AFadingKich7

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Alone in her kitchen, a teal headed mother sighed long and deep. She ran her thin, delicate fingers though her soft, straight hair and brought them other her face. Her head sank low in something between emotional exhaustion and heavy worry and doubt.

Though she knew in her heart that she was only one in a world of terrified mothers, Bulma couldn’t help but feel alone. She felt that her well-ordered world had been turned upside down – utterly out of her ability to control it, and that she had been left in a place were she was helpless to protect her child.

Trunks was alive, thank God. But he had suffered terribly from his last encounter with that demon-woman Jinzouningen. Every one of the hundreds of bruises and injuries on his body told her of how painfully close that she had come to loosing him.

And of how easily he had been beaten…

Any doubt was gone from Bulma’s mind now. There was no question. Trunks had been no match for the Jinzouningen.

It terrified her to think that Trunks could have easily come back to her barely alive and without killing the Jinzouningen – the prospect of having to send her boy off to fight her again made the woman shudder and wrap her thin arms around herself.

He could have died! No one could have understood the agony that had sliced through her when Trunks had returned only to collapse at her feet, bleeding and pale. He could have easily died, and never come back to her. She still didn’t know how he had possibly survived a battle as fierce as the one that his frightening condition seemed to indicate.

Bulma felt tears pricking at her eyes and she sniffled, rubbing away the onslaught of tears that threatened with wetness at the corners of her eyes.

“Stop this, Bulma,” She mumbled to herself, “Trunks isn’t dead. He’s fine. And soon the Jinzouningen will be gone for good.”

A soft, almost imperceptible creak from behind her abruptly knocked Bulma from her dark thoughts, and she jumped. Spinning around, Bulma gasped, her eyes searching over the whole room before coming back to rest on the pantry door, which was swinging open slightly on its hinges.

“Stupid thing must have fallen open,” She murmured to herself, exhaling in her relief and silently berating herself for her sudden fear.

‘What are you afraid of, Bulma?’ She thought to herself, shaking her head.

Standing, she walked over to the door and pushed it closed, chuckling to herself unsurely at her own foolishness. After all, not even the Jinzouningen couldn’t threaten her or what remained of her family anymore. No, it was foolishness. She was just jumpy.

Maybe she needed a nap. She hadn’t slept since Trunks had returned home almost a day before. ‘I should check on Trunks first,’ She told herself.

Her delicate hand still rested on the cool bronze doorknob of the pantry. Eyeing it suspiciously, the woman paused and considered. With prickling insecurity, she gathered her courage and tightened her hand around the knob. And with a sharp, sudden yank, swung the door wide –

To nothing.

The little cupboard was empty except for an old broom that was rarely used and several bags of assorted rice and noodles. Bulma put a slightly trembling hand to her chest, hyper aware of her heart’s unsteady throbbing beat. Shaking her head at her own folly, she closed the door again.

“You’re getting old – getting frightened at phantoms,” She told herself, chuckling.

Her eyes, still as blue and alive despite the hardship they had seen, scanned the room carefully after their own calculated manner. Her gaze lingered in the shadows despite herself.

But there was no one there.

Bulma rubbed her temples tiredly and went to the counter were a pot of tea had been setting to cool. Gingerly, she filled herself a cup and sipped at the warn liquid, planning to settle for a nap after she had finished. She was so preoccupied with cooling the hot liquid and murmuring to herself about coming a suspicious old woman that she did not pick up the barely perceptible presence in the room behind her.

The soft, soft footsteps made no sound, and the intruder – pale and silent – was like a ghost. The short, pretty mother had no chance of sensing what was about to befall her as her assailant all but materialized from the deepest shadows.

“Maybe Trunks would feel up to some tea,” Bulma was muttering to herself as he came up just behind her, his energy bubbling without sound, without movement – prepared for his prey to recognize her unnoticed threat. The woman filled another of the pale ivory colored china cup with the greenish fluid and stood. She turned and –

“WH –“ Her shocked, horrified words died almost immediately in her mouth as two hands clamped over her mouth and her face, masking her eyes and cutting off her vision.

Panicking, Bulma twisted terribly, struggling against the firm, too strong arms that had a hold of her, keeping her from crying out in her terror. In one instant her hand freed itself and she swung her arm wildly, rewarded by the sound of shattering china as the cup in her hand met her captor’s flesh. The other cup fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Seemingly irritated, the creature that held her became less careful and she found herself a little less than thrown harshly to the floor. For a brief second, Bulma found her eyes opened and her mouth free. Terrified, tears running down her face, she scrabbled uselessly across the floor on her hands and knees, desperate to get away. Voice choked, blood trickling down her pale cheeks, she managed to cry out,

“TRUNKS – “ The momentary freedom died right away as the hands came again, pulling her backwards, pressed up against a warm body tightly to prevent her from moving.

The terrified woman wasn’t sure if she just barely heard a soft voice whisper, ‘sorry’ into her ear before she felt and heard a painful thump over her head and her world swam into black nothingness…

*****

Trunks had heard his mother’s cry.

“Mother!” He called back to her, his voice desperate and fearful. His poor, battered body protested violently even the smallest movement, and it took all of his will to push himself up from the soft rest that the bed offered. His breath came harshly as he all but fell out of the bed, doubling over pitifully and helplessly on the floor.

He staggered to his knees, but fell back with a scream of agony as his broken arm gave way beneath him, unable to hold up his weight. His vision was red, his body unable to pull in even the most jagged of breaths as the more terrible pain he had every experienced poured up his arm and though his entire body. He almost passed out with the pain before he was barely able to pull the badly shattered limb from underneath him, and lay panting on the floor, breathing in wheezing whimpers, unable to move.

The smothered cries from his mother had ended. What small noises that his sensitive ears had picked up – the breaking china and the terrified, muffled cry – had already silenced. Realizing that his window of opportunity was at every moment closing, Trunks made another agonizing effort to lift his protesting body from the floor.

It was so hard. So hard. He reached the doorway, his mind and body screaming. He was barely crawling, inch by inch.

“M-mother!” He cried out again and again. He could sense her tiny ki, now so far away. So far away – fading into the distance, further than he could every reach in his current state. He couldn’t believe it.

The kitchen – he reached it finally, pushing himself almost to his feet in a final, terrible effort. His wide, pain-crazed eyes took in the in the overturned chair by the counter, the bits of broken porcelain cups, dripping with tea, which was spread out over the floor in an array. And the blood.

There was a fair enough amount of it, smeared into the wooden floor around the pieces of cream-colored glass. Crimson drops of it spilt on the floor. A staggering, labored trail of smudged, heavy partial footprints that lead to the door, which hung open wide to the pale, churning sky outside.

But his mother – his mother was gone…

Trunks staggered, his eyes wide and almost unseeing. His eyes saw nothing but the blood and the footprints. “No,” His small voice came out more like a whimper, childlike and hurt.

His body, heaving with exertion, screamed and his knees buckled, allowing him to fall to the kitchen’s smooth cool floor. He fell hard, his breath once again leaving him. When he could breath again he felt his breaths coming harshly in long, broken sobs that cut at his throats like knives.

“Why?” He cried angrily, and pounded the floor weakly with his good fist. His tears, unashamed and unbidden, trailed down his face and onto the floor. He couldn’t understand. I-it was impossible. The Jinzouningen. She was supposed to be dead.

But who – who else would want to take his mother from him? Who would do this?

He was too weak to help her. Too weak and hurt to stand, much less search for her and fight for her freedom. He felt the spark of her ki fading out of the range of his mind’s eye – fading beyond his reach forever.

“M-mother,” He cried weakly, ‘Why? You told me she was gone forever. You told me!’

But she had been wrong. So wrong. And so, alone and helpless and terrified, Trunks lay on the floor of his empty home, crying and weak and broken – defeated. Man, warrior, child – he wept

Trunks didn’t stop crying for a long, long time.

*****

Gone. They were all gone.

Two days ago they had left their remaining family and friends and gone away to fight the scourge that was destroying their lives and their world - what was left of their world, anyways. The Earth was slowly becoming little more than a black, dying creature - gasping its last breathes through fire and flame.

Soon their would be nothing left of their earth - not the earth that was green and thriving with life. No life survived long under the Jinzouningen and their gruesome tyranny.

Bulma was standing outside of her home, staring into the horizon and blinking back bitter, grieving tears when she felt someone come up behind her. A small hand - still innocent and childish - slipped into hers.

"Mommy?" A small, boyish voice called to her, sad and frightened.

Bulma looked down on her tiny son, pushing the wetness from her eyes painfully. She gently caressed his soft lavender tresses, trying to keep the anguish from her features. Trunks...he was too little to understand what had been taken from them all.

"What is it, baby," She asked him, trying to smile comfortingly at him. "Where you visiting Gohon?"

Asking the question nearly brought her back to tears, but she blinked furiously to hold them at bay. That morning Bulma had been awakened by a frantic phone call from Chichi. Gohon had made it back to their home, bleeding and half dead. He had been brought to capsule corp. but had still barely survived.

It had been terrible to work on him as he gasped, his pale skin leaking blood from nearly every orifice. So many broken bones, his face utterly unrecognizable. His young body had been a mess of sticky crimson plasma and sweat and dirt and ugly bruises that seemed to have nearly ripped through him.

But Gohon would live, Bulma now knew. Gohon would live. But...

But he had come back alone.

Little Trunks looked up at her scared and uncertainly. He nodded his head and stuck his small finger in his mouth. So small. So young. How was it fair that her little boy would have to grow up suffering in a world like this? "He be o'kay, Mommy?" He asked, large blue eyes wide and misty.

Bulma squeezed his hand, wishing she had more to offer him as comfort. "He'll be just fine, sweetie. He's going to get all better soon."

Trunks looked down, the look of childish naivety and puzzlement not leaving his serious face. He shuffled his feet nervously for a minute before looking up and tugging on her hand.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Mommy, when papa com'in back? " Trunks asked. “Today?"

In that moment, Bulma remembered that her heart had nearly broken. The tears had rushed up and stung her eyes terribly, contorting her face and forcing harsh, anguished sobs from her throat. She had dropped to her knees and thrown her arms around her little boy - her little boy who would stop being a child. Her little boy who would loose everything that he loved. Her little child - who would become the last protector of earth. The little boy that was still falling apart inside.

She had cried so hard that day. There were so many days like that. Everyone was dead. Days and days later what remained of the Zed warriors had been discovered. No one had been brave enough to go and retrieve their bodies for fear of the Jinzouningen. No one but Gohon. No one had forgotten his blank, wet face when he'd returned. Bulma even remember the dull, emotionless way that he had spoken – reporting to them how he had buried those who he had found. How he couldn't even find anything that remained of Yamucha or Kuririn.

Terrible days.

And they only got worse. Worse for her - worse for her son. Trunks was destined to become the pale shadow that overcame even Gohon in end - broken by pain and guilt. Keeping Trunks alive and sane had been indeed all that kept Bulma alive.

<>

The dream, painful and fresh in her mind, was what finally woke Bulma. Even awake, her mind and her eyes remained filled with darkness and fog. Her head throbbed dully, spiking with pain again and again.

Gasping weakly, her eyes tried feebly to flutter open, but something was stopping them. Her world remained starkly black, and fear pressed down on her heavily. She could feel the sharp crumbled concrete beneath her prone body, and she knew she was far from home. Whimpering with chocked tears, she twisted, trying to sit up.

Kidnapped.

It was all to clear to her now, though at the moment that it had happened she had been utterly unable to understand why she was being attacked. She had been kidnapped, but by what she didn't know. She could be in the hands of any beast...

Where was she? Who had taken her? What did they want with her?

The last question resounded in her aching mind and body, and she shuddered, afraid.

"You're awake."

The soft voice came so suddenly out of the darkness that Bulma cried out, realizing that she wasn't alone. She tried to throw her arms out in front of her in a helpless defense, only to be impeded again. Her hands had been tied behind her body tightly - she could feel the rough rope now, rubbing against her wrists painfully.

Panicking, crying, Bulma managed to crawl backwards from the direction of the voice, afraid of whom or what had managed to kidnap her.

'Trunks!' Her mind called out desperately. 'Trunks!'

The hands that had caught her so easily before were there again now, stopping her from moving and pulling up so that she was sitting with her back against the wall. She struggled blindly, afraid, but he did not let go of her.

The voice came again, and for a moment it sounded almost pleading, "Please stop moving like that."

The tone of sorrow in that soft, soft voice froze Bulma. Her mind, sharp and strong, began to fight its way free from under the primary terror that had paralyzed her. Strong, stubborn angry welled in her despite herself.

She snapped out, "Let go of me!" And gave one more great struggle.

To her great surprise, the creature obeyed. The hands let loose their restraining hold on her shoulders. Bulma heard the sounds of someone kneeling in front of her on rough ground. Whatever she expected, what she heard next was not it.

"I'm sorry."

The voice was low and soft, and empty of any kind of malice or sarcasm.
It sounded absolutely, totally, inexplicably sincere. The poor abducted woman could feel the incredulousness rising to her mind and face.

"W-what - why?" She heard herself stammer, totally taken aback.

There was an uncomfortable shuffling sound. Then, "I'm sorry that I hurt you." He sounded almost - almost regretful. "I never wanted to take you."

Bulma stared forward blindly, disbelieving of what she was hearing. Her mind took in the quiet voice, analyzing with her ears what her eyes were unable to tell her.

The voice and the hands were male. But the voice sounded young - almost boyish, but with far too much heaviness to be a child's. It was soft and soothing, and far from aggressive or hurtful. Though she could not see his face, she somehow knew that if she did, she would be staring into deep, sorrowful eyes.

Bulma had lost much of her fear. "Why can't I see? Why have you tied me up?" She demanded.

There was a pause. "I put a blindfold across your eyes. You're tied up so that you won't be able to move very fast."

To say that Bulma was confused would have been an understatement. To her knowledge, she had just been kidnapped by someone who had no idea how to be properly intimidating.

"Untie my hands!" She demanded, putting on a face that she hoped looked very severe and angry (a stupid thing to do really, but her head was still throbbing). "I don't know what kind of game that you think you're playing, but - "

Bulma was cut off abruptly by the sputtering, semi-indignant voice. "Do you think this is a game?" He snapped at her. Then the tone dropped again to that soft, sad tone that reminded Bulma of regret. "Do you think this is what I wanted?"

There was a soft sigh and a crunching sound as the person pulled himself up and walked a few steps away. Bulma was stunned. She could almost really feel the tangible sadness that radiated from him. A moment later, he spoke again.

"I had to take you," He explained quietly. Another soft sigh. "You must think I'm a terrible person for doing this to you. You're right, I guess. But I promise not to hurt you. As soon as I can convince the Sayiajin - "

He didn't get a chance to finish. The word "sayiajin" had sent flares through Bulma's already throbbing head. "Trunks!" She cried aloud, fear rising again within her. "You want Trunks!"

Fear and doubt were ringing painfully in Bulma's mind. Of course. Why else would anyone want her if not to get to her son somehow? But who? And why? Surely... Oh no. Surely...he wasn't helping *her*.

"Who are you? What do you want with my family?" Bulma cried, straining her wrists against the pain that it caused to move her arms. "What do you want with my Trunks?"

There was quiet for a long startled moment. Bulma's fear was surging unrequited again. Her mind had exploded with the possibility! He...he was with the Jinzouningen. There was no other option. But who was he? Were there more Jinzouningen? And then there was the unthinkable.

Could he be...human?

Bulma cringed as the footsteps approached again and she felt him knelling beside her. His hands reached out and took hold of her arms, ignoring her struggles as he pulled her around so that he could get at her hands.

"I'm gonna untie you now."

The phrase was so unexpected that Bulma stopped dead, frozen. She could barely believe that she had heard what she had heard.

"Don't try and take off you blindfold. I'd have to tie you up again, and you wouldn't like that. Running’s no good either. We're a long way up." He told her calmly.

Bulma felt the ropes that bound her loosen and then fall away from behind her. As soon as she was free, she scrabbled around to face her captor. She immediately reached for her eyes.

Strong hands grasped hers and restrained her easily. As angrily as she struggled, he wouldn't let go. When she finally relented and her arms fell limp, he released her.

"I told you not to do that." He reprimanded gently.

Angry, Bulma uncrossed her arms and swung out with her hand as furiously as she could. The sharp SMACK that she was rewarded with brought her great satisfaction.

"Ow!" The voice whined, as he rubbed his face. “That hurt!”

"You deserved it you monster!" Bulma snapped venomously, "For kidnapping me and hurting me and for trying to hurt my baby!"

The man protested. "I'm not going to hurt your son. And I didn't mean to hurt you." His voice seemed almost pouting. "You got in a few whacks of your own, if you remember. You smashed that tea cup into my face."

Bulma almost snorted before she realized how ludicrous this all was. They sat for a moment in awkward silence before the man suddenly broke the silence.

"Are you hungry?"

Bulma nearly fell over. "You're kidding," She muttered in a deflated voice. "Please say you're kidding."

There was a scuffling of movement and then she felt a small battered bowl being pressed into her hands. Further inspection found its contents to be cold, wet rice.

"You know," Bulma said, as she cautiously took a bite. "If you're trying to be evil and scary, you're failing miserably."

There was a dry chuckle. "Thanks."

Bulma ate in silence for a long while, neither she nor her strange captor specking. When she had finally finished, she put down the bowl and leaned tiredly against the wall. Somehow, she didn't feel angry or afraid anymore. Just...bewildered. She somehow knew that this person wasn't going to hurt her.

"What time is it?" She asked.

A quiet stretch. Then, "Nighttime." The voice said.

Bulma ventured another question. "Where are we?"

"Not far from your home. Just a few hours flight."

"We flew?" Bulma couldn't help her exclamation. To be able to fly was a rare gift. She knew of only a handful of people who were capable of such a thing. And they were all dead.

The man responded, "I can fly."

Another short silence. Bulma was struggling to understand. She pulled her legs to her chest and tried to digest all that she had learned. There was so much that she couldn't understand.

But this young man - this quiet, gentle person who had kidnapped her, did not seem particularly interested in doing her harm. He didn't seem to have a problem being open with her about her questions either.

"Who are you?" Bulma asked finally, looking but not seeing him.

The pregnant pause seemed ominous as she waited, unsure if he would answer. Not for the first time, she was surprised by the soft, sadly colored response that he gave.

"'M not supposed to tell."

Bulma stared. "You aren't allowed to tell me your name?" She asked incredulously, "Who said so?"

"Juuhachigou."

"Who on earth is 'Juuhachigou?'" Bulma blurted, "'Eighteen?' Who would be called...J-juu..."

Bulma trailed off uselessly, stuttering stupidly. Eighteen. Of course. How could she not have realized? Not Juuhachigou - juuhachi. Number eighteen. The eighteenth creation of doctor Gero. The last remaining Jinzouningen threat.

Or so she had thought.

"You are with the Jinzouningen," Bulma spoke to the young man more fearfully than before. "That's why you want my son. You came to finish him off for her - you came to get her revenge because she's dead now! You came to kill him for that filthy beast -"

Bulma didn't expect the abrupt jerk as the young man leap forward and slammed her back into the wall. His face was right up next to hers, so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face as she gasped, terrified and shocked at the sudden uncharacteristic violence.

"Juuhachigou is not a beast," He spat the words out in a low hiss, stinging her with their blatant venom.

He let go of her as abruptly as he had grabbed her and walked away, his footsteps trailing faintly against the rubble of the floor, leaving Bulma to gasp. She rubbed her arms weakly, trying to rub the memory of the unexpected fury when he grabbed her. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes in spite of herself.

After a long moment, there was a soft soft sigh out of the darkness, far away sounding as it from the other side of the room. It floated over to her out of the quiet.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to get angry. I... Juuhachigou isn't really bad like you think she is."

Bulma couldn't withhold her angry, even through her misty eyes. "She's evil!" She cried.

"Why?"

Bulma felt herself blanch. She could barely even choke out a strangled, "W-what?"

"Why is she evil?"

The voice was different now. The challenge that one might have expected in his voice was absent. He asked in a way that made Bulma think he really wanted to know - like he was really imploring her to tell him why this woman was so appallingly atrocious.

"Don't you see - she's a murderous!" Bulma cried.

The voice didn't seem convinced. "You tried to murder Juuhachigou. You and your son tried to kill her..." The sorrow and grief that mellowed his voice was heartbreaking.

Bulma was taken back by his response. "She was killing hundreds – we had to stop her somehow!" She tried to say.

His voice had lost its calmness. It was uncertain and lost sounding, like a little puppy who found himself alone and scared and confused. "She's dying." He said, desperation fluctuating in his voice, "You're killing her!"

She could hear him approach her, and she could imagine his lost, lost face. "I'm all that she's got left. I've got to make her better, don't you see?"

"But she's the enemy to the earth," Bulma found herself pleading for his understanding. "She wants to kill everything and everyone. I don't understand who you are and why you're with her, but if you have any understanding of right and wrong, you have to see her for what she is."

Bulma tried to speak softly, to let the compassion that she felt show in her voice. She reached out blindly for him, feeling for his hand. "She doesn't care for you - if anything, she's using you. Don’t you see..."

His breathing was irregular and confused. She could almost see him shaking his head, trying in his mind to deny. Suddenly, the hand that she held snapped away.

"NO! She saved me!" He cried, trying to sound unmoved and angry.

He continued, "You were wrong to try and hurt her, and now I have to save her. I can't let her die. It's all I want from you. I'm going to make your son give me the "cure." I'm going to save her!"

Bulma sat with her back to the cold hard wall of the broken building in who knows what demolished city. In front of her, some young man – some young human man - was claiming allegiance to the Jinzouningen. He knew of the antivirus. He knew that Trunks, too hurt to fight him, would have no choice to give it to him.

The Jinzouningen would live. It was her worse fear come true.

"You can't!" She cried, but the young man was no longer listening to her. He had walked away, to the edge of the room were there was undoubtedly an open window.

His voice came again, quiet now again, and returned to its soft, gentle sound. "I can feel your son. He's looking for you." A pause. Then, "He must love you a lot, you know."

Bulma didn't know what to say.

"I'm going to go meet him. You can take off the blindfold when I go. There's food in the corner - not much. But your boy will probably be here soon. You won't be able to get out. Just wait and he'll come."

There was a quiet, awkward silence, and for a moment Bulma thought that he had already gone. But then he spoke one more time.

"You probably won't see me again." He seemed almost lost again, quietly imploring her to explain what was hurting him so badly inside. "I want you to know how sorry I am that I had to hurt you."

Bulma felt her heart tug. Something in the voice - something in the way that he spoke sounded so...so familiar.

"You don't have to do this," She heard herself saying, pleading. "She would never find you - she would be gone. You could come back with me."

There was silence in the room for such a long moment. Then, so softly, so softly that it was barely a phantom of a whisper to her ears, Bulma heard him say,

"I'm sorry,"

And then he was gone.

Bulma reached up to rip off the rag that had served her as a blindfold, revealing the destroyed room for the first time. The empty room.

Bulma found herself staggering weakly to her feet and stumbling confusedly over to the broken window. Her eyes, wide and staring, gazed out into the nighttime sky, black as death. Her captor was gone.

She remembered his voice, and his gentle hands. She heard the regret he had shared when he spoke. She remembered his repeated assurance that he would not hurt her. He was human - a "friend" (or what else she didn't want to think) of the Jinzouningen. Bulma wrapped her arms around her thin arms, her mind churning.

Who was this gentle man who had kidnapped her?

*****

Kuririn left the kind mother in the building, thankful for the blindfold that had kept her from seeing the tears that had struggled to come to his face as he had last spoken to her. As hard as he tried to push away the confusion and uncertainty that her words had brought, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t forget what she had told him – ‘She’s evil!’

Since the first time that he had seen her kill a child, Kuririn had wondered if this weren’t true. Juuhachigou was a murder – and a terrible one. The kind that could mutilate and tear and feel absolutely no remorse. Kuririn had seen it.

But…

But Kuririn had killed too. That night would live in his mind and haunt his dreams until the day that he died. Did that make him evil too? He knew that kidnapping the sweet, kind mother of the Sayiajin was evil. He was a monster because of what he had done to her.

As he flew through the night air, Kuririn sniffed, whipping awkwardly at his eyes to rub away liquid grief from his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to become a monster. But it was the only…the only way to save Juuhachigou.

‘Juuhachigou…be okay. I’m coming as fast as I can to save you…’ His mind cried out to her.

*****

Trunk’s was suffering.

His vision danced and sank away from even now, when he was numb enough to move more freely. As it was, his tired labored flight was slow and painful. He had barely been able to scrape up the energy to hold himself in the air, much less move any amount of distance quickly.

It had been almost one whole day since his mother had been taken from them. One. Whole. Day. A day that his mother – his normal, weak mother – was in the hands of the Jinzouningen. Or so he had thought.

He could feel his mother’s tiny ki, far away and distant amidst the smothered little dots of energy that made up what remained of the earth’s people. He was afraid – terrified of what she was suffering at the hands of her captors. And yet he was relieved and thankful that it had not disappeared completely.

Suddenly, there was a burst of ki from almost on top of his mother’s position. Trunks gasped and nearly dropped out of the air in his shock at feeling such a large ki all of sudden. He had believed that he was the only “human” on the planet capable of such tremendous energy.

He stopped and hovered, staring into the horizon as he registered the ki turning directly towards him. “Who could that possibly be?” He murmured.

With a jolt his mind connected with the truth and he gagged, paling. That ki – it must belong to the person who had kidnapped his mother. But…but if that was true, than the person…the person must have to be human.

Human.

The word didn’t want to register in Trunk’s mind. ‘No.’ His mind whimpered, disbelieving. ‘One of our own. A human. How could a human be capable of such a terrible…?’

He didn’t have long to think on his realization and its implications. For the ki was coming closer and closer at a brilliant, impressive speed. There was no doubt that it was heading for him. In only a few moments, he would be upon him.

Less than a minute later a burst of blue and white ki came like a starburst on the horizon. The ki that so soon would be imprinted in Trunk’s mind forever stood out clearly in his mind for the first time. Closer and closer it come, until in the blink of an eye it stopped, flaring its ki brilliantly for one clear moment before dissolving into a short, still figure.

There he stood, far from Trunks’ vision as a traitor. He was small and dark headed. His tattered, well-worn gi clung to his thin frame, as part of it fluttered in the dull, cold wind. His face was thin, set with large obsidian eyes that Trunks could barely see against the dark of the night. He was short and unremarkable – even piteous in appearance.

But if his flaming, brilliant white lighted ki was any indication, he was most certainly human.

“Hello, Sayiajin,” The short man said quietly after a long moment.

Trunks’ felt his anger begin to churn beneath his skin. The impassive face of his mother’s captor infuriated him in a way that made him desperately wish for the power to erase that dull look of his miserable face.

“What have you done with my mother?” Trunks demanded immediately, feeling his tattered palms clinching painfully.

He felt what remained of his reserved energy building dangerously close to a super Sayiajin transformation – a burst of power that he was unsure his battered body could survive. He knew it, and yet he found himself craving that power. Craving the ability to overpower this filthy traitor and feel his bones crunch under his…

Abruptly realizing what he was thinking, Trunk’s eyes widened. What was he becoming? He had never felt the will to cause someone pain so strongly.

His icy blue eyes traveled back to the small human, floating carelessly and imperviously in the air before him, confident in the knowledge that Trunks was helpless. Confident that so long as he was injured he and his mother were at his mercy. His arrogance only made Trunk’s energy bubble more violently, bursting to be allowed to the surface.

Kuririn struggled to keep his face impervious, to hide the fear and guilt that he felt inside. “Give me the “cure” that will save the Jinzouningen.” He spoke softly but solidly.

“NO!” Trunks roared without thinking. “I’ll never allow her to live! Not after what she has done!”

“Then I’ll kill your mother.”

The phrase sent a jolt through the injured boy who stood before him, sending him back to gasping, breathing heavily and helplessly. He could. Trunks wouldn’t be able to stop him. Not like this.

Kuririn’s eyes were hidden in the darkness, were he knew that the Sayiajin could not see the sadness in them. It was a lie of course. He couldn’t kill the mother. But how far would he have to push before the boy would believe him?

“She’s at my mercy. And you can’t stop me, either. Not like that.” He said.

Trunks’ teeth were gritted so hard that he felt they might crack. “You’re heartless,” He hissed, “You’re a heartless monster! She’s helpless!”

“So are you.”

There was a long silence, long enough for the inevitable truth of Kuririn’s statement to settle into Trunk’s heart. There was no other way. Finally, his head ducked and he swallowed his anger and pride.

“What do you want from me?”

“Go get the cure and bring it back to me,” Kuririn told him as icily as he could manage, “Then I’ll show you your mother.”

*****

Trunks was left with no choice.

He left the human traitor as fast as he could, heading back to his home and his mother’s lab where he knew that she had hidden the anti virus. Though his body revolted his every move, he pushed himself beyond his normal limits – both to save his mother and to vent his unrelinquished anger.

Landing heavily outside his home, he stumbled into his home and down to the lab. It crossed his mind as he walked through those familiar halls, which had so recently been invaded, that he really had to safe place to call his home anymore. Had he not been able to feel the strange, violating ki of the rouge human still standing unmoved where he had left him, Trunks wouldn’t have been sure he was alone even now.

The key and the safe that his mother had used to lock up the anti virus was difficult to find in his mother’s usual mess, amplified by the resent attack on his home. But he found it. He found it alright.

Holding the little vial and syringe in his tattered palm, Trunks was struck with the irony. They had come so close. So close. And now, because he had not been able to protect his mother, the same hands that had nearly caused her death, were now going to deliver the medicine that would heal her again.

The growl of absolute hatred that leap to Trunk’s throat would have matched that of his father’s in that moment, as he thought of the real one who was responsible for this. The normal responsibility that he might have felt seemed to have found a new dumping ground.

It was that traitor’s fault. And Trunks…Trunks would make sure that he suffered for this day…

It didn’t take Trunks long to return to the spot where he had left the human traitor. When he arrived, just as the dazzling spray of the early dawn was rising over the horizon, the creature was waiting for him, hanging as casual as before in the air.

“You’re back,” It greeted.

Trunks only gritted his teeth, nor daring to trust his words. With hand shaking with rage, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the vile and the syringe. Trusting his hand forward, he held out the offering.

The young man’s eyes seemed to glisten as he saw them, and he inched forward eagerly. His smaller hand extended cautiously, and his fingers wrapped around the offering. Just as he was about to pull away, Trunks leapt forward abruptly and grabbed hold of the human’s collar as violently as he could manage.

“You. I’ll make sure you suffer for this, traitor.” Trunks spat. “I’ll make sure you suffer for what you’ve done to my mother. I’ll kill you.”

The human only nodded quietly.

*****

Bulma was sitting at the base of the single broken window, arms wrapped around herself for warmth when the sun began to rise. It had been hours since her captor had left to meet Trunks, and she had seen and heard nothing.

As the dusty red rays of sunlight first began to peek up around the edges of sky and through the open window, Bulma pulled her aching, chilled body up from the rough floor and leaned her head against the windowsill. Her mind was only on her son.

“Baby, where are you?” She muttered to herself.

Then, almost immediately after she had finished speaking, as if in answer to her silent prayer, she caught sight of a bright speak at the edge of the fading darkness. It came brighter and brighter, and for a moment Bulma dared to hope…

“MOTHER!”

The voice nearly caused Bulma to fall off her feet. Tears, misty and swimming, came to her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Trunks?” She squeaked, hardly daring to believe it.

As soon as he was at the building, half-jumping half-falling in through the only opening, he was in her arms, hugging her as best he could – crying, same as she. She wrapped her arms around him as if he was still her little child. He’d be lucky if she ever let go of him again.

“Trunks!” She cried. So relieved and happy.

‘My baby.’

*****

The terrible black building that Kuririn returned to was shadowed and silent and cold when Kuririn landed inside the jagged hole at last. Cold concert cut through his thin slippers as he padded to the back of the room were a person lay silently on a pathetic jumble of blankets.

“Juuhachigou,” Kuririn murmured. He knelt beside her, lifting her limp hand from the floor. He squeezed gently. “Juu?”

There was no response. Juuhachigou was unconscious. Her skin was so pale…

“Juu?” Kuririn whimpered. When he received no response, he felt as if ice water had been dumped over his head. Surely…surely after all that had happened…he wasn’t too late…

Sniffling and fumbling clumsily for his pocket, Kuririn pulled out the tiny vile and syringe. The cure. The anti virus. The single thing that could save her.

He ran his fingers lightly over her pale white cheek, noting fearfully her shallow almost absent breathing. “I got it, Juu,” He told her quietly, struggling to ignore how his eyes stung with unshed tears. “I…I did a lot of things – terrible things. But I got it for you. You aren’t gonna die. Can you hear me, Juu?”

She deathly looking woman did not respond. Kuririn picked up his precious cargo, holding them in his hands as if figuring out how to use them. He was both relieved and thankful when a memory of such things resurfaced albeit fuzzily in his mind. With trembling, unpracticed hands, he filled the syringe and stuck it gently into Juuhachigou’s skin. It worried him that he didn’t even flinch.

Kuririn sat down fully on the ground, crossing his legs tiredly and ducking his head. The tears he had held in for the last two days seemed irreversibly upon him. Huddling from the cold, he pulled the tattered blanket up close to Juuhachigou’s chin and took up one of her limp hands.

“Wake up soon, Juu…” He whimpered tiredly, his eyelids dropping with sleep.

Now all there was for him to do was wait…

Author: Swiss Army Knife
Email: dragonswissarmyknife@hotmail.com

A Fading Ki
Chapter 7 - World Painted Grey