DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN DBZ OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS THEREIN. I AM NOT RECEIVING ANY MONEY FOR THIS. THIS FICTION IS PURELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE, PROFANITY, AND ADULT CONTENT, INCLUDING A GRAPHIC RAPE FLASHBACK SCENE. IF THIS OFFENDS YOU, DON’T READ.

 

CHAPTER VII: ENDGAME

 

Bulma decapsulated another micro-sauter only to find the contents pulverized. With a soft curse, she tried another back-up pellet, and scooped up the working tool. The guts of the personal SPE Bra had given her and the shiny silver rings of her own half-perfected transport device lay strewn around her as she squinted to see in the flickering shadows. The only light she had was from the fires of he burning remnants of the Tsiru-sei palace that lay smoldering around her. She shivered. Her only source of heat as well. The sauter she was using fell apart in her hands without warning, and she threw it away with an angry sob. The spatial transport protocols in her software and the SPE’s were incompatible and she couldn’t configure a gateway with no fucking tools! Nearly all the encapsulated instruments from her tool belt were smashed to bits. In the first terrifying seconds, after they had grabbed her, she had remembered Bra’s tiny SPE hanging from her belt. It would have phased her out of danger, rendering her ‘invisible and intangible’ Bra had said.

She hadn’t been fast enough.

One of them had seen her groping for the device and, thinking it might be a weapon of some kind, had crushed her hand, the tool belt, and a couple of her ribs in one casual blow.

Then Hell had ascended around her.

Their hands were all over her, laughing as she screamed and cursed them and finally sobbed for mercy. The red one had gone first, grinning down at her as he rammed himself into her over and over.

"Hurry up and finish, Jeiyce! Damn!"

"Wait your turn, asshole!"

He spasmed against her, clutching one of her thighs so hard the bone snapped. When she shrieked, her eyes rolling back in her head, beginning to lose consciousness, he bent down and bit one of her nipples brutally, jerking her back to awareness.

"Don’t fade out one us yet, lovey," he said cheerfully. "Who’s next, boys?" A hulking form loomed up eagerly beside him.

They had all taken a turn. They had all--

She put her hands on either side of her head and screamed, trying to block out the images.

Unmake them, Daruma had said, forming the seeds of an idea. She bit her own tongue, drawing blood. She had to concentrate! She popped one of the last capsule pellets and prayed. The pulse wrench, undented and unscathed gleamed on the ground beside her. Whispering silent thanks, she grabbed the instrument and turned back to her work. In the sky, the stars began to explode, but she did not look up.

 

 

 

The stars were exploding. Chi-Chi hovered in mid air, the excess energy Gokou had breathed into her in his kiss thrumming through her body. She aimed another blast at the bright specks of light that were Frieza’s battle cruisers, and something inside her began to sing in spite of herself. This was what she had trained for as a girl, what she had been born and bred to. This was what she had lost for the lack of super human fighting strength, and given up for the love of a rocking

cradle.

The cruisers began dropping down into the upper atmosphere and ejecting fighters from dozens of exit ports. "Here they come!" She said.

Beside her, Bra grinned at the fierce, almost happy note in the other woman’s voice. She flared up to Super Saiyan, watching the retreating sparks of light that were her bother and Son Goten. They had a lot to atone for, they had said. They were going to start now.

"Here we go!" Chi-Chi cried, as the enemy poured down on them like angry fireflies.

 

 

 

The planet must be burning down, he decided. He lay on his back gazing up at the night sky glowing bright as mid-day, feeling the life slowly ebbing out of his body.

"Poppa!" His own face under a shock of lavender hair frowned anxiously down at him.

"…Sorry," he tried to tell his son’s ghost. Sorry for more things than he could count. For his cowardly desertion of the boy’s mother while she carried their son, fearing his growing attachment and the loss it must inevitably lead to. For his coldness to the tiny boy who had trailed behind him, mimicking his every move adoringly. For his knee-jerk complete inability to show the young man Trunks had been growing into any emotion more affectionate than his fierce pride in the boy’s strength. Goten had not gone mad. He had never felt unwanted, had never been given any reason to think his father would abandon him to save his own skin.

"They wished me back, Poppa," Trunks explained softly.

Another face bent over him, examining him grimly, brows drawn together in an angry frown. He looks like Bardock, Vegita thought vaguely.

"I think he’s had it," Goten said bluntly.

Trunks shook his head in angry refusal. "Senzu!"

"Gone," Vegita coughed. His mouth was full of blood.

The light in the sky, already bright as day, flared blinding white. Gokou and Frieza…The planet seemed to tilt off its axis as the shockwave from the clash struck the ground.

"How the hell did he manage to get the dragon balls off of Frieza?" Goten said in astonishment when he saw what Vegita still clutched tightly in one broken hand.

"Sucker punch," Vegita tried to sound smug, but the words came out in a shallow rasp. "Trunks…need to tell you…"

"Don’t try to talk, Poppa," Trunks said softly. He put one hand on his father’s shattered chest, directing a slow stream of ki inward. "I’m giving you enough energy to stay alive until we can get you healed."

Vegita weakly placed one hand over his son’s and felt Trunks mind touch his through the link. He pulled down the barriers that separated their thoughts and all that he had left unshown and unsaid rushed back up the link into the younger man’s mind. Trunks gripped his hand silently in response, tears forming in his eyes. He was no more capable of voicing his feelings than his father, and for that also, Vegita silently grieved. Every hellish thing in his life, everything he had thought Trunks would never have to endure, had found the boy anyway.

"We have to destroy the dragon balls, Trunks!" Goten cut in harshly. "Before Frieza tries to use the last wish!"

He raised his fist to smash the Red Dragon Balls to pieces, and cried out in horror. The tiny string of red orbs, still lying untouched in Vegita’s hand, had begun to glow dully.

 

 

"No! No! No!" Frieza shrieked. It would not be so! Could not be so! The stinking primate batted him backward through the sky. Before he recovered, another dizzying blow to the head landed and he flew foreward. How had the monkey grown so strong?! He hissed in fury through bleeding lips. His hand strayed instinctively to his abdomen. It didn’t matter how. What should have been sport was now a contest of equals, and for the first time in his life, Frieza had more to think about than his own well being. Time for the trump card.

"Red Soraku!" Frieza screamed. "Arise and come to me now!"

 

The Red Dragon Balls ignited in Vegita’s hand. Goten watched as they flared to life and he had a brief instant to see his own horror reflected in Trunks’ face before the dragon surged up beneath them. Then he was spinning wildly through the air. He slammed into something hard and saw Trunks holding him in a steadying grip. His friend was scanning the ground and sky frantically.

"Poppa! I can’t see him!"

The monstrous thing towering above them roared angrily and the two young men watched paralyzed as it slowly pulled its insubstantial tail free of the dragon balls’ invisible tether. It began to move inexorably to the west where Gokou and Frieza were locked in combat.

"We’ve got to stop it!" Goten cried.

"We can do it!" Trunks face had lit with a wild joy. He grasped his friend’s hands, then moved back several feet, his body arched in a long forgotten pose. "For our sins, Goten," he said softly.

Goten’s eyes were burning. He raised his arms, mirroring Trunks posture. "For our sins," he repeated grimly.

"Fu-Sion-Ha!"

Red Soraku paused as a tiny glowing object arrogantly blocked his path. "I am neither Trunks nor Goten, Soraku." He drew Trunks sword. "I am Gotenks. I am the one created to fuck you up!"

On the ground, Vegita tore his eyes away from the battle and began to crawl in weazing, painful inches to the Red Dragon’s abandoned dragon balls.

 

 

The fleet was scrap. Panicked warriors darted here and there. They had tried to overwhelm the two women with numbers at first. Now, they were simply trying to escape.

"They should have remembered the first law of the forest," Chi-Chi said without sympathy.

"What’s that?" Bra called. She hurled another blast.

"Never get between a mother and her cubs!" Chi-Chi snarled.

 

 

 

The dragon swatted at the madly dodging warrior. Gotenks slashed again and crowed with delight as another gash opened in the creature’s body, spewing boiling lava-like blood. Somehow, when Red Soraku had detached from the dragon balls, he had taken on physical corporeal form. Which meant he could be hurt—which meant he could be killed. He had to be quick, Gotenks knew. His time was nearly up and the fusion would fray and burst apart any minute now. He wheeled around for one more pass, and dove downward like a missile, sword extended forward. If he could drive the weapon into the dragon’s eye, he might pierce through into the thing’s brain.

Without warning, the giant head turned on the approaching warrior, teeth bared, ready to rend and tear. It was far too late for Gotenks to turn or stop the momentum of his attack. Something streaked in from an odd angle and kicked the monster’s head back around with one brutal roundhouse. Gotenks caught a glimpse of Gohan’s battered face and a feral grin under a sweep of wild black hair. Onissan!

Then he speared through the dragon’s ruby eye, driving out the other side of the monstrous head.

 

 

 

Both hands clutching the Red Dragon Balls, Vegita rose weakly into the air, weazing with the effort. Trunks had given him enough energy to keep his heart beating, but his lungs were rapidly filling with his own blood. He cursed as he dipped down, almost falling. The outline of the burning palace came slowly into view. He ground his teeth and reached deep into the last reserves of power for one final burst of motion. He shot forward, covering the gap of the last few miles in a few seconds. Then he was hovering over the smoking heap of the White Hall. There was no more energy left; he had spent it all. With a sigh, he fell like a stone.

 

 

 

Gokou had done the only thing he could think of to do when he heard Frieza summon the dragon. Now, he was desperately holding onto Frieza with one arm, the other hand clamped firmly over the Tsiru-jin’s mouth. If he couldn’t speak, Gokou reasoned, he couldn’t very well make a wish. This course of action didn’t have a lot to recommend in long term planning.

Frieza’s body bucked in desperation as Gokou watched Gotenks hurl himself like a javelin through the Red Dragon’s brain. The snake-like titan seemed to sway and list to one side. The boys had somehow managed to deal it a nearly mortal blow. It began to swipe drunkenly at Gohan, Goten and Trunks as the three warriors moved in for the kill. Frieza had caught sight of the dragon’s distress as well and began to writhe hysterically, trying to free himself.

"You’re going to lose, Frieza," Gokou told him, with just a hint of maliciousness creeping into his voice. "Again."

Frieza growled and spat like a cat. Even if I die now, the Tsiru-jin’s spiteful words hissed in his mind, I have still had my revenge. I have hurt you, all of you, beyond repair! Trunks and Goten are my creatures, for all that they battle against me now. I broke them apart and rebuilt them in my own image. The child Pan is my devout, loving disciple. Raise her from the dead if you will. She will curse you all to Hell and follow me to the ends of the universe. I gave Vegita’s woman to my men as a plaything, and they were most enthusiastic in their attentions. Our little prince will never again touch her without seeing her cringe and remember. Wish them all health and long life, Son Gokou! Frieza chuckled. Dragon balls cannot erase memories or heal minds and hearts!

Gokou’s arm tightened around the Tsiru-jin’s neck and began to squeeze. "It will all be made right, Frieza," he said softly. Frieza tensed against him in real fear; he could hear his death in that gentle voice. "But you won’t be around to see it."

 

 

She saw him fall and pulled herself stiffly to her feet. The fires were dying out around her and the icy death of the Tsiru-sei night was beginning to close in. She clambered over heaps of crushed stone and ice, the small engine she’d cobbled together clutched tightly to her breast.

He lay on his back, eyes fixed and unseeing. She sobbed with relief when he gasped weakly and focused on her face.

"Bul…"

She kissed him softly. His face was dead white. He shifted against her, his lips trying to frame words. He pressed something cold and hard into her hand. The Red Dragon Balls.

"…make it end?" His shallow breath rattled wetly in his chest.

"Yes," she said, taking the silver chain from his hand. "Yes, I can."

He was struggling so hard just to speak. She leaned down, her cheek touching his, his failing breath in her ear.

"…love you…"

She heaved a convulsive, wracking sob as she felt the life leave his body.

 

 

 

Gokou’s grip tightened around Frieza’s throat. His other hand was still clamped firmly over his enemy’s mouth like a vise.

Let me goooooo! The telepathic voice sobbed. The Chikyuu Saiyan, always so squeamish when it came to dealing the deathblow, was not hesitating. He was going to finish the kill. Please! Frieza whimpered. Terror was laced in to the fabric of each word now. Terror and something else. My baby…my baby doesn’t deserve to die! The hand on his throat loosened in shock and concern. Frieza struck, driving his elbow into his enemy’s stomach. He sped, a white streak of lightening, toward the foundering dragon, with the Saiyan shouting in anger at his heels.

"Soraku!" Frieza screamed, as he reached the crest of the massive red head. "Make me immortal!"

Red Soraku howled his dying assent, and an unholy glow surrounded the Tsiru-jin monarch. The wish was granted.

"I win!" Frieza shrieked madly at the four Saiyan’s who now encircled him. "I win! I win! I win!" Red Soraku screamed one final time and pitched forward, stone dead.

And his fall broke the world.

 

 

 

Bulma kissed her husband’s cold lips and raised her head to see the Red Dragon begin to fall. She held her transport rings, now merged with the more advanced components of the SPE. Three second propagation delay from source to destination coordinates… "Here we go," she said aloud.

She dropped the dragon balls, chain and all, through the source ring. They winked through the transport field and were on their way. Three seconds until they emerged through the destination ring.

3…

Red Soraku struck the earth, and the planet began to break up beneath him.

2…

Bulma lay the two silver rings down and grabbed two large rocks, one in each shaking hand. Oh, sweet Kami, let this work!

1…

She smashed both rings to pieces. No exit from eternal teleportation. The Read Dragon Balls were NOT.

White light filled the world.

 

 

 

White light filled the world.

He opened his eyes with a start to bright morning sunshine. Something warm and soft touched his lips.

"Good morning," his wife said. She was leaning over him, smiling tiredly. His sleep had been so sound, he had not even roused when she entered the bedroom. "You finally slept the night through." She said. "How do you feel?"

One corner of his mouth curled up. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her down. "Were you out all night carousing at the fool party of yours, Woman?" He murmured, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of wine and cherry blossoms.

"I was up with Bra," she said. "She caught your insomnia, at least for one night. I finally got her to sleep a little while ago." She frowned. "She had a funny dream. She said a pretty blue man came to see her. He said he had been in Hell, but now he was in Heaven. He told her to be good, and that he would watch over her. Deep stuff for a three-year-old, huh?"

Vegita felt a chill run down his spine. She sensed the tension in his body and drew back a little.

"Vegita, I’ve got some terrible news," she said solemnly. "About 3 am this morning, Son-kun took it into his head to pop over to France and invite Videl, the baby, and Videl’s mother on a tropical weekend at Kame House. The old perv is having some kind of cookout and everyone should be there—even Tien and Chao-tzu, and they haven’t left Nepal in years."

Vegita snorted. "So?"

"So, Sok-kun won’t be sparring with you all day today. And we’re invited."

"That welching bastard!" He began angrily. "He promised he’d fight me today!"

"Did he say yes?" Trunks stuck his head in the door shyly.

"Yes to what?" Vegita said suspiciously.

"If you come with us," Bulma said slyly, "Gokou might spar with you after supper." She laughed at the expression on his face and kissed him.

"Will you, Poppa?" Trunks fair cheeks reddened at the sight of his parents' kiss.

Vegita opened his mouth to say no—and closed it, staring at the boy thoughtfully. Trunks was getting bigger every time he looked at him, it seemed. He would be a man in a few short years; a man Vegita barely knew, if he was not careful.

You left us, Poppa? Why?

Another faint tremor ran through him. Bulma was gazing down at him quizzically. Trunks was shifting from foot to foot, waiting. Maybe…he and the boy could…talk or something. Vegita suddenly smiled at his son for no reason he himself could fathom. "Why not," he heard himself say. "Go get ready, Trunks. We’ll leave in a couple of hours."

Trunks beamed with delight. He ran out, slamming the door behind him. A second later they heard Goten’s answering whoop as the two boys thundered off down the hall.

 

"Does any of them remember anything?"

The smell of roses and marigolds drifted within the green peace of the air around them, side by side with Popo’s dreamy off-key humming as he tended the eternal flower gardens.

Piccalo hesitated, then shook his head firmly. "Not a damn thing, as far as I can tell." He replied. "But then, it never happened, did it?" The perpetually grim set of his mouth softened minutely as he shifted his gaze gaze to the sun swept island where Son Gohan stood surrounded by his friends and family, holding his new daughter in his arms.

"It did," Dende said solemnly. "Then the wishes unraveled, and it unhappened."

"Best thing for our friends down there, all the way around. No casualties." the older Namek’s gruff voice said quietly. "We take that kind of victory any way we can get it, Kid."

 

Vegita pulled his wife down onto the bed with him. She grinned up at him mischievously. "And what are we going to do for the next two hours?"

He ran one finger along the edge of her jawline, caressed her face. He had dreamed of death and loss, he was sure. Had she died, or had he been the one who was lost? The last dark thread of memory slipped away, leaving him with only the overwhelming sense of how precious and fragile the woman he now held really was. He pushed her short blue hair back from her face and took a deep breath.

"I love you, Bulma," he said. For the first time.

Tears began pooling I her eyes. She tried to speak, but he kissed her instead. No more words now. He had said all there was to say.

 

 

END

 

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