Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Saiyan Homecoming ❯ Battle Pt II: ( Chapter 6 )

Ye old disclaimer: I don't own DB/Z/GT. There-I admitted it.

A Saiyan Homecoming

Chapter 6: Battle, Pt 2: Saiyan Superheroes

Downtown Satan City hadn't seen so much action in years-not since Videl and the Great Saiyaman had teamed up to nearly demolish the city's crime rate. That, however, was like a lighter when compared to the bonfire that was taking place that evening. Smoke was flying, escaping from buildings, which were shuddering and groaning with the effort of standing beneath the forces of battle. People were running past, screaming and crying, trying to get away from the crazy men fighting in the middle of the street-and the police were staring blankly, unsure of what to do.

In the melee, there were only a few people keeping calm heads. One of these was a reporter-and not just a common, everyday news anchor. The blonde documentary journalist known as Nomad and her sturdy cameramen had fought the panicked crowds, crossed the flimsy police line, and were now as close to the actual battle scene as they could possibly get.

Nomad grabbed a rather battered looking microphone, held it to her mouth, and nodded. "This is Nomad, from National Geographic in downtown Satan City. I'm here live, where it appears some sort of fight is taking place-causing all manner of mayhem and destruction." The windows in the building behind her shattered, and she ducked, but continued to speak. "From the talk that's been on the airs, it seems that a single pair of men is responsible for these events." She points to one of the police officers running past her in full riot gear. "The police have told me that it apparently started when Bra Briefs, of Capsule Corps, attacked a man in the street and was thrown through the shoe store across the street. Her father, Vegeta Briefs, has taken over the fight from there."

She cut off the microphone and glared at her cameraman. "Is that all right? I don't do this news anchor crap…"

"It's fine-just keep talking!" He grunted in reply, trying to affix his camera on the bright blurs of light hovering in the middle of the street. "This will get us a Nadi!"

Nomad ducked behind an open squad-car door just in time to avoid being hit by a flying hunk of sidewalk. "It will if we're still alive!" As soon as she had determined that the coast was clear, she'd straightened up and began to look around-continuing to talk all the while.

Squinting her eyes-she recognized the figure planted firmly on top of one of the squad cars, bullhorn in hand as she shouted instructions at the police. "Look," she pushed the camera lens towards the woman. "It's Videl Satan!"

"Is it?" The cameraman questioned-zooming in on the woman's face. "It is!"

Nomad grinned. "It looks like one of the heroes of Satan City is back on the job-Videl Satan-the local superhero around here a few decades ago, is obviously in charge of the police down here on the ground," she spoke loudly into the microphone. "With any luck, her demi-partner, the Great Saiyaman, should be here soon. If anyone can stop this fight, it would be him!"

A quiet little laugh surprised her, and she whirled to see a small little boy curled up in the passenger seat of the squad car, looking like all his energy had been sucked out of him. "What's so funny, kid?"

He shook his head. "The Great Saiyaman won't stop that fight-he can't. He's already a part of it!"

Nomad drew her eyebrows together. "How do you know that? Who are you? Do you know who the Great Saiyaman is?"

The boy nodded. "Of course I do," he replied weakly. "He's my father."

Nomad's eyes brightened. She's seen footage of the 25th World Tournament-enough to know that this little boy resembled the man who'd been revealed beneath the Great Saiyaman's mask enough that they could be related. She grabbed the small digital voice recorder she kept attached to the side of the camera and knelt down next to him with what she hoped was a friendly smile. "So tell me-what's your name?"

* * * * * * *

The two Nameks were casually lounging in one of the numerous rooms of the lookout, sipping the waters that Mr. Popo had just set out for them. Dende took a long swallow of his, then looked up at his recently-returned friend. "So you have no idea how you were brought back?"

Piccolo shook his head. "No." Long green fingers twitched in annoyance on the table top. "One moment I was helping Pikkon put Radditz and the others back into their section of Hell-the next, I was here."

"Where?" The current Guardian of the Earth asked, curiously. "The Lookout? If you've been back that long, we would have known if you were here."

"No." He closed his eyes. "Where I died."

"Oh." Dende echoed blankly. "I have no clue how you were brought back." He shrugged. "Planetary Kamis aren't very high up in the godly chain of command-after all, we're about a dime a dozen to Yemma and the others. We're not as hard to replace as say…a Supreme Kai."

Piccolo smirked a bit at the mention of his protégé's eventual title, and Dende knew there was truly nothing wrong with his friend. "I can, however, use some connections of mine and see if somebody out there can't dig something up for us."

Piccolo nodded, relieved that his younger friend was willing to help him solve the mystery.

Dende rose from the table and sighed, apparently staring out into space. "I wonder who I could summon," he murmured calmly. "Who would do this in the manner that we want it to…"

Mr. Popo was watching him nervously.

Dende snapped his fingers, an acquired habit he had picked up from those who inhabited the planet he protected. "She would do quite well," he exclaimed, then murmured a name into the wind.

Mr. Popo flinched. "Anyone but her, Dende-sama. Anyone but her!" He shuddered. "She frightens me!"

Piccolo raised one of his eye ridges in curiosity. Dende smiled. "Our friend was a monarch here on earth-one who got herself a job in the Afterlife. I keep her updated on her family, and she runs errands for me in return."

A low, sweet sound filled the air, and a spirit materialized beside Piccolo-a human woman with long flame-colored hair that floated about her on an unseen breeze. She wore a sword at her golden belt, and fiery winged sandals were strapped to her feet.

Dende smiled welcomingly at her. "Ah-your Highness…how nice to see you again. Won't you sit down?"

The woman had golden eyes only a few shades darker than her hair-which she turned to stare unflinchingly at him. "You know as well as I," the sharp tone of her voice and her profile were hauntingly familiar to Piccolo, "that there is no rest for the wicked, Dende."

"But still," he replied easily, "it is only courteous to offer."

"Yes," she replied, still staring at Piccolo. "You have not long been in this world, Namek," she addressed him directly. "You think you do not belong in this dimension," she continued, gliding over to him, sandals leaving a tiny trail of light behind her. "It disturbs you; and things tend to go rather badly when you are disturbed."

Mister Popo whimpered as her sandals caught the tablecloth on the table sitting between Dende and Piccolo on fire.

The woman shot him a furious glance. "Quiet-or I will see to it that you become reacquainted with your lamp." She turned back to him. "You want me to find out why you got here, Piccolo, son of Piccolo Damaio." She cocked her head for a moment. "You have aided my family countless times-solving your riddle is the least I can do." She nodded to Dende. "I will see what can be discovered, if you can keep the Earth intact that long." She threw her head back, lifting her chin to the skies; and was gone, leaving the eerie image of a flaming bird behind her.

Dende chuckled as Popo began to frantically stamp on the now burning tablecloth. "Octavia is a unique woman, a Queen here on Earth," he told Piccolo, "and her daughter is someone you are well acquainted with."

Dende didn't even flinch as Popo carried the smoking remains of the tablecloth away. "If anyone can find out what happened to you, she can."

Piccolo opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a series of screams and un-relenting pleas for Kami's aid. Dende pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Piccolo's taunting smirk. "I see Vegeta is still up to his tricks," Piccolo commented wryly as he too, headed for the edge of the Lookout to offer his aid.

What he saw there nearly sent him tumbling over the edge.

* * * * * *

Krillin floated in the air, not sure of where he was needed. Down the street there was a massive glowing ball that could only be Super-Saiyans fighting. They were moving too fast for him to see, but he could sense their kis. The first two he knew to be Goten and Vegeta, but the third took him a moment to place. His eyebrows nearly crawled to his hairline. "Gohan's back," he exclaimed happily to a bird perched on a nearby flagpole.

The bird cocked its head and stared at him.

The ex-monk shook his head. "And to think the first thing he does once he gets back is get into a brawl with Vegeta!"

The bird blinked.

Krillin ran a hand through his graying hair. There was no way he could get into the fight proper-each one involved was far too powerful for him to even have a chance-but there had to be something he could do to help!

The obnoxious feedback of a bullhorn grated on his ears, and he followed the sound to see Videl shouting orders to the various police officers and national guard members huddled around the battle zone.

Deciding he'd better talk with the boss first, he glided over to where he was, taking note of the woman who was talking to a drastically weakened Barden in one of the deserted squad cars. He landed behind Videl, waiting for her to get done screaming into the bullhorn. "Looks like you've had an interesting evening," he commented.

Videl rolled her almost violet eyes. "Interesting isn't the word for what this has been."

Krillin chuckled and patted her shoulder. "They'll sort themselves out eventually-they always do."

"I only hope they can before they destroy the city," she growled, irritated. "I don't want to see the bill for the damage this time!"

Krillin had to agree with her-most of the buildings within sight had been damaged in some way-some significantly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Videl pursed her lips. "Getting into the melee is suicide-but I know Bulma could use some help. Bra got knocked into that building there," she pointed at the rubble of the shoe store. "Barden was digging her out-but then he had to help me," her voice chilled, "and he doesn't have any energy left right now."

"Yes, ma'am." Krillin tossed her a salute. "There's some woman talking to him-I think she's some journalist from the Nature channel-Marr would know who she was."

Videl tossed him a surprised look. "A journalist? I'd better get over there." And before Krillin could say another word, she was gone, leaping lightly from squad car to squad car, heading toward the weak ki of her son.

Krillin couldn't resist a grin. If that woman really was a journalist, she was about to get more than she'd dealt for. He jumped down from the car and began to head towards the head of blue hair that could only belong to Bulma.

"Hey, Bulma!" He greeted cheerfully, trying to relieve the fear written across her still-beautiful face. "Videl said you had a little problem over here, and I thought I'd help out." He quickly located Bra's ki beneath the rubble, moved to the closest spot, and began to shift through the debris, hoping to get closer to the girl beneath it all.

* * * * * *

Trunks Briefs was normally a very hard man to surprise. After all, his nickname as a child had been Demon Spawn, due to all of the pranks he and his closest friend had gotten into. It wasn't often anything could startle him-he was too used to seeing the unexpected.

But what he'd found when he traced his father's ki was most definitely unexepected.

He had to get in there and help-but he was very easy to recognize, and his mother would skin him alive if his talents were publicly revealed. He stood on the roof of a nearby hotel and shrugged his jacket off-followed by the eternally annoying tie. Now for his hair-hiding the long purple locks would be his hardest challenge. If he'd kept his hair short like he had the rest of his life, he would've been able to hide it under a cap, but no, Pan had wanted it long…and she'd come as close to begging as he'd ever seen her.

Trunks' hair had been long for almost 6 months now.

He glanced around, hunting for something he could hide under. Cloth snapping in the wind caught his attention; there was a blue and white Capsule Corps banner dangling off the side of the mall. Moving quickly, he yanked it off the pole and tied it around his head. One of his sleeves quickly became a mask over his eyes, and Trunks was ready.

If they couldn't see his face, they couldn't identify him.

He jumped neatly off the building and dropped to the street before him, towards the figure of his mother-in-law.

Videl was redefining Nomad's version of resistance. She had only been talking to the little boy for a few moments before the other woman arrived, looking like an avenging angel. Instead of talking to the boy, Nomad had suddenly found all of her attention taken by a very annoyed, very tense woman. In the argument that ensued, neither noticed when the sound circuits on Nomad's equipment short-circuited, thanks to the timely intervention of a very busy Namek on the lookout.

"Look!" Nomad finally snapped at the other woman. "All we were doing was talking-I wasn't going to hurt him or anything! He says he's the Great Saiyaman's son!"

She was startled when Videl's eyes narrowed into mere slits, and she whirled to the boy. She thought she was talking quietly-but Nomad had very good hearing. "Barden! I thought we talked about you not telling anyone who your father is!"

"Sorry, Mom…I wasn't going to say anything else-I swear!"

Nomad's eyes widened to the size of saucers. This little boy was the son of Satan Videl and the Great Saiyaman! What a revelation! Nomad suddenly found herself wondering if the schoolteacher Satan had married knew that his son wasn't his.

Videl sighed and knocked her head against the interior of the car door in frustration. "It will be ok Barden. Just rest and get your energy back, ok? I don't want to give your father the chance to get even more angry at Vegeta."

Trunks, who had been hovering silently above them, gurgled in shock. "That's Gohan out there?"

Videl's head snapped up to stare at him. "Trun-what are you doing here?"

"Following the ki." He didn't flinch as a stray ki blast-the first that 18 and Goten hadn't been able to deflect harmless whizzed by his ear. Almost absently, he deflected it with a strong blast of his own into a section of street free of onlookers.

Nomad's mouth dropped open. "Who are you? How did you do that? Are you related to the Great Saiyaman too?"

"Err," Trunks thought frantically for a moment. "Not exactly." He winced at the thought of what he was going to do, and opened his big mouth. "I come from the same planet he does, but a different class."

Another reporter, who had been brave enough to follow Nomad, shouted. "What's the name of the planet, and why are you here on Earth?"

Trunks shot a frantic glance at Videl, who simply lifted an eyebrow and stared at him. He was on his own this time.

"The name of the planet is sacred to those who live there," he bluffed. "It was destroyed by a meteor shower many of your Earth Years ago." He winced and slowly dropped lower into his role. "My father the Prince, and the Great Saiyaman's father, were some of the only survivors. Rumors had it that some of my people had settled here, so I was sent to find out."

"Did you find any?"

Trunks winced. How was he to answer that question? Any answer he could think of, someone would be in big trouble-namely him. "The last Great Saiyaman or I saw any trace of them was at the Cell Games, but they disappeared not long after."

The two reporters fell silent, trying to figure out what to ask next.

It was the Police Chief who spoke up. "Hey-you haven't seen the Great Saiyaman lately, have you? We could sure use his help."

"No!" Trunks shot back. "I don't know where he is."

Videl snorted.

Trunks noticed that he had now gathered a crowd of brave onlookers, and swore softly. Damn it-he didn't want to do this…but it looked like Videl was having a hard enough time. "I can help you, though!" He boomed in a false voice, striking what he hoped was a heroic pose.

All of the girls within the vicinity immediately began to swoon. So did Nomad's cameraman.

Videl put her hands on her knees and began to laugh so hard Barden worried she might tip over.

Trunks glared at her.

Up in the air with both of his hands wrapped around one of his brother's arms, trying to keep the bigger man from reaching Vegeta again, Goten snorted. "Why'd you have to go and do that, huh?" He called down to his friend. "Now they've all gotta…" he paused as Gohan's fist found his gut, "be carried out of here!"

"What did I do?" Trunks demanded.

"You're posing like a supermodel," Videl gasped out between chuckles. "I don't think I've ever seen…"

Trunks glared at her. "At least its better than the Great Saiyateam's" he shot back. "If I posed like them, half of the city would still be laughing."

"Some of us are still laughing anyway, dear," a familiar voice commented mockingly, cutting off Videl's retort. Pan, already in the Super-Saiyan form, was floating just above the heads of the crowd, Ubuu at her elbow. "Maybe I should see if I can't get you a modeling gig."

Trunk's face widened in shock. "I'm not a model!"

His wife crossed her arms over her chest and examined him with a very Vegetaesque glare. "You couldn't prove it by me, although your wardrobe needs some help."

Trunks glanced despairingly at Ubuu. "Ubuu?"

The dark-skinned man shook his head. "A wise man does not take sides," he said clearly, before shooting off into the middle of the ball of Saiyans.

"Wuss," Trunks muttered under his breath.

He had now been left alone with a bunch of women who were slowly starting to gain consciousness, and his wife-and he didn't like the look she was giving him at all. She stared at him for a moment, then came forward to stand in front of him, still examining. "You look like a walking Capsule Corps advertisement," she said, grinning wickedly. "I think I might give all your fangirls down there something to look at."

Before he could react, she'd grabbed his shirt and tugged, the expensive white cloth coming away in her hand, leaving the front of his shirt hanging open to reveal his undershirt. "There," she cooed sweetly, giving Trunks chills. "You look much better now."

He was so going to pay for this later.

Her green eyes flickered upwards to the battle taking place, where her father had managed to pry his brother and 18 off to get his hands around Vegeta's neck again. "When you're done playing smarming the mob," she snapped, "you might want to give us a hand in saving your father's life up there-ok?"

And she zoomed off to add another set of fists and feet to the fray, leaving Trunks alone with the crowd, who was now watching him with glazed expressions.

"Who was she?" A reporter yelled.

"Are you single?"

"Is your father really up there?"

Trunks glanced up at Pan, absently admiring the way her golden hair swirled around her as she joined Ubuu in prying one of Gohan's hands free of his father's neck. "That's my wife-the Goldpan Girl!"

All of the women in the crowd-and a few of the men-became immediately disappointed.

Nomad, however, wasn't phased. "Who are you?"

Trunks was at a complete loss. What should he call himself? He glanced around, searching for inspiration, and found it in a cowboy hat that had just drifted from the gaping hole in the side of the Satan City Mall. He snagged it out of the air, crammed it onto his head, and struck another pose.

"I am…the Lone Saiyan!"

Videl didn't know whether to laugh or cry. How had Trunks possibly come up with such foolish identities? And how could things have possibly gotten any worse than they were before?

Unfortunately for Videl, Kami was far too busy to help her out much-she was as good as on her own.

* * * * * * *