Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Broken Seal ❯ Ghosts ( Chapter 8 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: nice-day 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 02.17.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 230 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 02.17.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 230 | Status: Completed
Krillin awoke with a hard gasp. Sitting bolt upright he dragged air into his lungs, one panicked inhalation after another. The world around him was a blinding cacophony of images that screamed at the disoriented fighter with every colour of the spectrum. Blinded and frightened, he had no idea of where he was or what had just happened.
Shutting his eyes, Krillin initially concentrated on regaining control of his racing breath. He then cautiously began to open his eyes, but shut them an instant later, hissing with discomfort as he did. The fighter's surroundings were still blazingly bright and searing to his oversensitive eyes. A moment passed before he attempted to open them once more, this time he did so more tentatively.
As his surroundings were revealed to him, Krillin became more and more calm. Able once more to reason, he deduced from the cool air and bright surroundings that he was outside. This conclusion was confirmed as his eyes became acclimatised, and Krillin once more found himself sitting amid the cool blue grasses of the infinite pastures. Around him, the blades swayed casually in the breeze, unconcerned with the fighter's ordeal.
With the return of Krillin's senses, the flood of confusion that had immersed his mind began to subside revealing previously submerged memories of his final moments before losing consciousness. The cave, the seal. the souls. He remembered vaguely the short time spent amid the raging river of spirits, but it all seemed distant, as if he was recalling the experience on behalf of someone else.
"How many times can a guy get K.O'ed in one day?" Krillin sighed, now in full control of his faculties.
With that, Krillin hauled his body up from the ground. Though he had been robbed of his consciousness, again, this time it had differed markedly from the last. Whilst he had arisen dazed and groggy from his previous bout insensibility, this time he had awoken with a start. It had had taken little time for him to regain his orientation, and now that he was on his feet, he felt little the worse for wear. In fact, his contact with the untainted essences of those who had been bound in hell by the seal had proven strangely invigorating.
Looking about the still deserted landscape, Krillin recollected yet more of the events that had led up to this moment. It was with the return of these harrowing memories that he was suddenly overcome with concern for the numerous demons that had evacuated the chamber shortly before the seal had given way, not least of all King Yemma.
Turning circles on the spot, the fighter frantically scoured the panorama for signs of life. His preliminary search turned up nothing. Krillin composed himself once more, and applied some careful thought to the worrying situation.
From the few ragged memories that he had retained, and from his current position, Krillin concluded that hell's escaping population had thrown him clear of the entrance to the subterranean complex. Since he had come into close contact with the fleeing souls, it seemed fair to assume that he had experienced the worst that his and Yemma's predicament had to offer. The inference of this was that, if Krillin had come through the ordeal unscathed, then there was more than a good chance the mighty King Yemma had also escaped harm.
Looking to the distant horizon, Krillin decided that his best course of action would be to return to the offices of King Yemma. This was, after all, the centre of operations for the afterlife and, as such, would be the most likely location of the ogre at such a time of emergency. Here he might be able to learn more of the bizarre events that had transpired, and perhaps offer his own modest help in doing whatever was required to set right this destabilised realm.
Unfortunately, Krillin had no way of knowing how far he would have to travel in order to reach his destination. Having been unable to find the barrier that had marked the entrance to the tunnels, the fighter had no landmarks from which to regain his bearings. Though direction meant little in this place, distance still counted for something. Seeing little sense in wasting any more time, Krillin drew up his rejuvenated ki and took flight.
It seemed that with every journey he made across the inconceivably vast other-world, the plane became ever more deserted, and ever more forbidding. The sound of sirens was now constant, the klaxons shrieking endlessly at the horrors they were. A bass percussion of explosions accompanied these sharp cries. Each roll of distant thunder corresponded to a sudden swell in the permeating oceans of energy, which themselves become a heaving tempest that were now tossing and crashing beyond Krillin's ability to accurately navigate. There was so much energy out there, and so much of it was dark.
However, it was not the shrill lament of sirens, or the distant rumbling of destruction, or even the blackened, polluted seas of power that was most disturbing to Krillin. Instead, it was the most subtle, almost inaudible sound that carried on the ill breeze that unsettled the fighter most. For across the meadows and hills, barely audible above the concerto of wrath and destruction, came the feeble cries of anguish of innocents caught amid the fearful events that were transpiring all over this once tranquil plane.
Krillin tried his best to concentrate on the task in hand. He had to reach King Yemma if he was to offer his help in putting everything right. However, he was finding it difficult to block out the fretful wails of the countless victims. Krillin never could bare the thought of an innocent suffering. Every panicked scream, every agonised shriek, every cry for help was like a knife through the heart of the good warrior. And what was more, this situation, this feeling, was all too familiar. All his senses seemed to be dragging him, kicking and screaming, back to his days on Namek. There he had been bombarded with the sights and sounds of evil having its way with the helpless, and it was no more tolerable to him now than it was then. The moment that the damned had escaped from the pit had been the moment that Krillin had been plunged into his own personal hell.
C'mon Krillin; the fighter thought to himslef; Eyes on the prize.
The fighter shook his head, as if shooing away the distressing sounds that buzzed around his head like a frenzied swarm of insects. As he did this, he set about convincing himself that his best chance to help the ill-fated denizens of heaven would be to supply his services to the powers-that-be. After all, what could a single fighter do in the face of an entire dimension of suffering?
Krillin was making a healthy pace across the skies. He was not travelling as fast as he was capable of doing however, as he was reluctant to attract the attention of any unsavoury characters who might be near by. The throbbing of the energies was not helping either, as the fighter found it hard to pinpoint any one ki. As things stood, the first Krillin would know about a strong fighter's approach would be when the warrior appeared in front of him.
Krillin felt a rush of warm air wash over his face. His heart sank.
A blur manifested before Krillin, causing the startled fighter to freeze in his tracks. His widening eyes struggled to define the image in the instants before it fully revealed itself. A second later, there was a human-like figure suspended ominously in the air before him. If Krillin's heart could have descended any further, then it would have done just that as the sickening sense of recognition crawled across the warrior's mind.
Before Krillin there floated a tall, well built individual, draped in the regalia of Frieza's legions, and adorned with all manner of ornamentation. Several spherical decorations were suspended around a chillingly handsome face, which itself was rendered in a soft shade of greenish blue. A loose plat of grass green hair was draped untidily over the figure's shoulder with a number of individual hairs displaced from their proper position. Behind the fighter there trailed a ragged, battle worn cape that brushed against his calves. His ruffled appearance was doubtless a result of a time spent immersed in the savageries of hell.
In the shadow of this awful ghost from his past, Krillin mustered a single, stammered utterance.
"Z-Zarbon."
Looking down upon Krillin with a cruel smirk, the Zarbon spoke.
"Hello there." He greeted the quivering fighter in a smooth tone, "I thought I recognised you. You're the little Earth man who was with Vegeta on Namek."
With a single, lightening movement, he grabbed a handful of Krillin's Tunic. Slowly, he drew the fighter in. To surprised to react, Krillin had little recourse but to capitulate.
"Well," Zarbon continued, "any friend of Vegeta's. . . is a friend of mine."
With those ominous words, Frieza's chief henchman began to raise a hand towards Krillin's worried face. Like a deadly, blossoming flower, the fighter's fingers spread outwards in readiness to dispense a close range attack.
Though Krillin had grown in strength considerably while on Namek, he was still no match for the cruel Zarbon. Also, all those months spent idol in heaven had not helped his power level either. Fearing that the villain may be seeking some indirect retribution for his dispatch at the hands of the Saiyan prince, Krillin managed to find some words that he hoped might work in his defence.
"Hey, now." He laughed, nervously, "Lets not be hasty. Remember, you can't destroy me. I'm already dead."
At that, Zarbon's hand ceased its climb towards Krillin's sweat saturated head. For a moment, it looked like the fighter's words may have earned him a reprieve. There was a pause, but then the evil warrior's wicked smile broadened in such away that it made Krillin's blood run cold in his veins.
"Well then," Zarbon smiled, "I suppose I shall just have to devote my eternity to making yours a waking nightmare."
His hand then resumed its ascent to the fighter's face.
Whimpering with dread at the aeons of despair that might lie ahead, Krillin closed his eyes tightly and prepared for the agony that would certainly follow. From behind the inadequate protection of his closed eyelids, he could here the mocking laughter of the wicked Zarbon as he prepared to satisfy his sadistic urges. As the laughter grew in volume, Krillin could feel Zarbon's ki building, reaching for a zenith that would mark the beginning of an eternity of damnation for the petrified fighter.
Then the heat came. This too rose in intensity as Zarbon drew up the energy for his attack, as if he was slowly cooking Krillin over some hellish stove. The whole process seemed to be drawn out, but even though the severity of the situation had probably altered the fighter's perception of the passage of time, it was also probable that his captor was deliberately taking his time. In so doing, he sought to torture Krillin mentally as well as physically.
Zarbon's ki reached a plateau, and Krillin gritted his teeth. There was a bright flash that emanated from beyond Krillin's drawn eyelids, and a sudden blast of intense heat. Both engulfed the terrified fighter along with a heart-stopping roar, the sound of a monstrous ki being set loose upon its victim. Somehow, though, it did not seem as unpleasant as he had expected. Still mortally, and immortally scared, Krillin kept his eyes closed for fear that perhaps Zarbon had yet to unleash his wrath. Still, the pain never arrived.
A short time passed before Krillin realised that the light, heat, sound and Zarbon's ki were all falling in intensity. Tentatively, he began to open his eyes. The first thing he noticed as he was greeted by the surrounding world was that Zarbon was no longer clinging to his garments. In fact, the nefarious fighter was nowhere to be seen. Krillin looked about cautiously, still not convinced that he was not being toyed with. There was still no sign of Zarbon. Then, he looked down.
There, at the heart of a smouldering crater, lay Zarbon. The fighter was sprawled out, face down, apparently himself the victim of a devastating assault. Krillin looked down upon the baffling scene. For a moment, the thought occurred to him that perhaps he had perpetrated the act, unleashing some hidden strength in his time of greatest fear a la the young warrior Gohan. The thought was then banished as quickly as it had been conceived. Krillin pondered the occurrence for a little longer before he could wind of a soft sound, a barely audible grunt, emanating from above him.
Casting his gaze upwards, Krillin found the source of the sound. Above him hung a second figure, silhouetted against the bright pink firmament. From within the darkened form of this enigmatic apparition was extended a single arm, ending in a white-gloved hand. A thin wisp of vapour rose from the exposed palm of the glove, evidently the source of the attack that had floored Zarbon.
Krillin squinted, and attempted to decipher the features of his saviour. As he did so, the being's appearance was gradually divulged to him. He, like Zarbon, was tall and well built. His head, however, was crowned by a burst of dark hair that erupted from above a tall forehead. Beneath this was a pair of dark, glaring eyes, which looked down to their stricken prey from within a regal face that itself refused to turn downward. This individual too was familiar to Krillin. Squinting yet more, and craning his neck forwards, the puzzled fighter made a quiet inquiry.
"Vegeta?"
The figure's eyes met with Krillin's. The intensity of the stare was almost a devastating attack in itself. Still refusing to turn his head downwards, the fighter replied in a contemptuous tone,
"That's King Vegeta to you."
Shutting his eyes, Krillin initially concentrated on regaining control of his racing breath. He then cautiously began to open his eyes, but shut them an instant later, hissing with discomfort as he did. The fighter's surroundings were still blazingly bright and searing to his oversensitive eyes. A moment passed before he attempted to open them once more, this time he did so more tentatively.
As his surroundings were revealed to him, Krillin became more and more calm. Able once more to reason, he deduced from the cool air and bright surroundings that he was outside. This conclusion was confirmed as his eyes became acclimatised, and Krillin once more found himself sitting amid the cool blue grasses of the infinite pastures. Around him, the blades swayed casually in the breeze, unconcerned with the fighter's ordeal.
With the return of Krillin's senses, the flood of confusion that had immersed his mind began to subside revealing previously submerged memories of his final moments before losing consciousness. The cave, the seal. the souls. He remembered vaguely the short time spent amid the raging river of spirits, but it all seemed distant, as if he was recalling the experience on behalf of someone else.
"How many times can a guy get K.O'ed in one day?" Krillin sighed, now in full control of his faculties.
With that, Krillin hauled his body up from the ground. Though he had been robbed of his consciousness, again, this time it had differed markedly from the last. Whilst he had arisen dazed and groggy from his previous bout insensibility, this time he had awoken with a start. It had had taken little time for him to regain his orientation, and now that he was on his feet, he felt little the worse for wear. In fact, his contact with the untainted essences of those who had been bound in hell by the seal had proven strangely invigorating.
Looking about the still deserted landscape, Krillin recollected yet more of the events that had led up to this moment. It was with the return of these harrowing memories that he was suddenly overcome with concern for the numerous demons that had evacuated the chamber shortly before the seal had given way, not least of all King Yemma.
Turning circles on the spot, the fighter frantically scoured the panorama for signs of life. His preliminary search turned up nothing. Krillin composed himself once more, and applied some careful thought to the worrying situation.
From the few ragged memories that he had retained, and from his current position, Krillin concluded that hell's escaping population had thrown him clear of the entrance to the subterranean complex. Since he had come into close contact with the fleeing souls, it seemed fair to assume that he had experienced the worst that his and Yemma's predicament had to offer. The inference of this was that, if Krillin had come through the ordeal unscathed, then there was more than a good chance the mighty King Yemma had also escaped harm.
Looking to the distant horizon, Krillin decided that his best course of action would be to return to the offices of King Yemma. This was, after all, the centre of operations for the afterlife and, as such, would be the most likely location of the ogre at such a time of emergency. Here he might be able to learn more of the bizarre events that had transpired, and perhaps offer his own modest help in doing whatever was required to set right this destabilised realm.
Unfortunately, Krillin had no way of knowing how far he would have to travel in order to reach his destination. Having been unable to find the barrier that had marked the entrance to the tunnels, the fighter had no landmarks from which to regain his bearings. Though direction meant little in this place, distance still counted for something. Seeing little sense in wasting any more time, Krillin drew up his rejuvenated ki and took flight.
It seemed that with every journey he made across the inconceivably vast other-world, the plane became ever more deserted, and ever more forbidding. The sound of sirens was now constant, the klaxons shrieking endlessly at the horrors they were. A bass percussion of explosions accompanied these sharp cries. Each roll of distant thunder corresponded to a sudden swell in the permeating oceans of energy, which themselves become a heaving tempest that were now tossing and crashing beyond Krillin's ability to accurately navigate. There was so much energy out there, and so much of it was dark.
However, it was not the shrill lament of sirens, or the distant rumbling of destruction, or even the blackened, polluted seas of power that was most disturbing to Krillin. Instead, it was the most subtle, almost inaudible sound that carried on the ill breeze that unsettled the fighter most. For across the meadows and hills, barely audible above the concerto of wrath and destruction, came the feeble cries of anguish of innocents caught amid the fearful events that were transpiring all over this once tranquil plane.
Krillin tried his best to concentrate on the task in hand. He had to reach King Yemma if he was to offer his help in putting everything right. However, he was finding it difficult to block out the fretful wails of the countless victims. Krillin never could bare the thought of an innocent suffering. Every panicked scream, every agonised shriek, every cry for help was like a knife through the heart of the good warrior. And what was more, this situation, this feeling, was all too familiar. All his senses seemed to be dragging him, kicking and screaming, back to his days on Namek. There he had been bombarded with the sights and sounds of evil having its way with the helpless, and it was no more tolerable to him now than it was then. The moment that the damned had escaped from the pit had been the moment that Krillin had been plunged into his own personal hell.
C'mon Krillin; the fighter thought to himslef; Eyes on the prize.
The fighter shook his head, as if shooing away the distressing sounds that buzzed around his head like a frenzied swarm of insects. As he did this, he set about convincing himself that his best chance to help the ill-fated denizens of heaven would be to supply his services to the powers-that-be. After all, what could a single fighter do in the face of an entire dimension of suffering?
Krillin was making a healthy pace across the skies. He was not travelling as fast as he was capable of doing however, as he was reluctant to attract the attention of any unsavoury characters who might be near by. The throbbing of the energies was not helping either, as the fighter found it hard to pinpoint any one ki. As things stood, the first Krillin would know about a strong fighter's approach would be when the warrior appeared in front of him.
Krillin felt a rush of warm air wash over his face. His heart sank.
A blur manifested before Krillin, causing the startled fighter to freeze in his tracks. His widening eyes struggled to define the image in the instants before it fully revealed itself. A second later, there was a human-like figure suspended ominously in the air before him. If Krillin's heart could have descended any further, then it would have done just that as the sickening sense of recognition crawled across the warrior's mind.
Before Krillin there floated a tall, well built individual, draped in the regalia of Frieza's legions, and adorned with all manner of ornamentation. Several spherical decorations were suspended around a chillingly handsome face, which itself was rendered in a soft shade of greenish blue. A loose plat of grass green hair was draped untidily over the figure's shoulder with a number of individual hairs displaced from their proper position. Behind the fighter there trailed a ragged, battle worn cape that brushed against his calves. His ruffled appearance was doubtless a result of a time spent immersed in the savageries of hell.
In the shadow of this awful ghost from his past, Krillin mustered a single, stammered utterance.
"Z-Zarbon."
Looking down upon Krillin with a cruel smirk, the Zarbon spoke.
"Hello there." He greeted the quivering fighter in a smooth tone, "I thought I recognised you. You're the little Earth man who was with Vegeta on Namek."
With a single, lightening movement, he grabbed a handful of Krillin's Tunic. Slowly, he drew the fighter in. To surprised to react, Krillin had little recourse but to capitulate.
"Well," Zarbon continued, "any friend of Vegeta's. . . is a friend of mine."
With those ominous words, Frieza's chief henchman began to raise a hand towards Krillin's worried face. Like a deadly, blossoming flower, the fighter's fingers spread outwards in readiness to dispense a close range attack.
Though Krillin had grown in strength considerably while on Namek, he was still no match for the cruel Zarbon. Also, all those months spent idol in heaven had not helped his power level either. Fearing that the villain may be seeking some indirect retribution for his dispatch at the hands of the Saiyan prince, Krillin managed to find some words that he hoped might work in his defence.
"Hey, now." He laughed, nervously, "Lets not be hasty. Remember, you can't destroy me. I'm already dead."
At that, Zarbon's hand ceased its climb towards Krillin's sweat saturated head. For a moment, it looked like the fighter's words may have earned him a reprieve. There was a pause, but then the evil warrior's wicked smile broadened in such away that it made Krillin's blood run cold in his veins.
"Well then," Zarbon smiled, "I suppose I shall just have to devote my eternity to making yours a waking nightmare."
His hand then resumed its ascent to the fighter's face.
Whimpering with dread at the aeons of despair that might lie ahead, Krillin closed his eyes tightly and prepared for the agony that would certainly follow. From behind the inadequate protection of his closed eyelids, he could here the mocking laughter of the wicked Zarbon as he prepared to satisfy his sadistic urges. As the laughter grew in volume, Krillin could feel Zarbon's ki building, reaching for a zenith that would mark the beginning of an eternity of damnation for the petrified fighter.
Then the heat came. This too rose in intensity as Zarbon drew up the energy for his attack, as if he was slowly cooking Krillin over some hellish stove. The whole process seemed to be drawn out, but even though the severity of the situation had probably altered the fighter's perception of the passage of time, it was also probable that his captor was deliberately taking his time. In so doing, he sought to torture Krillin mentally as well as physically.
Zarbon's ki reached a plateau, and Krillin gritted his teeth. There was a bright flash that emanated from beyond Krillin's drawn eyelids, and a sudden blast of intense heat. Both engulfed the terrified fighter along with a heart-stopping roar, the sound of a monstrous ki being set loose upon its victim. Somehow, though, it did not seem as unpleasant as he had expected. Still mortally, and immortally scared, Krillin kept his eyes closed for fear that perhaps Zarbon had yet to unleash his wrath. Still, the pain never arrived.
A short time passed before Krillin realised that the light, heat, sound and Zarbon's ki were all falling in intensity. Tentatively, he began to open his eyes. The first thing he noticed as he was greeted by the surrounding world was that Zarbon was no longer clinging to his garments. In fact, the nefarious fighter was nowhere to be seen. Krillin looked about cautiously, still not convinced that he was not being toyed with. There was still no sign of Zarbon. Then, he looked down.
There, at the heart of a smouldering crater, lay Zarbon. The fighter was sprawled out, face down, apparently himself the victim of a devastating assault. Krillin looked down upon the baffling scene. For a moment, the thought occurred to him that perhaps he had perpetrated the act, unleashing some hidden strength in his time of greatest fear a la the young warrior Gohan. The thought was then banished as quickly as it had been conceived. Krillin pondered the occurrence for a little longer before he could wind of a soft sound, a barely audible grunt, emanating from above him.
Casting his gaze upwards, Krillin found the source of the sound. Above him hung a second figure, silhouetted against the bright pink firmament. From within the darkened form of this enigmatic apparition was extended a single arm, ending in a white-gloved hand. A thin wisp of vapour rose from the exposed palm of the glove, evidently the source of the attack that had floored Zarbon.
Krillin squinted, and attempted to decipher the features of his saviour. As he did so, the being's appearance was gradually divulged to him. He, like Zarbon, was tall and well built. His head, however, was crowned by a burst of dark hair that erupted from above a tall forehead. Beneath this was a pair of dark, glaring eyes, which looked down to their stricken prey from within a regal face that itself refused to turn downward. This individual too was familiar to Krillin. Squinting yet more, and craning his neck forwards, the puzzled fighter made a quiet inquiry.
"Vegeta?"
The figure's eyes met with Krillin's. The intensity of the stare was almost a devastating attack in itself. Still refusing to turn his head downwards, the fighter replied in a contemptuous tone,
"That's King Vegeta to you."