For the Love of Death
A story for the romance of Vegeta and Bulma

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There go the loves that wither,
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all the dead years draw thither,
And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
Red strays of ruined springs.

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From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

After death there is no annihilation. The dead are dead because they have a flavorless and unhappy existence in the Underworld. Those who are practically dead but exist and dwell in all happiness in the Isles of Blest or Elysium, are called Immortals. So life and death are qualities of existence, not lack of it.

Between the world of the living and that of the dead there are, it is said, great rivers and streams. As men and women die, Hermes leads their souls to the Underworld, past the streams of Oceanus, past the White Rock Leucas, past the Gates of the Sun and the Land of Dreams, until they reach the Asphodel Fields, where the spirits dwell living the flavorless existence of a shadow or phantom. This is not a place of punishment, but there is not pleasure and the mind is confused and oblivious.

This is where you reach the gates of Hades, vastly protected by beasts of many stature. And here you begin your journey to Elysium and Tartarus. Several categories of souls appear in this neutral zone or Limbo, which could be the same as the Asphodel Fields. Children are by themselves, and so are those who have been condemned to death on a false charge and those who killed themselves. Next comes the Vale of Mourning where those who were consumed by unhappy love dwell, and in the farthest fields, before the dividing road, are those who were famous in war. Some say that the soul receives judgment in the meadow at the dividing of the road, whence are the two ways leading, one to the Isles of the Blest (Elysium), and the other to Tartarus. Rhadamanthys, who rules in Tartarus, is sometimes said to be the one that, with severe rule, tries and chastises wrongdoers and forces confessions; then Tisiphone, who guards the entrance wrapped in a bloodstained robe, pounces upon the guilty and lashes and threatens them holding angry snakes in her left hand. The Erinyes are detectors and avengers of crime and wickedness, avenging spirits, goddesses of vengeance, ready to stab fear into the hearts of mortals.

Tartarus is the lowest abyss beneath the earth where all waters originate; all rivers flow into the chasm of Tartarus and flow out of it again. Tartarus is a gloomy place of far as distant from earth as earth is from the sky. Tartarus and the Underworld are the realm of Erebus, which is pure darkness. Tartarus is also a place of punishment. Round it runs a fence of bronze, and night spreads in triple line about it. And around this wall rises up the flames and crashing rocks of Pyriphlegethon. And an enormous portal as its entrance has pillars of solid adamant that not even the gods could break. Within that portal is where the punished lay doomed to dwell. Among those punished in Tartarus are also those who in life hated their own brothers, those who struck their parents, those who loving fraud entangled their clients, those who kept their wealth for themselves without ever sharing (these are the majority), those who killed for adultery, those engaged in treason, those who corrupted the laws and became dictators, those who entered the beds of their daughters, and others who committed numerous crimes which would never cease to fill an unending catalogue; but equally unending are the punishments and retributions inflicted here: rolling huge rocks, whirling round, sitting in the Chair of Oblivion are just a few examples. The most wicked and the worst criminals are cast into Tartarus, whence they never emerge. Others, who have committed great wrongs but who nevertheless are curable, are thrown into Tartarus where they remain for some time until the waves, either of Cocytus or of Pyriphlegethon cast them out again. They then are carried by the currents to the Acherusian Lake, where they beg to those whom they have wronged to be gracious and let them come out into the lake. If they prevail and their prayers are heard by those who had been outraged by them, they may come out and their ills cease, but if not they return to Tartarus starting all over again until they prevail upon those whom they have wronged.

The right-hand leads, under the Palace of Hades, to Elysium. Elysium is a happy place, which has a sun and stars of its own. The souls in Elysium cannot be grasped and are like phantoms and in this they do not differ from those dwelling in the Asphodel Fields. Those who dwell in Elysium exercise upon grassy playing fields or wrestle friendly on yellow sands; some dance and others sing or chant poems. Orpheus is here and Musaeus, who wrote songs and poems and uttered oracles. Some say several members of the Trojan Royal House dwell here. All these live in groves and make their beds on riverbanks and may wander in luminous plains and green valleys.

Vegeta is the ruler of the Underworld. He is a brother of Kakarott(Zeus) and Nappa (Poseidon), and therefore from the first generation of Olympian gods. And the manner in which Vegeta became the lord of the shadowy Underworld is worth mentioning.

The three sons of Cronos(a titan, know as Saturn in Roman Mythology) and Rhea - Kakarott, Nappa, and Vegeta - each drew lots to determine which part of the world they would rule. Kakarott and Nappa received the sky and the seas respectively, and Vegeta was therefore left with the Underworld.

Vegeta ruled the realm of the dead alone. That is, until he became enamored of the beautiful goddess Bulma.

And this is where I begin my story.

The great dictator of the eternally feared Underworld sat upon his stone cold and unmoving throne in resentment as he watched each soul that came through his gates quiver and cry in oblivion as they entered. Clasping a hold of his silver goblet filled to the brim with the bloodiest whine, he downed it in one movement.

Placing it in front of his hard obsidian eyes he eyed the drawings that circled it since it was crafted at the beginning of time. His siblings and himself were drawn so carefully on the goblet that one may never think of using it for nothing more than a decoration.

Oh!! How he loathed his brothers!!! Nappa, the controller of land and sea, was a stubborn bastard with no respect for anyone other than himself. He even went against Kakarott’s word from time to time in a manner that would make Kakarott send the purest of souls to Tartarus to be kept there for all eternity. He couldn’t blame Nappa, but he was stupid enough to do any such thing. Why? Why did Kakarott become the god of gods after they successfully destroyed the Titans, their parents included? Kakarott did not deserve such stature, it was he who should rule all, not the half-wit his brother was.

Though he hated his brothers to no end, his sisters were another issue all together. Chichi (Hera), his sister, the goddess of marriage, ended up being Kakarott’s wife (I know incest, don’t kill me. I hate to break it to ya, but the happens A LOT in Greek and Roman mythology. I just tell myself, hey their gods, maybe it’s different for them, maybe they’re not really related.). What an odd paring he had told himself many times since he caught the word of their unitement. Luckily he was a full twenty days from the Olympian palace so he’d never have to subject himself to his sister’s inexorable chatter and his brothers unbelievable hoard of inanity (I’m not trying to bash Goku here, I love him, but hey this is Vegeta who is talkin’ here.). Hestia, though, was a sibling he could rely on more than any of the others and their constant lack of understanding of the world that exists below their feet. She was the goddess of hearth and never ever left the confines of the palace. Not only was she the most honorable, in his outlook, but she was the wisest since she was the first-born. How he’d adore hearing her beautiful voice again and be praised with tolerance and knowledge. Then there was Demeter, the goddess of fertility; she had to be the most domineering female he had ever encountered. Very protective of all that she ruled. She made the harvests, asked the grass to grow, told the sun Helios to shine during the day, and the moon Serene to emerge at night. How he’d love to be able to see Helios and Serene again, the warmth of the mortal day, and the intoxicating breezes of the mortal night. His attention was brought back once again to the indignant thoughts of his brothers. How he wished he could over power them, let alone every other god, goddess, and nymph. He reviled to think of what Kakarott was doing at this moment. Probably sleeping with another female, other than his wife (sorry G/C fans!! Zeus sleeps with so many women!!). Kakarott never knew how good he had it and yet he travels around the known world collecting anything alluring in his wake. Vegeta could flawlessly remember, almost twenty years back, when his brother had slept with and impregnated Demeter, how irate Chichi had been. He now wondered how Demeter’s first and, mostly likely, only offspring had matured. He was told it was a female, the goddess of spring and flower. What a beautiful site she must be, probably looked upon adoringly by her father, and protectively by her mother.

His three headed pet, Cerberus, started to nuzzle his center nose against his master’s left hand. The unsightly hound had become worried when his master had become silent for a period of time that lasted longer than any other silenced time. His attention was once again brought back to his domain as he eyed the toll taker Charon start to console a soul for his loss. It was obvious the soul had lost a love when he died. Vegeta sneered at the raw emotion that seemed to grow off of trees in the land of mortals. Such pathetic creatures they were, the humans, tossing around such a treasure as love. Love, it was something that never flowed in the Underworld, not even from the sweetest honeys of a sapling in Elysium. How blind souls were when they died, forgetting reality all together. But that was unavoidable; it was apart of being admitted into Hades. Though he probably wouldn’t do it much, he would have liked to be able to hold a reasonable conversation with a soul, but no he was damned to be the only being aware of life down in the Underworld. Of course other beings and gods seldom roamed Hades, but those half horse, half man creatures were not much for conversation. Nor were judges of souls much to converse with, they only enjoyed tormenting the shadows and phantoms that listlessly beg for mercy.

He knew it there and then, he was lonely, the ruler of the Underworld was lonely. No being to understand him and his domain. He detested the bleak and detached impression that flowed through his palace, the screams that flowed along the river of death from Tartarus, and the sickening sweet laughter that emanated from Elysium above his head. He needed company, someone to share his life with, his passion with, his heart that no one understood or even cared to try to understand; he needed a woman, a female with a heart so pure she’d fall in love with Rhadamanthys.

Vegeta returned his gaze to the soul that was still in a downpour of depression. Maybe this soul knew of real love, maybe he could tell him of pure hearts worthy to be the Queen of the Underworld.

"Cerberus, tell Charon to direct that soul to my throne, and in his original human form." Vegeta’s rarely used voice resonated throughout his palace in a wave mixed with malevolence, resentment, and the power of a god. The three-headed hound quickly rose to his feet and ran the long and far distance to the crossing of the river that every soul had to travel before they entered Hades.

Vegeta snapped his fingers and pointed to his goblet, wanting more whine. A servant fervently refilled his cup with the sweet and aged whine.

This time, Vegeta let his senses drown in the taste of the whine slowly, taking tiny sips of the tangy beverage. This was how he wished he could have a woman. To do with what he pleased but exchange love and admiration at the same time. He would find a suitable wife soon, his heart was sure of it. He would no longer dwell in the oblivion of the Underworld, or savor the tiny peeks of enjoyment so rarely experienced, he would have what he deserved; a woman he could enjoy and love.

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