bits and pieces…"

 

"That's why the first part of the ritual must be done. So you can sort it out, and gain your own identity again. The stronger your will, the easier it will be to face him when he next appears. Whether in a host or in my mind. There might even be the chance that he'll use other Saiyans… who are unsuspecting," Vegeta cautioned. He punched buttons on a wall pad, triggering the code to open the Gravity chamber. Trunks waited as air hissed from the seals under, and the door split diagonally to open a dimly lit room. He could see tapestries and other hidden objects over Vegeta's shoulder, and shivered.

 

"You should have done this before, Dad," Trunks said.

 

"Stop stating the obvious, Trunks. This is NOW," Vegeta answered, stepping inside and beckoning him to enter.

 

As the door clanged shut, they were silhouetted in the blue gloom. Only the light of several flickering torches set in long poles afforded small pools of light. To Trunks astonishment, he saw the markings of a blue sigil had been painted on a ten-foot space so Vegeta stood at the top of the middle spike. He now stood on the middle of the 'pitchfork' design, his muscles quivering.

 

"We will begin," Vegeta answered, swinging to face Trunks once he stopped.

 

Taking in the entire room was difficult due to the subdued lighting, but Trunks other senses were quickly probing about him. Memories jangled and discordant swarmed in his mind at that moment he saw the sigel of Vegetasei beneath their feet. Vegeta beckoned him to step forwards and Trunks did so, heart pounding so hard it would burst into a rosette of blood internally.

 

Such thinking was however ludicrous. He was Saiyan, or half Saiyan rather. Would even one drop of blood qualify a being to bear the designation of that race?

 

“Yes,” he nodded. Saiyan blood was dominant and strong. Even pan's inheritance of a mere quarter proved that point. It had taken much to subdue her in his madness.

 

“From the beginning of our race the passing of blood from father to son mattered greatly,” Vegeta entoned. Half of his face plunged into shadow while the other gleamed pale ghostly blue.

 

“Until Freeza and his kind came,” Trunks responded automatically. Words not in his tongue passed into his comprehension, begging voice on his tongue. He could not stop their relentless approach nor did he wish to. His blood seemed to burn in his veins seeing his father amidst the twinkling random pools of light that comprised a constellation in two dimensions.

 

“Strength and winning became all that mattered. For the son to overpower the father became the greatest fear.”

 

“But such is the fear of a coward, fearing his own bloodline and his own demise,” Trunks protested. “The bending and warping of what remained to the will of the Tsurujin!”

 

“Even so, the message was garbled. Know what you deal with, last son of Vegetasei, and see what must be shown,” Vegeta extended his hand. Trunks reached out as if to take it, then brought up his other hand to block the punch his father swung towards his jaw.

 

In the background, what first sounded like a low rumbling turned into a growl, then a series of polysyllabic chants. Whatever was being fed through the sound system was some Saiyan war song, designed to stir the blood and adrenaline and pluck primal emotions from their already surging hearts. Inside the air was growing hot and dry, and Trunks could swear he saw a dim line of blood red creeping along the edge of the room.

 

Punch, feint, repost. Circle and swing out his foot, then arc his left followed by his right. The flat of his father's glove narrowly zinged by his face as Trunks arced backwards. The forms his father used were pure Saiyan, not an ounce of earth influence. Like mirror images they traded blows, only a tenth of their intended strength, for somehow it seemed more an intricate dance.

 

“The fight is all consuming, the hunt eternal,” Vegeta intoned, suddenly stopping as he caught Trunks fist in his palm.

 

Vegeta shoved him back, and then retreated. On the floor near one of the torches sat, something gleaming that he had not seen before. With but a gesture of two fingers Vegeta's blue aura surrounded it, and then levitated it towards them. As the tray flew into view, Trunks saw it held two carved goblets shaped from the horns of some beast alongside a squat corked bottle. Other items shifted into place, and the darkness of the room suddenly increased.

 

One by one, all the torches except that behind Vegeta have left shoulder extinguished. Still levitating the tray he then maneuvered it so it hovered between them. Trunks extended his hands to catch the tray once its aura faded, and it seemed far heavier. He could glimpse the red indicator saying 10 G's in the corner of the room where the control panels were flush with the wall. Silently Vegeta opened the flagon and poured the liquid into each goblet. Each lifted the drinking vessels of liquid.

 

“When the hunt ceases, the Saiyan languishes. Without conquering, the spirit withers to dust and means nothing,” Trunks found himself reciting. All the words effortlessly came to him from that same source, and things formed shape and contour in his mind.

 

“There are places you cannot go, till you leave your body behind and let your Saiyan spirit soar,” Vegeta whispered hoarsely, brining his face to within inches of Trunks. “The power over flesh was but one side, but the mastery of the mind and Saiyan Soul was the ultimate warrior's challenge. Let it be that you, Son of Vegeta, and Prince without a world to rule venture on your first astral voyage…”

 

Trunks nodded. At the same time Vegeta did, they lifted their goblets and sipped of the bitter smelling liquid. As it passed over his tongue, it burned as high proof alcohol magnified to the tenth degree. Trunks suppressed his groan as he swallowed it hard. Inside his throat, he felt as if he had swallowed a swarm of angry bees, followed by a cool frigid sensation. He could feel the burn all the way down to his stomach where something sparkled with potential.

 

Vegeta did not hesitate draining his drink dry, so Trunks forced himself to swallow the rest. The tray clattered to the floor as he felt his knees give way and the floor slammed into them. All his muscles felt like they were made from rubber, and he groaned at the nausea forming in his body. Body and soul seemed to stretch like taffy, and he swore he was lying on the floor one moment writhing from the shards of pain erupting along every nerve ending. Out of the corner of one eye, he spotted his father doubled over, holding his stomach and stifling the pain.

 

“It's… killing me,” Trunks gritted.

 

“Be silent! The poison is potent, but it will make the transition easier. Where we're going we don't need our physical bodies weighing us down,” Vegeta hoarsely whispered as Trunks dragged himself on hands and knees towards him.

 

“Father…” Trunks croaked as he saw Vegeta pitch to one side, curled up in a fetal position. Desperately Vegeta rolled up to a sitting position and folded his legs so he could rest his chin on his folded arms. Wrapped up inside himself he glimpsed Trunks laying flat on his back quivering. All the muscles fired at once, robbing all control from his brain.

 

“Let it go, boy. Embrace it,” Vegeta's voice echoed in his mind. “Soar above the pain and use it as a highway and a beacon. “

 

Blue ki crackled around both of them, and Trunks saw a thin blue rope extending from one leg. He was floating above his body, lying within inches of his father's. Vegeta too had crumpled up on his side, legs drawn up like a baby. Darkness reached out and then Trunks felt a sense of passage as someone called to him.

 

He could no longer see the room around him as a burning hot brassy light blinded his vision. Details swarmed into view and he found himself standing on hot sand. Overhead the dome of a copper green sky stretched, and hills and dunes of blood red and orange sand stretched as far as he could see. Peering at the nearby broken rocks, he saw dual shadows snaking from beneath his boots. His eyes seemed to adapt quickly to the light for when he tipped his head back and shaded his eyes with a gloved hand he could see two yellow suns blazing overhead.

 

Somewhere between his father's mind and his own they had traveled. Their souls were not inside their bodies but in some other plane of existence where many minds travelled. A dimension where many a Saiyan warrior's spirit inhabited when training in the depths of space in hibernation, or during their mental conditioning.

 

“Damn,” Trunks mumbled, his eyes burning from the hot gusts of wind. He levitated upwards, fighting against the higher natural gravity of Planet Vegeta. As the ground receded, he saw the curve and features of the landscape. High spires of rock to the west were a distance from what seemed to be a futuristic spired city. He glanced wildly around, reaching out his ki senses to their furthermost limits.

 

“Find me in this strange place. Then the ritual will continue,” echoed Vegeta's voice.

 

“All right, Dad,” murmured Trunks. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again to see nothing. How real was this? Could he feel pain, and were there other dangers to be encountered? Was this made from memories or was it just a convenient setting?

 

The sounds of distant explosions caught his ears. Quickly he winged his course towards the city, his ki rocketing behind him in the high Vegetasei skies. Only wispy clouds gave any relief to the relentless burning heat. Yet it felt comfortable to him the longer her was exposed to it. Glancing down he saw he still wore the same armor and was the same age. Yet he felt something slapping against his back and realized a strap crossing his chest over one shoulder.

 

To his right he saw a shadow, and then spotted two green eyes in a face of purple skin. Trunks blinked in shock to see Tapion flying beside him. “What… Tapion? What are you doing here?”

 

“Brother, it's good to see you again,” Tapion said as he gave Trunks a warm smile.

 

“But what are you doing on Vegetasei?”

 

“This is your side of this reality. What you experience and know here is partly your way to deal with this ritual. Your own mind's trying to make sense of this, and somehow I must be part of it,” Tapion explained, his melodic voice ringing through the air.

 

“Like a spirit guide?” Trunks smiled wryly.

 

“In a sense. Saiyan rituals are ancient and savage. However, since you had no Saiyans save your friends and family, you needed an older brother. And I am the closest to that,” Tapion confirmed. “I suppose I'm supposed to guide you where you should go.”

 

“I know only bits and pieces. When Grandfather entered my mind… he left a lot there I didn't want to know,” Trunks winced.

 

“Indeed. That's why I'm here. Saiyan culture dictates that during this rite of lineage, a trusted older brother or male relative other than your father is here to point the way,” he said.

 

“Is Father experiencing the same thing?”

 

“Yes. Doubtless. The way to learn many things is hard and fast. We don't have much time. Your father's facing his own trials, and you must join him soon,' Tapion said.

 

“But I thought Lineage was to face a past troubled ancestor and confront them!”

 

“How can you know what to do if you don't know more about your own father, Trunks,” Tapion shook his head. “No, I have things you have to see first. It will grow more and more difficult. Your father failed to tell you that he would face his own Father. You were brought here to strengthen your own mind so YOU could stand as your father's second.”

 

“He's going to face Grandfather here? But I thought Grandfather would take on a human host…”

 

“There is the chance to resolve their disagreement here and know the nature of it. If it comes down to taking it to the physical world, it will. But there's the chance that you can find a way of stopping it from coming to that perhaps,” Tapion informed him.

 

“He said I had much to learn and little time. So if you're going to explain Saiyan culture, let's get to it,” Trunks said impatiently.

 

“Something's holding you back, Trunks. Tell me,” Tapion implored.

 

“Is Father in danger… of dying? You said he faced his own Father… Grandfather as we speak. What happens if they fight, and he loses?”

 

“Then only two of you can come back. If your father does not resolve the confrontation with his father, then you will be left to answer as his son, the Next Prince of all Saiyans. If however Vegeta is strong enough to challenge him to fight outside, then a host will come. Possessing you was just the opening salvo, Trunks.”

 

“Tapion, it makes little sense... but I'll go along if it will help my dad. So let's do this,” Trunks gritted.

 

“Follow me then, to the city,” Tapion motioned with one gloved hand. Following the flapping cape of his adopted brother, Trunks arched down towards the gleaming white city below. Already smoke curled up in a long billowing column from within the tallest of spires while bright flashes preceded the clash of explosions.

 

Hovering for a moment above the city, both young men glanced into the heart of a battle. Various armored beings, some humanoid; others not exchanged volleys of energy. Trunks veered out of the way of one beam zinging past his ear. Tapion reached at his hip to pull out his ocarina, and then raised it to his lips. Around the two of them formed a spherical barrier, which diverted incoming blasts. From inside Trunks shivered at the teeth rattling impact of one such blast shaking them.

 

“Are you just going to watch? What are we supposed to do?”

 

“Look there, Trunks,” Tapion gestured, raising his lips only shortly from the ocarina. It took all his concentration to continue the barrier.

 

Noticing where he pointed Trunks narrowed his eyes to see spiky haired figures standing back to back. One of them suddenly levitated up, his red cape flapping. All around them, odd beings in the same sort of armor were fighting and punching dark haired Saiyans in more rudimentary armor. The fellow standing behind his heavily armored guards was hurling his own energy blasts into the fray. None of them wore scouters and Trunks realized they were outnumbered.

 

Time suddenly blurred, and another battle replaced this one. The very sky itself grew thick and black with smoke. A disc shaped craft hovered overhead, and he saw many dead bodies piled here and there in heaps. Tapion grasped Trunks wrist and let the barrier down. Tugging him in the shadow of a high cracked wall, he hissed him to look ahead.

 

Many Saiyans lay dead at Trunks feet. Helmeted foot soldiers marched and stepped over the bodies, kicking some aside with grins on their alien faces. A tall horned figure moved into view, and Trunks saw the long tail arching out towards its opponent. Tall spiky hair fluttered in the breeze as the bearded figure blocked the latest purple blast. Throwing back his hand he formed a blue sphere of energy, hurling it forwards.

 

“Now now, Your Majesty is that any way to fight your allies?” asked the tall lizard like creature.

 

“I will not give up my only son to your whims,” growled the King. Around his neck gleamed a blue sapphire pendant, and his face was smudged with dirt.

 

“You know well that the Prince serves my son. Will you deny the pleasure of serving out family? Will you doom your people to death?”

 

“Sire, he's right,” gasped a tall figure to the left of the king.

 

“General Zorn if I want your opinion…”

 

“You must surrender. I have entertained this little farce long enough, your Highness. It is a rather engaging exercise, but will you add to this pile of bodies, or will my soldiers have to continue to remind you of your place?”

 

“No,” the King inhaled deeply. His glowing fists stood at his sides, and his fangs gnashed. “I yield, King Cold.”

 

“Good. I would hate to lose such a valuable ally as your world. For the sake of old times, I have permitted you and your elite guard to live. But you have tried my patience for the last time,” leered the massive horned lizard. His red lips curved into a cruel smirk, and he threw his cape aside.

 

“Father, where is the slave you promised me?” asked a rasping voice that blinked over a scouter.

 

“Patience my son. Our hosts seem rather stubborn. However, you will get your playmate in time. Is that not right, your majesty?”

 

King Vegeta narrowed his eyes in hatred. Deeply he inhaled and bit his inner lip. Trunks stepped towards them only to be stopped by Tapion's hand on his shoulder. “No Trunks. This is past. All the events are cast in stone. It would do little good to interfere. Any damage your body here suffers will be that much worse for your soul.”

 

“What am I seeing?”

 

“A father stubborn in the bargain being demanded of him. This is forty years or so in the past. Listen and watch,” said Tapion, raising his finger to his lips for silence.

 

Peering around the massive shape of King Cold Trunks saw the King and his band of warriors in their white vests all drop to one knee and avert their gaze. “I yield. My son is your servant,” King Vegeta grudgingly gritted.

 

“Good. I thought you would see reason. Really your Majesty, you should have sent your son when I sent my envoys…” King Cold clicked his tongue. A young slender green-skinned figure strode up, his hair coming to his waist in a braid. Nearby a large fat spiky figured being moved into view, standing near the King.

 

“Sire, we've seen to it that the Prince is in his transport, ready to leave,” Zarbon said smoothly.

 

“Good,” King Cold nodded.

 

“Is Nappa with him?” King Vegeta lifted his head to ask.

 

“Of course. The fool wouldn't leave your son's side. They listened to my orders, knowing that if they would follow yours, they would endanger your life. You're fortunate to have servants who show better sense,” Zarbon chuckled smoothly.

 

“Enough Lord Zarbon. Take our party to depart to my son's ship. I shall meet you back there when I'm done here,” said King Cold.

 

“Lord Freeza your son will be most happy. I shall pass on your greetings to him,” Dudoria chimed in.

 

“Dudoria, remain here. Zarbon, go attend my son Lord Freeza. There is much he has to teach his new change. King Vegeta has learned his lesson I trust?” King Cold asked.

 

“Yes, your majesty,” growled King Vegeta. “I live at your command. My apologies for my defiance.”

 

“Indeed,” snickered the King. “My son will return to pay his respects in person, when he has met yours. Now I must go. There are many customers who wish for my special talents.”